Title: Baia
Author: rekkidbraka
Rating: T
Pairings: EJ Barrett/Mike Renko
Category: Romance
Disclaimer: No infringement intended.
Spoilers: None
Summary: EJ and Mike handle a hairy situation down South America way.

Mike squinted at himself in the tiny bathroom mirror, snarling at his scruffy beard. He liked the way it looked but it was getting too scratchy. For this job, anyway. The heat was relentless, day and night.

With a sigh and a shrug, he picked up the razor he carried in his travel kit. Not much shaving cream left; he frowned, shaking the can.

"DON'T!"

Her voice startled him, though it really shouldn't have.

They had this argument whenever he wanted to settle in for a good shave.

E.J. was dead set against Mike getting rid of his beard and she always protested — loudly and passionately — that without his stubble, Mike looked less threatening. She needed him to look, as she'd once said, "like a goon" for their line of work.

But Mike knew the real reason his boss/partner/girlfriend didn't want to see his beard gone.

When they made love, E.J. stroked his chin and cheeks extravagantly, the sensation of Mike's beard arousing her in ways she could never quite explain to him when he asked. He'd learned, though, that caressing any area of her skin with his stubble made E.J. nearly lose control and so usually the beard or some kind of stubble was ever-present. Anything to please her.

Because when E.J. was pleased, she made certain that Mike was, too. And she was good at keeping Mike happy.

So he put his razor and shaving cream back in the travel kit. E.J. turned Mike towards her, snaking her arms around his waist as she nestled her head against his chest. They had a few hours before they really had to start "working."

And within a few minutes of being pulled back down onto the bed, feeling the heat of E.J.'s breath as her tongue caressed his neck, Mike knew he'd made the right decision not to shave.

"Touch my beard again and you'll lose more than these whiskers, Renko," E.J. purred only somewhat threateningly as she stroked Mike's stubble. He was half-awake now, having fallen sound asleep after their afternoon interlude.

"Your beard, Barrett?" Mike asked, yawning and stretching. Being with E.J. always left him groggy. She wore him out. But in a really, really good way.

"Yeah. Mine. So don't screw around with it," E.J. "warned" Mike, tracing the tough little prickly hairs just around his lips with her index finger. Exploring Mike was E.J.'s favorite hobby and she always discovered something new and interesting about him during her forays.

"How'll I know when I can shave? You gonna shoot me a memo?" Mike teased, rubbing at his chin. He desperately wanted to shave, though; Brazil was hot as hell and the beard was driving him crazy, itching.

"You'll know," E.J. told him, snuggling against his shoulder, "when I know."

Mike sighed. Exactly when had he sold out his pair to this pushy little blonde?

Then he remembered the events of the past couple of hours.

So he'd itch for a few more days. What the hell, right?

"Oh, look... There's our date," E.J. told Mike as they sat drinking iced coffee at a sidewalk cafe. "Isn't he handsome in that too-expensive-for-him suit?"

Mike scratched at his beard. He needed that shave...

"How do you know it's too expensive for him?" he muttered. "Who died and made you Tommy... uh... Tommy... You know, that designer guy?"

He tried to think of another fashion designer but couldn't. E.J. shot him a dismissive look, shaking her head in mock disgust.

"God, you're pathetic," she said, sighing dramatically as she squinted to keep sight of the man they were tracking. "Why do I keep you around, Renko?"

Mike rubbed his stubble and leaned back in his chair, resting his arms behind his head. A huge, knowing grin spread across his face.

"You really need to ask, Barrett?"

E.J. turned her full attention to Mike now, propping her chin on her palm as she studied him, sprawled lazily in the chair across from her. It had taken every ounce of self-motivation she had to pull herself away from Mike in their hotel bed and pointedly remind him (and herself) that it was time to go to "work." She certainly hadn't wanted to see their long afternoon together end.

"No," she said wistfully, no trace of the usual sarcasm in her voice. "I don't."

"Sorry, baby, but it's coming off tonight," Mike casually said, stroking his chin with his free hand.

E.J. had his other arm in hers as they strolled along the beachfront, following their target. The man apparently enjoyed shopping. Mike was tired of pretending to need high-end clothing in each luxury boutique he and E.J. dipped into as part of their surveillance. E.J., of course, was having a blast; getting the chance to see Mike in expensive shirts was a special thrill for her.

But now E.J. yanked her arm out of Mike's and whipped around to face him, clearly upset with what she'd heard.

"Fine!" she snapped, narrowing her eyes at Mike. "Shave it! I'm so over this! Do whatever the hell you want, OK? You always do anyway!"

Mike glowered at her as she turned to stalk away. Without warning, he followed and grasped her arm firmly, turning her back towards him. E.J.'s eyes flashed with anger. Mike knew she hated having her arm grabbed this way but he'd always felt it was unfair when she socked him, so to speak, with some unkind snipe and then tried to beat a hasty retreat before he could respond.

"THAT'S a lie, Barrett! The only thing I ALWAYS do is whatever the hell YOU want!" Mike shot back furiously.

E.J. swallowed hard, knowing that what Mike said was true. She forced herself to control her emotions. Once again, something small and seemingly insignificant had turned into a major blowup between the two of them.

For a few moments, neither spoke. They couldn't look at each other. Mike's words had hit E.J. where she lived; he knew exactly how to cut her down to size. And Mike hated that he'd hurt the one person in the world who really loved him — and who he loved as well. E.J. was high-maintenance but that was part of the deal for being with her and really? That she wanted things her way only made Mike that much more attracted to E.J. She was a constant challenge for him and trying to figure her out entertained him. She was never boring. Mike just got frustrated with her short temper sometimes. This had led them to where they stood now, at odds.

"I'm sorry," Mike said softly. And he was. This fight, Mike thought to himself, was utterly ridiculous. Over him wanting to shave? Something else was going on but E.J. wasn't ready to admit it. Yet.

"You didn't do anything wrong," E.J. admitted in a sad, small voice. "I started this." She sighed. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. You're right, you know? You do what I want. I don't know why. You shouldn't."

"I need direction," Mike answered laconically. A wry grin played at the corner of his mouth, hinting that he'd smile if E.J. would. She tried to resist but couldn't, snickering to herself. Mike could always make her laugh.

"Compromise?" E.J. suggested, a storefront in the distance suddenly attracting her attention. She nodded towards it.

Mike turned to take a look. Then, rubbing at his beard, he shot E.J. a smirk, realizing what she had in mind.

"You bad, bad girl," Mike growled, smiling.

The blade pressed against his throat, Mike worked overtime to control his breathing, to relax. But it was nearly impossible. He felt the cool steel against his skin and he realized he had surrendered control. He was powerless. And he'd wanted it this way.

"Move... and die."

Mike swallowed hard. The blade made its way up along the length of his neck, making a scratching sound as it moved through the shaving lather E.J. had chosen. The scent was intoxicating, thick and heavy in the humid air.

"Relax, babe, relax..."

Another long stroke with the blade. Mike was dripping sweat. The heat and steam in the small hotel bathroom was nearly overwhelming. He closed his eyes.

"Feels good, huh?"

She shifted on Mike's lap and he groaned. Her touch was arousing him, even more so with the razor in play. One slip and a shave would be the least of his worries.

E.J. snickered, feeling Mike's reaction to the shave — and the straddling — he was getting.

"Yeah... You wish."

Now she carefully brought the blade to Mike's cheek, working it exactly as the barber had shown her. Next, she shaved Mike's other cheek. His upper lip and chin area would follow. That would be the tough part.

E.J. and Mike both studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

"Looks good," Mike told E.J. "You have a future in barbering if this special agent gig doesn't work out, Barrett."

"Maybe you should save the jokes for after I've put away the razor, Renko," E.J. told him.

"I'm not kidding," Mike said. "That's the best shave I've ever had. Thanks."

He started to pull her close in order to give her a kiss but stopped, noticing the razor still in her hand.

"You, uh... gonna put that thing away now?" he asked.

"Only if you don't want me 'barbering' any other specific areas on your body," E.J. said, smirking. "Since I'm such a pro now."

"Well, let's not burn you out too soon," Mike replied, carefully taking the razor from E.J. before pulling her into his arms.