A Haunting IntimacyDisclaimer:
I don’t own Supernatural or Criminal Minds. That’s Eric Kripke and Jeff Davis.Author’s Note:
This was a prompt from Bite Sized Bits of Fic, an lj community. It became rather long, so it gets its own post. (Prompt:Supernatural/Criminal Minds, Dean/Emily, sex (http://blogs.smh.com.au/lifestyle/asksam/pd_sex_070731_ms.jpg)) Seriously, check out the pic. Set some indeterminate time in Season 5 for Supernatural and during 4x17, Demonology, for Criminal Minds.
He knew as soon as he saw her eyes. Dean had been about to pass her by because there was a badge in her pocket and a gun on her hip and Dean might’ve been on a downward spiral headed straight for the apocalypse but he didn’t tempt fate, not when it came to cops. But then their eyes caught in the mirror above the bar and he stopped. Her big, dark eyes were a little dull and definitely haunted and, whatever badge she carried or oath she took, tonight, she was just a woman.
He slid onto the barstool beside her and didn’t even pretend to not be looking when she turned to face him. This wasn’t going to be about pretending to be anybody else, about being charming, about thinking this was going to go anywhere past tonight.
She started to lift her glass, amber liquid glinting in the light, and he curled his hand over hers and gently pushed it back onto the bar. She raised an eyebrow at him and he leaned into her and murmured, “My room or yours?”
She seemed more amused than offended and she let him pull her hand off the glass and twine his fingers around hers, so he figured whatever demons were riding her, they were enough to make her want to forget, for just a little while.
“Yours,” she finally decided and he slid off his barstool, pulling her gently along behind him through the crowd.
Her hand slid up the back of his jacket when somebody bumped into her and stayed there until they made it outside and into the parking lot. He stopped them at the Impala and he turned to cup her face, maneuvering them until she was leaning back against the passenger door, her hands sliding up the back of his shirt. It was snowing and flakes got trapped in her long lashes. Cold though it was, he took a moment to study her in the harsh street light. He traced a callused thumb over her lips, his fingers sliding against silky skin, and her eyes sank closed at the sensation.
He dove into a kiss, keeping his hands soft against her skin, even as he nipped at her lips. Her hands rode up his shirt and a blast of freezing wind coming off the bay cooled his ardor enough for him to pull back and open the door she was leaning against. She got in and he leaned in after her, wanting just one more kiss before they had time to think.
The drive was quiet and he could practically hear the wheels turning in her head, see the questions rise and see her battle them back down. She wanted to be reckless; he just didn’t think she was the type. Still, he laced his fingers through hers and settled her hand on his thigh, stroking a finger across her knuckles as he eased through cranky Washington traffic.
His hotel room was tiny and cheap and he wasn’t ashamed, even though he was pretty sure her sweater was cashmere and her perfume probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. He opened the door and kissed her, hoisting her up until her breath left her in a rush and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He kicked the door shut with his foot and she shook off her coat, dropping it to the floor where he nearly tripped over it. He sat her on the dresser, helped her skim her shirt off, and started sucking little kiss on exposed flesh. Her hands clenched in his shirt as he effortlessly unhooked her bra and pulled it away. She started sliding his shirt up, running her hands over skin that was quickly losing its chill. He pulled back to yank it over his head and he saw her eyes widen a little, felt her go still, and he knew that she couldn’t do it.
She knew as soon as she got his shirt off. No accountant or businessman had scars like that. He wasn’t just an average guy pretending to be bad. He was trouble with a capital ‘T’.
If she’d been a little more sober, she’d have trusted her ability to take care of herself and, maybe, have taken the risk. If she’d been a little less sober, she probably wouldn’t have cared. As it was, she was middle of the road and her mind was still too quick with probabilities and she couldn’t.
She set her hand on his abdomen, muscles clenching under the light brush of her fingers, and she said huskily, “Wait.”
Emily’s belly fluttered when he just stopped and stared at her with those hazel eyes of his. He waited, watching her face with a calm amount of acceptance, and she couldn’t get over those eyes, haunted and hurting and maybe just a little traumatized. She pulled her gaze away from his and studied her hand, pale and soft against his tanned, tight skin.
She swayed into him, never taking her eyes off of where they connected, her hand to his gut, and he dipped his head, not moving his body but nuzzling until he could press a soft kiss to her lips. Emily let herself fall into, decided to trust because he might have been trouble but he waited and she needed this.
His hands eased up her sides slowly and he was definitely waiting for her to stop him, so she wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed against him, skin sliding against skin. He picked her up again, just as effortlessly as before, and scooted them towards the bed, collapsing them onto it. He caught himself on his forearms before he could squish her and his eyes bore into hers for a second, waiting for an objection.
She opened her mouth to say, “Please,” and , “Yes, now,” and whatever it would take to get him moving and her phone rang as someone started pounding on the door.
She dropped back against the bed as he pressed his face into her shoulder with a soft groan.
“Dean?” a man’s hesitant voice called, deep and obviously familiar to her hazel-eyed orgasm on legs because he rolled off her and flopped onto his back with a disgruntled, “Yeah?”
Her phone stopped ringing, then started again and she leaned off the bed and groped for her coat as the guy on the other side of the door said, “We’ve gotta go. Bobby’s found the, uh, thing.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dean scrub his face wearily before he called back, “Yeah, okay. Give me a few.”
She grabbed her coat and fished her phone out before it could stop ringing and sat up, a little startled when Dean pulled her to sit straddle across his hips. “P-Emily,” she said into the phone, stopping herself before she could say her last name.
Dean sat up as Hotch carefully queried after her and told her they’d caught a case and that they were briefing on the plane. She propped her wrist across his shoulder to keep from crossing it across her bare breasts and he slid his hands across her skin, closing his eyes as he leaned in to press his forehead against her shoulder.
“I’m fine,” she said softly as she cupped the back of his head and let him touch his fill. Being touch starved was more common amongst children but she was nearly certain that this was what this was. She scooted closer and wrapped her arms around him and just pressed, causing him breathe out harshly. “I’ll be there in about 20 minutes.”
She hung up and tossed the phone onto her coat as a gentle thump from the next room over had him tightening his arms around her body. She squeezed the back of his neck, then scooted back until she could stand. She turned, looking for her clothes and anywhere but at him as he stood slowly.
They dressed quickly and quietly and she had to give him credit for being as efficient hooking her bra as he’d been unhooking it.
He caught her face before she could leave, dragging his thumb across her slightly swollen lips, and a smirk died on his lips as his eyes met her. “Whatever’s haunting you, it won’t go away,” he said and her breath caught in her chest because he shouldn’t have known. “It won’t ever go away, but, if you’re lucky, it won’t get any worse, either.”
Emily’s heart clenched because she was pretty sure whatever was haunting him only ever got worse. She, on impulse, leaned up and wrapped her arms around his neck and he hesitated, like hugs weren’t something he’d ever gotten a lot of. Then she pulled away and was gone, out the door a tall, startled guy was about to knock on.
She just hoped no one on the plane asked because they hadn’t had sex but they’d been intimate and that, in some ways, was so much worse.