Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS: New Orleans or its characters…

Author's Note: Supposed to be working on my NaNoWriMo story… but these two, I swear. I'm not sure I could ever pinpoint the traits that attract me, but some characters just completely kidnap my imagination/attention. And for some reason, Meredith Brody and Chris LaSalle have done so, and in a very short time. Then again, I'm only slightly trying to figure out the details of their characters in my head. And this fic is admittedly, mostly just for the fun of some smut... well, indirect smut...

WARNING: CONTAINS SMUTTY, SMUTTY FANTASIES...

Agent Meredith Brody closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was stumped. She was never stumped. Not for long, anyway. But try as she might she could not figure out another approach to tracking down their missing sailor. Every standard and nonstandard search parameter she ever used had yielded nothing. Nothing. The man had gone entirely off the grid. She pinched the bridge of her nose. She tried to bring to the forefront of her mind the crossword from the morning paper. She always spent ten minutes memorizing it over breakfast, so that she would have the meditation to go to if she needed to concentrate later in the day.

Number 50 Across. Five Letters. 'Eyed Amorously.'

Letch? No. Eyed. Past Tense.

Leered? Too many letters...

The neat rows of black and white boxes fled her inner vision as frustration seized up her brain. Why couldn't she find this petty officer?!

She opened her eyes. Her computer screen was a disaster area of windows layered one over the other. It was a miracle that every last bit of RAM hadn't been consumed by the open programs, freezing it up just like her brain. It was painful to look at.

Her gaze slid to the left until she found herself watching LaSalle working merrily away at his own desk, obviously having more luck tracking PO Franklin's movements prior to falling off the radar. The agent was smiling to himself. He seemed to do that a lot, was a genuinely happy sort of guy, as far as Meredith could tell. She liked him. Quite a bit. He liked to tease, and be teased, which was fine by her. And they seemed to work well together.

And he did have a nice smile. And lively eyes. And an ass that didn't quit.

And oh, god, it had been too long since there'd been someone keeping her company in bed. Possibly even a year. Oh, shit. Definitely a year since Mark. And before that, an equally long stretch since Logan and she... that had been a lovely arrangement. Well, not arrangement. 'Relationship', she supposed, only not really. It had never interfered with their work. They got on extremely well, and it had been spectacular sex, but not real 'dating.' She loved the man, for sure. Always would. But she'd never fallen in love with him. Nor he with her. If that was even a thing. Granted she probably wanted to believe it was a thing, deep inside her heart, because she was a woman, after all. But her parents' tenuous relationship and the way they distanced themselves from each other, and her... she'd never seen people 'in love'. Bitter and resentful, emotionally dependent, yes. But even obviously amorous couples were just victims to biology, despite their affectionate, moon-eyed looks. It was all hormones and lust.

Meredith Brody knew this.

She was okay with this. It was completely natural. But perhaps the decision to ogle her charming and attractive new partner was unwise. Wait! That was it.

Number 50 Across. Five Letters. 'Eyed Amorously.' Ogled.

One puzzle solved.

But instead of turning her attention back to the stunted manhunt, Meredith found herself continuing to surreptitiously evaluate the agent still hard at work on his own task. Chris LaSalle was attractive. Not a large man, but not a small one, either, and nicely built. Compact, trim and strong. Physically, they were of a size. She had about a half an inch to an inch on him if she wore her more robustly-heeled shoes. Barefoot, he'd have a couple inches of height on her. Not enough to buy him any advantage if they sparred... or... well, she wondered if maybe he might like a little bit of rough play in the bedroom. His eminently facetious personality gave her a pretty good idea how things would progress in a sexual context. Some kissing and touching, exploring... He'd probably crack some jokes, tease her, make her laugh. Then things would take a more intense turn. He might try to toss her on the bed, get her on her back, crawl on top of her, part her thighs... And she'd resist. She'd use her legs, for she had no hope of matching her upper body strength against his very well-muscled arms and shoulders. He might wrestle with her for control, but she had a feeling he'd ultimately submit to her will. The man was obviously fascinated by her, couldn't quite figure her out. And even without knowing his precise personal history, she could see that deep down, there was this little boy who was eager to please. Oh, LaSalle was undeniably comfortable in his own skin, but Meredith was a student of human behavior and psychology. There were layers to the man, and she'd begun to peel them away, perusing each for relevant information as she unwrapped the puzzle. It might come in handy, if she determined he could be approached as a sexual partner. He would be fun. And he would go above and beyond to please her.

Oh, he would definitely submit to her desire to get him on his back, straddle him, run her hands over his delectable bare chest, and slowly sink her hips downward, taking his hard length fully into her until she settled flush upon him with a gasp. The question was whether he'd know enough to shut up, or would continue to play with her, charming and coaxing her with his -admittedly- delicious southern drawl. She might have to kiss away his words as she began to move, until she'd achieved a pace that rendered him breathless. Or maybe he would just acquire one of those quiet, focused expressions, staring at her with his dark blue eyes, his hands gripping her waist and hips, cupping her breasts, playing with her achingly tight nipples as she rode him with relentless determination.

He'd hold out for her. She was certain of that. Whether it was due to his ideal of being gentlemanly, or that hint of eagerness to please, to have her like him as much as he liked her (a fact he could not and did not particularly try to hide), Meredith couldn't say. But neither would she care at that point, the feel of him, thick and stiff inside of her, the devastating friction as she rode his hips, the groans he would not bother to stifle... She would come with devastating intensity, breathless, probably with a silent scream (which always marked a really good orgasm for her). Her body clutching fervently at his throbbing flesh might drag him over the edge to climax along with her, his back arching and his hips thrusting upward as his hands clenched bruisingly on her hips and he drove deep and hard into her, crying out-

"Brody!"

Meredith physically started, her ridiculously, embarrassingly vivid daydream evaporating. Well, not precisely evaporating, for it lingered, maliciously heating her blood. Her eyes focused sharply on the highly inappropriate subject of the illicit fantasy, and his playful blue gaze met hers momentarily before she hastily looked away, feeling the blush heating the skin of her face and neck.

"Where'd you go?" LaSalle asked her, grinning in that stupidly-charming way of his.

"What?"

"You looked 'bout a million miles away," he said. Why couldn't he just drop it?

"Yeah..." She swallowed, fending off the vivid image of a naked, sweat-coated Chris LaSalle lying beneath her, panting in that post-coital moment that was partway between the peak of arousal and the weightless bliss of satiation. "I just... got tired of wracking my brain for a way to track down PO Franklin."

"An' started doin' crosswords in your head again?" He chuckled lightly, but his normal humor seemed off a bit. Did he suspect she'd really been thinking about taking him with merciless voracity?

"Yup," she said, giving him a bright smile she hoped looked entirely genuine. "You caught me."

She turned her attention back to the file on her desk and the failed search programs on her computer screen, as if she could even remotely focus on it now.

"Give it to me."

Meredith nearly jumped out of her skin again.

"W-what?!"

Her eyes felt as if they were about to pop out of her head. Her cheeks were on fire. She hadn't been thinking about doing precisely that. She hadn't. She. Had. Not.

"Maybe I can help you out."

Oh, lord. You probably could.

"Give me the clue that's apparently flummoxed you."

She locked eyes with him. And it was the most uncomfortable two seconds of her life. Was he trying to call her bluff? Did he know she'd been planning out precisely how she'd jump his bones to such an intense degree that her panties were admittedly a little damp?

Nope. He wasn't calling her out on it. He didn't know. He couldn't possibly know what she'd been thinking. The man was a good agent. But he wasn't that good. And she'd easily played him before. But still... Agent Chris LaSalle was staring at her like he knew precisely what her dirty little mind fancied doing to him. He was dangerous. He was...

"Off-limits," she said. And the finality of it calmed her normally unflappable yet currently highly agitated nerves. He gave her a curious look. "Seven letters."

"Hmm," he said. "I'll have to give that one a little consideration."

And then, thankfully, he returned his attention to his work. Meredith Brody sighed and resolved to never let her mind wander in such a direction again.

'Off-limits'. Seven Letters.

L-A-S-A-L-L-E.

A/N: I think there's a LaSalle-centric second-part to this…