crimeland Secret Valentine-ness!
H is for High Heels
"Christ!" JJ collapsed back into her chair and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee to work the delicate buckle of her shoe. "Why do we put ourselves through this? Honestly. It's fucking barbaric."
Emily laughed. "Well... I have a theory about shoes like that."
"What's that?" JJ asked, yanking off her heel and tossing it across her office before setting to work on the other one.
"When a woman wears high heels, she's either looking to get promoted or get laid," Emily said, smirking a little as she leaned against the wall.
"Well, I certainly have no intentions of being unit chief," JJ said, screwing her face up in disgust. "I'm up to my armpits in paperwork as it is. No, thanks."
"Then it must be the latter," Emily teased, raising her eyebrows as JJ shook her head wryly.
"Oh, you think? I'm not ambitious, so I must be a slut then?" The buckle finally came loose on JJ's remaining shoe, and she pitched it across the room next to the matching one.
"I didn't say slut," Emily said with a grin. "Though even if I did, it's not necessarily a bad thing. I just said you wanted to get laid. I mean, you have to admit it -- strappy and cute aren't exactly the qualities one looks for in one's purely professional footware."
JJ cocked her head in challenge. "I suppose that depends on what one's profession is."
"Touché," Emily said, tilting her chin in acknowledgment. "So I'm guessing, in those ridiculous things, you're looking for an opening in the professional tart field?"
JJ paused to survey Emily's expression: one perfectly arched brow, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, the gears turning behind her eyes. After a moment, she mirrored it, leaning back in her seat. "Well. Who's hiring?"
P is for Perspiration
JJ wakes up in a hard, hot sweat, her heart rattling her ribs like it's trying to escape, and sits straight up in bed. She's a mess, her hair in a tangle from sliding against the pillow, one nail broken from its grip on the sheets, and she's wet. Everywhere.
She's embarrassed, breathing hard and somewhere between terrified and desperately aroused. The images leftover from her dream still blink in and out of focus in front of her, like the colors the sun leaves behind when you close your eyes against it.
Emily, drawn in sharp lines and dangerous curves, her mouth soft and her fingers hard, clever, just fucking right. Two of them, then three, then the press of her body downdowndown against her own, a seamless fit, like the blueprints for perfection.
JJ peels the covers back and pads naked to the bathroom, biting her lip at the friction from her walk. The water feels good against her face, cool and soothing even though her hands are still shaking, and she stares at her wrecked reflection in the mirror. "Holy Christ," she mutters, noting her flushed cheeks and fluttering pulse. "Where the fuck did that come from?"
P is for Princess
"Come on, Princess!" JJ laughed and ducked away as Emily swung again and missed. "You can do better than that!"
"Princess!?" Emily scoffed, taking another swing and connecting this time. "You're the one who wears a skirt to work!"
JJ rocked back on her heels and grinned at Emily's flushed face and sweat-stuck t-shirt. "It's a diversionary tactic," she said, ducking out of the way again. "That way they never see it coming."
"Clever," Emily said, halfway between panting and smirking. "Just be careful they don't see something else coming."
"What?" JJ said, quirking an eyebrow and sidestepping another punch. "Something like this?" She ducked suddenly and swung her leg out, sending Emily pitching forward on top of her. The impact made her lungs heave, the sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh, as Emily leaned over her.
"Not quite what you were aiming for, hm?" Emily grinned, settling down onto her elbows.
"Oh," JJ said, staring up, a lump suddenly catching in her throat. "Well... maybe."
Y is for Yin & Yang
In Chinese philosophy, Yang is supposed to represent the masculine. The hard. The logic that balances the intuition.
But here, like this, there is nothing masculine or hard or logical, nothing of Yang in the way JJ moves other than the pale of her hair across Emily's hips like a curtain of sunlight, or the tight curl of her fingers against Emily's thigh, her thumb pressed into the hinge like an anchor. She's all Yin, all soft, her lips and her tongue and the impossible curve of her body as she rocks herself to the rhythm Emily sets, to the one she's set for herself, the one they've set together -- that universal pace of something seeking its own end.
It's slow and it's sinuous, all female, all that slippery circle of oh and more and murmurs that want to be words but can't, noises like prayers or mantras or hymns, the pitch rising and rising and rising, and this --
this is all the balance Emily needs, all the harmony, the sound of everything else muffled by the press of JJ's legs around her ears, the humid heat of the air between them, the yes and the yes and the yes.
V is for Virtual
JJ's minding her own business, trying to decide between the salad she brought from home and the Indian takeout menu she discovered resting on top of the clutter on Reid's desk, when Garcia comes flouncing out of her office and down the stairs, a whirlwind of dramatic hues and crackling cheer. "Tell me you are as desperate for something caffeinated and calorie-laden as I am!" she says, blowing a strand of hair out of her glittering lashes.
"I haven't quite reached desperation level yet, but you know... it couldn't hurt."
"Excellent," Garcia says, hooking her arm through JJ's and leading her towards the elevator. "As much as I adore my virtual prince, you are infinitely better lunch company. Do you know what happens when you get sloppy joes on a flatscreen? Not cute."
JJ laughs and presses the button, leaning casually against the wall.
"Oh! Speaking of which," Garcia says, leaning back and turning her shrewd eyes on JJ. "I asked him if he's got any virtual brothers -- or sisters -- for you. Negative, I'm afraid, but..."
"Sisters?" JJ interrupts, narrowing her gaze a little.
"Yeah, sisters," Garcia answers, looking a little surprised. "Come on, Jayje. You're like, the walking definition of heteroflexible, am I right? I mean, I've never seen a straight girl rock a sidearm with quite so much swagger."
JJ laughs, an answer ready on her tongue, but just in time, the elevator dings, and the doors open, and by the time they've stepped inside, Garcia's already moved on to dessert.
A is for Awake
JJ stretches her body long, arms over her head and toes reaching for the footboard, her face buried in a pillow that, she realizes within three seconds of becoming conscious, is not her own. The smell is unfamiliar - but definitely not unpleasant - and it's too fluffy.
She lets her eyelashes flutter open, but the (also unfamiliar) light spilling over her from the left makes her squeeze them shut again. She takes a deep breath and rolls over, pulling her knees back in towards her chest and stretching her shoulders back.
Suddenly, the weight shifts on the mattress, and there's a press against her back, soft and sleep-warm and languorously slow. Naked. JJ pauses, lets herself lean back into the arm that curls itself over her hip, the lips that bow into the curve of her neck, the knee that slides itself between her own.
She's had mornings in strange beds where her head ached and her mouth was a desert. Mornings where the sun was a spotlight on all the things that had hidden themselves in the darkness the night before. Mornings where all she could do was grope blindly for her clothes through a fog of memories.
But this morning, she lets a smile open wide across her face as it all washes over her like the tide coming in, soothing and rhythmic as a heartbeat, and she thinks, Emily.
L is for Lips
The first time they kiss, it's almost an accident.
Almost.
If Emily had stayed on her knees trying to wipe the puddle of wine off her kitchen floor, or if JJ had stayed standing, her face paused in that peculiar space between shock and laughter with it sloshing over her glass and across her fingers -- well, who knows? But Emily moved to stand, and JJ moved to help, and first it was their foreheads knocking together, then their fingers tangling when they tried to get their balance, and then they were just there. No space to breathe, really, just space to move forward or back, into each other or away, and...
... well, the choice is easier when you have wine as an excuse.
(Everything is easier when you have wine as an excuse, Emily will say later, but at the moment they're just excusing lips, and then tongues, and then maybe just a little bit of teeth, and after that, well...)
E is for Elevator
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The elevator rolls smoothly through the floors the way sweat rolls down skin. The air in here is just as hot. Just as thick.
"Have you ever wondered..." Emily starts, her fingers dragging slowslowslow down the wall like they've got a destination and some time to get there.
JJ coughs. She's got her eyes everywhere but on Emily's face, her hands, but -- but -- there's her reflection in the spit-shined Bureau-quality metal, distorted like a mirage, something wet and untouchable but deliriously good, and.... "Wondered what?" JJ asks, leaning back, her shoulders arched like a cat with an itch.
"What happens when you hit the emergency stop when no one else is here." There's a question under a question under a question, and the words are so heavy that JJ can feel them from here.
"There's always someone here." JJ licks her lips, watches the pale shimmer of not-Emily as she draws one elegant finger in a circle around the button. A threat or a promise or an enticement or....
"Mmm," Emily agrees, the sound like a current. "I wonder what time night security takes a break. It'd be good to know, don't you think?"
Think?
JJ shrugs out of her cardigan, the heat in her blood making her flush, prickle up, need to shed her skin like something that curves and slinks and crawls. "Mmhmmm..." she says, the sound slippery and deep. Quicksand.
"Just in case we have to work late."
Ding!
It stops with a jolt.
JJ's balance wavers, Emily's hand comes to rest at her back, her fingers skimming under the waist of JJ's skirt, and the
world
just
halts.
One breath. Two. Three.
Emily's fingers curl, and her nails scrape skin, and the doors open, and as JJ walks out, she bites hard on her lip and has to stop in the bathroom three doors down the hall.
N is for New
"Total hottie, right?"
JJ's head snapped around to find Garcia grinning mischievously at her. "Excuse me?"
"The new kid," Garcia said, gesturing towards the window facing out onto the floor. "SSA Emily Prentiss, daughter of the esteemed Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss, graduate of Yale University, ten-year veteran of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Midwestern transplant... and total hottie."
JJ rolled her eyes and laughed. "Well, you've done your research. When's the wedding?"
"Oh, no no no, Mon Chéri. First of all, Google doesn't count as research when you're me -- and I am -- and second of all, you're the one who's been all covertly staring at her for the past three and a half minutes." She tapped her watch meaningfully. "Toooootally timed it."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," JJ protested, putting her hands up defensively and laughing again. "I'm just waiting for Hotch! He's late! I wanted to see if he was on his way!"
"Well, unless he's getting a ride up here on Agent Prentiss' remarkably well-shaped rear-end, I don't think you're going to see him." Garcia raised her eyebrows. "You know, she speaks like, eleven different languages or something. You know what that makes her, right?"
"Garcia! Don't even..."
Garcia turned and hurried towards the door, calling "A cunning linguist!" over her shoulder as she disappeared, giggling, into the corridor.
T is for Target
Emily's knock at the door is unusual for her, but still recognizable with its four quick, asymmetrical taps. The sound is more hesitant than normal, though. More like a question.
"Come in!" JJ calls. Her voice sounds different than normal, too. More tired. Older, somehow.
Emily steps in and closes the door behind herself with a dull click. "Hey," she says, leaning against the frame. "How are you?"
JJ's response is automatic -- "Fine, you?" -- but she knows it wouldn't fool a first-grader, forget a profiler.
"I'd be better if you told me something other than fine." Emily's eyes are tense. Drawn. She looks like she hasn't gotten much more sleep than JJ has.
"I mean... I'm as fine as you can be after shooting someone in the back of the head, I guess," JJ says. "I don't know. Maybe it was naïve of me in this line of work, but... I just sort of hoped I'd never have to be the one to do it. It's so strange, you know? I don't think I ever -- ever -- missed when I took marksmanship. If it was supposed to be a kill-shot, it was. If I was supposed to just wound, I did. It wasn't always perfect, but it was always right. And I was always so proud of myself! Like it didn't really register with me what it meant, you know? Paper targets versus people? God, it sounds so stupid, that's not what I meant. Of course I know the difference, but..."
"No," Emily interrupts, shaking her head. "Not stupid at all. It's a skill, like anything else. And you just happen to be really, really good at it. You absolutely should have been proud. And thank God you're so good. Do you know how much worse that could have been if you'd missed? Or hadn't taken the shot at all?"
JJ nods a little. "I do. That's why I did it. I didn't even think about it, Em. I just..."
"You just did it. That's why we're trained the way we are -- so we react the right way. So we don't overthink it. Because that will fuck you up as much as not thinking at all." She crosses the room and settles herself on the edge of JJ's desk. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being brave. And for taking care of us. And for worrying about it afterward, not before." She reaches over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind JJ's ear. "I know it doesn't help to hear, but... you did the right thing."
JJ leans gratefully into the touch. "No, I know, and it does. It helps. Actually, right now it's pretty much the only thing that does."
E is for Emily
"Look at me." Emily's voice is low, soft, but there's force behind it. There's an imperative.
JJ recognizes the authority there, the taut tone that leaves no room for questions, and she can feel her chest constrict around her heart and make it feel a thousand times bigger, more ferocious, more desperate in its rush to move her blood. She takes a breath that sounds like a whimper and blinks, her eyes fluttering open to find Emily's, dark and lovely with lashes that go on for days, staring back at her.
"Good girl," Emily whispers, pressing her forehead against JJ's, letting their noses brush. Her fingers are between their bodies, her thumb drawing circles so slow that they're just this side of frustrating and her fingers - two of them, slender and perfect and angled just right - up to the knuckle inside, still but for alternating pressure, upupup, making a knot of pleasure that pulls tighter and tighter and tighter in the pit of JJ's trembling belly. "Is this good?" she asks, a smile pulling at one corner of her lips just enough for JJ to know that she already knows the answer.
JJ wants to tell her, though; wants to say yes and God and don't stop, but when she opens her mouth, nothing happens. All that moves through it is breath, thin and thready, and then she doesn't even have the wherewithal to close it again. The only thing she can do is wrap her ankles around Emily's legs, try to hold on, try not to fly apart into a thousand pieces like a mirror shattering itself against one perfectly-pitched note.
Emily's smile get bigger, and then she leans in closer and presses it against JJ's mutely parted lips. It's meant to be a kiss, and it almost is, their mouths skidding against each other for a moment. But then Emily's voice is slinking under JJ's tongue, crashing against her teeth, and she's saying go ahead, say it, if you like it, say it.
Her fingers stop then, the pressure sliding backwards and the circles fading to a suggestion against JJ's body, and then there's sound. It isn't words though, just a high pleading sound like the earth is spinning away from her and she can't find it with her feet.
"Uh-uh," Emily says, her correction firm but gentle. "You have to say it."
JJ takes another breath that feels so thick that it tangles in her lungs. Her fingers clench harder over the rounds of Emily's shoulders, like she's bracing herself against the effort. It works, though. It works, and even though her voice sounds nothing like her own -- it's too high, too deliberate -- it's still there. It works.
"Please," she manages, her thighs tightening themselves against her will over Emily's. "Please."
"Please...?" Emily responds, bringing her thumb all the way down again, but still holding it in one place.
"Emily," JJ gasps. "Please Emily, please..."
"Good, good."
Emily tilts her head to bite at the curve where JJ's neck meets her shoulder, and then her fingers are moving again, the circles faster now, more purposeful, the pressure insistent and almost unbearably good, and when JJ's hips start to rock with the same rhythm, it's like a dam breaking behind her teeth and there it is, like a mantra. Emily please Emily please Emily Emily Emily please, the words gaining momentum and losing clarity, and when she comes, it's all disintegrated again, all just noise, all just sound arcing back like her body into the universal geometry of just like that.
S is for Screaming Orgasm... or Softball!
"Thanks, ladies; I'll be right back with your drinks!" The waitress - petite and entirely too perky for Emily's taste, but cute nonetheless - scampers off in the direction of the bar, tapping her pen against her thigh as she goes.
Emily fiddles with the straw wrapper from her water and looks at JJ, who is sipping thoughtfully at her own and eyeing the waitress's behind rather conspicuously. "You know," JJ says quietly, "I'm not much of a kahlua fan -- too milky, right? -- but I think I'd probably let her deliver me a Screaming Orgasm on a tray."
Emily nearly spits her water all the way across the table. "What?" she balks, drawing her eyebrows together at JJ's sly expression.
"What?" JJ asks. "You wouldn't?"
"I... mean... well, probably, but... what?"
JJ grins and squeezes her lemon into her glass, laughing a little at Emily's startled confusion. "You mean you're surprised? What the hell kind of a profiler are you?"
"No, I mean... I'm not exactly surprised, I guess -- nothing about you surprises me anymore -- I'm just... surprised you never mentioned it, maybe?" Emily looks down and realizes she's twisted the wrapper so tightly around her own finger that the tip of it is turning white.
"I didn't think I had to, honestly," JJ says, taking another sip and letting it linger. "I mean... come on, Em. Softball?" She winks, then laughs, and Emily pauses just long enough to snap the straw wrapper in half before she joins her.
D is for Dance
"You can't be serious." Emily's expression is incredulous as she takes a sip of her coffee and levels her gaze.
"Serious as a heart attack," JJ says, setting her own mug down on the end table. "Cross my heart and Girl Scout's honor and all that stuff. I never learned!"
"But you were an athlete!" Emily insists.
"Doesn't mean I can dance," JJ laughs. "Softball and waltzing are two tooootally different animals. Why do you think I hate weddings so goddamn much?"
"I just assumed it was for the same reasons that I hate weddings: terrible food, uncomfortable clothes, and the celebration of the heterosexist norm." Emily grins and takes another sip of her coffee before hauling herself to her feet. "Well, then, if your cousin's getting married this weekend, you don't have much time to learn. Let's go."
"What?" JJ shakes her head in protest and picks up her coffee, clutching it protectively against her chest. "No. Absolutely not. You do not want to see me dance."
"No, I want to teach you to dance. Get off your ass and come on."
JJ shakes her head again, but her expression shifts from outright defiance to consideration and finally to a sort of defeat as Emily tugs at her hand insistently. "Don't we need music?" JJ says, laughing as Emily pulls her up.
"Not at first. You just have to get your feet right. Ready?"
JJ nods, staring down between their bodies as their feet move in closer. "Ready."
"I'll lead, you follow," Emily says, her voice falling lower as JJ lines her body up and looks up expectantly. "Do what I do. Okay?"
"Mmmhmm."
Emily's hand closes around JJ's waist, and their fingers lock together, and by the time they're halfway through, they've both forgotten how to count.