FIC: Under Covers (CM: Suspect Behavior, Mick/Prophet, FRAO, 1/1)
Title: Under Covers
Author: Sam
Fandom: Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior
Pairing: Mick/Prophet, mention of Mick/others
Rating: FRAO - slash, sex, prostitution, voyeurism/exhiitionism, toys
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Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
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Summary: Post coital Mick/Prohet. That's it.
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A/N: This bunny popped up under my nose wearing leather while smacking a belt against his palm and staring me down. I have no idea wher eit came from or where its going. But it's writing and hallelujah for that. So. Undercover!kinky!porn anyone?
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Mick came back from the whitewash of orgasm to the weight of his lover still braced, trembling above him as well as the feel of Prophet's forehead pressed against his. He could feel the flush rising to his cheeks as he realized he had grayed out.
“You back with me?” Prophet panted, still getting his breath back, and Mick stifled the awkward moment of panic with the knowledge that he hadn't been out long.
Letting the warmth in the concern wash over him with the moist breath against his lips, Mick croaked out a rusty, “Yeah.”
Not his best, but then, he had nothing to prove to this client after all.
This time Prophet arched up to look at him. “You sure you're okay?”
Shifting in closer to the naked body covering him, Mick smirked and wriggled his ass just to hear Prophet moan and curse above him, loving the deep, burning ache that came with movement of any kind. “That answer your question?”
Who knew Granpa there was such a kinky bastard? Mick didn't think there was one toy in his admittedly limited arsenal that the older man hadn't used on him, not that he was complaining. He rather liked the result; it should keep his mind in the proper frame for the job he had to do once Prophet left. They still hadn't found the contact they knew their unsub had in the club, and so Mick stayed, to be used by any and all who had the cash, the connections, or the collateral.
Good thing for him that the club's owner was a good sort and was eager to help in any way he could; including sending Mick out only enough to sell his cover, and not to every perv - excuse me, client - that had expressed an interest. Only thing that might have gotten dicey if not for Penelope's little virus loaded into the club's server, was the fact that every 'session' was monitored, no exceptions. They had all agreed that not all of Mick's tape would be erased, though; too suspicious if anyone did come looking. No, what was static-ed out wasn't the sex - or not all of the sex - but the intel exchange that followed that usually took the place of post-coital promises for next time.
“Smartass. You just live to torment me, I swear.”
“Sore ass,” Mick grinned. “And true enough.”
He liked tormenting Prophet; it was fun. And occasionally advantageous.
What he didn't like was the emptiness that followed his movement as Prophet slipped out, though the arms that tightened around him in apology were nice. Nicer still were the fingers that were currently running absentminded trails over his ass.
Damn that was better than nice; Mick would have to goad the man into using the belt more often.
Unfortunately, and with much darker results, Prophet noticed the slight welts about the same time Mick did. Mick had braced himself for a world of recriminations and regrets when the older man opened his mouth to speak, only to hear a muttered 'damn' that followed Prophet's low whistle . “Sorry, man. You should have said something.”
“I did. As I recall, I said a lot of things,” Mick told him, making sure to maintain eye contact with the hazel browns frowning down at him. “And not one of them was stop.” Squirming again to make his point, Mick bit his lip to keep from crying out at the fingers that automatically tightened around that one cheek to hold him in place.
Damn. Even if his body were able (because it was damned sure willing), they didn't have the time.
“You like that, don't you?” Prophet frowned, looking thoughtful.
“Just a bit, yeah,” he shrugged. The spanking, the rough treatment, the sex - god, the sex - they had had to make it look good, and Mick had had no problem whatsoever with any of it. It wasn't like he was letting some stranger hurt him. It was Prophet, and even though they weren't lovers, hadn't been lovers, Mick still trusted the man with his life.
What was a little kink among friends, ey?
Though as he was suddenly rolled and wrapped in strong arms and legs, Prophet's other broad hand soothing trails along his back, his lips claiming gentle kisses that tasted like promises on the tongue sliding inside, Mick rather thought he liked this part best, at least for now. Not that he would ever tell Prophet that.
They still had a job to do and they couldn't do that if Prophet was anything more than a client.
But when this case was over...
//I hate to interrupt my boys and their playtime// Garcia's voice chirped in their ear, //But my little friend only has about five minutes of run time before your privacy goes poof.//
Mick huffed out a laugh as Prophet groaned, claiming one last kiss before resting their foreheads together. “Thanks, Penelope,” he told her, knowing full well their girl had heard everything. In fact he had little doubt her little friend the virus hadn't troubled her reception one bit.
“Yeah, thanks, P.”
//No worries, gentlemen. Now wrap this up so we can bring our boy home,// she demanded,
“Yes, ma'am.”
//You need to make an honest man out of him. That is all.// And with that last bit of advice she was gone.
Looking down into the smiling eyes, Mick bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud at the flush now crawling up the tips of the older man's ears. Still, Prophet hadn't disagreed, and so Mick was inclined to take that as a good sign.
“Me, too.”
Mick frowned. “You, too, what, mate?”
“Like this.”
Oh. Oh. He was sure his smile was wide enough to crack his face in half, and not very manly at all. “Good.”
He swooped down for one last kiss, still smiling as Prophet cleared his throat and began telling them what new details the team had discovered since last week.
End