What Happened in Vegas
Title: What Happened in Vegas
Author: Alsike
Fandom: Criminal Minds (this is still a crossover, but it fits within CM canon, so... I don't know what to call it.)
Rating: PG-13 + prostitution
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Word Count: 875
Apologies: Just a short scene I've had in my notebook for a bit. Typed it up to get back into Emma/Emily shape after my week of marathon babysitting.
Summary: Episode related fic. That morning in Vegas, Emily had a really nasty hangover. This is why.
Emily groaned at the splitting headache, and mouthed uncomfortably the taste of dead mouse turds on her palate. Tequila probably, and beer. Secondarily she noticed that she was naked, and in bed with someone else naked. Thirdly she realized that she probably should be more surprised about this, but the headache was distracting her.
“Good morning.”
Through her squint Emily caught sight of a flash of sleek blonde hair and panicked. It wasn’t… But the arch sarcasm of the comment cut it off. She breathed out, and tried to ignore the nausea. She still had no idea who it was.
“Um, hi?” She pushed herself slowly and carefully into a sitting position, noticing that she had clearly done more than get naked and pass out the night before. She looked over to the woman and met her sharp amused gaze.
“Hello yourself. I would have let myself out, but you zonked out on top of me, and I hadn’t been paid yet. I thought you might be a little irritated if I just took your wallet, and irritating federal agents is usually a bad idea.”
And apparently she had hired a prostitute. “I’m sorry?”
The woman laughed and slid out of bed, walking naked over to the window where she drew the curtains, dimming the room into a much more comfortable grey. Emily’s headache receded. She wished she was able to remember anything about the night before, because just by the way she moved, it was clear that however much this woman cost, it would have been a worthwhile experience.
She was getting dressed now, tugging on white fishnets and a matching vinyl miniskirt, and Emily swallowed so she wouldn’t be caught drooling.
“How much?”
“I think we agreed on a thousand.”
“A thousand?” Emily squeaked. “That’s not really fair if I can’t remember any of it!”
The woman grinned. “Your own fault. I warned you about the Spanish limes.”
“Spanish limes?”
“Tequila, beer, and Rose’s lime juice.”
Even the thought made the incipient nausea rise up and Emily hurtled to the bathroom. After retching up everything in her stomach she felt slightly better and washed her face, coming back out with her toothbrush in her mouth, and hunting around for her clothes.
She looked at the woman, perched on the arm of the couch, poised as ever, and frowned. Things were coming back to her now. (Not the things she had paid for though.) “Were you… with someone else?”
She remembered arguing with a man, already slightly drunk, and a challenge involving poker and tequila.
“You drank him under the table. It was impressive.”
“And I won… you?”
Things were coming back more quickly now. She had been as cocky as hell, but apparently hadn’t been doing too poorly at the tables, and the man had been an asshole. And his woman, this woman, had clearly made a play to be rescued, catching her eye, laughing at her jokes, reaching out with her foot as she sat on the lap of the man across the table. Emily had let it go to her head. It was like all of that shit with JJ (hugely pregnant and repulsively heterosexual) had never happened. And the woman had made it easy, made her feel powerful and attractive, let her be chivalrous, play the hero. She had kissed her on the mouth. Whores weren’t supposed to do that. Her body was warm and responsive under her touch and she seemed to know instinctively that what Emily really wanted wasn’t an orgasm, but to touch someone, be inside them and feel connected to them.
“Had a memory bump?” The woman grinned and Emily blushed, forcing herself to not think about how deep inside she had actually been.
“A thousand is before the tip, right?” Emily spat and rinsed and then located her wallet.
“I’m beginning to feel appreciated.”
She opened it and blinked at the wad of hundreds. Apparently she really hadn’t been doing too badly at the tables. “You could have just taken it and left.”
The woman smiled and shrugged as she slid off the chair. “I thought I owed you more than that, for your assistance. It… wasn’t too much of a chore.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Emily pressed a folded handful of bills into her hand. The woman’s eyes widened slightly at the thickness of it, but Emily hoped she wouldn’t count it right there. She didn’t, just leaned in and slipped a card into her cleavage. Then she kissed her. Emily’s lips parted involuntarily, allowing in her tongue.
“Mmm, Cinnamon. Unexpected.” The woman tapped her nose and turned to go. “Just like you.” She flashed a grin over her shoulder and stepped out the door.
The light from the window at the end of the hall was nearly blinding and Emily’s headache returned with a vengeance. Her phone buzzed with a text message. “Meet at nine in the lobby!” and the sound made her groan. She glanced out into the hall again, hoping to get a view of the woman walking away, but she was already gone. Emily sighed, closing her door and falling back against it, her hand pressed to her throbbing forehead.
God, her and her father, falling for hookers. Fuck.
Author: Alsike
Fandom: Criminal Minds (this is still a crossover, but it fits within CM canon, so... I don't know what to call it.)
Rating: PG-13 + prostitution
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Word Count: 875
Apologies: Just a short scene I've had in my notebook for a bit. Typed it up to get back into Emma/Emily shape after my week of marathon babysitting.
Summary: Episode related fic. That morning in Vegas, Emily had a really nasty hangover. This is why.
Emily groaned at the splitting headache, and mouthed uncomfortably the taste of dead mouse turds on her palate. Tequila probably, and beer. Secondarily she noticed that she was naked, and in bed with someone else naked. Thirdly she realized that she probably should be more surprised about this, but the headache was distracting her.
“Good morning.”
Through her squint Emily caught sight of a flash of sleek blonde hair and panicked. It wasn’t… But the arch sarcasm of the comment cut it off. She breathed out, and tried to ignore the nausea. She still had no idea who it was.
“Um, hi?” She pushed herself slowly and carefully into a sitting position, noticing that she had clearly done more than get naked and pass out the night before. She looked over to the woman and met her sharp amused gaze.
“Hello yourself. I would have let myself out, but you zonked out on top of me, and I hadn’t been paid yet. I thought you might be a little irritated if I just took your wallet, and irritating federal agents is usually a bad idea.”
And apparently she had hired a prostitute. “I’m sorry?”
The woman laughed and slid out of bed, walking naked over to the window where she drew the curtains, dimming the room into a much more comfortable grey. Emily’s headache receded. She wished she was able to remember anything about the night before, because just by the way she moved, it was clear that however much this woman cost, it would have been a worthwhile experience.
She was getting dressed now, tugging on white fishnets and a matching vinyl miniskirt, and Emily swallowed so she wouldn’t be caught drooling.
“How much?”
“I think we agreed on a thousand.”
“A thousand?” Emily squeaked. “That’s not really fair if I can’t remember any of it!”
The woman grinned. “Your own fault. I warned you about the Spanish limes.”
“Spanish limes?”
“Tequila, beer, and Rose’s lime juice.”
Even the thought made the incipient nausea rise up and Emily hurtled to the bathroom. After retching up everything in her stomach she felt slightly better and washed her face, coming back out with her toothbrush in her mouth, and hunting around for her clothes.
She looked at the woman, perched on the arm of the couch, poised as ever, and frowned. Things were coming back to her now. (Not the things she had paid for though.) “Were you… with someone else?”
She remembered arguing with a man, already slightly drunk, and a challenge involving poker and tequila.
“You drank him under the table. It was impressive.”
“And I won… you?”
Things were coming back more quickly now. She had been as cocky as hell, but apparently hadn’t been doing too poorly at the tables, and the man had been an asshole. And his woman, this woman, had clearly made a play to be rescued, catching her eye, laughing at her jokes, reaching out with her foot as she sat on the lap of the man across the table. Emily had let it go to her head. It was like all of that shit with JJ (hugely pregnant and repulsively heterosexual) had never happened. And the woman had made it easy, made her feel powerful and attractive, let her be chivalrous, play the hero. She had kissed her on the mouth. Whores weren’t supposed to do that. Her body was warm and responsive under her touch and she seemed to know instinctively that what Emily really wanted wasn’t an orgasm, but to touch someone, be inside them and feel connected to them.
“Had a memory bump?” The woman grinned and Emily blushed, forcing herself to not think about how deep inside she had actually been.
“A thousand is before the tip, right?” Emily spat and rinsed and then located her wallet.
“I’m beginning to feel appreciated.”
She opened it and blinked at the wad of hundreds. Apparently she really hadn’t been doing too badly at the tables. “You could have just taken it and left.”
The woman smiled and shrugged as she slid off the chair. “I thought I owed you more than that, for your assistance. It… wasn’t too much of a chore.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Emily pressed a folded handful of bills into her hand. The woman’s eyes widened slightly at the thickness of it, but Emily hoped she wouldn’t count it right there. She didn’t, just leaned in and slipped a card into her cleavage. Then she kissed her. Emily’s lips parted involuntarily, allowing in her tongue.
“Mmm, Cinnamon. Unexpected.” The woman tapped her nose and turned to go. “Just like you.” She flashed a grin over her shoulder and stepped out the door.
The light from the window at the end of the hall was nearly blinding and Emily’s headache returned with a vengeance. Her phone buzzed with a text message. “Meet at nine in the lobby!” and the sound made her groan. She glanced out into the hall again, hoping to get a view of the woman walking away, but she was already gone. Emily sighed, closing her door and falling back against it, her hand pressed to her throbbing forehead.
God, her and her father, falling for hookers. Fuck.