A/N: A story about M&Ms (or are they?) for you, M!

M&Ms.

The redhead lazily arched an eyebrow, her eyes closed lightly, well aware the was being scrutinized as if she were some priceless, ancient work of art—Venus de Milo, perhaps, or the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel—or, in Jethro's case, an expensive bottle of bourbon.

"Take a picture," she murmured wryly. "Last you longer," she teased, fumbling around carelessly for the covers and snuggling under them.

"Hey," he growled, a whiny note touching his masculine voice. "I was looking at that."

"Like I said, take a picture," she retorted.

"You won't let me," he reminded her petulantly.

"Well, I can't very well have nude photos of me wandering around out there. I'm the director of a federal armed agency."

"Jen," he glowered. "You're talkin' in circles."

"I think you should just be pleased I let you touch me," she said loftily.

She felt him glaring, and then he flopped over onto his side, shaking the bed and upsetting her covers, and she heard him fumbling around in the bedside table where she kept her work files—for when insomnia kept her up, and she worked in bed.

She popped one eye open suspiciously, looking up through her lashes, and he was sitting there with a binder and a torn piece of paper in his lap, holding a permanent pen suspiciously.

He began to draw, and she sat up a little.

"What are you doing?"

"Drawing a picture," he answered smugly.

"You are not," she protested, narrowing her eyes.

"Am too," he fired back immaturely. "Gonna tack it up behind my desk."

She bolted upright and laughed, snuggling into the covers. She blew hair out of her face. and made a point of covering up securely.

"You have no frame of reference," she mocked primly.

He pointed to his head.

"I got 'em burned into my memory, Madam," he said arrogantly.

She frowned and arched her neck. He hid his paper. She inched closer. He hunched his shoulders, shooting her a warning glare—she darted out her hand and snatched the paper from him. He grunted in annoyance and retaliated by snatching her sheets away from her.

She still won, because the way she was holding the paper blocked her breasts from view.

She laughed.

"Jethro," she said wickedly. She turned the paper around. "These don't look like breasts."

"That's how I see 'em," he said pointedly.

"M&Ms," she said incredulously, lifting a brow. "These look like M&Ms—my breasts look like M&Ms to you?!"

He looked at her sheepishly, and then narrowed his eyes, offended.

"No," he barked defensively, and a wicked glint took hold of his eyes.

He lunged forward and smacked the paper away, pinning her to the bed gently with his body weight and fighting her arms down. She shrieked and kicked at his thighs, squealing and giggling all at once.

"What are you—THAT TICKLES!" she shrieked.

He ignored her flailing and set his jaw, using the permanent pen to draw two large black Ms directly in the center of her breasts.

He put the pen behind his hear and grinned proudly.

"Now they look like M&Ms."

This has already been posted on Tumblr, but I decided to immortalize it here and dedicated it to Mateja because it's fun, and I'm a whore for reviews, apparently.
-Alexandra
story #108