Title: Dark Side
Rating: NC-17
Criminal Minds
Genre: Romance/Humor
Emily has a little role-playing planned. Dave is finding it very, very hard to refuse.
Author's Note:
Written for zamboni12 for the Flood Relief auction.


It had been a long, hard week, and David Rossi was ridiculously grateful that it was the weekend. Most unsubs didn't really give a crap that if it was Saturday or Sunday, unless it somehow played into their ritual, or schedule, which meant that more often than not, a free weekend was very, very rare.

And after this week…Well, Rossi wasn't exactly ashamed to admit that he needed some kind of relief – something else was rapidly becoming long and hard, just at the thought of what he was going to do when Emily Prentiss made it back to his place.

Normally, she'd be here by now, and they'd be in his bedroom, ripping each other's clothes off like horny teenagers. There was something about serial killers and no sex for seven days that made "slow and passionate" a little less appealing.

It soon became very clear that Emily had other plans entirely. She was kind of secretive when she finally made it in the door. There was a large brown paper bag in her hand, and she didn't answer his queries about what was actually inside.

'Give me a sec,' she said, and rushes upstairs. Dave was half tempted to follow, but then he'd been a profiler long enough to know that it was probably not a good idea. If there was something wrong, she'd tell him. If there wasn't, then he didn't want to run the risk of getting cock-blocked for the rest of the week. His right hand and a bottle of lube wasn't exactly the same as sinking into that hot, wet warmth.


Even thinking about sex ensure that his hard-on had reached the point of no return – if Emily didn't return soon, then chances were, he'd be coming in his pants.

It's a near thing.

Emily comes back downstairs, wearing her bathroom robe. He can tell that there's something on underneath it – the robe isn't quite long enough to cover everything – but it's not clear what it is. She's braided her hair – a look that he's never actually seen on her before.

'Put these on,' she instructed him, handing over a black garbage bag that he knows for a fact she's been hiding in her closet for the past three weeks. Dave tore it open, and stared.

'Even the boots?' he asked, his arousal momentarily replaced with confusion.

'Especially the boots,' she said. 'Buckle up, space cowboy. Meet me upstairs in ten minutes.' She turned and walked away without another word, her silence simultaneous annoying and alluring.

He wasn't sure he could last ten minutes.

For all intents and purposes, their sex life was both active and varied. You wouldn't know it from looking at her, but Emily Prentiss had a few kinks, most of which made him hot, a couple of which made him raise an eyebrow, but none of which made him want to walk away.

If she wanted him to dress up like Han Solo, then he sure as hell wasn't going to turn her down.

Because hell, he'd seen Star Wars – all three of them (because Emily refused to admit there were six) – and he absolutely knew what Princess Leia wore in Return of the Jedi.

The pants came off just a little bit faster.

The ones he replaced them with were considerably tighter – especially considering the raging hard-on he was now sporting – but there was an opening there that seemed to be designed for this particular occurrence. For one brief second, he wondered exactly where Emily had been shopping, and whether or not she would be open to him joining her on her next visit.

He had his own fantasies after all.

He took the stairs two at a time, an act which was made all the more difficult by physiological circumstances. It hadn't been quite ten minutes, but he was sure Emily would forgive him.

Holy shit.

Dave's heart skipped a beat. If he didn't have the control that forty odd years of sex and wanking had brought him, he would have come all over his pants.

'Well if it isn't the flyboy,' Emily said, in a tone that personified snark. She was, as he had expected, wearing a metal bikini with attached skirt piece. What he hadn't expected, was that she had chained herself to the bed.


She cleared her throat. 'Stay in character, or I'm unlocking these.'

'You sure you wouldn't prefer to strangle Jabba first?'

'Smartass. If I wanted someone to worry about the details, I would have asked Reid to do this with me, which is creepy, because you know he'd be Luke, not Han.'

That's the only creepy thing?

'But if you're unsure, then I could give Morgan a call – I mean, I don't think he'd turn down a chance at seeing me in a metal bikini,' she told him, the raise in her eyebrow and the sharp tone of voice suggesting that her patience was wearing thin.

'Alright then, princess. I think we should destroy the Death Star. Get a missile down that thermal exhaust port, if you know what I mean.'

'Oh Han,' Emily breathed, in a way that made her breasts rise. 'Use the force.' Her lips twitched, as though she was trying desperately not to laugh. There was a reason they had never really role-played before.

Fortunately, he had the feeling that once they actually got into the heat of things, all the role-playing in the world wouldn't make a damn difference.

'A good Star Wars fan like yourself should know that Han Solo wasn't big on the whole "Jedi" thing,' he chastised her.

Emily rolled her eyes. 'Give me a break. There are only so many puns I can use. Plus, Leia became a Jedi later on, so he probably got used to it at some point.'

Rossi was about to argue back when he realized that he was falling into the nerd trap. That was something he had most definitely picked up from Emily – the idea that even with a hard-on that was struggling for oxygen, and a beautiful, bikini-clad woman chained up on his bed, he could still argue about a series that he wasn't even really a fan of.

'So, Leia.' He shrugged off the dark vest, and took a step towards the bed. 'Have you done anything naughty lately?'

'Oh, for God's sake, Rossi,' Emily said, with an exasperated sigh. 'Just come and fuck me already.' She, too, it seemed, was becoming somewhat frustrated with each moment they weren't engaged in activities entirely unsuitable for children.

It would be nice to tease her a little bit longer – to let the tension mount up, and make the ensuing orgasm even more explosive – but David Rossi knew that he couldn't stand the wait either. He could see Emily tense as he climbed onto the bed, and he wondered just how long it would take for her to come the first time, and the second time, and the third time.

Day after day, David Rossi thanked whatever God or evolutionary process decided to give women multiple orgasms, because he was the one that got to hand them out.

To Emily, at least – he didn't like to think about what the reaction would be if she thought he went around giving complete strangers multiple orgasms. The honest truth was, he was perfectly happy with his own woman.

The bikini bottom had a metal plate, like some kind of chastity belt, only Rossi knew for a fact that the body encased beneath it was perhaps the least innocent he had come across. Pun abso-fucking-lutely intended. He started at the bottom of her legs, moving the skirt upwards as he kissed his way towards her thigh. Her legs had the sheen of sweat, and he was almost content to just let his tongue taste the salt.

'Rossi,' Emily said, through what sounded like gritted teeth, but in all honesty, he wasn't looking at her face. 'If you don't hurry the hell up…'

Then, he looked up, adopting an air of patience that would no doubt frustrate her even further. 'Emily, if you don't want a man to have his way with you, then you don't buy the slave girl costume, and you certainly don't handcuff yourself to the bed.'

Judging by the wild look in her eyes, she was no doubt regretting at least one of those decisions.

'If you prefer the white dress, then maybe that's what you can think about when your jerk yourself off tonight.'

'Think about it, princess,' he said, amused. 'How the hell are you going to get yourself off, if you're handcuffed to the bed?'

She didn't answer verbally, instead giving him the kind of look that he suspected she'd learnt from her mother. The kind of look that said, "As soon as I'm out of these handcuffs, you're a dead man, David Rossi."

He valued his life, well enough. He also valued the fact that there was a beautiful woman offering herself to him, and if he didn't damn well take it, they were both going to be a little miffed about the whole thing.

The skirt seemed to be attached to the lower half of the costume with some insanely complicated clasp, so he brushed it to the side, and focused his attention on her upper thigh, lips brushing against the crotch of her panties. Unsurprisingly, she was already wet, the tang and the salt of her arousal lighting his taste buds on fire.

Emily arched against his touch, and Dave was briefly tempted to lift his head, but he knew that would be a veritable death sentence. She tolerated his deliberations to a point, but patience was most definitely not one of her strong suits.

Dave's fingers set to work on the clasp at her hip – he wasn't as dexterous as he used to be, but there were certain advantages to having to retake his shooting qualifications every six months, and typing a few thousand words worth of reports and first drafts every single week.

He lifted her legs to rest on his shoulder briefly, tossing aside the bottom half of the costume. Emily's whole body tensed in anticipation as he let her legs down, and lowered his head. As his tongue hit Emily's clit, Dave was vaguely aware of the clatter of the handcuffs, as though she was trying to bring her hands down to his head.

She gave a moan that was half pleasure, half frustration, and Dave had to stop himself from grinning. He wasn't sure that he would call himself an expert on the topic of oral sex, but he did have a lot of experience. More importantly, he had a lot of experience with giving Emily Prentiss oral sex. He knew what made her jump, what made her groan. What made her scream.

Screaming, though, was one of those things that was best built up to. A crescendo of tension and teasing culminating in a surgical strike. Of course, that wasn't to say he wasn't against bringing in a little back-up. As his tongue teased the edge of her clit, Dave slid a finger inside, smirking when she arched again.

'I swear to God…' she started, voice taking on a high pitch as he let his teeth take over. The cuffs rattled again, louder, and more ferociously. This time, when her body arched, it didn't come back down, and he knew that she was about to—

'Ohhhh, fuck me.'

He sat up, trying not to let himself get even more turned on (if it were even possible) by her post-orgasm composure, or rather, lack thereof. A little bit insane was nowhere near insane enough. Pushing her legs together, he let his knees fall either side of her body as he made his way up the bed, settling himself on top of her. He wasn't exactly a heavy guy, but he still tried to keep most of the weight on his knees, rather than on her, even if it wasn't very good for the knees.

Emily stared up at him, a lazy smile on her face. 'Hey.'

He smiled back. 'Hey. So what do you want me to do now?'

Emily gave a light chuckle. 'Dave, sweetie…I think the point of this is that you do whatever the hell you want.'

Dave raised an eyebrow. 'Anything?' He knew that Emily trusted him, but there was a pretty big gap between trust, and letting someone do whatever they wanted to you. Trust, was knowing that someone had your back when you walked into a suspect's house. To leave your fate in someone else's hands entirely was a little more than that. For all she knew, he could have had some super fucked up sexual fantasies that went way beyond her own. For all she knew, he was going to leave her cuffed to the bed for the rest of the evening while he watched football.

Of course, being a profiler, her leaps of faith were as much years of behavioral experience as they were complete leaps, but the sentiment remained.

'Anything. Everything. Jesus, Dave, I don't care. Just remember I'll be ambushing you with the handcuffs next time, and you damn well better be ready to reciprocate.'

He grinned. Frustrated Emily was one of his favorites. 'I think we can arrange that,' he agreed. 'But right now, I'm going to fuck you into this mattress.' His hands went to her breasts, massaging the cold metal of the bikini. 'This looks uncomfortable.'

'You have no idea.'

'I think we should take it off.'

The top half seemed a lot harder to get off, and Dave wondered if his own frustration was responsible for that. His cock seemed to be getting harder by the second, and it would take an act of God to stop him from giving Emily a pearl necklace. He didn't, though, because as hot as the idea of coming all over her was, it wasn't as hot as the thought of sinking into her and fucking her brains out.

So he did.

It was a little different to what he was used to.

He was used to her hands all over him; clutching his ass, or stroking his balls, or even just running her fingers through his hair. Different wasn't always bad – they'd done a lot of good different in the past – but as sexy as the idea of dominating her had been at the start, he found he preferred sex as a two person endeavor.

Maybe he was just selfish.

When she came for a second time, Dave had one hand at her breast, and one at her clit, any scream muffled by their raw, passionate kisses. His own climax came seconds later.

'Jesus Christ, Rossi,' Emily said with a laugh. 'Are you trying to kill me?'

He rolled over, breathing a little too quickly. 'Well we did just defeat the evil Empire. A celebration was in order.'

'Oh, go jump in a lake.'

He grinned, and found the handcuff key that Emily had left on the nightstand. 'You do realize I'm going to get hard every time I see handcuffs now, right?'

'And every time you see any Star Wars movie,' she added. 'That list of "things that make you hard" is getting kind of long, isn't it?'

'Well I know who I blame.'

Emily stretched her limbs, yawning. 'Wow. I'm kinda tired.'

He gave her a small smile. 'It's been a long week.'

'Dave?' She put a hand on his, as he stood. 'Thanks.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' he said, feigning ignorance.

'Sure you don't,' she said, with a grin. 'Just remember, next time, you get to choose the fantasy.'

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to it.