Chelsea Hotel
Title: Chelsea Hotel
Author: Alsike
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds x-over
Pairing: Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss, vague Emily/JJ, JJ/unidentified MC
Rating: R
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Word Count: 2896
Prompt: 046. Lap Dance
Apologies: I don't even know what the fuck this is. And I've hated everything I've written since last Monday, so let me know if it really is as bad as I think it is. And the prompt completely fails to actually go off.
And it's AU, a universe very close to City on the River, but vaguely different life choices were made by all.
Emily wasn’t sure how one day, one sentence spoken in one moment on one day, could ruin her entire life, but it had. She had really thought things were going okay for her, for once. So she had been disinherited and her mother wasn’t speaking to her, but she was doing what she wanted to do, and that was worth something. She was doing what she knew was the right thing, and moral righteousness could keep her warm at night. Not that it had to, because she had a girlfriend. That was supposed to be what proved it, that her life was going just fine. She had never been the type of person to whom relationships came easily. Her exes said she was a little too focused, a little too disinterested. She wasn’t quite sure why they expected her to be obsessed. But for the first time she thought she understood what they expected her to feel. And of course, when she finally let herself be vulnerable, that was when she was stabbed to the heart.
It was just two words.
When her partner heard the tale he nearly exploded with fury. “That absolute bitch! It’s bad enough that she cheated on you, but she didn’t even think to use protection? Anything could have happened!”
Anything did happen, Emily didn’t say. That wasn’t the worst of it, not at all.
Elliot shook his head. “She wants to keep it and she wants to stay with you? What are you going to do?”
Emily didn’t know what she could do. She crashed on Elliot’s floor for a few nights, but it wasn’t a permanent solution. She wanted to tell her that she couldn’t forgive her for this, but JJ cried and cried and she couldn’t just kick her out. But she couldn’t do this. She felt trapped, but there was no way she could take care of a woman who betrayed her, look after a child of a man who had been more attractive, more alluring than she could ever be. She knew she wasn’t worth much, but she was worth more than that.
The twisting horrible despair was writhing through her, and she just didn’t care anymore. She just wanted to go out and get shot in the fucking head and not have to deal with this anymore. JJ knew how to wear her down, how to keep up the pressure, make her life miserable until she gave in. She needed a way out, any way out. But her lieutenant noticed that she was depressed and kept assigning her deskwork instead of patrol. Her partner was pleased because they actually got assigned to help a few detectives with a case. It was corporate espionage, and a week of poking through file boxes until Emily was ready to shoot herself in the head.
One of Elliot’s friends found out and sympathized with her. He had been trapped by his girlfriend (and her mother) into marriage and raising a child he couldn’t be sure was his. He and Elliot decided that they had to cheer her up, show her how they dealt with these terrible women in their lives, and took her to a strip club.
It was a sordid place, and all her cop instincts were going off. Cocaine deals in the back room, a suspicious doorway that seemed to cost a roll of cash to get into, but Elliot thumped her on the shoulder and told her to relax. They were off duty, just here to look at beautiful women.
Emily had gone to an Ivy League college, not into the marines, and vaguely attractive co-eds made her more nervous than turned on, and that was what these girls were. None of them seemed older than twenty-five, all a little too skinny, a little glazed and wasted with bleach-blonde hair and fake tans. They were all the type of girl that would never give her a second look, or girls like JJ who thought they might want her until something better came along.
But here they were, all begging for attention, for money, and suddenly Emily realized why this felt good. Perhaps they hated you, but they were all here because they needed to be. If they would strip to their skivvies and make sex noises while they humped a pole, what wouldn’t they do? It was easy to despise them, and so easy to think about humiliating them, making them serve you, fucking them until it wasn’t worth it anymore and they begged you to stop.
It made her feel disgusted with herself and she wished she hadn’t come.
Elliot’s friend patted her shoulder and revealed their surprise.
“We bought you a lap dance! Pick a girl!”
“How do you tell them apart?” Emily asked, depressedly.
“I like her,” said Fin, pointing out a redhead in blue underpants. “She’s generous with the contact.”
Elliot pointed out a petite blonde. “She’s very friendly.”
They made Emily cringe. It was different for them. They were both decent looking men. It wouldn’t be too much work for any straight girl to give them a few extra smiles. But it was different for her. Women didn’t like serving other women, in any capacity.
There was one girl, leaning against the bar, tall and bored as various men bought her drinks. She didn’t drink any and she didn’t flirt, she didn’t smile. She didn’t notice people, just money, and that was almost comforting. She seemed professional, and weirdly not fake. She was too obvious about her professionalism, and from the white riding crop that appeared to be an integral part of her outfit, it was clear that she attracted the type who wanted not a friend, but a mistress.
Emily was pointing at her before she considered what it would look like. Fin’s jaw dropped. The waitress who took the cash grinned at her almost pityingly. “Our white queen. Worth every penny.”
-
There was one chair in the center of the tiny room. Emily wasn’t particularly interested in sitting in it. It didn’t look very clean and she could only imagine what generally went on in it. She stood near the corner, embarrassed and awkward, the effect of the few drinks she had had fading rapidly.
The door opened and the woman, well, girl, Emily could see, now that she was not so far away, walked in. She was paler than the other girls, and her hair was lopped off a little past her chin and bleached so blonde it was nearly white. She looked over and her sharp blue eyes focused on Emily, cowering in the corner.
“What are you doing over there? Sit down.”
Emily sidled towards the chair. “I’m… I’m not really sure about this. My friends…”
The girl waved it away as if she had heard it all before. “You’re a dyke, you’ll like it. Just loosen up. And don’t touch me.”
Emily frowned sullenly. She sat down and crossed her legs. “The girl said you were good at this,” she said, heavy with sarcasm, not appreciating the girl’s tone or her words.
“I am.”
“You must give a lot of extras then, since I doubt anyone comes back for your charm.”
“You think I give extras to cops?”
Emily cocked her head and glared. “Come on, how much to use your mouth?”
The girl kicked her foot until she uncrossed her legs, and then straddled her, draping her arms loosely around her neck. “You’re not convincing me that you aren’t gonna narc on me if I give you an offer.” She moved her hips, just a gesture, and Emily arched up into it, but she moved away, teasing.
“A hundred?”
“Yeah? No.” The girl popped open the first few buttons of Emily’s shirt. Emily regained some self-control and glowered stiffly at her.
“A thousand?”
The girl flicked her nipples through her bra. “You not getting any at home?”
Emily felt stung. She didn’t need to be thinking about that right now. “Can’t I just be into the exotic eroticism of it?”
“You’re not.” The girl sat with a thump into her lap. She traced her finger up under Emily’s chin and then tugged her jaw forward. “You’re really not into this at all. Why did you pick me?”
“I thought… I thought you looked interesting?”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay that was your first mistake. I’m not here to have a chat. This isn’t a hostess club where I pretend to be your girlfriend and we do karaoke. I’m the visual stimulus you use with your vibrator.”
Emily turned her eyes away even if she couldn’t turn her head. “Yeah… I don’t think anyone thought this out.”
“But you aren’t getting any at home,” the girl drawled, spider-walking her fingers up her chest. “Why not? And why not pick someone up at a bar if you’re that desperate to cheat?”
“I’m not cheating!”
“Of course darling. You’re just in a strip club with a girl in your lap for purely platonic reasons.”
“It’s not my fault.” The words fell out of Emily’s mouth like rocks and left a bad taste behind. “My girlfriend cheated with some guy and got pregnant and I can’t look at her, much less touch her.”
The girl stared, and when Emily didn’t look at her, she grabbed her face and jerked it around. “Kick her the shit out!” she snapped. “You idiot. You don’t want any part of that!”
Emily tried to cringe away, but it was difficult to escape from someone in your lap. “She doesn’t have anywhere to go.”
“She’s using you.”
“You have no right to say that!”
The girl sat back, chastened, but not backing down. “I don’t. But tell me that’s not how you feel.”
Emily scowled. “I thought I was paying for a dance, not a counseling session.”
“You didn’t seem that interested in one of my skill sets, so I thought I'd get some practice for my field placement.”
Emily blinked. “Your what?”
“Field placement? It’s one of those hoops you need to jump through to get a masters in psychology.”
“Masters in Psychology?”
“Yeah, cop,” the girl snapped. “Scared of higher ed?”
“My BA’s in psychology… and Arabic,” Emily mumbled.
“Neuroscience and behavior, with an Education certificate.” Emily gaped. The girl grinned and moved her hips in Emily’s lap. “Oh! You’re one of those.”
“One of whats?” Emily inquired nervously, clenching her knees together.
“You aren’t attracted to people who you consider below you. While I was just a stripper you weren’t turned on, but now that we’ve exchanged resumes…”
Emily wished she weren’t right. But she couldn’t deny the way her body had reacted. The girl even seemed prettier, her face more well-defined, her eyes sharper and more intelligent. She flushed, half with guilt, half with something else. “Great, now I’m elitist.”
“Don’t be ashamed of it. The only problem with elitism is that it doesn’t exclude enough of the rabble.”
“Where’s your BA from?”
“Ooh, aren’t we picky?” Emily flushed. She hadn’t meant it to sound like an evaluation. “Columbia, barely. My father stopped paying when he found out that I had switched out of Economics. But federal aid and taking my clothes off professionally let me finish.” She twisted her head, her short silky hair sliding along her cheek, and she smiled savage in her success, with mostly teeth.
“You didn’t get a teaching job?”
The girl shrugged. “I had one, for a while. But it paid shit. I couldn’t go back to school if I had to teach 7 to 3 every day, and I couldn’t afford it either, so I quit.’
“So, you’re going into guidance counseling?”
She pursed her lips. “No. I want to be a sex therapist.” Emily laughed. It ought to be absurd, but in this situation, how could it be. “I think I’d be good at it.”
“I agree.”
The girl leaned in close enough that their noses were nearly touching. “You want to be my first client? Begging strippers for head and not being able to look at your girlfriend? You need help.”
“I need something,” Emily said, her voice a half breathed murmur. She tilted her head, just enough to kiss her. She wanted to kiss her, badly. But she couldn’t lean in, not even the inch she needed. She wasn’t ever the person who made the first move, if this even counted as a move. She could feel the heat of the girl’s bare thighs through her jeans, but her hands stayed obediently at her sides. If she was told not to touch, she wouldn’t touch. The girl’s eyes flicked down as if following her gaze to her own lips, and Emily felt caught. “You got a card?” she asked awkwardly, trying to cover.
The girl glanced down at her nearly complete lack of clothes. “In this? You got a piece of paper?”
Emily found a cocktail napkin crumpled up in her pocket and a felt tip pen. The girl scrawled a phone number across it. Emily held it tightly, afraid that if she let it go it would disappear.
“What’s your name?” The girl looked surprised. “I’ve got your digits, but no name to go with it.”
“I’m Emma.” They shook hands, crosswise, since Emma was still sitting on Emily’s lap.
“Emily.”
Emma glanced at the clock. “I would ask you if you wanted that lap dance now, but if you stay any longer your friends will be sure you paid for that head.”
Emily winced. “They probably wouldn’t mind.”
Emma cocked her head and frowned at her. “You don’t look like you’ve had a lap dance. You’re going to ruin my reputation if you leave like this.”
Emily looked down at her open shirt and the outline of her nipples pressing through the fabric of her bra. “Really?”
But Emma was cupping her cheek, and her mouth was on Emily’s, hot and wet and open. Her tongue slid inside, and Emily heard herself moan into it, but couldn’t even think about being embarrassed. She was too busy desperately wanting it not to end.
Emily, thoroughly kissed and half-stunned, stayed frozen as Emma sat back and considered her, then carefully adjusted a smear of lipstick with her thumb and buttoned Emily’s shirt incorrectly. “All right. You’re good to go.”
She slid off of Emily’s lap and walked out.
Emily staggered out of the room. Her colleagues cheered her and slapped her back, but she hardly noticed them, too caught up in that kiss. It didn’t make sense to her that she could react so strongly to someone she didn’t even know. She hadn’t kissed JJ like that, not ever. She had needed to be sweet to turn a tentative interest into something real, and then there had been all the processing, the trying to back her out of the closet, and the working on the relationship that they hadn’t really had time for lust. And maybe that was one of the problems with them, or… with her? She had never considered that she might not be attracted to people she didn’t respect intellectually. She shuddered slightly. What if it all was her fault?
-
JJ opened the door and glared at Emily. “Where have you been?” she asked fiercely.
Emily shrugged, uncomfortably aware of the odors of smoke and alcohol clinging to her clothes. There was a hint of sweat and something she was afraid was Emma’s perfume as well. “The guys took me out.”
“You smell disgusting.”
Emily didn’t react and pushed past her. She closed the napkin in one of her books that she knew JJ would never touch. She had looked at one once and Emily had explained that it was a Marxist analysis of the history of railroads in the UK and the USSR. JJ had dropped it in horror. She had also only managed a minute and a half of Goddard, which Emily had been lounging on the couch and watching while relaxing. Not everyone got these things, but it had led to the fight in which JJ asked accusingly, “Are you a communist?” Emily had responded. “Do you even know what that word means?” And then they hadn’t spoken for a week.
It made Emily feel dirty, especially now, lusting after a stripper with an Ivy League degree, when she thought that you just didn’t get that good of an education at Penn State. But it was a sports school, and JJ was a jock, it didn’t mean she wasn’t intelligent.
All of her friends and colleagues were jocks now. And they were usually lower-middle class. In general they were better companions than the elite pigs she had grown up with. But she always felt slightly separate from them. She didn’t understand their jokes and they didn’t like her movies. She knew if she apologized to her mom, let her help her into a better job, a more advanced position, she wouldn’t fit in there either. She never had, and now it would just be worse.
But Emma… Emma knew what it was like to drop in class, to have to fend for yourself, sell your body, whether it was by showing it to strangers or the pure physicality of being a cop. And Emily knew she would call. She had to, if only because it would make her feel less alone.
Part 2
Author: Alsike
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds x-over
Pairing: Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss, vague Emily/JJ, JJ/unidentified MC
Rating: R
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Word Count: 2896
Prompt: 046. Lap Dance
Apologies: I don't even know what the fuck this is. And I've hated everything I've written since last Monday, so let me know if it really is as bad as I think it is. And the prompt completely fails to actually go off.
And it's AU, a universe very close to City on the River, but vaguely different life choices were made by all.
Emily wasn’t sure how one day, one sentence spoken in one moment on one day, could ruin her entire life, but it had. She had really thought things were going okay for her, for once. So she had been disinherited and her mother wasn’t speaking to her, but she was doing what she wanted to do, and that was worth something. She was doing what she knew was the right thing, and moral righteousness could keep her warm at night. Not that it had to, because she had a girlfriend. That was supposed to be what proved it, that her life was going just fine. She had never been the type of person to whom relationships came easily. Her exes said she was a little too focused, a little too disinterested. She wasn’t quite sure why they expected her to be obsessed. But for the first time she thought she understood what they expected her to feel. And of course, when she finally let herself be vulnerable, that was when she was stabbed to the heart.
It was just two words.
When her partner heard the tale he nearly exploded with fury. “That absolute bitch! It’s bad enough that she cheated on you, but she didn’t even think to use protection? Anything could have happened!”
Anything did happen, Emily didn’t say. That wasn’t the worst of it, not at all.
Elliot shook his head. “She wants to keep it and she wants to stay with you? What are you going to do?”
Emily didn’t know what she could do. She crashed on Elliot’s floor for a few nights, but it wasn’t a permanent solution. She wanted to tell her that she couldn’t forgive her for this, but JJ cried and cried and she couldn’t just kick her out. But she couldn’t do this. She felt trapped, but there was no way she could take care of a woman who betrayed her, look after a child of a man who had been more attractive, more alluring than she could ever be. She knew she wasn’t worth much, but she was worth more than that.
The twisting horrible despair was writhing through her, and she just didn’t care anymore. She just wanted to go out and get shot in the fucking head and not have to deal with this anymore. JJ knew how to wear her down, how to keep up the pressure, make her life miserable until she gave in. She needed a way out, any way out. But her lieutenant noticed that she was depressed and kept assigning her deskwork instead of patrol. Her partner was pleased because they actually got assigned to help a few detectives with a case. It was corporate espionage, and a week of poking through file boxes until Emily was ready to shoot herself in the head.
One of Elliot’s friends found out and sympathized with her. He had been trapped by his girlfriend (and her mother) into marriage and raising a child he couldn’t be sure was his. He and Elliot decided that they had to cheer her up, show her how they dealt with these terrible women in their lives, and took her to a strip club.
It was a sordid place, and all her cop instincts were going off. Cocaine deals in the back room, a suspicious doorway that seemed to cost a roll of cash to get into, but Elliot thumped her on the shoulder and told her to relax. They were off duty, just here to look at beautiful women.
Emily had gone to an Ivy League college, not into the marines, and vaguely attractive co-eds made her more nervous than turned on, and that was what these girls were. None of them seemed older than twenty-five, all a little too skinny, a little glazed and wasted with bleach-blonde hair and fake tans. They were all the type of girl that would never give her a second look, or girls like JJ who thought they might want her until something better came along.
But here they were, all begging for attention, for money, and suddenly Emily realized why this felt good. Perhaps they hated you, but they were all here because they needed to be. If they would strip to their skivvies and make sex noises while they humped a pole, what wouldn’t they do? It was easy to despise them, and so easy to think about humiliating them, making them serve you, fucking them until it wasn’t worth it anymore and they begged you to stop.
It made her feel disgusted with herself and she wished she hadn’t come.
Elliot’s friend patted her shoulder and revealed their surprise.
“We bought you a lap dance! Pick a girl!”
“How do you tell them apart?” Emily asked, depressedly.
“I like her,” said Fin, pointing out a redhead in blue underpants. “She’s generous with the contact.”
Elliot pointed out a petite blonde. “She’s very friendly.”
They made Emily cringe. It was different for them. They were both decent looking men. It wouldn’t be too much work for any straight girl to give them a few extra smiles. But it was different for her. Women didn’t like serving other women, in any capacity.
There was one girl, leaning against the bar, tall and bored as various men bought her drinks. She didn’t drink any and she didn’t flirt, she didn’t smile. She didn’t notice people, just money, and that was almost comforting. She seemed professional, and weirdly not fake. She was too obvious about her professionalism, and from the white riding crop that appeared to be an integral part of her outfit, it was clear that she attracted the type who wanted not a friend, but a mistress.
Emily was pointing at her before she considered what it would look like. Fin’s jaw dropped. The waitress who took the cash grinned at her almost pityingly. “Our white queen. Worth every penny.”
-
There was one chair in the center of the tiny room. Emily wasn’t particularly interested in sitting in it. It didn’t look very clean and she could only imagine what generally went on in it. She stood near the corner, embarrassed and awkward, the effect of the few drinks she had had fading rapidly.
The door opened and the woman, well, girl, Emily could see, now that she was not so far away, walked in. She was paler than the other girls, and her hair was lopped off a little past her chin and bleached so blonde it was nearly white. She looked over and her sharp blue eyes focused on Emily, cowering in the corner.
“What are you doing over there? Sit down.”
Emily sidled towards the chair. “I’m… I’m not really sure about this. My friends…”
The girl waved it away as if she had heard it all before. “You’re a dyke, you’ll like it. Just loosen up. And don’t touch me.”
Emily frowned sullenly. She sat down and crossed her legs. “The girl said you were good at this,” she said, heavy with sarcasm, not appreciating the girl’s tone or her words.
“I am.”
“You must give a lot of extras then, since I doubt anyone comes back for your charm.”
“You think I give extras to cops?”
Emily cocked her head and glared. “Come on, how much to use your mouth?”
The girl kicked her foot until she uncrossed her legs, and then straddled her, draping her arms loosely around her neck. “You’re not convincing me that you aren’t gonna narc on me if I give you an offer.” She moved her hips, just a gesture, and Emily arched up into it, but she moved away, teasing.
“A hundred?”
“Yeah? No.” The girl popped open the first few buttons of Emily’s shirt. Emily regained some self-control and glowered stiffly at her.
“A thousand?”
The girl flicked her nipples through her bra. “You not getting any at home?”
Emily felt stung. She didn’t need to be thinking about that right now. “Can’t I just be into the exotic eroticism of it?”
“You’re not.” The girl sat with a thump into her lap. She traced her finger up under Emily’s chin and then tugged her jaw forward. “You’re really not into this at all. Why did you pick me?”
“I thought… I thought you looked interesting?”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay that was your first mistake. I’m not here to have a chat. This isn’t a hostess club where I pretend to be your girlfriend and we do karaoke. I’m the visual stimulus you use with your vibrator.”
Emily turned her eyes away even if she couldn’t turn her head. “Yeah… I don’t think anyone thought this out.”
“But you aren’t getting any at home,” the girl drawled, spider-walking her fingers up her chest. “Why not? And why not pick someone up at a bar if you’re that desperate to cheat?”
“I’m not cheating!”
“Of course darling. You’re just in a strip club with a girl in your lap for purely platonic reasons.”
“It’s not my fault.” The words fell out of Emily’s mouth like rocks and left a bad taste behind. “My girlfriend cheated with some guy and got pregnant and I can’t look at her, much less touch her.”
The girl stared, and when Emily didn’t look at her, she grabbed her face and jerked it around. “Kick her the shit out!” she snapped. “You idiot. You don’t want any part of that!”
Emily tried to cringe away, but it was difficult to escape from someone in your lap. “She doesn’t have anywhere to go.”
“She’s using you.”
“You have no right to say that!”
The girl sat back, chastened, but not backing down. “I don’t. But tell me that’s not how you feel.”
Emily scowled. “I thought I was paying for a dance, not a counseling session.”
“You didn’t seem that interested in one of my skill sets, so I thought I'd get some practice for my field placement.”
Emily blinked. “Your what?”
“Field placement? It’s one of those hoops you need to jump through to get a masters in psychology.”
“Masters in Psychology?”
“Yeah, cop,” the girl snapped. “Scared of higher ed?”
“My BA’s in psychology… and Arabic,” Emily mumbled.
“Neuroscience and behavior, with an Education certificate.” Emily gaped. The girl grinned and moved her hips in Emily’s lap. “Oh! You’re one of those.”
“One of whats?” Emily inquired nervously, clenching her knees together.
“You aren’t attracted to people who you consider below you. While I was just a stripper you weren’t turned on, but now that we’ve exchanged resumes…”
Emily wished she weren’t right. But she couldn’t deny the way her body had reacted. The girl even seemed prettier, her face more well-defined, her eyes sharper and more intelligent. She flushed, half with guilt, half with something else. “Great, now I’m elitist.”
“Don’t be ashamed of it. The only problem with elitism is that it doesn’t exclude enough of the rabble.”
“Where’s your BA from?”
“Ooh, aren’t we picky?” Emily flushed. She hadn’t meant it to sound like an evaluation. “Columbia, barely. My father stopped paying when he found out that I had switched out of Economics. But federal aid and taking my clothes off professionally let me finish.” She twisted her head, her short silky hair sliding along her cheek, and she smiled savage in her success, with mostly teeth.
“You didn’t get a teaching job?”
The girl shrugged. “I had one, for a while. But it paid shit. I couldn’t go back to school if I had to teach 7 to 3 every day, and I couldn’t afford it either, so I quit.’
“So, you’re going into guidance counseling?”
She pursed her lips. “No. I want to be a sex therapist.” Emily laughed. It ought to be absurd, but in this situation, how could it be. “I think I’d be good at it.”
“I agree.”
The girl leaned in close enough that their noses were nearly touching. “You want to be my first client? Begging strippers for head and not being able to look at your girlfriend? You need help.”
“I need something,” Emily said, her voice a half breathed murmur. She tilted her head, just enough to kiss her. She wanted to kiss her, badly. But she couldn’t lean in, not even the inch she needed. She wasn’t ever the person who made the first move, if this even counted as a move. She could feel the heat of the girl’s bare thighs through her jeans, but her hands stayed obediently at her sides. If she was told not to touch, she wouldn’t touch. The girl’s eyes flicked down as if following her gaze to her own lips, and Emily felt caught. “You got a card?” she asked awkwardly, trying to cover.
The girl glanced down at her nearly complete lack of clothes. “In this? You got a piece of paper?”
Emily found a cocktail napkin crumpled up in her pocket and a felt tip pen. The girl scrawled a phone number across it. Emily held it tightly, afraid that if she let it go it would disappear.
“What’s your name?” The girl looked surprised. “I’ve got your digits, but no name to go with it.”
“I’m Emma.” They shook hands, crosswise, since Emma was still sitting on Emily’s lap.
“Emily.”
Emma glanced at the clock. “I would ask you if you wanted that lap dance now, but if you stay any longer your friends will be sure you paid for that head.”
Emily winced. “They probably wouldn’t mind.”
Emma cocked her head and frowned at her. “You don’t look like you’ve had a lap dance. You’re going to ruin my reputation if you leave like this.”
Emily looked down at her open shirt and the outline of her nipples pressing through the fabric of her bra. “Really?”
But Emma was cupping her cheek, and her mouth was on Emily’s, hot and wet and open. Her tongue slid inside, and Emily heard herself moan into it, but couldn’t even think about being embarrassed. She was too busy desperately wanting it not to end.
Emily, thoroughly kissed and half-stunned, stayed frozen as Emma sat back and considered her, then carefully adjusted a smear of lipstick with her thumb and buttoned Emily’s shirt incorrectly. “All right. You’re good to go.”
She slid off of Emily’s lap and walked out.
Emily staggered out of the room. Her colleagues cheered her and slapped her back, but she hardly noticed them, too caught up in that kiss. It didn’t make sense to her that she could react so strongly to someone she didn’t even know. She hadn’t kissed JJ like that, not ever. She had needed to be sweet to turn a tentative interest into something real, and then there had been all the processing, the trying to back her out of the closet, and the working on the relationship that they hadn’t really had time for lust. And maybe that was one of the problems with them, or… with her? She had never considered that she might not be attracted to people she didn’t respect intellectually. She shuddered slightly. What if it all was her fault?
-
JJ opened the door and glared at Emily. “Where have you been?” she asked fiercely.
Emily shrugged, uncomfortably aware of the odors of smoke and alcohol clinging to her clothes. There was a hint of sweat and something she was afraid was Emma’s perfume as well. “The guys took me out.”
“You smell disgusting.”
Emily didn’t react and pushed past her. She closed the napkin in one of her books that she knew JJ would never touch. She had looked at one once and Emily had explained that it was a Marxist analysis of the history of railroads in the UK and the USSR. JJ had dropped it in horror. She had also only managed a minute and a half of Goddard, which Emily had been lounging on the couch and watching while relaxing. Not everyone got these things, but it had led to the fight in which JJ asked accusingly, “Are you a communist?” Emily had responded. “Do you even know what that word means?” And then they hadn’t spoken for a week.
It made Emily feel dirty, especially now, lusting after a stripper with an Ivy League degree, when she thought that you just didn’t get that good of an education at Penn State. But it was a sports school, and JJ was a jock, it didn’t mean she wasn’t intelligent.
All of her friends and colleagues were jocks now. And they were usually lower-middle class. In general they were better companions than the elite pigs she had grown up with. But she always felt slightly separate from them. She didn’t understand their jokes and they didn’t like her movies. She knew if she apologized to her mom, let her help her into a better job, a more advanced position, she wouldn’t fit in there either. She never had, and now it would just be worse.
But Emma… Emma knew what it was like to drop in class, to have to fend for yourself, sell your body, whether it was by showing it to strangers or the pure physicality of being a cop. And Emily knew she would call. She had to, if only because it would make her feel less alone.
Part 2