178. {prompt} [suits] (harvey/donna) the clock doesn't stop
the clock doesn't stop; pg-13; 675 words
prompt: half past midnight by phrenitis
a/n: this is au
The metal grinds together as he cocks his weapon, a distinct noise that makes his blood boil with anticipation. There's only one thing he loves more than that sound and it's something that he rarely discloses because he'd be damned if his wife knew that she was right. He checks the chamber one more time before he holsters his glock, the excitement coursing through his veins.
He grumbles absently as he checks his watch. He drops the remaining weapons on the bed and goes into the bathroom. He stares at the redhead expectantly but she pays no attention to him, almost like she doesn't know he's there but she does. She always knows.
"You aren't even dressed yet," he comments.
Her eyes dart to his in the mirror, eyes narrowing at his reflection, "what's your point?"
"It's half past midnight, baby, we should be there already," he says it with trepidation, anger lacing the way he's also a little turned on.
"Have a little class," she snaps, "we're in the Hamptons. They never sleep."
"We're here to do a job, not to go to parties," he reminds her.
She smirks, "husband, you have a lot of learning to do."
"Oh, please," he says. His fingers touch her bare shoulder, drawing her gaze from the mirror and prompting her to turn in her seat and look at him. He can see in her gaze, the way there's a twinkle there, that she knows if she takes much longer they're going to miss the job all together. "You're a very distracting woman."
"That's why you married me," she counters.
He teasingly wiggles an eyebrow at her, "no, I married you so I can't be forced to testify against you in the court of law."
"Very funny. Just for that, you're not getting any tonight," she challenges.
She stands from her seat, all legs and skin and attractive and distracting with red hair that could never come out of a bottle. So many obvious reasons that he married her, the way her finger settles on the trigger being one of them. He was once studying to be a lawyer but then he got tangled into a web that made him a professional killer.
His eyebrows furrow in disdain as his mouth drops open, watching her move around the bathroom and to the closet for that black dress that catches every eye in the room.
"Now," he starts, "that just isn't fair. If I'm not getting any then you shouldn't be allowed to wear that dress."
"You're cute when you think you make the rules," she counters. She pulls the dress on and lifts her hair from the straps. He can't handle the way the dress is cut low in the front, how she wears it like she's asking for it; now he has to watch her a little more closely. "Zip me."
"What am I? Your assistant?"
She glares at him over her shoulder, "this is why I married you."
"To zip up your dress?" He asks, stepping forward.
"Among other things," she replies with a wink, "did you load my weapons?"
"Seriously?" He asks, slightly annoyed; he'd already done it anyway, "yes, but I wasn't sure which one you wanted to use."
"The small one," she says with a mischievous grin. She steps close to him, hand sliding up his leg and resting on his inner thigh dangerously close to his groin. He inhales a sharp breath. "That way I can hide it here."
"That's it, we're not going," he replies decidedly.
"Honey," she says with a slight pout, "we have a job to do. Please let me be your arm candy."
He sighs and groans in unison, "you're going to be the death of me."
"It's getting late," she reminds him with a chaste kiss.
He follows her out of the bathroom, "it's already late."
She holsters her gun in the thigh holster and he shakes his head, knowing that there's no way he's going to make it through the night with a wife like his.
prompt: half past midnight by phrenitis
a/n: this is au
The metal grinds together as he cocks his weapon, a distinct noise that makes his blood boil with anticipation. There's only one thing he loves more than that sound and it's something that he rarely discloses because he'd be damned if his wife knew that she was right. He checks the chamber one more time before he holsters his glock, the excitement coursing through his veins.
He grumbles absently as he checks his watch. He drops the remaining weapons on the bed and goes into the bathroom. He stares at the redhead expectantly but she pays no attention to him, almost like she doesn't know he's there but she does. She always knows.
"You aren't even dressed yet," he comments.
Her eyes dart to his in the mirror, eyes narrowing at his reflection, "what's your point?"
"It's half past midnight, baby, we should be there already," he says it with trepidation, anger lacing the way he's also a little turned on.
"Have a little class," she snaps, "we're in the Hamptons. They never sleep."
"We're here to do a job, not to go to parties," he reminds her.
She smirks, "husband, you have a lot of learning to do."
"Oh, please," he says. His fingers touch her bare shoulder, drawing her gaze from the mirror and prompting her to turn in her seat and look at him. He can see in her gaze, the way there's a twinkle there, that she knows if she takes much longer they're going to miss the job all together. "You're a very distracting woman."
"That's why you married me," she counters.
He teasingly wiggles an eyebrow at her, "no, I married you so I can't be forced to testify against you in the court of law."
"Very funny. Just for that, you're not getting any tonight," she challenges.
She stands from her seat, all legs and skin and attractive and distracting with red hair that could never come out of a bottle. So many obvious reasons that he married her, the way her finger settles on the trigger being one of them. He was once studying to be a lawyer but then he got tangled into a web that made him a professional killer.
His eyebrows furrow in disdain as his mouth drops open, watching her move around the bathroom and to the closet for that black dress that catches every eye in the room.
"Now," he starts, "that just isn't fair. If I'm not getting any then you shouldn't be allowed to wear that dress."
"You're cute when you think you make the rules," she counters. She pulls the dress on and lifts her hair from the straps. He can't handle the way the dress is cut low in the front, how she wears it like she's asking for it; now he has to watch her a little more closely. "Zip me."
"What am I? Your assistant?"
She glares at him over her shoulder, "this is why I married you."
"To zip up your dress?" He asks, stepping forward.
"Among other things," she replies with a wink, "did you load my weapons?"
"Seriously?" He asks, slightly annoyed; he'd already done it anyway, "yes, but I wasn't sure which one you wanted to use."
"The small one," she says with a mischievous grin. She steps close to him, hand sliding up his leg and resting on his inner thigh dangerously close to his groin. He inhales a sharp breath. "That way I can hide it here."
"That's it, we're not going," he replies decidedly.
"Honey," she says with a slight pout, "we have a job to do. Please let me be your arm candy."
He sighs and groans in unison, "you're going to be the death of me."
"It's getting late," she reminds him with a chaste kiss.
He follows her out of the bathroom, "it's already late."
She holsters her gun in the thigh holster and he shakes his head, knowing that there's no way he's going to make it through the night with a wife like his.