Dominate
Title: Dominate
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Rossi/Prentiss
Genre: Romance/Humor
Summary: He’s not entirely sure what would be prompting her to don a corset and a garter belt, but quite frankly, he doesn’t care a single bit.
Warnings: Light BDSM, but not really.
A/N: So I haven't really posted any R/P in a while, mostly because I've been working on the next part to the Moments in Time series, so I decided to end the drought so to speak, with this piece, which is more of a snippet than anything. In addition to that, many thanks to those who nominated my R/P fics for the CM fan fic awards - I was very honored, and it makes me happy to know that people are enjoying that much. :)
A/N 2: Completely unrelated, but I've started doing blog posts here, so if anyone cares about my insanely boring life, feel free to use it as a cure for insomnia.
* * *
Dominate
David Rossi is lying on the bed, reading when Emily comes in, the summer heat enough that he’s only wearing boxers and a white t-shirt. It’s been a slow week - it seems even the serial killers are on vacation. Slow enough that they can have a little bit of fun without feeling too guilty.
Still, he raises an eyebrow - he’s not entirely sure what would be prompting her to don a corset and a garter belt, but quite frankly, he doesn’t care a single bit.
‘Going somewhere?’ he asks, with an amused lilt. It’s the kind of underclothes she usually wears when attending an Ambassadorial function, mostly because her mother hates it when she “sluts up,” and it’s not really slutty, but the black dress she usually wears with the ensemble doesn’t do his own libido any favors - the people at these particular functions are not the kind he’d want to have a hard on in front of.
‘Going, no.’ She shakes her head. ‘Coming, on the other hand? Maybe.’ She blushes slightly at her words, as if embarrassed by them, which is amusing, in a way, considering the depth of her sexual experience. Rossi, on the other hand, finds himself suddenly hardening, both at her words, and at the blush that’s spreading across her cheeks.
‘Maybe?’ he asks, ‘I’m so insulted.’ Still, he sets the book aside, taking the hint that this is her show; he may be an alpha male, but he sure as hell knows to back down when it’s for his own good.
She grins then, and he feels a surge of warmth at the thought that even when she’s uncomfortable, he can make her feel somewhat at ease. They’ve come a long way. No puns intended.
She climbs onto the bed, and it’s not long before she’s straddling him, and he feels the brush of her stockings against his bare leg.
‘Do you think you can behave?’ she asks him, her voice low, sultry. ‘Or do I need to tie you up?’
He gives a half-smirk - he’s seen the contents of her closet. Knows that the gothic phase had included whips and chains, and all other kinds of kink. She hasn’t shown that side so much with him, but if tonight is any indication, then it’s definitely still lurking.
‘I think I can behave myself,’ he affirms, because he’s not quite ready to give up control just yet, even if the thought of Emily Prentiss dominating him is quite possibly the hottest image he’s had all week.
She’s strong, and beautiful, and confident, even if she doesn’t want to believe it. She leans down to kiss him, and he gets a perfect view of her corset-clad breasts, and thinks that his brain is about to short-circuit. He finds it almost interesting that she’d been so willing to wear something so confining, simply as an act of rebellion - it seems almost contrary, but he isn’t complaining.
He lets his hand run from her right breast down to her thigh, fingers brushing the clip that’s holding the thigh-highs up. She swats his hand away. Apparently they’re staying on. He satisfies himself by letting his hands rub against her breasts through the corset. Her nipples are hard against the leather, and it’s damn near the hottest fucking thing in the world.
She reaches down, pulling his shirt over his head. He hastens to help her, but apparently, he isn’t needed. Emily sits back, one hand rubbing against his chest, the other reaching down to touch her clit. The panties are crotchless, he realizes then, and wonders how it had taken him so long to notice. He’s a profiler, after all.
She’s been shopping.
Part of him is transfixed just watching, and another part is bursting at the seams, wanting nothing more than to take control of the situation - flip her over and just pile-drive in. He shows self control though, barely, and suffices with letting his hands cup her ass and pull her closer.
She doesn’t seem to be in the mood to torture him tonight, though, for which he’s grateful, because he doubts he could last much longer. The thought that she might consider doing it again sometime, restraining him, denying him what he desires - it’s terrifying, yet erotic at the same time.
She slides his boxers down, wet fingers rubbing circles over the head of his cock. ‘Oh, Emily,’ he rumbles, the first words he’s spoken in nearly a minute. Then, she’s lifting herself up and sliding onto him, and he readjusts his grip on her ass, his hands moving with her as she starts to ride him.
Her eyes are wide open, and her hair cascades across her back, and he briefly considers the thought of it in a tight braid, reflecting the dominatrix image. He’s enjoying this way too much.
Emily speeds up a little bit, leaning down so that she’s pressed against him, arms wrapped around his neck, and crotchless panties aside, it’s almost normal, and he doesn’t mind that either, because it’s not just about the sex. Never been just about the sex.
She doesn’t resist when his hand drifts up her back to the corset fastenings; she slows down just slightly, both prolonging the climax, and making it easier for him to get the thing off. Then it’s free, and he lets his hands touch her breasts, almost reverently, as though it’s the first time. She speeds up again, and it’s give and take in equal amounts, before her legs start to tighten and she’s shuddering, and he uses the opportunity to thrust upwards with finality, coming in a rush of hot, sticky liquid.
They’re both breathing heavily as she maneuvers herself off of him, falling to the bed with an inelegant thump that belies the costume.
‘God this outfit is uncomfortable,’ she says finally, and he laughs.
‘Let’s not throw it away just yet,’ he breathes into her neck, pulling her towards him. His hands move back towards the clips at her thighs, and this time, she helps, and after a minute or so, she’s completely undressed, one leg thrown casually thrown over his, and her breasts pressing up against his chest.
‘You can wear it next time,’ she mumbles. ‘We’ll have a Rocky Horror theme night.’
‘Do I get to cuff you?’ he asks, and he’s mostly joking but the tone of voice with which she replies makes him wonder if she’s seriously considered the thought:
‘We’ll see.’
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Rossi/Prentiss
Genre: Romance/Humor
Summary: He’s not entirely sure what would be prompting her to don a corset and a garter belt, but quite frankly, he doesn’t care a single bit.
Warnings: Light BDSM, but not really.
A/N: So I haven't really posted any R/P in a while, mostly because I've been working on the next part to the Moments in Time series, so I decided to end the drought so to speak, with this piece, which is more of a snippet than anything. In addition to that, many thanks to those who nominated my R/P fics for the CM fan fic awards - I was very honored, and it makes me happy to know that people are enjoying that much. :)
A/N 2: Completely unrelated, but I've started doing blog posts here, so if anyone cares about my insanely boring life, feel free to use it as a cure for insomnia.
* * *
Dominate
David Rossi is lying on the bed, reading when Emily comes in, the summer heat enough that he’s only wearing boxers and a white t-shirt. It’s been a slow week - it seems even the serial killers are on vacation. Slow enough that they can have a little bit of fun without feeling too guilty.
Still, he raises an eyebrow - he’s not entirely sure what would be prompting her to don a corset and a garter belt, but quite frankly, he doesn’t care a single bit.
‘Going somewhere?’ he asks, with an amused lilt. It’s the kind of underclothes she usually wears when attending an Ambassadorial function, mostly because her mother hates it when she “sluts up,” and it’s not really slutty, but the black dress she usually wears with the ensemble doesn’t do his own libido any favors - the people at these particular functions are not the kind he’d want to have a hard on in front of.
‘Going, no.’ She shakes her head. ‘Coming, on the other hand? Maybe.’ She blushes slightly at her words, as if embarrassed by them, which is amusing, in a way, considering the depth of her sexual experience. Rossi, on the other hand, finds himself suddenly hardening, both at her words, and at the blush that’s spreading across her cheeks.
‘Maybe?’ he asks, ‘I’m so insulted.’ Still, he sets the book aside, taking the hint that this is her show; he may be an alpha male, but he sure as hell knows to back down when it’s for his own good.
She grins then, and he feels a surge of warmth at the thought that even when she’s uncomfortable, he can make her feel somewhat at ease. They’ve come a long way. No puns intended.
She climbs onto the bed, and it’s not long before she’s straddling him, and he feels the brush of her stockings against his bare leg.
‘Do you think you can behave?’ she asks him, her voice low, sultry. ‘Or do I need to tie you up?’
He gives a half-smirk - he’s seen the contents of her closet. Knows that the gothic phase had included whips and chains, and all other kinds of kink. She hasn’t shown that side so much with him, but if tonight is any indication, then it’s definitely still lurking.
‘I think I can behave myself,’ he affirms, because he’s not quite ready to give up control just yet, even if the thought of Emily Prentiss dominating him is quite possibly the hottest image he’s had all week.
She’s strong, and beautiful, and confident, even if she doesn’t want to believe it. She leans down to kiss him, and he gets a perfect view of her corset-clad breasts, and thinks that his brain is about to short-circuit. He finds it almost interesting that she’d been so willing to wear something so confining, simply as an act of rebellion - it seems almost contrary, but he isn’t complaining.
He lets his hand run from her right breast down to her thigh, fingers brushing the clip that’s holding the thigh-highs up. She swats his hand away. Apparently they’re staying on. He satisfies himself by letting his hands rub against her breasts through the corset. Her nipples are hard against the leather, and it’s damn near the hottest fucking thing in the world.
She reaches down, pulling his shirt over his head. He hastens to help her, but apparently, he isn’t needed. Emily sits back, one hand rubbing against his chest, the other reaching down to touch her clit. The panties are crotchless, he realizes then, and wonders how it had taken him so long to notice. He’s a profiler, after all.
She’s been shopping.
Part of him is transfixed just watching, and another part is bursting at the seams, wanting nothing more than to take control of the situation - flip her over and just pile-drive in. He shows self control though, barely, and suffices with letting his hands cup her ass and pull her closer.
She doesn’t seem to be in the mood to torture him tonight, though, for which he’s grateful, because he doubts he could last much longer. The thought that she might consider doing it again sometime, restraining him, denying him what he desires - it’s terrifying, yet erotic at the same time.
She slides his boxers down, wet fingers rubbing circles over the head of his cock. ‘Oh, Emily,’ he rumbles, the first words he’s spoken in nearly a minute. Then, she’s lifting herself up and sliding onto him, and he readjusts his grip on her ass, his hands moving with her as she starts to ride him.
Her eyes are wide open, and her hair cascades across her back, and he briefly considers the thought of it in a tight braid, reflecting the dominatrix image. He’s enjoying this way too much.
Emily speeds up a little bit, leaning down so that she’s pressed against him, arms wrapped around his neck, and crotchless panties aside, it’s almost normal, and he doesn’t mind that either, because it’s not just about the sex. Never been just about the sex.
She doesn’t resist when his hand drifts up her back to the corset fastenings; she slows down just slightly, both prolonging the climax, and making it easier for him to get the thing off. Then it’s free, and he lets his hands touch her breasts, almost reverently, as though it’s the first time. She speeds up again, and it’s give and take in equal amounts, before her legs start to tighten and she’s shuddering, and he uses the opportunity to thrust upwards with finality, coming in a rush of hot, sticky liquid.
They’re both breathing heavily as she maneuvers herself off of him, falling to the bed with an inelegant thump that belies the costume.
‘God this outfit is uncomfortable,’ she says finally, and he laughs.
‘Let’s not throw it away just yet,’ he breathes into her neck, pulling her towards him. His hands move back towards the clips at her thighs, and this time, she helps, and after a minute or so, she’s completely undressed, one leg thrown casually thrown over his, and her breasts pressing up against his chest.
‘You can wear it next time,’ she mumbles. ‘We’ll have a Rocky Horror theme night.’
‘Do I get to cuff you?’ he asks, and he’s mostly joking but the tone of voice with which she replies makes him wonder if she’s seriously considered the thought:
‘We’ll see.’