Summary: Bellarke + FBI special agent goes undercover on a beauty pageant
x
"Can you stop fidgeting, Griffin?" the deep voice rings in her head.
It's her partner/superior on the case, Special Agent Bellamy Blake. One of the most annoying, if not the most annoying agents at the bureau.
There's also Cage Wallace, but.
Notes: Very (very) loosely based on the movie Miss Congeniality: Female agent goes undercover on a beauty pageant. But that's about it. I might also add that she's rather ordinary looking than Sandra Bullock's run-down character at the beginning of the movie.
She's a Lady
Clarke sighs, mentally preparing herself for what is about to come. Bikini contest. Again.
She groans internally.
As plans go, this is not one of their worst.
"Can you stop fidgeting, Griffin?" the deep voice rings in her head.
It's her partner/superior on the case, Special Agent Bellamy Blake. One of the most annoying, if not the most annoying agents at the bureau.
There's also Cage Wallace, but.
No one likes to be partnered with Cage; but it was still Special Agent Blake's (Bellamy's) idea to "bribe" her way into the TOP 5 in this ridiculous beauty pageant. Which makes him the actual worst.
She admittedly wore baggy and (some might say) unexciting clothes before. Well, they are not wrong.
Her work clothes are practical for a reason: dark pants or knee-length dark skirts with a white or grey blouse and a suit jacket. It's professional and she is a professional.
Bikinis? Bikinis are something she does like to wear on a beach, where no one from work is around.
Not to mention that she's not one of those casually-throwing-on-a-complicated-make-up-in-two-minutes type of girls. On an average day, a natural coloured chapstick and a mascara are all she needs. She wants to be praised by her merits and not by the colour of her lipstick or the cup size of her bra.
She knew how to put on basic foundation or how to apply a blush before. Her last girlfriend has trained her well on the tricks of putting on a perfect winged eyeliner, thank you very much. So what if she prefers to spend those extra ten minutes in the mornings in bed. Everyone needs a beauty sleep, and she likes to enjoy hers longer.
No, this whole undercover job was Bellamy's idea. That cocky, annoyingly handsome … person. Including his freckles and soft looking curls, that is.
(Whom she internally calls an asshole on her bad days, and "yeah, he's one of my friends" on the better ones.)
Damn him.
If it weren't for him, she wouldn't be standing behind the curtain in a flimsy, night-blue bikini. Nevertheless the fact that if it weren't for him, she'd be collecting dust behind a desk, doing very exciting background "research".
A goddamn bikini, she takes a deep, calming breath.
It's all about work, she concedes, trying very hard not to think about the inevitable: that she'll be on national television within a matter of mere minutes. In something that is hardly covering her ass. Or her breasts.
"Clarke," he calls again." Are you listening to me?"
"It's hard not to, considering you're inside of me 24/7", she mutters.
She can hear Monty's snickering and Miller's uncontrolled guffaws by the time her brain catches up with what she's just said.
Her face heats up.
Shit.
A beat later, Bellamy clears his throat. "Whoa. That was unexpectedly straightforward from you, Special Agent Griffin." His voice is somewhat croaky, and she can practically see the mental image of his smug face and cocky smile. "If you wanna ask me out, do it like normal people do." And then: "I'm really not that hard to please."
She rolls her eyes. "That came out wrong," she says. "You know what I mean," she adds.
"Ha! I really don't," he laughs.
Sometimes she thinks he's outright flirting with her. Well, if she's being honest, they do have a little flirtation going on ever since they've got over their initial animosity. Then again, maybe - maybe she's reading too much into it. (And then there's also the fact that her previous flirty relationships did not exactly end very well. Being cautious is just smart.)
But then she cannot help thinking that she also knows a few fairly personal things about him. How he calls his sister every Thursday night - more often than not with a frown edged between his eyebrows. Or that he wears exclusively red socks on Fridays. (Nevermind that their dress code clearly states dark coloured socks for agents.)
Clearly, as a form of rebellion, she supposes.
(Not that she cares, but she noticed.)
x
"Now. Eyes back on the field, head back in the game, Agent Griffin," his voice suddenly stern.
Oh right, there are some bad guys to catch.
x
The last thing she remembers before the overexposed stage lights are blinding her is his reassuring voice. It's gravelly yet low like a whisper, only for her to hear. "Uhm, you look great, by the way."
Her mouth curves up and into a smile, and she lets herself admit that it is only partly because she is out there, on the centre stage, playing a part.
Hardly an hour later, after all hell broke lose, her sides are splitting in pain. She's outside the ceremony centre, breathing heavily - in an attempt to pump some much-needed air into her lungs.
The adrenaline is slowly leaving her body when she finally notices her fellow agents swarming all over the place.
She spots Miller, leading Shumway away before she catches sight of Bellamy running up to her side.
"Next time -" she pants, leaning over Diana Sydney's body - having her pinned down on the dark Sedan's front hood. She's still pretty winded from the chase.
She's kicked her heels off somewhere inside the building. So she's barefoot; the warmth of the asphalt seeping up her legs and into her bones, easing the tense of her muscles on their way. Her hair feels rather messy, tickling against her chin. She doesn't want to think about it even if she's absolutely sure that the slit running along the side of her dress is now ending provocatively high up on her thighs. She faintly recalls the ripping sound when the delicate fabric tore apart. (Nothing they haven't seen before. Not really, considering her barely clad runaway performance just a few hours ago.)
"- next time -," she repeats, a bit still out of breath, "- you'll be the one dressing up and parading around like a Barbie doll, Blake."
Bellamy considers her for a few seconds before his face is splitting into a wide (and remarkably attractive) smile.
"So is that a yes for a date?"
Three weeks later and they are snuggling on her couch. His fingers are drumming along her sides, his warm body a solid presence next to hers.
Life's been busy, but they did manage to get around that date after all - exactly twenty minutes ago.
"What do you say, Griffin?" he asks, with a stupid smile playing on his lips. "Wanna do this again?"
She tilts her head, tapping a finger to her lips as if she genuinely needs the time to consider this. Her resolve crumbles the moment he tugs her closer to him, already leaning in.
"Whenever you're ready."
The next day, she orders a 3 pack of red socks with cute little white dots online.
Just in case, she tells herself, but she already knows her Fridays are not going to be the same.
xxxxxxx x
End notes: Thanks for reading and any form of feedback (kudos and/or comments) would be nice. Thanks!
