Nature Laughs Last
A/N: Part of the Pieces series which is a series of (unconnected) one-shots, written in a self-imposed challenge of chronicling every pairing in the CM universe. Can be set any time after Emily arrives.
Warning: Some Adult themes in this chapter.
You sit astride him; the only thing separating skin from skin is two layers of soft fabric. You admit to yourself, that it's a far more pleasurable experience than your last time undercover together. Though, you wonder what he would say if you were to be tied up this time.
Though your hands rub against his chest, your attention is focused on the mirrored headboard. You don't want to be caught unawares. That could end painfully.
It's a strange place to be discussing such trivial material. 'It's a metaphor,' you attempt to explain to him. In all his genius, you're not quite sure that he understands the concept. 'The cavemen always beat the astronauts, because in the end, even with all our technology, all our prowess, nature laughs last. They have the primal instinct that we lack.'
'I know it's a metaphor,' he says, and jumps a bit when your finger flicks at his nipple. 'I'm just saying that it doesn't make sense for the astronauts to be denied weapons. It's an inherently flawed argument.'
You catch something out of the corner of your eye – a figure cloaked entirely in black. You're surprised that the victims never noticed him, but then, they were all probably too…busy. You protested at being sent undercover as a hooker; you knew you would never hear the end of it once they saw you in all that leather. But you didn't protest as much as he did when he was ordered to be the client.
You don't care how embarrassed he is, you still think you got the short end of the stick. You lean down, under the guise of pressing your lips to his navel. You're reaching for the radio, where with one click of the button, backup will be on its way. You kiss him again, enjoying the squirming that comes naturally to him. You realize then that it's coming naturally to you too. That it feels right to be kissing him down there.
Those urges, you concede, will have to wait until later.
You grin, as you notice that he doesn't want to wait. At noticing that biology trumps psychology every time. He whimpers slightly as he shares that realization.
The figure is right behind you now. You turn before he can get the garrote around your neck. You thrust your foot upwards, catching him in the solar plexus. It's the only move you could have made. You don't know whose idea it was that you wear a corset, but you know that if you find out, you'll make sure they're the ones being asphyxiated.
You feel one of your ribs crack as he fights back. Scratch that – whoever's idea it was, you'll beat them to death with their own spine. Backup crashes through the door. You wonder what the hell took them so long.
Morgan pulls you up off the ground, and you notice that he is not averse to lingering glances.
'Has anyone got a shirt?' you ask. 'I need to get out of this stupid fucking thing.' Not even the pain is enough to distract you from the guilty look on Reid's face.
'You. It was your idea.' It's not a question. You wonder if that's why he was aroused so easily.
'It was a joke,' he wailed. 'I didn't expect anyone to take me seriously.'
You don't make a big deal of it. You know you'll get your revenge later.
It's late when he knocks on your door. Somehow, you were expecting it; you even dressed for the occasion.
You open the door to him. 'Hi,' he says nervously. 'I just wanted to see…' he stops, only then just noticing how much – or rather, how little – you are wearing. You pull him in by his tie. '…how you were doing,' he finishes, but you're not listening. You're slowly unbuttoning his shirt, tongue latched onto his. Flustered and unsure, he settles on running his hands up your barely-there chemise. You're not wearing anything underneath. You wince at the contact to your ribs, but he doesn't notice.
'Much better than a corset,' you murmur in his ear. 'Easier to get off, for one thing.'
Still entangled, you walk backwards to the couch, almost tripping over the rug. You pull him down on top of you, and, finished with his shirt, begin to work on his pants. With your hand down there, you can feel him throbbing already. The pants slide off with some resistance.
'I told you so,' you say, stroking him. He lifts the chemise over your head.
'What do you mean?'
As he thrusts into you, you find it difficult to get the words out; you've almost forgotten what you were saying. Then, with a second thrust, it all comes back.
'Cavemen always win.'
A/N: Okay, that's my first attempt at something relatively smuttish. I've always found it difficult to write smut without sounding formulaic, but I gave it a shot anyway. Conversation about Cavemen versus Astronauts comes from Angel 5x15, A Hole in the World, which is quite possibly my favourite episode of anything, ever.