Annie's taken to approaching him from behind lately, so the sound of her kitten heels pinging against the floor, the familiar scent of her perfume, doesn't announce her presence to him right away. It's like a challenge, but a playful one; she knows he'll figure it out sooner or later, and Auggie wonders if that's part of the fun in it for her. He pictures her watching his face in his mind's eye, studying the expression on his own face as it changes from intense concentration to one of recognition.
Sometimes she hums, too - a frequency he picks up on even through what are supposed to be noise-canceling headphones. He pulls one away from his ear and listens for the melody, trying to place the tune itself - usually a song she's heard on the radio during her drive to Langley in the morning. The last time he'd called her out on it, the music had stopped, followed by a silence that he's come to learn typically precedes a blush and a stammer of embarrassment.
He actually does like the humming, so he stops teasing, and after a few days, she's back to doing it again - this time, in the van, alone with him, in a purely surveillance capacity while Joan and Jai take the hands-on approach inside - and Auggie pulls his headphones down so they circle around his neck, inclining his head towards the sound of her voice. He's smiling, and after a beat, there's a change in her humming, a quieting that all but implies she's noticed him watching.
"Really?" he murmurs, shaking his head. "REO Speedwagon?"
"It's a classic," she insists, gently swatting at him with her fingertips before she proceeds to launch into a rousing hum of the chorus, swaying close until she's hovering in his face, taunting him with a blatant switching to the actual words: And I can't fight this feelin' anymore. He leans in, shifts, lifts his hand to rest it against the flat of her chest as it nudges over the collar of her blouse.
"What are you - ?" Under his hand, Annie breaks off mid-note, tenses.
"Shhh." Auggie thumbs along the curve of her collarbone, feeling the vibrations of her voice emanating from her skin, and they both laugh then, tension easing in the wake of a more comfortable silence. Her hand mimics his in a similar position, rising to touch the side of his neck as if she's trying to fix his collar for him again. Tonight, though, he's wearing a thermal, and her fingertips only come in contact with his pulse point. He swears she can feel it flutter under her touch, because in his ears, it sounds more like a hammering roar. The scent of her perfume fills his nose and he knows she's moving in closer now.
He lifts his hand up, lets his other join in to cup her face, his thumbs sweeping across her cheekbones, trying to memorize the curves of her features by touch alone - her chin, the slope of her nose, the swell of her mouth. She purses her lips when he touches them, pressing a kiss so subtle that he almost wonders if she's moved at all.
"Auggie," she whispers, and it's all she says, but in a way, she's saying everything.
His mouth finds hers, aided by the compass of his hands, the knowledge of her face. His mind's adding every little detail to the ones he already knows - gentle fingers sliding into his hair, slender hips curving inward when he rests his hands there, long legs wrapping around his waist when he lifts her up and into his lap, the chair creaking beneath their combined weight. She starts to yank the headphones off his neck, then remembers, and delicately removes them. He discovers what she's wearing while he starts to take each piece off - a collared blouse, the buttons yielding beneath his fingertips, and underneath a bra covered in lace, trimmed to the very edges.
"It's red," she murmurs, giggling in his ear, and he scoops her up with an arm locked tight around her waist, bearing her down to the floor of the van with a teasing growl as she shrieks. Even her laughter is musical, just like the moans that replace them - as he nips and nibbles his way down the valley between her breasts, finds a spot along her hipbone that makes her shy away and declare it ticklish. The rest of it has to be quick, he'd never forgive himself if he let Joan catch them - but he's already planning for the future to make amends for the devastating lack of foreplay.
He tells her where to look when he's got a hand between her thighs to feel her arousal for himself. "Back pocket, wallet," he grits out, his other hand fumbling as he tries to remember how to unzip his pants. She's so calm about all of it, almost methodical - gets the condom out, rolls it on, guides him between her legs and inside her all in a matter of moments, and the gasp that leaves her when he's finally buried deep, bracing himself up above her with shaking forearms, tops every other sound she's made before.
He tips his head down, close to hers, so he can hear every single moan, every sigh, every whimper as it falls from her lips in time with the thrusts of his hips, devouring the noises like the best kind of ear candy.
They're still mostly clothed, and it's fevered and rushed and over too soon, but he doesn't ease off her right away, not until he picks up on the sound of Joan snapping at him through the speakers. The rustle of clothing behind him signals Annie getting dressed again, and he almost starts laughing out loud when he feels arms reaching around his waist to zip up his pants from behind. He reaches down to catch her hand in his own, holds it close against his chest for her to feel the hum of his voice as he finally picks up the headset to answer Joan.
"Is Annie there?"
"Yeah," he replies, realizing Joan can probably hear the grin in his voice. "She's right here."
"Send her in. We need a third pair of eyes on the situation."
Annie squeezes his shoulder; he reaches out to her, but she's already moving for the door. There's a sliding, scraping sound, a burst of cool air, and the van door slides shut. Auggie chuckles, jams his headphones back on and leans back in his chair, lacing fingers together behind his head.
"She'll be right there."