A/N: Okay. So Merge With Caution has officially driven me to drink. Or write, as the case may be. The whole situation of Pete and Myka's bodies switching is worth so much more than the cheap boob grope that the show gave it. In my smutty universe, this would have happened instead.

Copped Feel

She hadn't wanted him to mess up her pretty blue dress. That had been her reason for shoving into her hotel room and ordering him to change. For some reason, probably having to do with kneejerk modesty, she'd wanted him to do it alone. Strange, considering it was her body and not his that was getting undressed, but still, she kept her eyes down and made a gesture into the room towards her clothes. He watched how awkwardly Myka wore his own body, moving his hands in effeminate swirls, bending slightly at the waist, clearly unused to having such large, heavy dimensions in the chest and shoulders. She turned those hands inward, as if to run her hands through her hair or cross her arms, but curly locks didn't grace his shoulders and his bigger pecs and biceps unnerved her as they crunched together with her actions, so she simply dropped his arms at his sides. He watched with amazement as his own eyes wore Myka's insecurity, their dark shade piercing him with her earnestness. It made him realize that Myka's eyes, not matter what color, would always be beautiful. She gave him a squint of annoyance and did that ungainly gesture again, indicating he hurry up. Pete smirked. At least he wasn't the only one feeling weirded out.

Dressed in her willowy, feminine avatar, he'd stumbled in and closed the door, tossing a confused glance at her suitcase, not even knowing where to start. He'd been too tipsy to argue with her about this, and now he was facing the most devious level of temptation God ever saw fit to tease man.

Alone in a room with a beautiful woman's body over which he had complete control.

Fuck him purple and call him Mavis. What was a man to do?

Walking rather gracelessly towards Myka's small stacks of clothes, he saw her usual staples tossed on the floor and on the bed. Her jeans. Her black Converse. Her little tops in various colors. He smiled at her casual style and instantly felt her fuller, supple lips stretch over his/her teeth. Without thinking, he reached up and ran her fingertips over them, grunting softly at their softness and hearing her lighter, prettier voice in lieu of his. Damn, could this situation be any more of a mind fuck? He pushed farther into her mouth, following the lines of her teeth and exploring the texture of her tongue. Shocking, really, how quickly it turned him on.

Turning towards the full length mirror on the door, he stared at her.

Myka stared back at him, her finger stuck seductively in her mouth. Sucking it hard, he pulled it out slowly, watching her as if she were licking chocolate off her finger while sending him a Fuck Me pout. The dress didn't help. It's sexy, borderline slutty hems were clinging to her cleavage and thighs. He rotated her slender shoulders and felt that material slide over the startlingly sensitive skin of her breasts. No wonder she didn't want him wearing it. There was a good possibility he'd rip it to shreds, tearing it open just to get to the smokin' body underneath. He let her finger go with a pop and smiled at her reflection. There was no need to tear it, was there? He'd been ordered to take it off.

Yes, ma'am, he saluted mentally, and reached for the zipper at the side. Slim fingers found it and pulled with no trouble. Pete shimmied slightly, loving how Myka's body moved with bold sexuality now that he was in charge of it. The dress fell to the floor without a fight and Pete smothered a groan at the present she'd accidentally given him underneath.

Her bra was - no shit - the tiniest, flirtiest piece of black strapless lace that he'd ever laid eyes on. The things it did to her bursting cleavage, holy hell in a hand basket. His eyes raked down her taut belly to her equally scant matching panties. Pete couldn't even summon the jealousy he would have normally felt at the idea of her dressing like this for some blowhard she'd crushed on back in the day. He was too entranced by her beauty. Reverently, he ran her hands down the lovely lines of her, exhaling raggedly and once again hearing Myka's breathy voice, making it even hotter.

Pete was tying himself in knots as he let Myka's hands slide down her body and fill his mind with the double-pronged pleasure of learning how unbelievably sexy her curves were and experiencing what her hands felt like as they roved over her body. They were so fucking nimble, little fingers dancing and teasing over skin that wasn't his. Christ's sake. So this is what it would feel like to touch her. At the same time, this is what it would feel like if she touched him.

He closed his eyes and tried to envisage his own body -harder and blunter - under her capable touch and grunted sharply as her index finger traced accidentally over one of Myka's erogenous zones on her inner thigh. Damn. If he'd had a dick right now, the eroticism of the situation would have had him coming right there and then. Instead, his borrowed female proportions throbbed and clenched at his thoughts and ministrations. Pete was turning Myka on. At least, her body was turned on.

He knew - he knew - that all of this was wrong. He shouldn't be looking. He sure as fuck shouldn't be touching. It felt so wrong that it wrung his brain dry with the equal certainty that it felt so right. Suddenly he wished he'd been given this opportunity under less rushed circumstances. They had so little time, and Myka-wearing-Pete would be knocking any second demanding to know what the hold up was. But he couldn't help his stunned explorations as he gently squeezed her breasts through that ridiculously sexy lace and felt her body react violently to his touch. He wasn't sure if Myka was this easily aroused by autoerotica, or if Myka's body sensed Pete's presence and simply wanted him. God, he hoped it was the second one (not that the first wasn't equally awesome). He prayed like hell that Myka felt for him a tenth of what he was making her feel now. The hot, throbbing need that was moving through her, poetically because of her, was driving him crazy. He tipped her head back and let her hands creep into that gorgeous hair that Myka-wearing-Pete had tried to touch, but only found air. Her curls teased his senses and his eyes slid shut as those wandering fingers closed over them. Oh fuck, they were soft. He let them slide deeper, palming the back of her head and stifling a groan, knowing that this is how it would feel to hold her as she kissed his real body, or if his hands were in her hair as she sucked him off. His eyes shot wide at the thought and he instantly yanked his/her hands clear. Taking a shaking breath, he turned away from the mirror.

He smothered another moan as he pulled a pair of her jeans over her killer legs and accidentally grazed her soaking panties. Her clit was throbbing savagely. Pete bit down hard, willing his female hard-on to go away. As much as he'd like to take care of her and fondle her wet little pussy until he himself came, that was a level of wrong he couldn't even bring himself to consider. He hiked her jeans up and snapped them closed. He grabbed a shirt without looking at it and dragged it over her swollen, aching breasts. He found some little white socks in the side pocket of her suitcase and jammed her cute little tootsies into them before throwing on her Converse and lacing them tight.

Standing up, he took one last look in the mirror. Good ole Myka blinked back at him.

Goddamn her, he thought as he stomped towards the door where his partner waited on the other side. She didn't even know what she does to me.