Page 22 of Oddly Fine

“Gee whiz—someone’s got a case of the big fat head—I’m a dick to everyone. She’s nothing special,” he snorted, rolling his eyes.

“You know, I think if you called and told her that, it would clear things right up,” Hayes said sarcastically with a wry grin.

Beckett whacked him in the middle of the chest, a move that would have no doubt made Beckett’s mother proud.

Hayes grunted and shifted away.

“What’d you tell her?” Beckett asked. He was beginning to twitch. Already unable to remain still for more than a few seconds at a time. Barely an hour into this stakeout and he was already fidgeting. This ought to be fun.

“Tell her?” Hayes repeated, looking confused.

“When she accused me of being an Ovary Oppressor?”

Hayes snorted at the ludicrous nickname and shook his head.

“Nothing much,” he admitted with a shrug. “I tried to excuse your behavior, but she cut me off and said to warn you that she wouldn’t tolerate it under her command. Said something about how you weren’t the only idiot with a gun willing to complete this mission that she could find.” And Hayes supposed she had a valid point. She didn’t need their specific skills for this mission. Any law enforcement officer could successfully conduct a stakeout.

“Well, I admit she’s got balls,” Beckett commented admiringly. “Props for being unapologetic about it, I guess,” he shrugged, looking unconcerned.

Hayes hummed in agreement. He took a big sip of his coffee, telling himself that the barely tolerable sludge would wake him up soon enough. But he was probably kidding himself. The crypt was dark and quiet. Sound seemed to be completely absorbed by the coffins in the walls, as if the dead priests lying there were sucking the very life right out of the place. He shivered and goose bumps rose on his arms.

“This place giving you the heebie-jeebies? Or is it just me?” Beckett asked.

Beckett rhythmically tapped the fingers of his right hand against his leg. Hayes could feel his nervous energy increasing to the point that he practically vibrated with it.

“Definitely a little—uncomfortable,” Hayes readily agreed as a funny tingle raced up and down his spine.

“My Nana used to say ghosts were evil only if they pulled your hair at night. If they didn’t—then you should leave ‘em alone,” Beckett told him in all seriousness.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Hayes said with firm conviction.

“Sure you don’t,” Becket snorted. He grabbed Hayes’ hand then, and gave it a good squeeze. “That’s why your hands are clammy, right?”

Growling, Hayes attempted to pull his hand away. Beckett refused to let go. Instead, he raised it to his mouth and kissed it, his dark green eyes never looking away from Hayes’.

“You look good in that badass tactical gear,” he commented, his voice low and gravelly as his eyes proceeded to rake across Hayes’ form with a bright spark of lust.

“We’re not fucking in a crypt,” Hayes said, because clearly it needed to be said.

“Why not?” Beckett asked, like it was a genuinely valid question.

Hayes scoffed and finally succeeded in pulling his hand away. He sat up and squared his shoulders, refusing to acknowledge the tent he was suddenly pitching.

“Ah, come on, Haysie-Daisy,” Beckett whispered seductively into Hayes’ ear.

How he’d managed to suddenly move that close without Hayes noticing it before now was a mystery. But there he was, pressed tightly along the length of Hayes’ body, one hand grasping Hayes’ upper thigh while his gorgeous gaze studied Hayes’ expression for any sign that his defenses were weakening.

“You and I both know that no one is gonna break into this place in the middle of the afternoon—the risk of getting caught would be too high, even by accident. You wait ‘til the dead of night—when no one is watching or waiting.” Beckett placed a small kiss on the side of Hayes’ neck, as his hand moved slowly up Hayes’ upper thigh towards his substantial—and growing rapidly—bulge. He began pressing open-mouthed kisses along Hayes’ neck and jaw. His right hand came up, and two of Beckett’s fingers settled on the outside of Hayes’ jaw, forcing him to turn so they were now face-to-face.

“All alone, in this huge goddamned school—” he said softly, his smile playful, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Are we still talking about the thieves?” Hayes asked, swallowing with some difficulty as his body responded to Beckett’s advances.

Beckett’s smile stretched impossibly wide, clearly pleased with Hayes’ reactions to his slowly escalating seduction. He placed a long, lingering kiss on Hayes’ mouth, which opened automatically when Beckett’s tongue begged for entry.

Somewhere in the confines of Hayes’ mind, a rational, reasonable voice sternly insisted that he definitely, positively had to call a halt to this immediately—that this was highly unprofessional behavior—that they needed to pull themselves together and—

But as he did all too often these days, he shut down that damned pesky voice. Slammed the door shut, locked the damned thing, and threw away the key. Then he pressed himself eagerly against Beckett and deepened the kiss.