Title: Work Attire
Summary: "The skirt is short on purpose"
Note: Prompted by lessawildmoon on Tumblr for the Ridiculous Sentence Prompt meme. Post-memories, pre-married.
"Help me zip up?" she asked, walking into the room with her arms tight across her chest to hold the dress to her body.
She caught his appreciative look as she turned, before meeting his eyes in the mirror. He rose and carefully touched her, letting his fingers track across naked skin before the zipper made its way to the top. His opposite hand still flitted across the edges of the dress, lightly tracing the hems. "Might need to pull it down a bit," he murmured before drifting back.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his work clothes rumpled after the long day, vest unbuttoned and tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow.
She, on the other hand, was in front of the mirror on the back of the door, makeup and hair freshly done, twisting to view the tiny red dress at a different angle. Her hands fell to her hips as she considered the length.
"The skirt is short on purpose," she finally said.
Graham leaned his head to the side, studying the outfit. "Oh," he said simply, and blinked.
She looked back at him, her eyebrow raised. "Is that a problem?"
"Uh," he started, his eyes trailing up a down her form. A beat passed. "No?"
She smirked and turned back to the mirror. She brushed her hair back from her temple, letting the curl fall a little more naturally. "Tell me you aren't getting territorial."
"What? No," he said, his flickering to the floor in a telling manner. "It's not that it's too short or … I just mean if you're trying to get the guy, maybe it's not the best to run in and … and I'm not making this any easier on myself, am I?"
She chuckled as she hooked her earring. "Not even a little."
He finally looked up sheepishly. "Why do you think it'll work again?"
Emma shrugged, gliding her hands over the sides of the garment. "Only because it's worked the last eighty times I've done this?"
He sighed and set his hands on her hips, bringing her close. He pressed his face into her stomach, and her arms surrounded him almost unconsciously. "And am I doomed to watch you get ready like this each time and not have a chance to get you to myself?"
"Hmm," she mused. "Maybe if you ever skip out on bail."
"Curse my law-abiding nature," he said drolly. His hands drifted up her back, making her bend so her face was level with his. "Sure you have to go out?"
"Sure you want the bills paid this month?" she countered.
He sighed, but a smile crept over his face. "If only putting away criminals initially warranted the same pay as getting them back."
Uncomfortable, she changed positions to collapse on his lap, her arms twisting around his neck. He pushed his forehead into hers before simply allowing his forearms to curl at the small of her back. She watched him for a long moment, the worry that was still there, before finally sighing. "You're not really worried about it, are you?"
He nodded but a "no" left his lips anyway, a grin forming.
She sighed and ducked her head onto his shoulder in mock defeat, feeling his chest rumble in laughter. "You're no John Bender, Graham."
He nudged her slightly, bring her head back to center. "Em, I know you are more than capable enough to handle what could come your way. I've seen it, I've experienced it. But these guys you chase … they tend to be both sleazy and dangerous. It's not a great combination to consider when I know I'm here, and what happened when you went after Herrod." He frowned briefly before shrugging. "And, of course, there is a part of me that wants to keep you all to myself. But that has nothing to do with how short your skirt is. Mostly."
She rolled her eyes, but kissed him anyway, long and slow. "Thanks for the concern," she murmured across his lips as they parted. Her eyes flicked up to his, noses still touching. "Maybe when I come back I'll let you help me get out of it."
"Now that," he said, his voice gravelly. "Sounds like a plan."