Author's note: Quick naughty One-Shot written for a very special person. She's a fantastic author and she's a great friend, and I know she'll appreciate the nice twist I threw in there for her. ;)
I'd like to warn you guys that, though the situations are never too vulgar, that there is the occasional dirty-talk and slightly graphic visionary. If you're not into that sort of thing, then click away. ;)
He's got everything. He's got the tube full of wet cream. He's got the dirty magazines, and if necessary, the On Demand Adult films ready to play at any moment. And most importantly, the blue pill already swimming around in his intestines, ready to rumble. He checks his wrist watch, which says that he's been approximately awaiting some kind of physical appearance for fifteen minutes now. He's trying not to get antsy, but usually it only takes ten. Perhaps it's because he's uneasy. He usually saves this "special time" to himself for the weekends when they don't have to go into work, and when he's positive he won't be getting a call from the BAU. He checks his watch again. He has work in an hour. He scoops up the dirty magazine and thumbs through it casually, his arousal beginning to occur.
"That's it," he says soothingly, putting the magazine down. "That's what you should have done twenty minutes ago." He leans down on the recliner and begins undoing his pants, in extreme anticipation for his alone time he's been craving for two weeks now. He can't get the fly down fast enough. Eventually he ditches the pants and is now tearing through his boxer briefs eagerly, his dog peeping from the corner curiously, licking his nose.
"Poncho, what are you looking at?" Rossi grunts, shooing him out of the room with the flap of his hand. "You know when I'm sitting in my recliner, that this is what I do. Go, go!" Poncho exits with a sniffle and Rossi frees himself from his boxer briefs that were constricting his hard-on, and now they're trapped around his ankles. He looks funny, in his calf-high black socks and clothing pooling down at his feet, but he has no time to laugh at himself. Instead, he waddles his way back to the recliner.
He lays back, positions himself just right, and... no. No. This isn't happening. The cell phone is ringing. He closes his eyes, pretending it's not real; he didn't want it to happen so badly that he's imagining it. That's it. He reaches for himself with his right hand, but catches himself. Something about Hotch being on the other end of the line is making this not feel so right. He groans and waddles over to his briefcase, fumbling for his phone. His belt buckle jingles objectively.
"Yeah?" he answers dully, rubbing his forehead annoyed.
Hotch doesn't miss a beat. "Dave, yeah, listen," there's a brief pause. Rossi looks down at his lower half sadly. "There's a case we have to fly into. It's a bad one. Think you can come in now?"
Rossi's cheeks flush. He can feel them burning up to the same temperature as his crotch. "Right now?" he exclaims. "Hotch, I just got up, I can't-" He stops himself at, I just got up. Little does Hotch know...
"Dave, there's no way around it," Hotch lowers his tone. "It's a really bad case, Dave. Believe me."
Rossi squeezes his eyes shut; looks behind him, at the paused porn tape on the flat-screen, at the PlayBoy laying helplessly on his coffee table. At the little tube of Vaseline. This was supposed to be HIS day; he planned this morning like a regular guy plans an expectant laying with his girlfriend or wife. "I just can't come in today, Hotch," he felt heartless saying that, but what could he do? This particular pill promises him a full erection for two hours. Of course, it cannot persist for more than four. He could promise he'll be in in four hours, but would that look suspicious? Has Hotch dabbled in some magic pills?
"You can't come in?" Hotch asks hysterically. "You mean, at all? Dave-"
"No, not at all," Rossi is flaying his arms with the force of his objection. "I'm not feeling well." Actually, he's feeling fantastic. He's feeling larger than life, we'll say.
"Listen, Dave, with all due respect..." Hotch trails off, and Rossi sits down, bare-assed, knowing full well he's got a lecture coming. "I'm all for you taking personal time, you know that. You've all given me some when I needed it. But this case is horrific. Three teenage girls have been found raped and mutilated in three days. Dave, do you hear me? Three days."
Rossi squeezes his eyes shut. "Hotch, I hear you-"
"Three days. And he's got another girl." Hotch pauses, lets this settle in deep with Rossi, like quicksand filling him deep. Rossi sighs. "We need all the help we can get. So if you absolutely cannot come into work today, then fine. But if you can-"
"I can," Rossi says, giving in. "I can. I will."
Hotch exhales, relieved. "See you soon, Dave." and clicks off. Of course Hotch doesn't know how much of Rossi will be coming into work today.
He looks down at himself in his parked car, taking the key out of the ignition. He's imagined shoving the key directly into his throat and ending it all right now; that would be much better than facing the humiliation of everyone spotting his hard-on. It's barely hidden behind the frumpy loose pants he wore to work today, but it certainly hid better than his casual denims. He entered the BAU like nothing was wrong, and tried his utmost not to walk funny.
JJ spotted him first. Her eyes widened horrifically, clutching her files tighter. Rossi's cheeks burned with the heat of her staring. He made his way over to her, like whatever she thought she was seeing, wasn't at all what she was seeing.
"Hey, JJ, we've got a case Hotch said?" he said, leaning against the cubicles like he usually did. He fumbles with his wrist watch, catching the time. I could of been done by now and all would have been fine. He looks back up, her blue eyes dead-set on his pants. "JJ?"
"Your pants..." she said, her mouth agape. He looked down, seeing a glimpse of his erection through his pants. His cheeks flushed and his mouth felt dry. "They're so...tacky."
He let out a breath he'd been holding. "Yeah, they are," he shrugs like it's nothing. Like his heart hadn't just stopped pounding. "Laundry day. Called in early."
JJ nods and walks away, clearly disrupted by his bad fashion choices. At least not by what's hidden behind them. He swipes his hand across his forehead, wiping invisible sweat and adjusts his sweater. Morgan comes over, smiling gleefully, slapping his back like guys do. Rossi hunches forward, feeling himself press hard against his fly. The slight attention the pants were giving him was causing friction, and lots of it. He needs to wash his face and douse himself in ice cold water.
"Hey there, Rossi," Morgan's eyes trail downward. "Nice pants. MC Hammer, much?"
Rossi tugs at the material that is swimming around his thighs; unfortunately though, it seems to want to cling to his upper thighs with much liking. He shifts in his seat, careful not to bump himself too much. "It's all I had clean." he defends quickly.
Morgan rolls his eyes and laughs, Reid coming up behind, holding a cup of coffee. "Hey Rossi," he sips and smiles. "Nice pants. I like them."
Morgan scoffs. "Of course you do, Kid," and stalks off. Rossi hardly knew how much close attention people paid to what they wore to work. He promised himself, out of silent revenge, that he would make a negative comment on everyone's wardrobes tomorrow.
He stands up, gives Reid a quick halfhearted glance and makes a beeline for the bathroom. Worst case scenario, he'd just have to finish himself off in the bathroom stall. Not what he'd had in mind, but it'd fix the problem pretty quickly. Hotch squeezed his shoulder, directing him toward the exit. "Bathroom breaks are limited to the jet," Hotch tells him, all seriousness. "We don't have time."
His heart feels like it's falling with the same disappointment and embarrassment as when Hotch first called.
It's been thirty minutes since he got to work and his crotch still has the same pulsating feeling it had when it first popped up. Every time he leans forward or adjusts in his seat, he has to bite hard on his bottom lip to keep from moaning. Once a sound actually did escape, and everyone thought he was choking on the biscuits Prentiss helpfully packed for everyone upon her early arrival.
"Are you alright?" Prentiss asked him, touching his back. Rossi nodded, going along with the choking theory. What else was he to do? Now they were reviewing the case, which normally he played a big part in doing, but was now just silent. Naming States off in his head; anything to keep from growing like a Chia pet.
"Dave?" Hotch asks. Rossi looks his way, absentmindedly. "Have anything to add to that, MC Hammer?"
"Told you they look like MC Hammer pants!" Morgan exclaims proudly, his face aglow.
Rossi shifts and his crotch begs for mercy. It just wants to be set free. This isn't fair. He only has one choice. He shoots up, readjusting his pants, making them fit looser. "I have to use the bathroom," and darts into there quickly. He'd just have to do this and finish quickly, be careful not to make a mess, and stay quiet.
He presses hard against the small bathroom wall, feeling claustrophobic. He tears himself out of the MC Hammer pants quickly and starts working his hands before his underwear is torn off. He tries to think dirty, pleasant thoughts. He envisions himself with a hot brunette with the name Katie; throwing her on a kitchen counter-top, having sex with here right then and there. But the sounds of his team members talking briskly outside the confinement of the bathroom drowns out his sex fantasies. He wants to punch his erection furiously for obtaining it's promise. No, better yet, he'll punch the manufacturer of the pills.
"Is Rossi okay?" JJ asks, trying to be silent.
"He acts sick to me," Prentiss adds.
"He has to be feeling weird if he wore that to work." Morgan says, with a short laugh.
"Are you watching Queer Eye again, Morgan? Let the pants go," JJ deadpans.
Rossi chokes on his laugh. The sound of JJ defending him somehow turns him on, and he finds it easier to get into stroking again. Though he's lost in a sea of arousal and is beginning to feel like he's ready, they start talking again and he's on hold - again.
"What did he say to you on the phone?" Prentiss inquires.
Hotch pauses, then sighs. "Just that he couldn't make it in today," Hotch sounds more downhearted than usual. "It's not until I practically weighed him down with guilt that he said he would."
"Maybe he's got a stomach bug," Reid suggests helpfully. Everyone pauses. "You know, when you come down with a stomach bug-"
"We know what happens when you get a stomach bug, Genius," Morgan says, adding, "He's probably shitting his brains out."
"Classy, Morgan," Prentiss says, and Rossi could just picture her rolling her eyes. Rossi stiffens against his palm again. Now more than ever, he's intrigued by Prentiss. He closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and sees Prentiss and JJ climbing on top of him, teasing him, releasing the pressure his poor body has been having since this morning. Oh, yes. He could see it now.
Knock. "Dave, you still in there?" Hotch asks. He drops himself from his hand like it's a bomb and wipes his hands on toilet paper.
"Yes." Rossi snaps. "Where would I have gone?"
"Are you-" Hotch sighs. "Can I come in?"
Rossi yanks his pants up so quickly, the quick motion almost sending him to a climax right then and there. He zips them haphazardly and rips the door open. His forehead is glistening, his palms are still damp. He smiles weakly. "All yours," and steps aside.
Morgan fans the air expectantly, but no scent actually comes from the bathroom. Guess that theory is wrong.
It's been two hours. Yes, he checks his watch again: two full hours. And he's still solid and rock hard. He could tap his knuckles on it and he'd sound like steel. He looks down at himself pitifully at the police station, drinking their lukewarm coffee and trying to keep his mind from swaying too far into the gutter. He was going to punish himself bad for this later. And not in a sick, sexy way.
Deputy Thomas comes up and slaps Rossi hard in the leg. He chokes up his coffee and squeals, lurching forward. He feels himself tightening like he's forming against his pants.
"David Rossi, well how 'bout that?" the Deputy says admirably, adjusting his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. "I love your books, you know that?"
"I had no clue," Rossi nudges the man's hand off. "I'm not a mind-reader."
"Reading your books? Man, you'd think you are." he smiles and slaps his leg again. The zipper material feels itchy against him and he's ready to explode. Rossi nudges his hand off again.
"Are you feeling alright, sir? Could I get you some water?" Deputy Thomas offers, his eyes looking deeply concerned.
"Yes, yes, water, please," Rossi croaks out. He's beginning to ache he's waited so long. The ache in his middle is something to the equivalency of getting rubbed sore down there, except that's not why it feels so raw. "Ice water."
"Ice water coming up," the Deputy motions for another deputy to get Rossi some water, but continues yammering on. "You know, I've had the day from hell, you know what I'm saying?"
"Boy, do I." Rossi says under his breath, rubbing his forehead.
"You know, I was golfing today, right?" he curls his hands into fists and lowers it down to his shaft. "I had it right between my hands - right there. Just ready to go. I was practicing this for ages, and I had it right there, just right. The scene was set. I could feel my hands beginning to sweat I was holding on so hard. I was just about to blast off and bam, I get a call. You ever have those days?"
Rossi nods, eyes wide. "Today. Yes, today is one of those days," he says, nodding sincerely.
"Oh," Deputy Thomas' smile grows wide. "You golf?"
"I don't golf, particularly," Rossi shrugs one shoulder. "I manhandle things. HANDLE! I handle certain things. I, uh, I play basketball."
Deputy Thomas stares long and hard, like he's going to reconsider it, but doesn't. "You have a nice day there, sir."
"You too." was all Rossi could fathom speaking without passing out from everything and the harshness of getting nothing in return.
Rossi sinks low in his chair outside of the police station, pulling his face into his hands. It's been four hours officially. And no change. He wants to scream, pull his hair out, yank a tooth out- something! He wants to kill himself for putting himself through this agony. Then he'll file a lawsuit.
Hotch walks by, watches him for a second, then takes a seat. "What is going on with you? Honestly." Hotch says, demanding.
Rossi pulls his hands away from his face and strokes his facial hair. "I can't tell you," he shakes his head, his seriousness concerning Hotch.
"Dave, you can," Hotch coaches.
"No, no, I can't," Rossi deadpans, meeting his eyes. "It's..."
"I was busy when you called this morning, dammit," he stands up; begins pacing. "I was busy."
"I could tell, but these girls, Dave-"
"I'm not saying what I was doing was more important, but it's just that..." Rossi tugs at his pants, now wanting to tear them off and rub himself raw for the mere fact of getting it over with. He hardly craves it now, at least not as much as his penis does.
Hotch fixes his eyes on something. "Oh my God...do you...?"
"Yes!" Rossi exclaims, sitting down. "I have an-"
"Don't shout that here!" Hotch hisses at him.
"Why not? I've been carrying it around all evening with me anyway, I'm sure everyone's noticed." Rossi sinks lower in his chair, spreading his legs wider apart, giving up the fight. His penis, though, stands up proudly, like it's about to salute to America or sing the National Anthem.
"I hadn't until now," Hotch says honestly, staring at it, then glancing away. "It must be getting bigger."
"Don't say that." Rossi says seriously, shaking his head slowly.
"What happened? What did you do?" Hotch chokes on a short laugh.
"Let's just say," Rossi peers over his shoulder, leans forward and says, "I took some Miracle Growth."
Hotch draws back. "Miracle Growth? You can't put Miracle Growth down there! No wonder it's grown triple it's size, it's an allergic reaction."
"Not actual Miracle Growth..." Rossi's cheeks flush.
"Yeah, and...and it won't go away," Rossi whines pathetically, placing his hand over the concealed thing, still pulsing sadly in his hand.
Hotch pulls him off by his wrist. "Don't touch yourself," he scolds. "You've been with us for hours. How long's it been?"
Rossi half-asses checking his watch. "Four hours," he says quickly.
"You need to see a Doctor," Hotch tells him, standing up. "It's an adverse reaction."
"No way, I'm not seeing a Doctor. These things happen, it'll go away."
Hotch slips back into his chair, annoyed. "Why did you have to do this today, anyway? When I do it, you plan it for a special time. Like, when you don't have to work?"
"Great," Rossi groans. "Kill my erection by talking about whacking yourself off."
"I'm not talking about me here-"
"No really, it's working. Keep talking about you whacking yourself off."
"What the hell? We can hear you back there, Rossi," Morgan says, walking over towards them. His boots squeal on the tile floors at the sudden halting stop. "Whoa, where'd you get the stick of dynamite you put in your pants?"
"Funny." Rossi groans.
"That baby's ready for blast off." Morgan says, chuckling heavily.
"Oh, yeah? You want to do the honors?" Rossi snaps, yanking hard on it.
Morgan raises his hands, backing away. "Don't be gross, man," he says. Morgan's smile reappears. "I'm just saying, that thing's going to pop like a pimple. It's going to explode everywhere."
"Will you shut up? Both of you, shut up." Hotch says coldly. "I'm taking him to the Doctor's."
"Better yet, why doesn't he just sneak off into the bathroom and finish it clean off? Well, it won't be clean-" Morgan says.
"I like his idea best," Rossi insists.
"What are you going to do in there, just play with yourself?" Hotch retorts grumpily.
"Do anything, man, hump the sink if you have to," Morgan looks Hotch dead-on. "He's ready to blow, man. Whoa, gotta watch my words there. Anything might set him off." Rossi stands up, waddling his way uncomfortably to the restroom.
"Damn." Morgan mutters under his breath, stroking his goatee observantly.
"What?" Hotch asks, severely annoyed.
"They say black men have it large, but DAMN!"