˃Be Savannah

It was supposed to be a routine mission. As routine as any mission with four time agents could be, which meant it was barely routine at all. But still simple enough. Go to the prehistoric era, tidy up the consequences of some genius taking a large angry dinosaur out of its own timeline... Apparently you can't just take it back to its own time because that somehow messes up the timeline more-

Either way. This should have been a simple mission. You should have known everything always goes badly wrong when Dakota and his partner are around.

You'd nearly died. Multiple times. And considering everything, you're lucky you escaped with bruised ribs.

Then you'd made a mistake. Acted on a bad idea. Not only is he a coworker, he's Dakota. Can't even protect pistachios properly Dakota. Constant aggravation Dakota. Lowest on the BOTT totem pole Dakota. And he has no sense of style, with his loud baggy tracksuit and those chunky glasses he seems so fond of.

And, even worse, he has feelings for you. So unprofessional, and definitely not something you should encourage.

That's why, when the timeline was back to normal and the only thing left to show anything happened differently at all is the adrenaline in your veins and the bruises you know you're going to have by your personal tomorrow, no one was more surprised than you when you'd grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a kiss.

It's just the adrenaline. Really. You're glad to be alive, he was standing there, it doesn't mean anything. Your instincts told you to kiss someone. Someone other than Brick, who's like a brother to you, cocky and annoying but reliable where it counts. And Dakota's partner is too stuffy, therefore not an option either.

To his credit, Dakota adjusts quickly, firm hands coming up to rest on your shoulders as he kisses back. His lips are warm, curled up in the usual lazy smirk you see him wear, and you nip at them because how dare he be this smug. Then again, his kissing skills are almost a match for you.

Almost, because you're a master at the art of seduction. It's come in handy on at least a few missions, by which you mean most of them.

"Should we be watching this?" whatshisface - Cavendish - whispers as Dakota sighs into you. If you cared more, you'd have your custom high heels at his throat for daring to interrupt.

But you don't. Let him watch. Won't be the first time you've put on a show.

You bring a hand up to cup Dakota's jaw, tilting his head back for better access and tongue sliding between his parted lips, and with the other you squeeze gently at his firm rump. It's a nicer ass than you'd expected, actually. Knowing Dakota and his eating habits, you'd expected a slovenly mess. Something that matched how tacky his terrible 1970s trackpants are, loose and sagging and not at all suited to showing off his - ahem - assets.

He doesn't grope you back, even with the ample opportunity you're giving him. Such a gentleman. You never would have expected it from him, after his amateur and altogether too cliché attempts at flirting.

Behind you, Brick's footsteps - petulant stomping, really - fade into the distance, towards where he'd parked the time limo. He's never liked watching you at work, says it's "like watching his sister". The feeling's mutual, you can't look when he's putting the moves on a target, but mostly because he's terrible at it. His lack of finess brings shame upon your metaphorical family.

Dakota, though. With enough training he could seduce like the best of them. By which you mean you, of course. He twists his tongue with yours in a way that, had you been less experienced, would have made your knees weak, and you decide that if anyone's going to train him it'll be you.

How else are you going to ensure he makes the most of his natural talent?

His hair is so soft between your fingers, too. If he cleaned himself up a bit he could be a real heartbreaker. Well, a lot. It'd take more than a change of clothes to make him attractive. But he could definitely pull it off if he tried.

A cough interrupts you, and you pull back, breaking the kiss. "Are you done?" Brick asks, and you know without looking that his arms are folded. He has that tone in his voice. Petulant, again.

"It's about time you got back, Brick," you say, tossing your hair back over your shoulder. You still don't turn away from Dakota, who's swaying on his feet in front of you, dazed. He's almost pretty like this, with his cheeks flushed and his hair mussed and your lipstick smeared over his lips, and you think you wouldn't mind seeing him like this more often. But not right now, so, "See you later, loverboy," you say to him as you strut to the time limo.

He'll be fine, he and Cavendish have their own time vehicle and a temporal communicator, they're not your problem any more. Not until the next time he shows up, but you'll deal with that when it happens.

Right now, all you really want is a hot shower. You know you won't feel human again until you wash off the stench of 300,000,000 BC. Then you can put your feet up, and maybe invite Dakota over for some seduction lessons, you'll see how you feel when you get there.

In the meantime, the victory champagne is all for you and Brick, because you survived yet another encounter with BOTT's lowest agents. And the dinosaurs. But mostly Cavendish and... Vinnie.

AN: Wow, I really am a sucker for second person pov, aren't I. Anyways.

Crossposted from ao3. Title from Femme Fatale by Bleeders. The whole "300 million BC" thing is a reference to Phineas and Ferb (specifically the episode It's About Time), because they're canonically in the same 'verse and (more importantly) because I could.

Reviews always appreciated!