(I hate you for this)
12. things you said when we were lingerie-shopping
“I don’t know how you talked me into this, Gibbs,” Leon muttered under his breath from behind a curtain, a hidden changing area in the back of the store surrounded by racks of sheer lace and satin skivvies.
The silver-haired man, never overcome with the gift of gab, shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, his piercing blue gaze unwavering as he muttered, “A bet’s a bet, Leon.”
The Director poked his head out and threw him a pointed glance, aggravated, but said nothing.
“If you weren’t prepared to agree to the terms … ” Gibbs trailed off. Damn the stupid Seahawks for losing, Leon thought for the thousandth time today. But he’d agreed to the terms, and Leon knew that Gibbs had him there.
“I’m coming out,” Leon informed his Agent, “And if you laugh, you will be fired under suspicion of treason and sent to Gitmo.”
Gibbs didn’t answer, but when Leon stepped out from behind the curtain, clad only in a pair of red lace bikini bottoms and a matching lace bra - that he didn’t even come close to filling out - Gibbs couldn’t hide his smirk.
Leon narrowed his eyes, as a warning, but Gibbs simply responded, “Did I laugh?”
Before Leon could answer, Gibbs raised his cell phone, an antique according to McGee, but still a camera phone that his tech-savvy agent had shown him how to work just that morning. He’d been prepared, and snapped a shot of Leon in all his glory before grinning and saying, “You know, Leon, red really isn’t your color.”
“You know how to work a camera phone? Since when?” If he’d thought that photographic evidence would be part of the equation, he never would have agreed to the bet.
“Not important,” he said, flipping the phone shut and putting it in his pocket.
Sighing and retreating back into the dressing room area, Leon heard Gibbs chuckling behind him. “Next year, Gibbs, we are betting money.”