He looks up and oh. Oh. Wow.

It's Fiona but she's wearing a dress that seems to have been made for someone a foot shorter than her because it's just so damn short and her legs. God. Her legs just don't stop, and he's never seen her wear a dress this short, and seriously, he knew she was pretty, but damn.

He can barely drag his eyes up to meet hers, but finally manages. And she's laughing at him. Laughing at him. Wearing a dress that barely covers –

"Well.." she says

"What?"

"What do you think?"

"About what exactly?"

"Agh" She scoffs. "The dress."

He doesn't see what the problem is here. "It's...Definitely new."

That doesn't help, and she glares her fiercest (though the effectiveness is somewhat diminished by the shortness of that microscopic pink skirt).

After stalking after him in circles, she finally gets impatient. He tries to walk away, but she grabs his elbow. "Oh, we are not finished here, Michael."

"You are really freakishly strong, you know that?" he mutters, unable to shake off her iron grasp as she drags him further back in the store, toward the door back into the house.

She pushes him in and shuts the door firmly behind them, folding her arms and resuming her (adorable) glare. "Michael. Can;t you ever be well..charming for once?!

Michael sighed and shook his head.

Her brow is getting more and more furrowed and he knows he should pay attention but he can't help that she's impossibly pretty right now and her legs are just impossibly perfect.

"Michael!"

"Ok fi! Look,why'd you pick this dress?" he shoots back. He feels pretty sure about this point. "You just rushed home, changed, and came straight here. When you could have just come here in your normal clothes. Which means you wanted me to see you in this little number."

Her cheeks are getting pink. He's got her cornered.

Fiona grits her teeth. But short of shooting him, she doesn't know how to convince him to change it. And this dress is too short to hide her holster, so she's (unfortunately) unarmed.

Until she sees him steal a look at her legs, his face covered with completely undisguised lust.

"We have to meet up with Sam" He reminded her,changing the subject.

Her eyes narrow. And he's pretty positive that means she's got an idea. And he's also pretty positive she might kill him.

"You're not good at this."

"I'm – what?" He ignores the semi-squeak in his voice, because right now Fiona is eyeing him like a hawk eyeing a particularly delectable mouse and not that he has any objection (come on, she's seductive) but he's slightly concerned she might actually be planning physical harm.

She smiles, that cat-like smile that floors him because it definitely looks like she's about to kick his ass . "Come on, Michael you know exactly what i mean."

She reaches for his collar, toying with it for a moment before sliding her hand down his chest, fingertips light against his skin, and he can't breathe and he's trying not to think a lot right now because so far all he's coming up with are four-letter words and her long, long legs and how they'd feel wrapped around his waist.

And there is no way she doesn't know what she's doing to him right now. She's all danger and sex appeal and bare skin and utter disdain and he doesn't think he's still so irrationally attracted to a her.

She's coming towards him, and half of his brain is yelling just grab her and start groping but the other half is yelling she will shoot you in the forehead and what the hell do you think you are doing? and the first half pleads but she might not but the second half says get the hell away, this is a trap.

He takes a cautious step back. "Fiona we have work."

"Don't you change the subject. You're really good at that ya know...changing the subject."

"Look Fi-" He begins but he couldn't help get another look at her legs.

"Michael your making me blush." She whispered.

She reaches out, pokes one finger into his chest, and he stumbles back into a chair, falling into the cushions with an ungraceful oomf, and she's right there and her legs are so very, very naked right now and she's leaning over him and she smells so damn good and what the hell –

Without thinking, he grabs her hand, Yanks her down into his lap, and crushes his mouth against hers.

The whole idea of putting on a dress like this was for Michael to be all over her. This was definitely not on the agenda...and so against what she promised herself ie "Michael will be the one to come crawling back to you."

Oh, this is not happening. There is no possible way this is happening, no way in hell she's letting him do this, no way she's climbing onto him and straddling him and ohhhhhhshe did not just bite his ear. No. Not – but oh God, oh shit, she is all over him.

She rolls her lower body against his, slow, dirty, and he has to bite back a groan as he feels his groin starting to tighten and it is utterly not fair that she is straddling him while she's sucking on his tongue like this because he's never going to be able to look at her mouth again without dragging her into the nearest empty room and locking the door. His hands clutch the arms of the chair desperately, his knuckles white, forearms clenched. Because if he lets go, if he lets himself start touching her, they're not going anywhere and that dress is ending upon the floor.

He's thinking he's got himself under relative control, considering the circumstances.

His self-control vanishes and he grabs her, pulls her even closer, finally lets himself slide his hands over her legs (God, they never end) and her skin is just so soft and smooth and he wants to touch all of it.

She bites at his ear, and Michael can't help himself; his hips jerk sharply, d but he grabs her and pulls her back and kisses her again, taking control, forcing his tongue past her lips as she arches into him, and all he can think is oh God yes more –

She's rough, biting at his lip, all heat and anger and a shudder runs through his body and he's slowly inching this tiny skirt up her legs (there's not much further for it to go) and her thighs tighten around his waist and he is so far beyond turned on right now.

He's trying desperately to control his ragged breathing as she plants a row of hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses over his throat, the line of his jaw, her hands buried in his hair, and it takes him a second to realize she's slowing down, her kisses getting slower, teasing, drawn-out.

She places a delicate kiss at the corner of his mouth, just barely touching his lips, and he cannot move right now. Cannot move.

"Michael – " she murmurs, and he swallows, because her voice is low and throaty and hazy with desire and he really, really, really wants to hear this dark, husky bedroom voice of hers more often. Like every day. And every night.

He tries to speak. Fails. Probably because her mouth stops him. Not that he's complaining.

"Fi– " he manages.

He winces a moment later, because she bites his lip and it's more than a little vicious but he still kind of likes it. He really likes it. Fiona can bite him any day she wants. Wearing anything she wants.

"I hate you," she growls, biting his jaw.

"I know."

He can't stop himself, letting out a soft noise as her hips shift against his, her pink lips soft and swollen from kissing him, her face flushed, her body pressed so intimately against him –

He finally clears his throat and manages to form a real sentence. With words and everything.

"Fiona,I'm sorry...But I just can't do this." he whispers, his mouth brushing hers delicately.

She scowls, pushes him back against the chair, climbs off of him (no…) and leaves without another word.

The door bangs shut behind her, but Michael

makes no move to follow. He slumps back into the chair, closes his eyes, groans. Shit.

He needs a few minutes.

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