N3 drabble: "I Thought You Needed A Permit For That Sort Of Thing" (Ian/Amita, PG-15)
I was chatting with mercilynn while she was compiling the Numb3rs newsletter, and she mentioned that there were a bunch of gen and slash stories posted today, but no het, so I said, OH, well then I'll post some! So, this is unbetaed and was written in about ten minutes, but Ash likes it and so do I. And yes, I am ridiculously proud of myself for the title. :-D
Title: I Thought You Needed A Permit For That Sort Of Thing
Pairing: Fantasized Ian/Amita
Rating: PG-15
Summary: She hates herself for blushing.
Word Count: 100
Spoilers: None
Notes/Warnings: Unbetaed. Kind of silly. :-D Crossposted at numb3rs_het and numb3rs100.
Prompt: "Inked" from the random pairing generator and "Skin" at numb3rs100
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, nor do I profit from their use here. This is only for fun.
She doesn't like him, doesn't like the special, amused attention he pays to Charlie whenever he shows up with his tough-guy act and his big guns--
But her breath still catches when he looks her way, and she hates herself for blushing when he winks at her, but shit he's making himself at home here, peeling off his sweaty shirt right here in the office, and he's got a tattoo inked across his left shoulder that she can't stop staring at, until the rippling muscle disappears under his fresh t-shirt--
She looks away, quickly, before he can see.
Title: I Thought You Needed A Permit For That Sort Of Thing
Pairing: Fantasized Ian/Amita
Rating: PG-15
Summary: She hates herself for blushing.
Word Count: 100
Spoilers: None
Notes/Warnings: Unbetaed. Kind of silly. :-D Crossposted at numb3rs_het and numb3rs100.
Prompt: "Inked" from the random pairing generator and "Skin" at numb3rs100
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, nor do I profit from their use here. This is only for fun.
She doesn't like him, doesn't like the special, amused attention he pays to Charlie whenever he shows up with his tough-guy act and his big guns--
But her breath still catches when he looks her way, and she hates herself for blushing when he winks at her, but shit he's making himself at home here, peeling off his sweaty shirt right here in the office, and he's got a tattoo inked across his left shoulder that she can't stop staring at, until the rippling muscle disappears under his fresh t-shirt--
She looks away, quickly, before he can see.