seeagreatergood | 001 [warning: sexytimes]

Happy Hour at Allen's is, as usual, loud with competing voices and scents, all of which are less important to Auggie than Annie and Jai's laughter and the second beer in front of him.

Well. Almost all. Occasionally Auggie cocks his head at the sound of heels or the floral scent of shampoo and listens to Jai and Annie's reactions. Jai has one chuckle for redheads and another for brunettes, while Annie has a groan for blondes that Auggie is told is rather hypocritical of her.

"Did the last three girls all have tequila, or was it just one carrying enough shots for her whole party?" he wonders.

"The last four," Jai corrects, audibly smirking. "Your nose must be getting tired."

"I don't get it. Cinco de Mayo is tomorrow -- you'd think people could hold off on the faux-Mexican debauchery until Saturday."

He hears Annie sit bolt upright.

"Oh crap, it's Friday, I have a thing with my--"

"Sister," Auggie and Jai chorus with her. Auggie grins, in spite of the dirty look he's sure she's giving him, and adds, "Jai, you owe me ten bucks."

Jai sighs and digs in his pockets. "Which ought to just about cover your cab ride." He slaps the money onto the table at Auggie's ten o'clock. "Annie, I'll walk you to your car, I'm headed that way."

"Now there's a Pyrrhic victory," Auggie says, with a sigh of his own. "Annie, did he really give me a ten?"

"Yes!" Annie says, laughing, and squeezes his shoulder as she stands. "You're so paranoid."

"I'm wounded that you don't trust me," Jai agrees, also standing.

"You'll heal, I'm sure. Have a good weekend, you two. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Same to you, Auggie," Jai says, with an eyeroll crystal-clear in his voice.

"That'll be a boring weekend, then," Auggie calls after Jai's cologne and Annie's heels, then turns back to his beer. Now where is he going to find a ride with all these tequila-soaked early birds?

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Auggie rattles off his number. "That's the number here. I always forget to turn my cell on."

"All right." She kisses him again. "So how much time exactly do we have before your ride shows?"

". . . Enough time for a shower?"

"Much as I'd love to keep you company, if I shower with you you'll probably run overtime and you won't end up very clean. And I'd hate to make you late for work." She kisses his nose.

You make Auggie very sad, Elizabeth. Look at how sad he is. How can you live with yourself?

"...fine. Just tell them you were having fantastic sex with the queen of England and you lost track of time."

Auggie cracks up.

"Probably a real good way to lose my job."

Having sex with the queen of England, that is. Unless he was running an op on her. But MI6 would object.

He kisses her. "If you want a shower, you can get first dibs and I'll make coffee. Deal?"

"Deal. You're a sweetheart, Auggie."

She kisses him again and scoots away.

Grinning, he stretches and clambers out of bed. "Towels are in the closet on the right," he calls after her.

(It occurs to Auggie that it's been a while since he had fuzzies this warm about a hook-up. He'll have to get her number before she leaves.)

Within five minutes, the coffee is brewing, and Auggie is picking out an outfit for work. Which op could need all hands on deck right now?

"Thanks," she calls back.

A ten-minute shower is luxurious by her standards. She leaves the bathroom in mainly the same state she found it, except there is one more towel in the laundry hamper.

When he hears the shower turn off, he pulls a couple mugs out of the cupboards, sets out milk and sugar, and heads back to the bathroom just in time to catch her coming out.

"Coffee's on the counter. You can raid the fridge if you want."

"Thanks, you're a peach."

She gives him a quick kiss on the lips as they pass.

His grin widens, and he heads in to shower and shave.

She decides to get dressed before she hits up the fridge.

If that means a little wandering around his apartment, because her clothes are somewhat scattered—well, c'est la vie.

Aside from their abandoned glasses of rum by the couch, the very nice sound system and jazz collection under the LOVE sculpture, and the old CRT television, there's not much to set it apart from any other well-to-do bachelor pad in the DC area. Except, perhaps, that it's meticulously neat.

A little more than five minutes later, Auggie turns off the water and climbs out to dry off, whistling.

"Love your sound system," she says, picking up her bag from its seat by the kitchen island.

"If there's one thing a blind guy needs," he calls, pulling on his clothes, "it's high fidelity speakers."

"Yeah," she calls back agreeably, "sounds about right."

There is yogurt in the fridge; she grabs one.

He emerges from the bedroom and zeroes in on the sound of her breathing to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"My ride will probably be here in--"

The phone rings. CHARLIE KRAFT -- CHARLIE KRAFT--

"--Now," he finishes, with a sigh.

"I won't keep him waiting, then."

She can take the yogurt and go; it won't be hard to find a spoon.

But first, a proper kiss.

"--Mmmmph."

He wraps his arms around her and returns the kiss, while the phone keeps insisting that Charlie Kraft is calling.

"You, madam," he murmurs against her lips, "are a danger to society with a mouth like that."

She drops her hands to his ass and squeezes.

"Yeah, but I'm a sexy danger, so what are you gonna do?"

He grins. "Ask for your number so I can call you in for questioning."

"Ooh, am I in the presence of a law enforcement officer?"

She bats her lashes—they brush lightly against his cheek—and recites her cell number in a low, breathy voice.

"Close. Hacker by day, costumed superhero by night."

Okay okay he is not getting distracted by her neck again. That phone is getting on his nerves, anyway. He grabs the handset, tells Charlie, "Down in a sec, don't worry," and hangs up without waiting for an answer.