Disclaimer: The wording is mine but the characters aren't
OOOOOOOOO
There had to be something said for his control. She moved closer, watching him shift his weight nervously as she breathed on the back of his neck. His shoulders tensed and he tried to move his head away, probably worried for his ears, but she chased it and nuzzled her nose in behind his ear.
"Nice shot," she purred.
OOOOOOOOO
39.
Devil woman.
He, world renowned bestseller and playboy, should not have been reduced to this.
He was still fully dressed, she was still fully dressed. They hadn't even done anything and he was blushing harder than any school girl could ever hope to beat. But that voice vibrating in his ear and knowing it was her skin against his ear, he was damn close to combusting. And she knew that. She was doing it deliberately.
Did she really think she could break him that easily? The knowledge she was trying helped him find new resolution. If he was going to lose this thing, he was going to push her as far as he could before he raised the flag.
It's just every time he raised the level she brought them to yet another level. It's almost as if she was hoping for a retaliation. He wasn't sure how much more he was going to be able to take.
A new gust of warmth against him suggested she had opened her mouth again. He prepared himself for sass. He crossed his fingers for dirty talk so he could remember the moment forever. He even briefly prayed then dismissed the idea that she might use that mouth for anything other than speaking.
He was ready. Bring it on.
"You smell good."
The absent-minded honesty in her statement cut the legs out from under him again.
She liked how he smelt. He felt an arm slip around his waist and he could feel her weight molded against his back. He wasn't sure whose sigh he heard. She was spooning him- after a fashion. In a bar.
She really was out to get him. He told himself not to go into the light, no matter how happy he would be if he died right now.
He didn't even care that his last dart was miles off.
God, he was such a sap.
"Don't worry, honey. Better luck next time," she sounded like she did when she debunked his theories. It was both familiar and intimate. He was sure she didn't usually sound so affectionate in the precinct.
And then she did kiss his neck.
She didn't seem to mind that he had frozen, but unwound her arms from behind him and assumed her stance in front of him.
13,14,15.
She watched him with warm eyes as he scrambled for his sanity.
He almost wished she would stick to being badass. At least that way he was certain it was an act. But her touches and the way she looked at him came so easily he couldn't help but wonder.
Darts seemed to come to her easily too. So she was better than he had anticipated. If she kept this up she really would kick his ass.
He looked for the silver lining. Well, he always did want to train with her.
She was always telling him there was no way, but it was a bet. That was what she had asked for, so she would have to go through with it. It was a win- win, even if he ended up black and blue.
Hold up. Proving masculinity here remember? Not going to loose.
He pulled out her darts and retrieved his horribly off-target attempts.
Focus.
16,17,18.
She nodded admiringly.
16,17,18. How many more secret talents did Kate Beckett have?
"I think your plan is working," she confided quietly.
"Which one?"
"The We come in peace plan."
"How do you know? Ninja mind reading-skills?" That would be an awesome skill.
"More like ninja super- hearing. They're making bets on our game."
"What are the odds?"
She elbowed him.
"Right, not important."
The bar was quieter and the crack of pool balls was less frequent. If they were betting on the game he figured some of them would make the effort of engaging them later.
"You ready?" She broke him out of his thoughts, work-related for once.
She looked like she had grounded herself again and he was thankful. She had to stop him getting carried away. The competitive side of her was cute though. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to let her win. She always found out if he threw the competition. You weren't a writer with a lot of free time and do a lot of research without learning how to throw a dart.
"You better decide what you want to eat," he warned her.
"You better stock up your ice maker," she tossed back with a happy grin.
Wholly distracting.
He squinted.
19.
20- well that one was always easy to hit. The next one was always the hardest for him to hit. He tended to hit it when he was aiming for the bulls-eye.
25.
Oh yeah! He tamped down the urge to do fist-pumps. Just one to go.
She gave three slow claps but she didn't seem upset at all.
She missed 19.
He reminded himself he decided to be a good sport. If she could do it, so could he.
She scowled and straightened her pose. 19,20.
He kept silent, but gave her a nod.
Her gaze was tangible. The weight multiplied under the gaze of most of the other patrons as well. Talk about pressure.
He missed.
Damn it. He should be used to the public eye. Not only that, he had practiced clearing the bulls-eye more than any shot.
He fingered the dart for only a second then he let it fly.
For the first time since walking through the doors, he could clearly hear the song playing on the juke box. He didn't know it.
"Is that in or not?" His whole body leaned to one side, not that it helped his view.
"Not."
"Yeah it is."
They both approached the board. The shaft of his dart was riding so tightly up against the wire, he was surprised that it hadn't bounced off. But it was in the cork, and it was on the right side of the wire.
"Bulls-eye," she sighed. "You're not going to gloat are you? Do a happy dance?"
"So not cool."
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