Part Two of Two
The first time had been slow, gentle.
The second time was faster, a little more demanding.
The third time they slowed down again, finding what pleased, and what really pleased.
The tenth time, they realized that between them, they had two sets of cuffs.
It had been three months since their initial liaison in Vegas, and, while Emily's bruises had healed, the consequences of them were still running hot.
It was a short turnaround in D.C. – they had returned from Florida just that afternoon, and an overworked JJ had told them that they would be taking a case in Southern California the next morning. That gave them a few hours to kill, and that fact that they wanted to kill those hours together definitely said something about the progress of their relationship.
They lay on Emily's couch, bodies intertwined so that they were almost one. The fact that they were fully clothed was the only disqualifying factor to the description. Morgan, though, was doing his best to remedy that unfortunate situation. His hand had crept slowly from her waist, to her inner thighs, and though she was still wearing jeans, he could feel her tightening as he trailed his fingers along the seam.
The DVD had long since finished, their beer bottles long since emptied, and yet neither felt the inclination to get up. They were quite happy to relish each other's warmth. There was one thing in particular, though, that would stimulate them both into movement.
He felt Emily's muscles tighten even more as his fingers reached the apex of the jeans. She turned slightly and leaned upwards so that their lips could lock together. In doing so, she had given him access to the front of her jeans. He slipped a hand inside them, the sound of her moan muffled by the kiss. At this angle, it was impossible for Emily to do anything but the keep kissing him, and facilitate the removal of her pants. That, though, was an action Morgan was not quite ready to take. He seemed perfectly happy probing the inside of her, grinning when he evidently hit the g-spot. She let go of his lips completely then, giving a guttural moan as she arched back into him.
'You think that's funny?' she muttered, when he finally withdrew his fingers, soaked in her essence. 'How am I supposed to perform now, when you've gone and peaked already?' She was baiting him, he knew, and he took the bait with enthusiasm.
'Don't get ahead of yourself, girl. I've got plenty of things to show you before the night is through.'
'Oh, that's right. You were a jock, weren't you?' Unprepared, she gave a slight squeal as he rolled her to face him. She seemed almost embarrassed at the sound she had made. It didn't last long – she knew she'd be making much worse sounds before the night was through.
'Condom?' he asked, as his fingers fidgeted with the zipper of her jeans. If they didn't get one now, they would be far too overcome by the throes of passion to worry about it when the time came. They had gone without before – though she was on the pill, she trusted him enough to do the right thing if something unexpected did occur.
'They're upstairs.' She did a quick mental calculation. She was fairly certain she wasn't ovulating. 'We should be fine.'
Morgan nodded. It was Emily's call. Though he wouldn't be averse to having a child in his life, it would certainly complicate things at Quantico. With sociopaths and psychopaths and every flavor in between, more complications were the last thing he needed to deal with.
He returned his focus to the task at hand; removing Emily's pants. Their position on the couch made it somewhat difficult. The slightest movement in the wrong direction could send them both tumbling to the floor, not that it would make a difference. He was fairly sure that they had christened almost every surface in the apartment.
Finally succeeding in his quest, he tossed her jeans in the direction of the television, where the DVD menu was still glaring. Looking for an amalgamation of intellectual stimulation and unabashed badassery, they had settled on watching the Battlestar Galactica miniseries. Emily had seen in so many times, Morgan got the feeling she probably would have mouthed along with the script had he not been there. He found even the thought endearing.
He had known from the start that their relationship was going to be much, much more than a quick fuck as the occasion warranted it. They had similar tastes in books and movies, and, like very few of the women he had dated, she could kick an ass like it was nobody's business. As such, he hadn't minded so much when he realized that he had fallen in love.
That feeling was reflected in his touch, as he paid close and careful attention to each part of her. He had removed her shirt and was gently mouthing at the skin of her breast before she had even had the chance to touch his belt.
If he had any hair she would have run her fingers through it, while he teased at her nipple with his tongue and his teeth. Even through the bra, it was an incredible dichotomy of pleasure and pain. And then, when he slid his arm around her back, and unclasped it, only to reaffirm his touch upon bare skin, she almost screamed. Before they'd started doing this – before three months ago – she never would have pegged him for a biter. But then, she'd learned a lot about Derek Morgan over the last three months. She'd learnt that if her lips brushed just the right spot on his cock, he would come almost immediately. She'd learnt that while he liked her touching him, he loved paying inordinate amounts of attention to her even more. She'd learnt that he had a rarely seen submissive streak hidden beneath all that macho. She had learnt that no matter how much she tried to deny it, she was in love with him.
She hadn't told him that yet, of course, though she got the idea that her feelings were reciprocated. It wasn't so much his actions, as the look in his eyes when he shucked his pants, and thrust his cock into her. He started fast, but then slowed down, so that they were doing something truly special, rather than just fucking.
And if Emily had known what was going to happen, she would have told him she loved him right then and there. If Morgan had known, he would have done the same.
But they didn't know.
It had started slow and gentle. It ended slow and gentle.
It had started with a bullet. It ended with a bullet.
They'd been in San Diego for a little over a week, tracking down an ex-police officer who seemed to enjoy killing people much more than he enjoyed saving them. Their search had finally led them to a quiet neighborhood, ten miles east of downtown San Diego.
Glock in a tight grip, Morgan kept half of his attention on Hotch, the other half on Emily. He knew that this was the reason why relationships between team members were frowned upon. All it took was one moment of distraction for every-thing to go pear-shaped. The kind of distraction there was if Morgan was too busy making sure Emily didn't get hurt to notice that other people were in danger too.
And that put him in a paradox; while he would never want to do anything that could put his teammates in danger, nor could he turn off the feelings that burnt so strongly. This was exactly the reason why it wasn't allowed.
But damned if he could do anything about it.
He followed Hotch into the house; Emily was behind him, a fact he was almost grateful for. If he couldn't see her, then he might not be distracted. But then, on the flip side, if he couldn't see her, then he would worry.
He was clearing the bathroom when he heard the shot.
Emily felt the sharp, stinging pain in her right arm. The sharp, stinging pain that had caused her to drop her weapon.
All she could do was blink, wondering just what had happened.
House. Kitchen. Unsub.
No sooner than she had entered the kitchen, scanning for hostiles, he had fired. This time, the bullet had missed the Kevlar, hitting her in the right tricep.
Behind the black spots that were starting to form in her eye, she saw the unsub leveling his weapon to fire again. Before she could fully comprehend the fact that she was about to die, a large mass that she hadn't even seen tackled her to the ground.
She knew the shape of that body, Kevlar or no Kevlar. Too busy shielding her, she knew he wouldn't be able to get a shot of. With a surge of adrenaline, her left hand managed to find the weapon that she had dropped. Shaking fingers managed to squeeze the trigger twice with adequate accuracy before dropping the weapon to the ground.
She turned her attention back to Morgan, still a dead weight on top of her. 'Thanks,' she whispered, right before she noticed the look on his face.
It was a mixture of shock and pain; as though he thought himself invincible. Suddenly ignorant of her own wound, she eased him off of her.
She didn't need to ask to know where he was hit. The blood was flowing freely from a wound in his upper thigh. With her uninjured arm, she pressed into it, doubling the intensity as the blood seemed to just spill through her fingers.
'Why the hell did you do that, Morgan?' she demanded, tears in her eyes. 'You shouldn't…God damnit, Morgan.'
'Hey,' he whispered, with his last vestiges of life. 'I love you, girl. Never forget that.'
She heard the intake of breath from Hotch, who she hadn't even realized was standing behind her. She didn't turn to face him. She wasn't going to leave Morgan for any reason.
'You can't die, Derek,' she whispered, holding his limp hand against her abdomen. 'Baby needs a daddy.' It wasn't a lie – not strictly speaking. She was a week late, but hadn't taken a test yet. It could have been stress, but it could just as easily have been a tiny life starting to grow inside of her. Either way, it was worth it just to see the light in his eyes before he closed them for the last time.
A/N: Okay. This stemmed from several conversations with my sometimes-beta, Windy City Dreamer, in which I realised that a) I haven't really written a serious smut story and that b) Morgan is the only character that I'd never killed off in a story. Actually, that sounds kind of morbid now that I think about it, but oh well. I hope you enjoyed my first real forays into the world of smut and Morgandeath.