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“What does BJ stand for?” You ask him, and he gives you his blandest smile.
“Anything you want,” comes his response, which is obviously not good enough, and he knows it.
You take a predatory step closer to him, and his eyes follow you, “What does BJ stand for?” You ask again.
A small smirk, this time. “Anything you want, Hawkeye.”
Another step, your hands grasping his shirt, and you can feel his breath whisper across your face. “What does BJ stand for?”
His hands come possessively to your sides, and slide under your coat. “Anything you want,” his low rumble comes and it makes you want to arch against him.
A deft flip of the wrist with his belt buckle, and his breath sucks in suddenly, “What does BJ stand for?” You ask, and another movement brings the sound of his zipper, loud in the silence around the two of you.
His voice is more ragged in reply, and you toss him a crooked smile, “Anything you want.”
“What,” you say, not breaking eye contact with him as you go to your knees in front of him, “does BJ stand for?”
Nothing more than a sigh, “ Any thing you want.”