V is for Vagina
Title: V is for Vagina
Pairing: Reid/Elle
Rating: R
Summary: "Ugh. I hate that word."
Warnings: Language, suggestive dialogue (ha), vague spoiler-age for Derailed. A fair amount of silliness.
Notes: Yet another installment of the Alphabet Meme. The prompt - which made me giggle a bit like a twelve-year old - is from the darling bubblesuds, a girl after my own heart ;) ♥
"Freud was a pig, but -- and it pains me to say this, lover, believe me -- he wasn't all wrong." Elle takes the final drag from her cigarette and stubs it out in the mismatched saucer to her coffee cup.
Reid taps his fingers against the table. "He wasn't? So you wish you had a penis?"
Elle catches his eye. His expression makes her smile, ghosted over with some remnant of prepubescent joy derived from teasing the girl he likes. "No, asshole," she laughs. "I have just about all the dick I can handle." She raises her eyebrows at him meaningfully, and he looks away for a second, his mouth quirked at the corners. "I'm talking about the G-spot business."
"Actually..." Reid coughs, clears his throat like he's preparing for a speech. "Freud never used the term G-spot. It was coined by Beverly Whipple nearly a quarter of a century later. Freud was referencing the vaginal orgasm, which he..."
Elle interrupts him with a disdainful grunt and fumbles for her pack of Marlboros. "Ugh. I hate that word."
Reid stops, his eyebrows drawing together. "What word?"
"Vaginal. Or vagina." Elle lights her cigarette and jams it into her mouth.
"Why?" He looks truly bewildered, as though he can't comprehend not wanting to call something what it is.
"I worked in sex crimes too fucking long," she says, turning her head and blowing her smoke towards the open window. She knows how much he hates the smell. "That word makes me shudder. Do you know how many police and medical reports I had to read about all of the heinous things people do to vaginas? How many women I've talked to about what happened to theirs? Unless I'm at work or at the gyno, I don't want to hear it. Seriously. Nothing makes me go fucking frigid faster."
Reid taps his lips with the tips of his fingers, pondering her. She levels her own stare at him in a way that most people, uncomfortable under the intensity of his observation, won't. Finally, he says, "What do you want me to call it, then?"
Elle shrugs. "Anything else you like, pretty much."
"What do you call it?"
She grins, crooked and naughty, and taps the ash from her cigarette. "Well. I guess that depends on context."
"What do you mean?" He slouches back in his chair, his arms crossed across his belly, a curious mix of relaxed and self-conscious.
"If I'm talking to my mother, it's a gatita. Or a coño." She rolls her eyes and laughs, affectionate and fond. "But my mom isn't your typical Cubana. Where do you think I get it from?"
Reid smiles at her and waits for her to continue, his long legs stretched to the side of his tiny kitchen table.
"What did your mom call it?" she asks. Reid blanches, suddenly, looks totally startled, and Elle laughs. "Not her gatita, kiddo. Christ. Your dick. What did she tell you it was?"
"... My penis."
"Aha!" Elle exclaims, as if she's just had a revelation, and flicks more ash. "That explains it."
"Explains what?"
"Why I've never gotten a suck my cock, baby out of you." She grins mischievously at the sudden widening of Reid's eyes, the way he pulls back from her just a little. "More from Mister Freud, yeah? All that Oedipal bullshit? No cutesy little nicknames then, no talking dirty even when the chick you're fucking asks you for it now."
"What? You've never..."
"I just did." She puts her cigarette out, even though it's only half-smoked, and props her chin up on her hand. "I think you and your verga need to get on friendlier terms."
They sit for a moment in silence, waiting for the other one to break it. Elle wins. She usually does.
"What... what else do you call it? When you're not... what do you want me to call it when...?"
Reid's face is flushing a little, and Elle rolls her eyes in gentle exasperation. He kills her sometimes, the way he can describe the most deviant, bizarre examples of human behavior with clinical precision but can't bring himself to say pussy. "When you've got me bent over the back of your couch screaming like I'm getting paid for it?" she asks, biting down on her lip to keep from laughing.
"Uhh..." He coughs again, pulls his arms in closer. "Yeah."
"I told you: whatever you want."
"I don't know... what do you call it? I mean, when you're not talking to your mother?"
Elle shrugs again, still holding back her laugh. "I like the ones with the k-sound," she says genially. "Coochie. Kittie." She pauses. "Cunt." Reid's eyes go wide again, surprised at the last one, and she smiles. "Am I really about to give you a lesson in etymology, Doctor Reid?"
"... Maybe?"
"Cunt. Though its origins are highly contentious, the generally-recognized theory is that it is derived from Kunti. A Hindu goddess. So..." She beats out a drumroll on the table with her palms. "It's holy!" Reid laughs now, his fingers pressing into his bottom lip like he's not sure whether it's allowed, and Elle winks at him. "Plus, it's way better than pussy, right? Pussy is what you call the dude who won't get on the train with the armed-and-raving psychopath. Cunt is what you call the chick you don't wanna mess with. It's stronger. I like it. So.... call it whatever you want, but if you're trying to turn my knobs -- which you are, because you're a smart boy -- tell me you can't wait to get your pretty mouth on my cunt. How's that?"
Reid's rubbing at his forehead now, pink in his cheeks and his ears, fiddling with the handle of his coffee mug. He clears his throat like he's going to answer, but he doesn't, just laughs a little.
"What?" Elle asks. "I just assumed you didn't want your tongue in my mouth at the moment," she says, gesturing to the two dead, bent cigarettes propped in front of her. "Am I wrong?"
Reid shakes his head, shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and cracks his knuckles once before he speaks. "No. You're right. I think... I think there's a better place for me to put it."
Elle draws one finger up the back of his hand, tracing the lines of vein and bone underneath, and then she stands up and takes two steps to stand in front of his chair. She takes the bottom of his chin and tilts it up towards her. "Where's that?"
"Your...." He stops, like the word is too heavy, too unfamiliar to shove past his lips.
Elle grins down at him. "My...?"
"Your...."
She waits for a beat, then rubs her thumb across his bottom lip. "My cunt," she supplies. Reid nods and curls his hand around the back of her knee, tries to pull her closer, but she edges it away. "Say it."
"Your cunt," he finally says, his voice almost a whisper. He's still pink, but his eyes are dark and his hands are insistent, both of them back on her legs now like he's daring her to stop him.
Elle takes her hands and threads them through his hair then settles down into his lap. "Oh, you precious little thing. I love it when you do what you're told. Now I'm gonna teach you how to tell me all the filthy things you want to do to me. Ready?"
"Anything you want," he murmurs as she presses her lips to the pulse-point at his throat.
"See? You do know how to get a girl hot and bothered," she says, grinning against his skin. "Those are the real magic words, you know." She moves her lips right to his ear and whispers, "Now say it again."
Pairing: Reid/Elle
Rating: R
Summary: "Ugh. I hate that word."
Warnings: Language, suggestive dialogue (ha), vague spoiler-age for Derailed. A fair amount of silliness.
Notes: Yet another installment of the Alphabet Meme. The prompt - which made me giggle a bit like a twelve-year old - is from the darling bubblesuds, a girl after my own heart ;) ♥
"Freud was a pig, but -- and it pains me to say this, lover, believe me -- he wasn't all wrong." Elle takes the final drag from her cigarette and stubs it out in the mismatched saucer to her coffee cup.
Reid taps his fingers against the table. "He wasn't? So you wish you had a penis?"
Elle catches his eye. His expression makes her smile, ghosted over with some remnant of prepubescent joy derived from teasing the girl he likes. "No, asshole," she laughs. "I have just about all the dick I can handle." She raises her eyebrows at him meaningfully, and he looks away for a second, his mouth quirked at the corners. "I'm talking about the G-spot business."
"Actually..." Reid coughs, clears his throat like he's preparing for a speech. "Freud never used the term G-spot. It was coined by Beverly Whipple nearly a quarter of a century later. Freud was referencing the vaginal orgasm, which he..."
Elle interrupts him with a disdainful grunt and fumbles for her pack of Marlboros. "Ugh. I hate that word."
Reid stops, his eyebrows drawing together. "What word?"
"Vaginal. Or vagina." Elle lights her cigarette and jams it into her mouth.
"Why?" He looks truly bewildered, as though he can't comprehend not wanting to call something what it is.
"I worked in sex crimes too fucking long," she says, turning her head and blowing her smoke towards the open window. She knows how much he hates the smell. "That word makes me shudder. Do you know how many police and medical reports I had to read about all of the heinous things people do to vaginas? How many women I've talked to about what happened to theirs? Unless I'm at work or at the gyno, I don't want to hear it. Seriously. Nothing makes me go fucking frigid faster."
Reid taps his lips with the tips of his fingers, pondering her. She levels her own stare at him in a way that most people, uncomfortable under the intensity of his observation, won't. Finally, he says, "What do you want me to call it, then?"
Elle shrugs. "Anything else you like, pretty much."
"What do you call it?"
She grins, crooked and naughty, and taps the ash from her cigarette. "Well. I guess that depends on context."
"What do you mean?" He slouches back in his chair, his arms crossed across his belly, a curious mix of relaxed and self-conscious.
"If I'm talking to my mother, it's a gatita. Or a coño." She rolls her eyes and laughs, affectionate and fond. "But my mom isn't your typical Cubana. Where do you think I get it from?"
Reid smiles at her and waits for her to continue, his long legs stretched to the side of his tiny kitchen table.
"What did your mom call it?" she asks. Reid blanches, suddenly, looks totally startled, and Elle laughs. "Not her gatita, kiddo. Christ. Your dick. What did she tell you it was?"
"... My penis."
"Aha!" Elle exclaims, as if she's just had a revelation, and flicks more ash. "That explains it."
"Explains what?"
"Why I've never gotten a suck my cock, baby out of you." She grins mischievously at the sudden widening of Reid's eyes, the way he pulls back from her just a little. "More from Mister Freud, yeah? All that Oedipal bullshit? No cutesy little nicknames then, no talking dirty even when the chick you're fucking asks you for it now."
"What? You've never..."
"I just did." She puts her cigarette out, even though it's only half-smoked, and props her chin up on her hand. "I think you and your verga need to get on friendlier terms."
They sit for a moment in silence, waiting for the other one to break it. Elle wins. She usually does.
"What... what else do you call it? When you're not... what do you want me to call it when...?"
Reid's face is flushing a little, and Elle rolls her eyes in gentle exasperation. He kills her sometimes, the way he can describe the most deviant, bizarre examples of human behavior with clinical precision but can't bring himself to say pussy. "When you've got me bent over the back of your couch screaming like I'm getting paid for it?" she asks, biting down on her lip to keep from laughing.
"Uhh..." He coughs again, pulls his arms in closer. "Yeah."
"I told you: whatever you want."
"I don't know... what do you call it? I mean, when you're not talking to your mother?"
Elle shrugs again, still holding back her laugh. "I like the ones with the k-sound," she says genially. "Coochie. Kittie." She pauses. "Cunt." Reid's eyes go wide again, surprised at the last one, and she smiles. "Am I really about to give you a lesson in etymology, Doctor Reid?"
"... Maybe?"
"Cunt. Though its origins are highly contentious, the generally-recognized theory is that it is derived from Kunti. A Hindu goddess. So..." She beats out a drumroll on the table with her palms. "It's holy!" Reid laughs now, his fingers pressing into his bottom lip like he's not sure whether it's allowed, and Elle winks at him. "Plus, it's way better than pussy, right? Pussy is what you call the dude who won't get on the train with the armed-and-raving psychopath. Cunt is what you call the chick you don't wanna mess with. It's stronger. I like it. So.... call it whatever you want, but if you're trying to turn my knobs -- which you are, because you're a smart boy -- tell me you can't wait to get your pretty mouth on my cunt. How's that?"
Reid's rubbing at his forehead now, pink in his cheeks and his ears, fiddling with the handle of his coffee mug. He clears his throat like he's going to answer, but he doesn't, just laughs a little.
"What?" Elle asks. "I just assumed you didn't want your tongue in my mouth at the moment," she says, gesturing to the two dead, bent cigarettes propped in front of her. "Am I wrong?"
Reid shakes his head, shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and cracks his knuckles once before he speaks. "No. You're right. I think... I think there's a better place for me to put it."
Elle draws one finger up the back of his hand, tracing the lines of vein and bone underneath, and then she stands up and takes two steps to stand in front of his chair. She takes the bottom of his chin and tilts it up towards her. "Where's that?"
"Your...." He stops, like the word is too heavy, too unfamiliar to shove past his lips.
Elle grins down at him. "My...?"
"Your...."
She waits for a beat, then rubs her thumb across his bottom lip. "My cunt," she supplies. Reid nods and curls his hand around the back of her knee, tries to pull her closer, but she edges it away. "Say it."
"Your cunt," he finally says, his voice almost a whisper. He's still pink, but his eyes are dark and his hands are insistent, both of them back on her legs now like he's daring her to stop him.
Elle takes her hands and threads them through his hair then settles down into his lap. "Oh, you precious little thing. I love it when you do what you're told. Now I'm gonna teach you how to tell me all the filthy things you want to do to me. Ready?"
"Anything you want," he murmurs as she presses her lips to the pulse-point at his throat.
"See? You do know how to get a girl hot and bothered," she says, grinning against his skin. "Those are the real magic words, you know." She moves her lips right to his ear and whispers, "Now say it again."