[Criminal Minds] Coming Down on a Sunny Day (1/1)
One of the tiny ficlets I wrote for the Criminal Minds Kink Meme. I say tiny, it's still 2200 words. I tried to make it longer, too, but I'd fit in the background material around the edges and was loathe to take it out again. Title is from CCR's "Have You Ever Seen the Rain." shetiger beta'd for me since yes, I get my comment fic beta'd. ;)
Title: Coming Down on a Sunny Day
Author: Smitty
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rossi/Prentiss
Prompt:Prentiss/Rossi, On a consult or custodial interview requiring an overnight. Pre-relationship. Doggy style. [Here]
Coming Down on a Sunny Day
"Let's get a room," Emily says, setting down her empty glass.
"Just one?" Rossi asks, his voice even and neutral. He's been everything she needed on this assignment and more and she has to ask this one last thing of him.
"Yeah," she says. "I told you. I want a good, hard, fuck. And I want to do it with you." She's careful to use the word "want" this time, make sure he knows she's not compelled by anything other than her own desires.
"All right," he says, taking another sip from his glass. He's been pacing himself, has been drinking the fine, smoky whiskey with the leisure it deserves. His eyes are serious on her face, on her neck, and she pulls her hair over her shoulder, covering whatever bruises Horace Caplan might have left when he slipped his cuffs and grabbed her during the interview. The adrenaline punches through here again, just like Rossi punched Horace in the face.
They were supposed to go back tonight - Delaware's only a few hours north of DC and Horace Caplan was supposed to be a routine interview. But Horace didn't cooperate and it was already after nine. Rossi had called Hotch from the prison. Neither of them were expected in before noon - or in Emily's case, at all.
Rossi reaches in his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He throws a fifty on the bar and slides his glass in front of Emily. "Finish this for me," he says. "And meet me in the lobby." He leans forward and presses a kiss to her temple, his goatee brushing softly against the side of her face. It's the same side Horace had pressed his beefy arm against. Emily's breath catches up in her throat and her pulse thumps doubletime in her ears.
It's okay, she thinks. He can do that. I just asked him to go to bed with me. She sips at his glass as she watches him walk away and thinks she can taste him in the whiskey.
It doesn't take her long to finish that one either but she's calmer when she slides off the stool and goes to the lobby to look for Dave. He's standing near the elevators, tapping the paper folder from the front desk into his palm. He doesn't look nervous, just thoughtful.
"Hey," he says with a nod as she approaches. "Ready?"
"Yeah," she says, more than ready. They take the elevator to the fourth floor and Rossi lets them into room with the plastic swipe key.
He secures the door behind them and fastens the chain, too. Then he's hauling her in, pulling her against him, and kissing her like he might lose her at any second.
Heat flares in Emily's stomach and she presses back, kisses him back, feels him crash back against the door. He's hard and solid against her, one arm a firm bar supporting her back, his other hand tangled in her hair, cupping the back of her head. The giddy realization floats up that he wants this as bad as she does and it makes her light-headed.
She rolls her hips against him, feeling him hard and thick against her stomach. He tugs gently on her hair and pulls his mouth away. They're both gasping and Emily can only vaguely make out his features in the dark. They haven't even turned on the light, yet.
He shifts his hold, both hands sliding to her waist now, slipping under her sweater and dragging it over her head. Emily licks her lips and wishes she could see his expression as he gazes at her breasts. She bets he wishes he could see them better and reaches for the light, but he presses his mouth against hers again and starts walking her back toward the bed. His hands are on her ass now, lifting her up against his body, lifting her onto the bed. It's a king-sized, she thinks as he pushes her back onto it, trailing his mouth down her stomach to her navel and undoing the clasp on her dress pants.
Emily lifts her hips, lets him drag them down and off her legs, and then he whispers, "I'm going to turn on the light. Is that okay?"
She nods and then says, "Yeah, yeah," in case he missed it. He leaves a hand on her knee as he leans away and there's a click and the soft gold of the bedside table lamp washes into the room. The bed is king-sized, Rossi's still dressed, and his eyes are burning with arousal. Emily pulls her legs up on the bed and sits up on her knees. "You're too dressed," she tells him, and starts unbuttoning his shirt.
He starts to help so she moves to his belt, unbuckling it, pulling it open, unbuttoning his pants, and lowering the zipper. His cock is hard and hot against the back of her hand and she wants it inside her so badly she's starting to blush. Rossi shrugs off his shirt and strips off his undershirt and then he's stepping away to get rid of his pants. She watches him take off his boxers and bites her lip as she sees his cock for the first time.
He comes back to the bed, angling his mouth over hers again and catching up her breast in his palm. He swipes his thumb over her nipple twice and then he brings his other hand up and unhooks her bra. Emily hesitates, then runs her hand over his hair, feeling the short bristles at the back of his neck under her palm and then scratching his nape. The intimacy is familiar, but not. The boundaries have shifted.
"Rossi," she says, because she never calls him Dave, not even as often as they're partnered.
He draws back far enough to look her in the eye and God, the look on his face is too much, too tender, too desperate, too something for her to look back.
"I'm really wet," she says stupidly, pulling his hand away from her breast to press against her panties. "I need you - " She bites her lip, mentally correcting herself to want but he doesn't give her time to regroup.
He joins her on the bed, walking her back on her knees, and thumbing her panties down her hips. He leaves them at her knees and strokes one finger inside her and it feel so good Emily thinks she might have come a little right then. He strokes his thumb over her, locating her clit and rubbing against it gently. She really is going to come and she's not ready so she edges away, leaning down and says, "I gotta get these off."
Rossi slips his hand away obligingly and she's suddenly sorry she did that. She pulls her panties over her knees and turns away to kick them off, over the edge of the bed. She feels vulnerable, suddenly, fully naked with everything on the floor, and need burning in every cell. She doesn't move to cover herself, but she does pause, not looking at Rossi, and gets herself together.
"Emily?" he asks. He touches her hip, a gentle, almost chaste caress, except he's touching her hipbone and her leg and the swell of her ass all at once. "You still want to do this?"
"Yes," she says without having to think about it. "Yes, yes." She presses her palm against the back of his hand and leans forward. "I want to do it like this."
"On your hands and knees?" he asks, voice deepening, but the question's rhetorical. His thumb is sweeping arcs on the delicate skin of her hipbone and he strokes his other hand up her back, the heel of his palm pressing all the way up her spine.
Emily closes her eyes and and exhales, relieved. "Yes," she says again as his fingers plunge into her hair and tighten. She can't see him, doesn't have to see the heat and tenderness in his eyes but she feels him where she needs him and she needs him very badly right now.
"Hold on," he says, sliding away, but leaving one hand anchored on her hip. He tosses a pillow on the bed next to her head. "You
might want that," he says, and then his knees are between hers, opening up her thighs with his and his hand is gone from her hip. "I've got a condom," he says and she hears the tearing of the paper. She pulls the pillow under her chest, wrapping her arms around it and bracing on her elbows. Then his hand is back on her hip and he's guiding himself into her, sliding in deep, sinking into her until his body's flush with hers.
He presses his mouth between her shoulder blades, his lips soft against her skin. His beard is soft and prickly at the same time, depending on how he moves and it makes her feel like so much more of him is pressed against her back. Then he rolls his hips and she gasps. "Fuck me," she says, turning her face into the pillow. "Fuck me hard, Rossi."
He shifts upward, on his knees, cupping her hips in his hands. She can feel the way his body moves behind her, positioning, and then he starts to thrust. Her hips are higher than her shoulders and the angle he's fucking her bangs the head of his cock against her front wall with every thrust. It takes her breath away and she can't form words, only soft grunts every time he makes contact. She's not used to being so passive in sex, but after a few seconds, she realizes she doesn't need to push her hips back into him - he'll take care of her if she just hangs on and goes along with the ride.
Emily's riding the edge of an orgasm, feeling overfull and oversensitizedand overwhelmed. She thinks she can feel Rossi in her throat which is tight and speechless - like she's been called on in class and doesn't have an answer to give, can't even fake one. She can hear her little gasps and his soft grunts and she rocks into the pillow every time he fucks into her.
His knees push her a little further open and he goes a little deeper and she comes, clenching around him so hard, he slips out. He pushes right back in, though, and rides her into the pillows as she gasps and cries and shudders. He pauses when her cries quiet and finally she gets back enough air to rest her forehead on her arm and protest softly. "Rossi...."
He learns forward and kisses her shoulder. "You're not done yet, are you?" he asks, and then he starts rocking in and out again, and reaches around to stroke her clit.
She shudders, tensing up, and manages an, "Oh, god, oh god, Rossi - Dave," before she's coming again, her hips shaking and her ass banging back against his thighs. She's just started to come down from that one when it hits her all over again, without him doing anything new. She can hear him saying her name, but she can't stop, shaking and crying out nonsense words, and her ears are popping. I can't stop coming, she thinks, and it's almost a relief to just let her body arch and tremble under Rossi, let him hold her together when she can't.
They're over - it's over - several long seconds before she realizes it, breathing shaky breaths into the pillow. She's lightheaded and her mouth is desert-dry, and Rossi's running a gentle hand over her side. "You okay?" he asks. His voice is soft but there's a thread of tension running through it. He's still hard inside her. He hasn't come yet.
"Yeah," she pants, her voice an octave higher than usual. "Dave." She reaches back blindly, reaches for his hand and her fingers brush his leg instead.
Then his fingers wrap around hers, squeezing and he comes, his other hand tightening on her hip as he says, "Oh, God. Emily." The accompanying groan is low in his throat and she feels his sigh of relief as much as hears it. He stays, heavy against her, for a minute, and then slides out.
She feels empty and stretched, a little sore, and ow - her lower back aches. She stretches out, feeling tender and thoroughly fucked, and sleepy. Rossi comes back to spoon against her, his fingers brushing against the scrape on her arm. She'd gotten her arm up when Horace had swung the handcuff chain around her throat and managed to keep him from cutting off her air completely.
Rossi kisses the back of her neck, her shoulder, the junction where they meet. As far as Emily's concerned, he can keep doing that forever.
"Hey," he says softly.
"Hey," she whispers, full speech too much.
"You called me Dave back there," he says, voice as gentle as his hands. "I liked it." His hand made another pass up and down her side. "I'd like to hear it again."
Emily smiles and turns her head up to him. She doesn't mind the look in his eyes or the expression on his face now. She doesn't mind the idea of seeing it again, either. "I think," she says, reaching over and finding his hand, squeezing it in hers, "that can be arranged."
Fin
Title: Coming Down on a Sunny Day
Author: Smitty
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rossi/Prentiss
Prompt:Prentiss/Rossi, On a consult or custodial interview requiring an overnight. Pre-relationship. Doggy style. [Here]
Coming Down on a Sunny Day
"Let's get a room," Emily says, setting down her empty glass.
"Just one?" Rossi asks, his voice even and neutral. He's been everything she needed on this assignment and more and she has to ask this one last thing of him.
"Yeah," she says. "I told you. I want a good, hard, fuck. And I want to do it with you." She's careful to use the word "want" this time, make sure he knows she's not compelled by anything other than her own desires.
"All right," he says, taking another sip from his glass. He's been pacing himself, has been drinking the fine, smoky whiskey with the leisure it deserves. His eyes are serious on her face, on her neck, and she pulls her hair over her shoulder, covering whatever bruises Horace Caplan might have left when he slipped his cuffs and grabbed her during the interview. The adrenaline punches through here again, just like Rossi punched Horace in the face.
They were supposed to go back tonight - Delaware's only a few hours north of DC and Horace Caplan was supposed to be a routine interview. But Horace didn't cooperate and it was already after nine. Rossi had called Hotch from the prison. Neither of them were expected in before noon - or in Emily's case, at all.
Rossi reaches in his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He throws a fifty on the bar and slides his glass in front of Emily. "Finish this for me," he says. "And meet me in the lobby." He leans forward and presses a kiss to her temple, his goatee brushing softly against the side of her face. It's the same side Horace had pressed his beefy arm against. Emily's breath catches up in her throat and her pulse thumps doubletime in her ears.
It's okay, she thinks. He can do that. I just asked him to go to bed with me. She sips at his glass as she watches him walk away and thinks she can taste him in the whiskey.
It doesn't take her long to finish that one either but she's calmer when she slides off the stool and goes to the lobby to look for Dave. He's standing near the elevators, tapping the paper folder from the front desk into his palm. He doesn't look nervous, just thoughtful.
"Hey," he says with a nod as she approaches. "Ready?"
"Yeah," she says, more than ready. They take the elevator to the fourth floor and Rossi lets them into room with the plastic swipe key.
He secures the door behind them and fastens the chain, too. Then he's hauling her in, pulling her against him, and kissing her like he might lose her at any second.
Heat flares in Emily's stomach and she presses back, kisses him back, feels him crash back against the door. He's hard and solid against her, one arm a firm bar supporting her back, his other hand tangled in her hair, cupping the back of her head. The giddy realization floats up that he wants this as bad as she does and it makes her light-headed.
She rolls her hips against him, feeling him hard and thick against her stomach. He tugs gently on her hair and pulls his mouth away. They're both gasping and Emily can only vaguely make out his features in the dark. They haven't even turned on the light, yet.
He shifts his hold, both hands sliding to her waist now, slipping under her sweater and dragging it over her head. Emily licks her lips and wishes she could see his expression as he gazes at her breasts. She bets he wishes he could see them better and reaches for the light, but he presses his mouth against hers again and starts walking her back toward the bed. His hands are on her ass now, lifting her up against his body, lifting her onto the bed. It's a king-sized, she thinks as he pushes her back onto it, trailing his mouth down her stomach to her navel and undoing the clasp on her dress pants.
Emily lifts her hips, lets him drag them down and off her legs, and then he whispers, "I'm going to turn on the light. Is that okay?"
She nods and then says, "Yeah, yeah," in case he missed it. He leaves a hand on her knee as he leans away and there's a click and the soft gold of the bedside table lamp washes into the room. The bed is king-sized, Rossi's still dressed, and his eyes are burning with arousal. Emily pulls her legs up on the bed and sits up on her knees. "You're too dressed," she tells him, and starts unbuttoning his shirt.
He starts to help so she moves to his belt, unbuckling it, pulling it open, unbuttoning his pants, and lowering the zipper. His cock is hard and hot against the back of her hand and she wants it inside her so badly she's starting to blush. Rossi shrugs off his shirt and strips off his undershirt and then he's stepping away to get rid of his pants. She watches him take off his boxers and bites her lip as she sees his cock for the first time.
He comes back to the bed, angling his mouth over hers again and catching up her breast in his palm. He swipes his thumb over her nipple twice and then he brings his other hand up and unhooks her bra. Emily hesitates, then runs her hand over his hair, feeling the short bristles at the back of his neck under her palm and then scratching his nape. The intimacy is familiar, but not. The boundaries have shifted.
"Rossi," she says, because she never calls him Dave, not even as often as they're partnered.
He draws back far enough to look her in the eye and God, the look on his face is too much, too tender, too desperate, too something for her to look back.
"I'm really wet," she says stupidly, pulling his hand away from her breast to press against her panties. "I need you - " She bites her lip, mentally correcting herself to want but he doesn't give her time to regroup.
He joins her on the bed, walking her back on her knees, and thumbing her panties down her hips. He leaves them at her knees and strokes one finger inside her and it feel so good Emily thinks she might have come a little right then. He strokes his thumb over her, locating her clit and rubbing against it gently. She really is going to come and she's not ready so she edges away, leaning down and says, "I gotta get these off."
Rossi slips his hand away obligingly and she's suddenly sorry she did that. She pulls her panties over her knees and turns away to kick them off, over the edge of the bed. She feels vulnerable, suddenly, fully naked with everything on the floor, and need burning in every cell. She doesn't move to cover herself, but she does pause, not looking at Rossi, and gets herself together.
"Emily?" he asks. He touches her hip, a gentle, almost chaste caress, except he's touching her hipbone and her leg and the swell of her ass all at once. "You still want to do this?"
"Yes," she says without having to think about it. "Yes, yes." She presses her palm against the back of his hand and leans forward. "I want to do it like this."
"On your hands and knees?" he asks, voice deepening, but the question's rhetorical. His thumb is sweeping arcs on the delicate skin of her hipbone and he strokes his other hand up her back, the heel of his palm pressing all the way up her spine.
Emily closes her eyes and and exhales, relieved. "Yes," she says again as his fingers plunge into her hair and tighten. She can't see him, doesn't have to see the heat and tenderness in his eyes but she feels him where she needs him and she needs him very badly right now.
"Hold on," he says, sliding away, but leaving one hand anchored on her hip. He tosses a pillow on the bed next to her head. "You
might want that," he says, and then his knees are between hers, opening up her thighs with his and his hand is gone from her hip. "I've got a condom," he says and she hears the tearing of the paper. She pulls the pillow under her chest, wrapping her arms around it and bracing on her elbows. Then his hand is back on her hip and he's guiding himself into her, sliding in deep, sinking into her until his body's flush with hers.
He presses his mouth between her shoulder blades, his lips soft against her skin. His beard is soft and prickly at the same time, depending on how he moves and it makes her feel like so much more of him is pressed against her back. Then he rolls his hips and she gasps. "Fuck me," she says, turning her face into the pillow. "Fuck me hard, Rossi."
He shifts upward, on his knees, cupping her hips in his hands. She can feel the way his body moves behind her, positioning, and then he starts to thrust. Her hips are higher than her shoulders and the angle he's fucking her bangs the head of his cock against her front wall with every thrust. It takes her breath away and she can't form words, only soft grunts every time he makes contact. She's not used to being so passive in sex, but after a few seconds, she realizes she doesn't need to push her hips back into him - he'll take care of her if she just hangs on and goes along with the ride.
Emily's riding the edge of an orgasm, feeling overfull and oversensitizedand overwhelmed. She thinks she can feel Rossi in her throat which is tight and speechless - like she's been called on in class and doesn't have an answer to give, can't even fake one. She can hear her little gasps and his soft grunts and she rocks into the pillow every time he fucks into her.
His knees push her a little further open and he goes a little deeper and she comes, clenching around him so hard, he slips out. He pushes right back in, though, and rides her into the pillows as she gasps and cries and shudders. He pauses when her cries quiet and finally she gets back enough air to rest her forehead on her arm and protest softly. "Rossi...."
He learns forward and kisses her shoulder. "You're not done yet, are you?" he asks, and then he starts rocking in and out again, and reaches around to stroke her clit.
She shudders, tensing up, and manages an, "Oh, god, oh god, Rossi - Dave," before she's coming again, her hips shaking and her ass banging back against his thighs. She's just started to come down from that one when it hits her all over again, without him doing anything new. She can hear him saying her name, but she can't stop, shaking and crying out nonsense words, and her ears are popping. I can't stop coming, she thinks, and it's almost a relief to just let her body arch and tremble under Rossi, let him hold her together when she can't.
They're over - it's over - several long seconds before she realizes it, breathing shaky breaths into the pillow. She's lightheaded and her mouth is desert-dry, and Rossi's running a gentle hand over her side. "You okay?" he asks. His voice is soft but there's a thread of tension running through it. He's still hard inside her. He hasn't come yet.
"Yeah," she pants, her voice an octave higher than usual. "Dave." She reaches back blindly, reaches for his hand and her fingers brush his leg instead.
Then his fingers wrap around hers, squeezing and he comes, his other hand tightening on her hip as he says, "Oh, God. Emily." The accompanying groan is low in his throat and she feels his sigh of relief as much as hears it. He stays, heavy against her, for a minute, and then slides out.
She feels empty and stretched, a little sore, and ow - her lower back aches. She stretches out, feeling tender and thoroughly fucked, and sleepy. Rossi comes back to spoon against her, his fingers brushing against the scrape on her arm. She'd gotten her arm up when Horace had swung the handcuff chain around her throat and managed to keep him from cutting off her air completely.
Rossi kisses the back of her neck, her shoulder, the junction where they meet. As far as Emily's concerned, he can keep doing that forever.
"Hey," he says softly.
"Hey," she whispers, full speech too much.
"You called me Dave back there," he says, voice as gentle as his hands. "I liked it." His hand made another pass up and down her side. "I'd like to hear it again."
Emily smiles and turns her head up to him. She doesn't mind the look in his eyes or the expression on his face now. She doesn't mind the idea of seeing it again, either. "I think," she says, reaching over and finding his hand, squeezing it in hers, "that can be arranged."
Fin