FYI—this story is for fun, and these characters are not ones I usually write, so if my characterization is off, I apologize in advance.

I'm sure this won't come as a shock, but this is probably going to be a threeshot.

For Tracia. Here. It. Is. More! ;)

Thanks for reading and reviewing, and enjoy!

~Angie

Jennifer Jareau was not a happy camper. She'd worn the outfit exactly as he'd described…fixed her hair down to the last tendril so that it dangled perfectly to just below her jaw…even worn the damn glasses! And after meeting her gaze outside of Garcia's office—his lust had been unmistakable—he had not spared her a glance.

Maybe she'd gone about this all wrong—been too bold. She'd always been timid when it came to men, always been careful to keep her romantic relationships separate from work. Maybe this was just what she'd needed…a wake up call to remember why. With a sigh, she packed up her bag and walked towards the office door, shutting off the light on her way out. The ones in the bullpen had already dimmed for the night…she was always the last to leave when Henry was with his father. I really need to get a life, she thought as she pulled the glasses from her face and stuffed them into the side pocket of her bag.

If there was one thing David Rossi was looking forward to when he arrived home, it was shaking hands with the sheriff. JJ had worn that damn outfit again today. He'd thought he was free from it…that he'd never have to see it again. It turned out the only way the librarian fantasy worked was if you got to fuck her brains out afterwards or you were likely to be 'blue.'

Although the trip to Alabama hadn't taken too much time, it had been the longest flight he'd' ever had to endure. He'd barely been able to get out of his seat when the plane had landed. JJ had taken the seat across the aisle from him, her legs crossed so the skirt she was wearing rose even higher on her thighs. It was just too much skin while he was trying to concentrate on catching UnSubs.

He'd caught a bit of a reprieve the four days it had taken them to catch the bastard, and then, sure enough…she'd shown up the very next morning in the same attire she'd arrived in. There were no words to describe the flight home. The damn woman was a siren…and he doubted she even knew it.

But David Rossi did know one thing: It was imperative she never wear the ensemble again. And he was going to let her know that the first chance he got.

JJ's eyelids had fluttered closed, and she was carefully moving her neck from side to side during her leisurely walk to the bullpen. When she heard her name being called, they opened once again. Confused, she looked around.

"JJ."

"Rossi," she said in surprise as she walked into his office. The only illumination in the room was from the small lamp in the corner. "What are you still doing here?"

"I just finished up my paperwork. Can we talk for a moment?" he asked carefully.

"Sure," she said, moving so that his office door was in reach.

"Oh, you don't need to—" His sentence was cut off by a soft click. "Shut the door," he finished dryly.

She took the seat across from him. "Is everything OK?" she asked with a frown.

Dave cleared his throat. "I wanted to talk to you about your present attire," he informed her.

"My…" She looked down at herself and had to bite back a grin—it appeared he wasn't so immune to her after all. Gaining control of her features, she looked up. "My attire," she stated.

He nodded. "Do you think it's office appropriate?" he asked.

"No," she said softly. "No, I don't think it's office appropriate."

"Then why—"

The question died on his lips as she stood before him and began to unbutton her shirt. "I think something like this should never be worn at the office. Starting right now."

"JJ," Dave said in a warning tone as he watched as the soft white fabric slid down her toned arms.

"Yes?" she asked, reaching around to the back of her skirt. The action caused her breasts to draw pert across her chest. He listened intently as she lowered the zipper, and then watched as she shimmied the tweed down what he imagined to be the soft skin of her legs.

Didn't she realize she was playing with fire? That men like him were the reason fraternization rules existed?

"JJ," he repeated, standing this time. "What are you doing?" He walked around his desk so he was within arms reach of her. When he looked back at this moment, he'd realize that it probably hadn't been the best move-seeing as the sheriff was already standing at full attention.

Her lips lifted in a slow, sexy, knowing grin. There wasn't much this media liaison missed. "Well, if you don't know, Dave…"

"We can't…I can't do this," he said, gathering all of his strength. The statement sounded weak even to him.

"That's a good idea," she agreed with a nod as she reached down into her bag and felt around until she found what she was looking for. She slipped the glasses onto her face and stepped forward, reaching for his belt buckle. "You don't have to do a thing."

He stood frozen as she fumbled with his belt, then his button and zipper. He wrestled with his conscience for as long as she could—when he was beating himself up for taking advantage of her later, he wanted to be able to remind himself he'd tried to resist—but when she slid his pants down his thighs and calves to his ankles and fell to her knees before him, he knew he was a goner.

She looked up at him, eyes wide. "So it's true…what they say about Italian men," she said in a low, appreciative tone.

He studied her face for a moment, looking for any sign of hesitation; there was none. "We never speak of this again," he said in a low voice. Her reputation meant more to him than his own, and he'd hate for him to be the reason it was in question.

She nodded curtly. "Deal. As long as we get to do it again."

When she took him in her mouth, he was hardly in a position to argue.