The Hunt, part 3 of 4
Title: The Hunt (part 3 of 4)
Author: Louisa and Tamoline
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/OFC
Although Faces is technically a sequel to this story, you may want to read it first anyway:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9
The Hunt:
Groundwork
Interrogation
"Shit!" My wrist hit the wall, my gun dropping from nerveless fingers to bounce off the floor and skitter away into the shadows. Well, this sucked: our profile never said anything about the unsub being built like a pro-linebacker. I let my instincts take over, using my free hand to grab a dusty jar of unknown liquid from a nearby shelf and throw it directly at his face. He flinched away from the impact and I followed through with a brace and push, shoving him away from me as hard as I could. At the same time, I swung my other wrist over and around, letting my knees flex to bring my weight down the weakest part of the hold. It worked as intended; I broke free of his iron grip, feeling something pop in his hand as I did so. He yelled -- a sound more of anger than of pain -- and swung for me again. I dodged the blow -- just! -- but I stepped on some unidentified piece of debris and stumbled, only just managing to keep my feet. This place was a goddamn deathtrap!
"Ah!" The blonde cries out as her shoulders hit the wall, keys flying from her fingers to bounce and skitter across the polished floorboards. Her high, startled gasp melts into a moan as I let my instincts take over, pressing my body into hers and covering her lips with my own. I kiss her thoroughly, passionately, demandingly, grinding our lower bodies together and running my hands over every part of her I can reach. She meets my passion with her own, returning the kiss with equal fervour as she starts fumbling with my clothing. Drawing back just a little, I cup her breasts through the thin shirt she's (barely) wearing, confirming what I'd already figured out: she isn't wearing a bra. She shivers as I tease her nipples with my thumbs, her breath hitching in a way that thrills me to my core. I take advantage of her distraction to ease my leg between hers, sliding it upwards until: "Oh!" Houston, we have contact.
Hop over one obstacle, skip around another, run the short length of clear space. Rinse and repeat.
I needed my gun, but I wasn't getting past the unsub in these confined quarters. A wrestling match was a losing proposition. I had to get some space, had to keep moving. Had to draw him away from Morgan.
(Morgan was alive; he had to be alive. Just unconscious. Hurt, but alive. He was going to be okay. He was. As long as I could keep the unsub from finishing the job.)
I moved as fast as I could over the treacherous ground, occasionally grabbing some random item to throw at my pursuer. Trinkets, trash, even -- though a part of me winced -- books. Anything could be a weapon if used correctly. It didn't really matter whether or not I actually hit as long as I managed to slow the bastard down.
A thud and a yell. Lucky shot!
I risked a quick glance over my shoulder: there was a gash on his forehead, just above one eye. For a split-second, disbelief on his face, then that was washed away on a tide of pure, primal fury. He'd been pissed off before. Now, he was enraged. Giving in to his primitive, animal side, he abandoned the chase-and-grab approach, put his head down and charged.
Great. I could take advantage of his loss of control. But first, I had to survive a tackle that had taken down Morgan.
Time to run.
Heat and friction; tangled legs and wandering hands. Devouring, consuming kisses. Clothes askew and buttons gaping open; all the better to touch, to taste, to feel.
My lover tosses her head back, eyes half-closed as she moans low and deep in her throat. Her face is flushed, her hair straggling free from its artful knot to wreathe her face in gold, like a halo. Or a crown.
So beautiful.
My breath catches in my throat; sudden sense of vertigo as I step willingly over the precipice once more. A wrenching shift of perception as the world reels briefly, then settles into its new pattern. An old pattern, but fresh and fierce every time I let myself fall.
I love her.
Released from its iron cage, my heart swells like a bird stretching its wings after a long captivity. I love her, this nameless, beautiful stranger. My lover of the moment; my angel of the night.
I love her. Just like I love them all.
That's why it's always so hard to walk away.
Stars in my eyes as my head slammed into the floor: a jarring impact that rattled my whole body.
Pain.
I'd almost made it to the living room before the unsub crashed into me. Almost. He only clipped me, but it was still like being hit by a freight train. My outflung hands absorbed some of the force, but not enough to stop me kissing carpet. It hurt like a son of a bitch.
Focus! Move or die.
Blink my vision clear, push aside the pain, ignore my body's protests.
I knew the drill.
I kicked back once, twice, three times; each shock of impact rewarded by a grunt of pain. Third time was the charm, and then I was free.
"Bitch," wheezed the unsub. Panting breath, creak of floorboards.
Get up!
I dragged myself to my feet, almost bodily hauling myself up with bruised and stinging hands. Staggering a little, I put a chair between me and him. Just in time. He lunged, I dodged out of the way. The dance went on.
Had to keep moving, had to maintain distance so I could get around him. All part of the plan.
Madly, in one part of my mind, I couldn't help profiling him as we played our demented game of cat and mouse. Naturally well-built, had obviously worked hard to improve on what nature gave him. Smart, but didn't think straight when he lost his temper. Not combat trained, and not fast or co-ordinated enough to actually be a linebacker.
Lucky for me.
If he was any better at this, I'd already be down.
Just like Morgan.
So close. She's so close. Muscles bunch and quiver, she draws a breath, opens her mouth. I tense in anticipation of her cry, but then...
"No! Wait!"
What?
"We... We can't!"
What the fuck?
I want to howl in frustration; to curse and rage and fuck her 'till she screams. But my body automatically stops moving against hers, relaxing into a nonthreatening pose. I pull back a little, but don't step away, just moving far enough so I can look into her eyes and make sure she's okay.
She... reaches out and cups my face with a trembling hand.
"Not here!" A shuddering breath, and then she gasps out: "Bedroom!"
Oh. Okay, then.
Sliding my leg out from between hers -- lingering just enough to make her breath hitch in her throat -- I move back until there's enough space for her to wriggle out from between me and the wall. She takes me by the hand, glancing back over her shoulder with an expression of such naked lust that it's all I can do not to jump her right here and now. I make a sound that's very nearly a growl, gesturing with a hand I'd really rather be using to tear her clothes off.
"Lead the way, my princess."
That startles a pleased smile out of her. My pulse pounding heard and fast in my ears, I lean in close and gently brush my lips against her earlobe. She shivers delightfully.
"To my bower!" she all-but gasps. I let her lead me along the hallway.
Madly, in one part of my mind, I can't help profiling her even as I fantasise about all the things I'm going to do to her. Confident enough in her appearance to wear such a revealing outfit, knowledgable enough about the local scene to know both Vivian and I. Brazen, yet oddly shy. Used to taking charge and being the aggressor, yet willing -- even eager -- to be dominated. Geeky. Enthusiastic. Beautiful. Perfect.
And, for tonight: mine.
I can't wait to savour her.
Crash!
The stool hit the wall and burst apart, showering me with splinters.
Shield my eyes, keep moving. Don't stop. Whatever you do, don't stop.
Something bounced off my ribs, sending my breath whooshing out of me. Great: now the fucker was using my own tactics against me. If I had him figured right, his next move would be a charge...
Risk and opportunity, angles and trajectories, speed and timing. I'd only get one shot at this, so I had to do it right.
I staggered and groaned, clasping a hand to my side and trying to look like the impact had well-nigh crippled me. It wasn't hard to fake. He came for me, as predicted.
Wait for it...
Letting him close to grapple range went against all my instincts, but I didn't have a choice.
Now!
I dropped fluidly into a crouch, sticking a foot out to trip him. Momentum did the rest.
He went down.
Heartbeat loud as thunder; insistent drumbeat driving me onwards. The rhythm of desire, of need. Of desperation.
I was going to be good, I really was. But that skirt barely covers her ass, and her legs are so long and smooth and firm...
I find myself drifting in close; nibbling teasingly at her earlobe before turning my attention to her neck. She doesn't complain. Quite the opposite: she molds herself to my body, curling an arm up and around to keep me where I am, yielding in a way that thrills me deep inside.
I take that as an invitation.
Wrapping my other arm around her waist, I slide my hand up under her shirt, brushing lightly over her taut stomach before cupping one of her high, pert breasts, drawing a moan from somewhere deep in her throat. We all but fall through the first door we come to. My princess turns in my arms, raising her lips to mine like an offering, and we kiss as if our lives depend on it.
Yes. Oh yes.
I want this so badly; need it more than words could say. The beast within howls and swipes her claws, violently lashing her tail as she tries to drive me into a frenzy. Deliberately, I hold back, taking the time to carefully tease open buttons one by one when the beast would have me just tear away the flimsy barriers keeping me from my prize. Need or no, I will do this on my terms, not the beast's. I am the one in control here.
I... wait!
We're not alone.
Low murmur of voices; dim, flickering light.
Belatedly, I realise what my subconscious has been trying to tell me. Perhaps I stiffen, or make some small noise. Either way, my lover is alerted. She leaps back as if scalded, gasping in shock and looking wildly around the room. But I'm already ahead of her.
"It's alright," I murmur, stroking her back reassuringly.
The light and voices are coming from a television at the far side of the room -- some kind of police procedural show by the looks of it. There's a figure sprawled on the couch, but a moment's examination tells me that they're either sound asleep, or doing a very good imitation of it. Either way, it's not our problem.
Now that I come to think about it, I vaguely recall something about a flatmate. Part of me wants to say the hell with it, and just continue from where we left off, but my princess seems to have other ideas. Taking my hand again, she leads me across the room with exaggerated caution, placing a finger on her lips to impress upon me the need for silence. I can do that. I can be patient. I can wait.
But inside, the beast is howling.
Couldn't wait. Couldn't stop. Couldn't stick around to see what happened next.
I was already moving; taking advantage of the (at least) momentary breathing space to hightail it for the door I'd come in by. The one that led to the corridor where Morgan lay. The one where the guns were.
If I was really lucky, the unsub had cracked his head on something and knock himself unconscious. But since I didn't trust to luck at the best of times, I stuck with plan A. In any case, it seemed my luck wasn't in: judging by the cursing and groaning, the unsub was still conscious. Pity.
There was a scuffling noise, a floorboard creaking under his weight and then... was that a zip? I risked a quick glance back over my shoulder and saw the unsub still on the ground, rummaging around in what looked like a large sports bag. Oh, this was not good.
"Now you're gonna get what's coming to you, flatscan bitch!"
Eyes front, I sped up as much as I safely could. There was no way I was going to wait around to see what he pulled out of his bag of tricks. It wasn't anything I'd want to see up close, that's for sure. I needed my gun, but that was lost somewhere in the chaos of the dark, cluttered hallway. Luckily, I had a good idea where Morgan's weapon was.
I just hoped I could get to it in time.
So close. So very close. We're at her bedroom door now. Impatiently, I wait for her to open the door. She takes a step, flicks the lightswitch... and then just stands there on the threshold.
What now?
I bite back my instinctive response, forcing my tone into some semblance of civility. "Is something wrong?"
She looks up at me sheepishly. "It's, uh, it's kind of a mess."
"I don't care." I can't keep the growl at bay. "You're the only thing I'll be looking at." I move in close, gripping her ass to pull her against me. "I want you."
Her gaze darkens. "And I want you." She kisses me passionately, stepping backwards to draw me over the threshold and into her room.
At last!
Liking my hands just where they are, I use my foot to kick the door shut behind us. I try to guide us to the bed, but I haven't reckoned with the obstacle course that is the floor. She really isn't kidding about the mess. Her feet get tangled in something. She tries to free herself without breaking our liplock but ends up losing her balance completely and falling heavily against me. Midway through stepping over a scatter of DVDs, I can't brace for impact, and we end up going ass over apex.
Crunch!
The laundry basket breaks our fall, but gives way beneath our combined weight. It feels like the unfortunate item has just shuffled off this mortal coil.
Oops.
"I think we broke your laundry basket," I observe.
She giggles. "Fuck the laundry basket. I'll buy another one."
I raise myself on one elbow, letting my gaze travel the length of her body. "I'd rather fuck you."
No more waiting. The bed might be just over there, but she's right here, right now; ready and willing. That's more than enough for me.
Holding her gaze with mine, I slide my hands up her long, smooth legs, pushing her skirt up -- too much effort to remove it -- and pulling her fishnets and panties down. She spreads her legs obligingly and I press my fingers against the damp folds between.
"Ah!" Her whole body jerks at the contact. She was close before; I doubt it will take much to tip her over. I tease her entrance with my fingers, stroking rhythmically as I lightly dip inside her. She's hot and slick against my hand, the musky scent of her arousal heavy in the air. I get wet in response. Well, more wet. God, I want this so much. Leaning into her a little, I start to thrust, pivoting my wrist so I can brush the engorged bud of her clitoris with my thumb. "Oh!"
I kiss her stomach, nip lightly with my teeth, trail my tongue over her quivering skin. I cast a covetous look at where her breasts show through her half-undone blouse, but I can't reach them from here. I'd have to move, and I'm quite happy where I am for the moment. From the sounds of it, she's happy too; whimpering and panting in time with my constant, rhythmic motion.
Soon, soon... Now!
Splash and sizzle of liquid. Acrid taste at the back of my throat.
For a brief, horrible moment, I thought I'd been hit, but no. The thin stream of acid had splattered harmlessly against the floorboards behind me. The range might have been impressive if I wasn't on the wrong end of it. From this angle, it was fucking terrifying.
Couldn't think about that right now; couldn't remember those crime scene photos showing seared and melted flesh.
I didn't want to die that way.
I acknowledged the thought, the fear, letting it pass over me and through me. I accepted it, let its icy fingers lend speed to my body and focus to my mind. And then I pushed it away.
I had a job to do.
My world narrowed to a pinpoint focus: get the gun, take the fucker down.
Survival, first and foremost.
Nothing else mattered.
Nothing matters but this moment: the feel of her clenching around my hand; her body quivering beneath me as she cries out.
It's glorious. She's glorious.
She finally falls limp, smiling up at me from amidst the ruins of the laundry basket. It really is an ex-laundry basket now.
Oh well. It was a noble death.
Morgan's blood on my hands as I searched the floorboards. No time to check if he still lived.
Over and through.
Detach.
Find the damn gun!
I searched methodically. Memory -- knife-edged and crystal clear -- and Morgan's position told me where to look. All I had to do was find it.
Footsteps, coming closer. I tensed, the skin on my back crawling with the thought that he could be drawing a bead on me right now. This time, he could be close enough. This time, he could actually hit.
Metal beneath my hand.
Found it!
Time to turn the tables.
Can't wait. Have to do this now.
We were trying for the bed again, but the scent of arousal is heavy in the air and I just want to taste her.
No. I can't. Not that, never that. But the next best thing.
A conveniently-sized chest of drawers will do, mainly because it's right here. I push her roughly against it, place her hands so she can brace herself.
"Hold on, my lady."
"What? The bed's just there. What are you...?" Although puzzled, she does exactly what I say; her ready obedience driving the beast to new levels of frenzy. I drop to my knees, taking a moment to inhale deeply, both to savour her scent and to reassure myself of my own control.
Enough.
I lean forward slowly and blow on the hot wet skin, watching to see how she reacts.
"O-oh!" she gasps, twitching. "Oh, please!"
So close. I'm so close to what I want. I could indulge myself, just this once. What's the harm in just once?
No. No compromises.
Rising smoothly from my crouch, I turned to face the unsub, bringing the gun up in a firm, two-handed grip.
Even as I curse my conscientiousness, I'm already reaching in my pocket for the sterile little package. She looks down at me, first puzzled, but then enlightened when she realises what I'm unwrapping.
"I'd heard you always used one of those."
"Safety first," I mutter, opening out the piece of latex.
"Doesn't it feel weird?"
I don't bother to answer her question. Instead, I grip her thighs and let my actions do the talking.
The unsub checked his headlong rush; pointed the nozzle of his weapon towards me.
Towards me and Morgan.
Shit! Bullets might not put him down fast enough.
No time to think. Had to put him off his stride; had to stop him using that thing again.
"What's wrong, Wannabe? Afraid of getting up close and personal? You scared of a flatscan bitch?"
I wish the barrier wasn't there, but it is, and there's point in wanting what I can't have.
No regrets. No distractions.
Live in the moment.
He roared and charged. That worked. I just hoped I could survive this again.
I kiss her nether lips, work my tongue within her opening.
Aim for centre of mass. No hesitation.
I fuck her hard with my mouth, plying her with lips and my tongue as she gasps and trembles.
No holding back.
Pull the trigger...
Thrust into her...
Thunderous report; jolt of recoil.
Again. Again. Again.
Ragged cries; clench of muscles. Hands gripping my hair.
Again. Again. Again.
Wet slap of blood across my face.
Liquid evidence of her enjoyment, held back from my yearning tongue.
His body crashed into me.
...against me...
Low grunt of pain, confusion in his eyes.
Her eyes close in pleasure.
...clutched at me weakly...
She loses her balance and falls sideways...
...taking us both down...
...flailing wildly with her arms. Ornaments and nicknacks clatter and crash. I reach for her...
Jars tumbled and smashed; glass crunching beneath our combined weights. While on top of me...
...but don't manage to stop her slow motion topple. She steps on something that crunches and crackles.
...he spasmed and then relaxed, flopping limply. His last breaths were hot and liquid against my cheek.
We end up on the carpet in a tangle of limbs. A moment's pause, and then we both laugh.
And then the light in his eyes went out.
Her eyes shine like stars.
I had to...
...get out of here.