An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
A gift for @hogwartstoalexandria for the Criminal Minds Holiday Gift Exchange. I hope you like this!
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/David Rossi
Rating: Teen
Words: 2137
Summary:
“I got a nosebleed.”
“Did any of the holy water get on you? The EMTs should have checked you out, if you inhaled any sarin, or VX –”
“If I did, I would be dead by now. It’s just a nosebleed… Happened right outside of a church, though.” She laughs, and Dave almost winces at how harsh it sounds as it escapes her lips. “Maybe Father Silvano was right, and my soul is in possession of evil.”
Take good care of her. And you.
“Never,” he says. This time he lets himself touch her, wrapping a hand around her elbow and squeezing. She looks almost startled at the contact. “You, my dear, are one of the good ones.”
-OR-
After the events of Demonology, Emily shows up at Rossi's door.
Davily | 34. Kisses that start on their fingers and run up their arm, eventually ending on their lips.
Where is she?
(628w), Post 6x08: Lauren, Angst, Established Relationship
“Where is she?” Dave had followed right after JJ had left again, Spencer sobbing in her arms. He’d followed after Aaron’s hunched form. "Where?"
They could feed all the lies they wanted the others to swallow for safety reasons, all of them, but Dave would be damned if he let Aaron think for a moment that he could fool him – he would be damned if he let them take her away, if he let Doyle win.
“My wife, Aaron, where?”
Aaron’s face crumbled, his sigh long enough to make Dave want to punch his best friend’s face right there, at least there would be doctors to take care of his broken nose nearby.
“She’ll be flown to Bethesda under a fake name as soon as she’s cleared to travel.”
“Where is she, right now?” Dave was growling by now, but he was beyond politeness, beyond appearances and certainly way past manners. Aaron’s scan of his face took another couple of seconds before he finally spilled it–
“Fifth floor, recovery room.”
Dave didn’t wait. The others were still in the waiting room; there would be protocols, more lies and tears, and Dave didn’t know if he could face them all after but as much as he loved them, as much as he wanted to be truthful with them, if Emily’s life was on the balance, like it had very much been for the past months, he didn’t care. He didn’t care to do anything but stride out the other end of the hallway opposite the waiting room they were packed in, punch the elevator button and punch the big bright white ‘five’ once he was in. He needed to see her. Needed to see for himself that Aaron and JJ’s words had all been lies, had all been to protect her and not to make him lose his mind which, he would; if he lost her he’d lose his mind, too. He’d lost too much, had said goodbye too many times to too many people – he needed her to live, needed her to breathe and laugh and make a fool of herself, needed her to make nerdy comments he didn’t have the references to understand, wanted her to swirl around shily in new dresses she thought he’d like, craved the sight of her in sweatpants and sports bra, hair a mess, eating ice cream out of the carton on their sofa.
He needed his wife alive, and seeing her lying in that bed hooked up to too many tubes to count shouldn’t have been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, but it was.
With trembling fingers, he found her inert hand on the bed. With tears running down his face, he brought her cold palm to his lips, pressed a kiss right over the lifelines there, and then another in the green and purple veins he traced at night at her wrist and down her forearm. He cried, and the crook of her elbow received his tears. He kissed every piece of her he could touch without disturbing her IVs, every inch of her pale skin, too pale, that he could brush his lips against without rocking her and her fresh, terrible wounds.
Dave kissed her lips last, a kiss that slid from her forehead, down her nose, to end at her lips – he said goodbye, sobbing still. A wreck, he said see you soon. Dizzy, he promised her – they would do everything to catch this son of a bitch. They would trap him and never let go, until she could come back, until he could see her again, until he got to hold her close and never again let her drift away.
“I’ll have Chunky Monkey in the freezer and Ruinart in the fridge, waiting for you.”
Davily | 50. A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck.
(356w) Notsfw
His chin glistens with the proof of just how undone he's made her and Emily groans. She grabs for his shoulders but he resists her, just long enough to kiss her inner thigh. She shivers and it has nothing to do with being cold. His lips on hers are tender, warm, and he smells of her, her skin, her arousal, her mark on him, all over the lower half of his face.
"I love you," he rasps, and she can't take it anymore. The way he kisses the line of her jaw, the path he traces down her neck, tickling, maddening. She wraps her legs around his hips and slides her hand between them. He shudders when her fingers close around him. Emily guides his cock inside her, and pushes on his lower back with her heels, needing to feel him, needing the carnal sensation of having him around, above, inside her.
"Dave…" She bites her bottom lip, her hands playing with his hair as she throws her head back. She feels every added inch of him, pushing further in, making his way into the heat he's brought her to.
His breath hitches and so does hers. His hold on her waist is gentle, the way he goes on to caress her breasts, flick the pad of his thumbs on her nipples, just as soft. Each time they meet like this, no barriers, no way to hide, Emily feels a little closer to him. Every time his arms close around her, keeping her against his chest, embracing her whole, she feels herself give in a little more. His thrusts drag moans out of her mouth, her throat bobbing as she swallows past curses and pleas. He fucks into her and he keeps kissing up and down her shoulders, her neck, his tongue teasing her own, her taste still present enough to feel intoxicating.
When his thumb finds her clit between them, flicking and circling and rubbing, his hips never halting in their slow rhythm, Emily convulses, shocks of pleasure lighting her spine on fire — it's hard to remember why she ever fought this at all.
419w | General Audiences | Davily: Emily Prentiss/David Rossi
Additional Tags:
Established Relationship, Christmas, First Christmas, Fluff
Summary:
Emily is a little more emotional about her first Christmas at the mansion than she thought she would be.
Read on AO3 or under the read more!
Her eyes are lost in the fire, her legs folded against her chest under the heavy blanket she dragged out of the hallway closet. She just stares at it as she wonders, once more, how she managed to get here, with him, in this house that is now theirs and isn't even a house; it's too ridiculously large to be called that. She gnaws at her bottom lip but leaves her fingers alone for once. She listens for the sounds of her boyfriend — she feels like snorting, calling him that even in the privacy of her own mind — going about in the kitchen. She knows better than to get in the way of the chef, when he gets like this, he's insufferable. If she never has to sit through another cooking lesson, it will be too soon; not because it's a bad time, but she's so terrible at it and he looked so crushed when she managed to burn the basil for the pesto that one time… It's not worth it.
She could go sit with him, nurse a glass of the mulled wine he made, but not just yet. The fire is a spectacle too entrancing, too inviting. Maybe it's the holiday spirit thing, she can't help her heart squeezing up her throat every now and then. It's like her eyes are determined to betray her and cry for some stupid reason. She looks away from the flames to glance into the open-plan kitchen; it makes her smile.
When he comes to sit with her, Dave's hands carry a glass of the wine each, and she gratefully pulls her arms from under the blanket to accept hers. He clinks their glasses, and Emily once again has to blink back an outpouring of emotions. Gross.
"Merry Christmas, belleza," he whispers.
"Merry Christmas, sap," she answers, but the smile is still there, and it stays on when he sits closer and kisses her. He tastes like oranges and star anise, like cinnamon and home. His mouth over her own is home.
He pats his thumb down her face as the kiss lingers and stops, and Emily doesn't hide her traitorous tears. Dave kisses her cheek and brushes locks of her hair behind her ear. She curled it for the occasion, he said it reminded him of when they first met, how she used to style it like this more often. He stays silent a moment longer, until he speaks again, his voice tighter than it was before, "I'm happy, too."
Davily | 2. A small, fleeting kiss - which is immediately followed by a passionate, hungry kiss.
(320w) ~not exactly sfw
They can still hear the slot machines roaring, the patrons whether drunk and angry or ecstatic and rude, the casino they're leaving behind as the elevator doors close and Dave crowds her against the wall. He's drawn to her lips, to her skin, in a way he hasn't experienced in a long time. It's different too, different than one-night-stands and different than his last marriage, even if that also happened right here in Vegas. Her fingers are cold on his cheek, her eyes a furnace as neither seems able to look away. He lets his hands rest, one at her hip, one at the side of her neck, not gentlemanly but not pushy. They both know why they're here, and it is not the case they just solved. They know what they're doing, even if questions of tomorrow could plague them if they so choose. They don't.
Emily tilts her chin up, hands still cupping his face and her eyes stay uncertain as she leans close enough for their lips to barely touch, barely brush. Dave's sharp inhale takes him by surprise, affected beyond words by the simple contact and he wants more. Emily's response as he surges against her and claims her mouth fully seems to say she needs him too. It's all lips and tongues and heat, it's her hands fisting in his hair and clamping on his shoulders. It's his thigh fitting between her legs as she parts for him and groans. The elevator keeps dinging, up and up the floors and it thankfully does not open again until they're here.
The rest of the team has gone up and to sleep a long time ago, but even if that weren't true, they forget to be careful. They do not watch their steps or put any real distance between them as they make their way to Dave's room, and the minute it's closed it's game on again.
Davily | 1. Small kisses littered across the other’s face.
(256w)
"Would you come here already?" She sighs, her exasperation only half-hearted as she feels Dave's lips go around her belly yet again. She was trying to read, originally, but go do that with this one all over her. "What are you doing anyway?"
He looks up at her with laughter in his eyes and she doesn't know if he's mocking the question, her exasperation, or if he's just feeling particularly sappy tonight. "I'm saying hello to our son."
"You've said hello enough times I think," she rolls her eyes, but she finally puts her book down. She's not that interested in reading about pride or prejudices anymore.
"Grump," he says, but he finally straightens up and sits against her thigh. "Comfortable? He points at the mountain of pillows he arranged for her when she came out of the shower and as soon as she nods, that same light seeps back into his eyes. She braces for whatever it is he's got in mind — it ends in more laughter, hers this time, as he starts dropping kisses all over her face. She tries to push him away but he catches her wrists. She tries to wiggle out from under him but he's everywhere and she's too big to move that easily. She turns her head this and that way but he only kisses the cheek he has access to, the knot of her jaw he can reach, the temple that is nearest. "Hello there."
"Sappy old man," she whispers back, and lets him kiss her properly.
Episode Related, Episode: s04e02 The Angel Maker, Developing Relationship, Love Confessions, Kiss Kiss Fall in Love, Fluff
Part 9 of 50 Tropes till Winter (Criminal Minds), full prompt list here.
Summary:
Shara Carlino took one look at Emily and when she felt threatened, somehow aimed right at the core of her insecurities.
"You've never been in love, have you?"
(Coda to 4x02)
Read here on AO3, or under the readmore!
"You've never been in love, have you?"
Emily nursed her wine glass, sipping from it when she could pull herself out of her thoughts long enough to not just toy with the stem. No matter what she did, it seemed she couldn't focus on anything else. She didn't make a habit of letting weirdos get into her head. By all means, this should have been innocuous, a statement shrugged off the minute she and Dave left Shara Carlino's office. It stayed with her though. She forgot about it just long enough to be done with the case, but as soon as Hotch and Morgan disappeared into one SUV while Spencer took the wheel of the one the rest of them were going to take to get to the airfield; as soon as Dave put on his seatbelt, sharing the backseat with her, it came back. It slammed her in the face when he tilted his head and silently asked if she was okay, the same way he did whenever she got in her head too much. He looked at her with the same warmth he always did, and images of him, still sleep-faced and bed-haired in the morning, had her itching to reach out for his hand. She'd resisted the urge. She'd nodded. Spencer had started the car and that was that.
Only it wasn't, or else why was she here and why couldn't she get shit-faced and make herself get past this odd funk? Those words stuck to her skin like an uncomfortable, scratchy suit.
"Thought I might find you here."
Emily smiled despite herself; he did that too, made her smile at the strangest times, when joy was the last thing on her mind. She watched Dave get into the stool next to her, shrugging his jacket and draping it over the back of his seat before signalling the bartender.
"A scotch, neat, please," he said, then turned to her. "Are you going to tell me?"
"Tell you?" Emily tried to play coy; she could always attempt an escape, a diversion. She could, but she didn't really feel like it. Especially as Dave raised an eyebrow at her, obviously unimpressed by her acting skills, and then gently pushed some of her hair behind her ear.
"You don't fool me, Emily Prentiss," he whispered, exasperated yet fond, and again, what a mix. From anyone else she would feel patronised. The same words and gestures from anyone other than this grotesque, loving, passionate ass of a man would get her hackles raised. Instead, she sighed, and he squinted at her. "Come on, out with it."
"What are we doing, Dave?" She asked, unsure what route to take this. They had carefully avoided this conversation thus far. Stayed up late chatting about any and everything but that, had sex that they never would call making love, yet looked and felt a lot like it, kissed, like they would find all the answers if only they pressed closer. "That woman," she added when he looked confused, and maybe even worried. "What she said to me…"
"She was a serial killer's groupie, Emily—"
"I know. I know, it's just…"
"Just what?" He sat sideways in his seat, and caught her hand, kept her from ruining her cuticles any further.
"She was wrong?" She said it like it was a question, her tone rising more out of nerves than anything — her heart in her throat, she waited.
"Of course she was wrong. I mean, you're a grown woman; you've been in love at some point in your life. Anyone not wacky-into serial murderers could tell you that." He smiled still, like he was amused, and Emily laughed a little hysterically — he'd misunderstood her.
"Dave," she shook her head, "You're not hearing me."
"I'm not?" Still, he looked confused, and by God, it was true, men were too dumb to read between the lines, or right through them apparently. He watched her as she laughed, like he wanted in on the joke, and she felt like punching him but she also needed to take this off her chest, stop making a secret of something so obvious.
"God," she sighed again, rubbing her face with her free hand.
"Oh, we're calling him so soon?"
"Shush," she said, and then sat the same way he did, so their knees fit together, nested. She turned her hand in his and squeezed, then leaned closer, watching his expression morph as he slowly caught on. She kissed him, the way she did when she wanted to cut some of his most rambly ventings off, when she needed his attention and he just wasn't giving it, when she wanted his focus on her and her only. Then she drew back; her face felt warm. She brushed her nose against his and repeated herself, "She was wrong."
That she hid her face in his neck next might be a little pathetic, but this she hadn't felt this naked in a long time, hadn't made herself this vulnerable to another person in decades. A large hand cradling the back of her head was exactly what she needed to start relaxing again though. That, and the gentle way he kissed her temple.
"Can I see your face again?" He whispered, and he sounded just that side of choked-up that let Emily feel it was safe enough to straighten up. His thumbs brushed just under her eyes, then moved to the line of her nose, until he traced her lips with one of them and let his other hand drop back in his lap. He opened his mouth, but kissed her again rather than talk. "Let's get out of here, get some air."
They did get some air. They walked down the street, and the next, and when Emily indicated her car was the other way around, they walked back. Dave grabbed her hand but he didn't talk. She didn't either, unsure if this was the moment where she was meant to freak out he hadn't said it back, so to speak, or if she could afford to stay calm a while longer.
Turns out, it would have been too bad if she'd missed the next of Dave's moves — why did he always have such good ones — where he pushed her back against her car, and his hand warmed the side of her neck as he once again claimed her mouth, slotting their legs together.
"You are the most exasperating, anxious, nerdy, sweet woman I have ever met, Emily," he fired while she caught her breath. "And it turns out, I am quite fond of all of that."
"Quite fond?" She asked, and wondered if this was it, the moment where she punched him.
"I love you, too."
There was no punching. Instead Emily let out an embarrassing little squeak, and her face flamed up again. She was nodding, over and over and she couldn't stop it anymore than she could stop the way her heart jumped and her stomach flipped. It was ridiculous.
Dave grinned at her "I have for a minute now."
"Oh yeah?" Emily asked, unsure if she wanted to know exactly, or if she needed something to hold on. An attitude perhaps; he shook his head though. Never fooled.
"Come on, let's get home," he brushed his fingers down her arm. "Maybe we can even find a Barry Manilow concert on the… the tube thing."
That made her laugh, pulled her off the brink. "It's called Youtube, and careful what you wish for. Might not be a concert but I'm sure I could find whole albums on there."
"Lord, help me," Dave laughed. He stole another kiss then went around the car, letting her drive her own car for once. It made Emily's lips tug into yet another ghost of a smile. She slid into the driver's seat and try as she might, keeping her eyes on the road was tougher than she'd thought.
"Where is home?" She asked, as though that wasn't a loaded question.
