A/N: Constructive criticism is always appreciated as well as pointing out parts that may be OOC.
He's not quite sure how Fiona ended up giving him a lap dance, just that he likes it.
Fiona gyrated her hips from side to side, turning around slowly until her back faced him. Her hips shimmied to the beat of the music and her ass swayed tantalizingly before his face. He could see the low cut of her thong and the smoothness of her curves. Michael thought about how much he wanted to touch her and rub his hand over her cheeks.
No, wait! The con artist! Michael pulled his eyes away from Fiona's gyrations and looked over to his right. The criminal, Greg Davis, was enjoying a lap dance of his own from a rather attractive blonde. Davis caught his eye and grinned. "Enjoying yourself, Hart?"
"Time of my life." Michael replied and turned his attentions back to Fiona who was facing him again. She was smiling like a Cheshire cat, clearly enjoying this too much. "You know, Michael, this is more fun than I thought it would be," she whispered in his ear as she leaned in.
"Fi!" He hissed back. "We're done – we got what we came for. I need to turn the numbers over to Barry." Michael stood up and tried to sidestep her, but it was like she wasn't even listening. Instead, she pushed him down on the nearest couch and somehow managed to start straddling his lap.
"Is this seat taken?" Her voice was warm and low in his ear.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose up. Michael gripped her shoulders, trying to get her to stop the very unwholesome things she was doing with her hips, still sitting spread-eagled in his lap. He was starting to get extremely aroused and lose focus; he couldn't remember the last time she had been so suffocatingly close. Fiona smirked.
Then it hit him, why he had been so crazy and feeling like he was about to snap the past few weeks. He closed his eyes and breathed in sharply.
Fiona did not do subtle; she freaking tested relationships with the emotional equivalent of artillery fire. Insistent at a relationship that he couldn't give, no matter how much he wanted to. Constantly making suggestive flirting with him outright.
Maybe that's why it took him so long before he realized what was going on. He had spent the last few weeks on edge, snippy, and a bit more reckless than usual, but never really understood why.
Lately, Fiona hadn't been so open. Gone were the double entendres and the provocations. Sure, Fiona always tried to seduce him, but maybe that's why he missed it – the subtlety. Instead, she was touching him, all the time, like never before; only the moments were so fleeting because she was seducing him when he was focused on the job.
She leaned over his shoulder when he was watching the surveillance tapes on his laptop, the shampoo smell of her just-washed hair wrapping herself around her. He'd been too busy looking for minute details to notice completely.
She'd brush her ass against him as she grabbed a yogurt when he made incendiary devices. Of course, he had his full concentration on connecting the right wires together. Criss-cross the wrong wires and it might not detonate when they needed it to.
And earlier, Davis had asked them to meet him at the strip club. It was a good place – hard to bug because of the sound and any man rejecting a striptease was a tail or fed. Couldn't place a bug on a person either with a stripper right in front – unless you were the stripper – which Fiona was.
He had insisted for Fiona, or, Carey, as her cover ID was named, give them a show. If she refused, it was an easy way to out them as cops since Hart and Carey were supposed to be together.
So Fiona did her own show for Davis, but he's not quite sure how he ended up getting a lap dance instead.
Screw that. He did know; he asked for it. But didn't ask for it at the same time. It was all Fiona's fault for interpreting things differently and never listening to him. Obviously.
Michael had watched on as Fiona danced for him and planted the bug under his collar. Then he joked that Davis was getting a little too much attention so Fi could have an excuse to stop.
But she didn't. She turned her attentions onto him instead.
His head snapped back to the present. "Michael, you need to relax. Hart would like this." Fiona held his gaze and rubbed his shoulders and felt him loosen. "Just. Like. That." She flicked her tongue in his ear. Fiona rubbed herself against his hardening erection and tugged at his collar to get Michael to open his eyes.
"You planned this." Michael's tone was accusatory, his eyes narrowed.
"Planned what?" Fiona raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes. Playing innocent.
"Fiona Glenanne, you are seducing me." A slow grin crept on Michael's face. "You couldn't ask me out like a regular person."
"Would you even have agreed?" Fiona cocked her head to the side.
"Probably not." Michael acquiesced. "Instead, I get to have a public lap dance. In front of Davis. There's not even a private room here."
Fiona's response was to grind even harder, eliciting a groan from Michael. He put his hands on his gyrating hips and kissed her, running his tongue along her teeth and she moaned. Fiona cupped the back of his head, pushing his tongue in farther.
His arousal was so tight and uncomfortable against his slacks, but her ministrations were so electrifying that Michael half didn't want to get up. He wouldn't mind a slow buildup like this, he thought.
"Fi," Michael gasped as Fiona tweaked his nipples through his shirt. "Your house is only ten minutes away from here. We could..."
Fiona's dropped her mouth in mock surprise and she slapped him on the chest. "Michael! That's the best idea you've had all month! But are you sure you want to leave, now?" She smirked again.
She leaned in and started a downward descent of kisses on his neck.
"Uh-uh-uh-" Michael stammered, finding his throat seized up and utterly useless for producing comprehensible sounds. He swallowed audibly. "Now would be a good time." His voice was coarse and he almost whimpered when Fiona pulled herself away and stood up. The erection suddenly became that much more painful, bunched up in his slacks. Fiona raised her eyebrows, watching him take deep breaths. As if he could really will his erection to subside. "Are you coming?"
"Just," Michael paused.
"Just what?"
"Give me a second, here." He threw the car keys to Fiona and turned to the con-artist on the neighboring sofa.
"Davis!" He grinned. "Thanks so much for inviting us out here. Listen, I'm going to head home for a bit of... quality time with Ash. Talk financials tomorrow."
Davis waved him off, too focused on his own stripper. That was the thing about strip clubs. With the right girl, it was so easy to get distracted.
Michael looked back at Fiona, who was already walking away, hips sashaying. She did have a nice ass. He pushed himself off of the couch – which wasn't easy, and awkwardly walked towards the exit, grin plastered on his face and planning the rest of his evening with her.