I hold no copyrights for the Characters or properties of Law & Order: Criminal Intent or the situations described in the following.
Okay, so, I'm obviously a pervert. I guess I can live with that. Alex Eames shifts in her chair and raps her pen against the paperwork in front of her, keeping her eyes securely locked downward, not looking at her partner innocently sitting across from her, their desks butted up against each other.
She swallows and taps her shoe against a desk leg, trying to banish the sight from her mind. How long is he going to be here, just ... showing it off like that? she thinks, half-angrily and half-amused at herself.
She knows that she's not going to be able to concentrate while these thoughts are wandering around her mind, setting her libido on fire. She pulls a blank piece of paper in front of her, still sane enough to not want to doodle on a half-completed report, but unable to stop her pen from twirling across the paper in a parody of work and productivity.
After several minutes, she risks a glance upward to see if he is still just ... displaying himself and ... Oh god, he is. Her pen trembles in her hand for a moment before she abruptly stands up, startling Bobby out of a semi-contemplative musing.
"Eames?" he questions, automatically.
"I ... I have to go ..." she makes a vague gesture, already retreating out of the squad room and down the hall. Since she is heading for the Ladies Room, she figures he won't follow her, even if he is so inclined.
Once in the deserted room, she stops and takes a deep breath, trying to regain control. What is wrong with me? She shakes her head and runs a paper towel under a stream of cold water, using the moistened towel to pat behind her neck and across her forehead. She knows she needs to get it back together. She needs to exorcize this lust demon now, before it destroys a partnership that has come to mean so much to both her and Bobby.
She takes another deep breath and deliberately calls up the image which so stunned her this morning, shocking her right down to her clit with excitement and an almost uncontrollable urge to attack him.
She doesn't understand it. Not really. After all. It's not his hands, nice hands that they are. She can turn around and read all sorts of wonderings about his fingers right here on these walls. They are strong hands but she knows that they are rarely used violently. She is sure he is very talented with those hands. But it's not his hands.
It's not his mouth. With that luscious lower lip. That's not to say she hasn't had one or two fantasies about that mouth ... But they've never thrown her off her game like this.
Or his wonderfully deep eyes, so reflective of his emotions. Lightening with humor, gleaming with insight and, she supposes in her fevered imaginings, occasionally darkening with passion.
All of these would be perfectly acceptable and, in a way, she's already dealt with them on an individual basis. She doesn't kid herself. She knows she is attracted to her partner, physically, emotionally and intellectually. She knows it and accepts it.
But this ... this compulsion is the strongest she's ever had to battle. Get a grip! After all, it's not like she has to see it all that often, in fact that is probably why she's so effected right now. Just don't look at him and tomorrow you'll see him in a suit and tie again and it will just haunt your dreams, she bolsters herself with a little pep talk before exiting the bathroom.
She pauses before stepping fully back into the squad room, unable to tear her eyes away from the forbidden sight. Normally, he wears a collar, usually with a tie. It never occurred to her that she would want to sink her teeth there, just at the sight of it. That tasty spot where his neck and shoulder join. But today, he's wearing a simple t-shirt and just the tilt of his head is revealing that spot to her. Just the sight of the solidity of his neck and shoulder tendon meeting, looking so masculine, so ... strong and she absolutely knows that spot would be full of Bobby smell.
She plops back in her chair, almost literally burying her face into the still unfinished report.
"You okay?"
"Fine, fine, just feeling ..." hormonal.
She can feel his gaze lingering for several minutes waiting for her to look up but she can't, not and stay on her side of the desk. What would he do? she wonders. If I launched myself across the metal barrier and sat on his lap and feasted on his neck? She takes another long, deep breath. It's going to be a long day.