As much as Street knows Chris absolutely hated this idea, there's something about going undercover with her that makes his face twist into a fool's love struck smile.

You have a job to do. He keeps telling himself, usually when he catches himself staring at her and meets her eyes where they're glaring at him. Brown irises with enough power to level the ground he's standing on (and he'd be lying if he said, even once, he didn't want to see it). Clearing his throat, he curves around her so her back is to him and the gap between them closes. Her head finds his collarbone in feigned nonchalance, experienced eyes scanning the bar for their target, and sighing when he's nowhere to be found.

"Can you keep it together?" She murmurs, only half-caring what her small sways to the pounding music are doing to him. His hand finds her hip, smirking when that pulls a gasp from between her dark red lips, and his voice is hot in her ear.

"Seven o'clock."

Their target's red beard and sunglasses are scanning the bar with the same precision. Quickly, Chris turns in Street's arms and locks her hands around his neck. While she hates not having a visual of her own, something warm settles in her stomach at how completely she trusts him. His judgement, his skill, how he'll do anything to make sure she's safe.

(That he has, does, and will fight for her, not just die for her.)

If it weren't for the pure adrenaline in her veins, the realization would knock her out.

"He just went into the back hallway." Street says, lips close to her ear so her com picks it up and relays it to the team. She scrapes her nails down the back of his neck—to sell their cover—and waves over the bartender with an easy smile.

"A club soda and a coke, both with lime, please."

The bartender hands them over within seconds, and Chris raises them high above her head to avoid the clashing bodies as she turns back to Street. He wrinkles his nose at the coke and murmurs something about the lack of it being diet, but she doesn't entertain it as her mind shifts gears to focus on the task at hand.

They wind their way through the crowd, strobe lights reflecting off the clasp of the necklace sitting at the nape of her neck—he tries not to stare. His blood starts to rush like it always does as they close in on the op, matching the energy of the bass that shakes the floor. Briefly, he wonders if Chris feels the same way. And then, quieter, he wonders if she knows that she makes him feel that way, too.

He doesn't get the chance to dwell as his body is swirled through space and pressed against the wall a few feet from the door. Confusion is quickly replaced by fire when Chris presses herself so close the water on his glass is going to leave a spot on her top; it's hard not to imagine the cut of her abs underneath. Their eyes meet again, his mouth open as he searches for words or for air, for just a second until she dips her lips down towards his ear.

This wasn't part of the plan. It's not until Chris sees the security guard standing outside the back hallway eyeing her like it's his job that she knows she needs to do more. Both prove to the man that they mean business, and show him that she's off limits.

She's moving before she can think about it. Turning, her hands find Street's wrist and his bicep, and she presses him into the wall. Everything else fades into a blur as she watches how his pupils dilate and his breathing speeds up. He's looking over her in some kind of way full of desire—and she doesn't break him from the spell until he naturally finds her gaze again. Her lip gloss tastes like chemical vanilla where she has to lick it off her teeth after biting down to keep her own racing thoughts and thundering heart at bay.

Her only reprieve is that he can't see her face when she leans in to whisper in his ear. If he could, he'd know how the scent of his cologne and the heat emanating through him are enough to make her want to abandon it all right there.

"Just sit there and look pretty," she starts, all hot breath and a raspy tone and her fucking lips grazing his fucking earlobe, "and let me handle this."

Street's certain she's going to be the death of him. The bad guy is going to get away, and it'll be all her fault. Chris can't fight off the shiver that runs up her spine, either. She feels like she could be on Mars the way her body can't process reality right.

Somehow catching a glimpse of the guard in her periphery, the familiar sight of someone talking into their wrist is a comfort. It worked. They're in.

They're in it, too.

hello, thanks for reading! lmk what you think

this was a tumblr prompt, that i wanted to post here, too. i may write another 2 chapters to this- not following this story line but with the prompt. one fluffier, one smuttier. i figured no one would mind the double post.

feel free to send me prompts (i reblog lots of lists) on tumblr streakyglasses, or in the comments here; i just make no promises on the turnaround time. (i will see it and think about it constantly until the inspiration strikes me to write it.) i want the tumblr prompts to generally be shorter pieces, written more as fun exercises to keep the juices flowing and explore smaller moments. but, let's be real, who knows with me lol.

all my love,