Author's Note: Written for the Criminal Minds Kink Meme V. Prompt was "Emily get kidnapped by an unsub who's been selling his victims into sexual slavery. Hotch knows the unsub is going to try and sell Prentiss in a similar manner and so Hotch poses as a buyer in order to get her back." Although it could probably fit in any of the several "Hotch & Emily, fuck or die" prompts as well.
Warnings: Dub-con/coercion, S&M, themes of sexual slavery, smut.
Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds or any of the characters on the show.
"Fifty thousand dollars."
The room stilled and all eyes turned toward the man in the back of the room. Later, many would say that even though they'd never seen him before, the fact that he was there, in a tailored suit and sporting an expensive watch, made them believed he belonged. Though perhaps it wasn't just the way he was dressed, but the hardness of his face and the alarming glint in his eye, that reassured them that he was like them.
He wasn't, of course, but he knew their type well enough to do what needed to be done to protect his agent, and since the CIA was unwilling to lose eighteen months of infiltration and covert ops, this was the best and only way to do it.
The emcee of the evening, a suave billionaire who grew bored with yachting and polo years ago, scrutinized the unfamiliar bidder. He crossed the dimly lit room and extended his hand.
"Theodore Harris. I don't believe we've met Mr..."
"Gregory Montgomery. My friends call me Greg," the stranger replied, locking eyes with Harris. He knew these moments were critical. He needed to establish himself as an alpha among some of the most powerful, moneyed men in the country, so that the auction could proceed and the objective could be achieved.
"Montgomery," Harris mused. "My father went to Yale with a Montgomery. Your father perhaps?"
"I'm afraid not. The Montgomerys favor Harvard, although were I the sort to break with tradition I would have enjoyed the less rigorous atmosphere of Yale, I think." Another easy smile. Luckily Aaron Hotchner knew Ted Harris's dossier well enough to easily pass the test even without the voice of his technical analyst confirming via his micro-in-ear that yes, Harrises have been Harvard boys for generations.
It was enough. Harris gave a slight nod as he turned to go back to his podium, pausing to add, "It's cash-only, you know."
"Luckily I stopped at the ATM before I arrived," Hotch deadpanned as he unlocked and opened his briefcase, displaying stacks of crisp bills. The men- and one woman, a blonde in a green dress whose face he couldn't quite see in the dim light- all laughed and he knew the ruse was working. It only had to work a little longer. He doubted anyone would match his bid, but even if they did, he had another suitcase filled to the brim with cash.
For a moment, he reflected on his newfound respect for Agent Emily Prentiss. Her time with Interpol taught her what he was learning now; fake it until extraction or die.
She was faking it well. They'd dressed her in an expensive satin gown for the occasion. She was lined up with seven others, all of whom looked like socialites in delicate heels and couture dresses. Hotch noted that one of them looked barely sixteen. Tears were streaming down the girl's face, and he wished he didn't know that some of the men in the room would be attracted to that.
He pushed the thought from his mind. As much as he wanted to pull out his badge and arrest every sociopath in the room, he couldn't risk Prentiss's life. She was his agent and it was his job to protect her. She would argue with him later, that he should have bought the kid or the one whose arms were covered with burns and left her to handle herself. He thought that she probably could have figured her own way out, but the chance that she might not made his decision clear. Once she was out he'd send in the cavalry whether the CIA liked it or not, but right now, his only priority was her safety.
"Do I hear fifty-five thousand dollars?" Harris asked. Hotch glanced at the salt-and-pepper-haired "gentleman" who'd been bidding against him. The man shook his head. Harris banged his gavel and it was done. Hotch had just bought Agent Emily Prentiss for fifty thousand dollars.
Harris declared the auction over, thanked the assembled guests, and invited them to come collect their merchandise. Hotch approached Prentiss, who looked at him with an expression that dripped contempt.
"Hello," he said, suddenly unsure how to proceed. Would it be more believable if he dragged her, screaming and begging, to one of the private rooms on the lower deck to buy some time for the rest of the team to approach on the Coast Guard boats they would have commandeered by now? Could he simply take her to his borrowed yacht under the pretense of having privacy to enjoy his win?
He looked to either side. The crying girl had been purchased by the blonde woman, who was murmuring something in her ear. An elderly man in a cowboy hat was already groping the striking redhead next to Prentiss. He decided a quick exit was the best idea.
"Come with me," he ordered. The dark-haired agent did not move. "Now," he growled. Again, nothing, though it started to dawn on him that if Harris knew who she was, he might be suspicious if she went easily.
That couldn't be it. If Harris knew she was an agent, he would have used that as a selling point. The chance to assault, torture or even murder an FBI agent is a rare one, and some would pay ten times what he did for the privilege. Something was off, but he trusted her enough to follow her lead.
"Now," he snarled, grabbing her hair roughly and beginning to drag her from the platform. He knew Emily Prentiss had endured worse, but he still felt guilty as he heard her involuntary gasp of pain.
"Greg!" Harris called after him. "There are a few things you should know about her."
"Oh?" Hotch asked in his lightest tone, added in a hint of impatience in the hopes that Harris would be quick.
"She's very special," Harris confided in a whisper. "She's the daughter of a diplomat. Speaks a half dozen languages. Graduated cum laude-"
"Magna cum laude" Emily hissed.
"Oh, yes, magna cum laude from Yale. Not as good as a Harvard gal would have been, but how often do you get to make an FBI agent scream in six languages?"
Hotch tensed. "FBI agent?" he asked, deliberately skeptical. "I hardly believe that."
"Gregory Montgomery, meet Agent Emily Prentiss." Harris was clearly enjoying this game, these little revelations. Leading to what, Hotch wasn't certain, but he could tell it wouldn't be quite as easy as taking Prentiss's hand and absconding to the boat he'd borrowed from Rossi.
"Why wasn't this part of her dossier?" he asked. "Tell the room she's an FBI agent and bidding wouldn't have stopped at a piddling fifty grand."
"I was about to add in that little detail when you pulled out your big, black leather briefcase, Greg. I knew then that you were a man who gets what he wants, no matter the cost. Men like that," Harris confided, "are the kind of men I want to keep as my friends."
"Ah. So you gave me a deal. But how did you know I love to play with sluts in uniform?" Having to talk like this about Prentiss made Hotch's stomach turn, but he reminded himself of the alternative. Fake it or die.
"I didn't. But men like us, we all recognize a rare collectible."
"Indeed," Hotch said, letting go of Prentiss's hair and caressing her face. She spat at him, so he slapped her, much to Harris's delight.
"So much spirit! Breaking her will be such an experience for you, Greg. Wielding the ultimate power over such a rare woman..."
"Agreed. Thank you, Ted. I look forward to our friendship," Hotch replied, grabbing Prentiss's arm and turning to leave.
"Greg! You should probably try her out before you leave. No returns on defective merchandise, you know," Harris said. The elderly cowboy laughed and stopped fondling his new slave to watch their interaction. Hotch could feel other pairs of eyes turning toward them and he knew things had just taken a turn he hadn't expected.
"Teddy, I'm a gentleman. And what a gentleman does in private with his toys is his business."
"What, Greggy, do you have something to be ashamed of?" Harris asked, his eyes darting suggestively to Hotch's crotch.
Hotch knew that Gregory Montgomery, heir and son of a congressman, wouldn't back down from such a challenge. Alphas prove their dominance when challenged. According to Garcia's voice in his ear, the team was another seventeen minutes away.
"I wouldn't want anyone to be made... uncomfortable," he said, smiling at Harris. "This wouldn't be appropriate for those with delicate sensibilities to overhear." He took the chance of saying "overhear" rather than "see" in the hopes that Garcia would understand. She couldn't turn the audio feed off, but he wanted her to know that he wished she didn't have to listen.
"None of us are particularly delicate, I'd say," Harris said. "Go on, pal."
He was getting suspicious. Sixteen minutes. Hotch looked Prentiss in the eye and she nodded imperceptibly. He turned to her and spoke in the coldest voice he could summon.
"My name is Gregory Montgomery and you belong to me. Repeat it."
"No." Another slap, this time harder. He knew, logically, why she couldn't acquiesce and make it easy on him, but her impudence was still on some level infuriating. "You belong to me. Repeat it."
"No." This time he backhanded her, hard enough to knock her down. She sold it like that, at least, since he knew she'd taken harder hits sparring with Morgan and stayed on her feet.
He reached down, grabbed her face and forced her to look into his eyes. "When I'm through with you, the word "no" will no longer be in your vocabulary." Hotch turned to Harris, who was clearly enjoying watching. "What was her name again?"
"Agent Prentiss," Hotch hissed, standing over her. "You will address me as "sir" and you will do as ordered. If you do not do as ordered, I will purchase one of these other sluts and have her tortured here in front of you. Do you understand?"
"I believe they're all spoken for... sir." Another backhand. The redness from the first impact was already blossoming into a bruise.
"Money buys whatever I want, Agent Prentiss," Hotch replied. He locked eyes with the blonde, who nodded. He turned back to Prentiss. "You don't want that pretty young girl to bleed out on this floor, do you?"
It was a clever ruse. Prentiss was impressed. Of course as an FBI agent she would do whatever is necessary to save an innocent, and this way he didn't have to beat her with the same severity. She hoped the cavalry was on its way.
Hotch knew it was, but that it was still fifteen minutes away. He steeled himself to fake it until extraction. She'd understand.
"Shall I kill that slut, Agent Prentiss?" he asked, running his hand down the side of her face to her neck.
They locked eyes for a moment. He hesitated, but he could tell she'd already compartmentalized. Whatever Gregory Montgomery did to her, she wouldn't blame Aaron Hotchner.
Trying to ignore the eyes on him, he stood and turned to her.
"Get up." She did. "Turn to me." She did. "Tell me who owns you."
"You do, sir."
"And if I tell you to take off your dress?"
"I would take off my dress, sir."
"And if I tell you get on your knees and suck my cock?"
"I would, sir."
"You would what?"
"I would get on my knees and suck your cock, sir."
Emily Prentiss felt a shiver roll down her spine. She was beginning to suspect that the rest of the team was further away than she'd initially hoped, which meant they would need to entertain the room longer than a simple beating would. She'd resigned herself to being beaten by her friend and boss. She just hoped that they'd arrive before the conclusion, when they would likely expect Hotch to inflict permanent- or fatal- damage.
Yet... that shiver wasn't entirely unpleasant. She'd always been an action junkie, but she'd never been quite so... aroused by danger. There was something about buttoned-up, professional, stoic Aaron Hotchner ordering her to suck his cock that was so incongruous. She didn't realize he was such a talented actor, but then again, the stakes had never been quite so high. One look at the way he was breathing and the way his skin was flushed and she knew that she wasn't the only one who was turned on.
Hotch turned back to Harris. "Is there someplace with a little more... atmosphere? There's nothing here I can tie her to, or with."
Harris laughed and gestured to a dark platform, much like the auctioning stage, at the other end of the room. He flicked a switch and a spotlight illuminated a bed, complete with conspicuous attachment points on each bedpost. There were also various hooks in the walls and a table with a variety of pain-inflicting implements. Hotch was glad that it had been meticulously cleaned, so they were not directly confronted with the horrors that had gone on in this space.
"Great," Hotch replied, indicating to Prentiss that she should precede him to the platform.
Under the heat of the spotlight, he turned to Prentiss and let his hands caress her neck as if he might at any moment begin to apply pressure to cut off her air supply. He leaned close and whispered to her, confident that while Garcia might still be able to hear, those watching from a dozen feet away would not.
"Fourteen minutes. I'm sorry."
She pulled away as if he'd said something vile. "I can take it," she said, and his mind flashed to the beating she'd taken at the hands of a cult leader. Like then, she was reassuring him that she could endure whatever happened. If she could play this part, he could play his.
"Agent Prentiss, how does it feel to be here, with me, unarmed?"
"I don't need a gun, sir."
"And why is that?"
"Because I'm going to do whatever you tell me to do. Sir."
"Good. Take off your dress, Agent Prentiss."
"Yes, sir," she said, unzipping the dark red taffeta and sliding it down her body. They'd dressed her well for this moment, he thought, as a dark, lacy bra was revealed.
His eyes darted over the tools on the table. He quickly selected a wide leather strap, which he knew would make a noise but leave no permanent damage, and a pair of standard issue handcuffs. The others in the room were expecting a show, and they had thirteen more minutes to fill.
"Do you enjoy handcuffing suspects, Agent Prentiss?"
"It's part of my job, sir."
"How professional. Well, I'm going to enjoy restraining you," he said, snapping the cuffs around one slim wrist, then the other. He then pushed her hands over her head and attached the cuffs to a chain that hung from the ceiling.
"Are you a screamer, Agent Prentiss?" he asked, caressing the leather strap.
"Only when I'm being tortured by sociopaths, sir," she replied and a second later the strap struck her thigh with a loud thwack. It stung, more than he meant it to, she was sure.
"You think I'm a sociopath, Agent?"
"I think you are behaving as a sociopath would, sir." He struck her again, this time on the other thigh.
"So say I am a sociopath. What do I do to you next, Agent?"
"I don't know, sir." This time it was the back of her thigh that stung with the impact of the strap.
"You do, or you wouldn't have been so confident in proclaiming me a sociopath." He stepped close enough that she could feel the roughness of his suit brushing against her bare back. "I ask you again, Agent. What do I do to you next?"
This time he didn't wait for her to answer, instead bringing the strap down hard on her hip. She yelped in surprise.
"You flog me until I scream for you to stop. You burn me, you cut me, you choke me- the method doesn't matter, it's the suffering that turns you on. And then when you get bored, you fuck me, unmercilessly. You fuck me in that way that shows me exactly what you think of me."
"That you're a whore," he responded and she laughed.
"You don't even know yourself. A whore is at least a human. To you, I'm an object. A thing to be used for your pleasure and then disposed of. "
She could feel her nipples hardening against the thin fabric of her bra. She'd started the dialogue to buy them time, but faking it had never felt quite so real before. A glance at the bulge forming in his trousers let her know that her words were getting to him too.
He reached for a knife on the table and used it to cut the lace of her bra down the sides. As he slid it off her body, he whispered in her ear.
"We need these people to be distracted so the team can enter on the main deck."
"Yes, sir," she replied, and the strap came down again, this time across her shoulders. He circled her and brought it down on her breasts. Tears sprang to her eyes involuntarily. He lashed her several more times before unlocking her handcuffs from the chain and pushing her to her knees.
This would definitely keep the attention of the men sulking in the shadows, she thought, although Prentiss was shocked that Hotch was going there. She looked into his eyes and understood; he'd discovered the part of himself that would do anything to help them survive, and everything else had been filed away. Compartmentalize. Fake it or die.
He glanced around the room with a smirk- ever the alpha male- before slowly unzipping his fly. She could tell his cock was hard already, even before he released it from the bounds of his pants. On some level he was enjoying this.
She was enjoying it too. She could feel a rush of heat to her core as he rubbed the head of his penis on her face. He grabbed her hair again and forced her to look up at him.
"Do you want to suck my cock, Agent Prentiss?"
She paused before responding and so he pulled her hair so hard she gasped. "Yes, sir. I want to, sir."
Tears were streaming down her face now, carrying black traces of her mascara. Red welts were forming all over her body. She shuddered as she responded, "I want to suck your cock, sir."
A moment later, both of his hands were in her hair, guiding her mouth onto him. She could hear from the murmurs of the crowd that the show had just become markedly more interesting. She estimated how long they'd been here and how much more time the team needed to get to them, pushing her awareness into her thoughts as Hotch roughly fucked her face.
He stopped suddenly and dragged her to her feet. Attaching the cuffs to the ceiling again, he dropped to his knees and pulled her underwear off. She closed her eyes in anticipation of the invasion to come and was surprised when she felt, instead of his hardness, the warmth of his mouth and tongue.
Harris was evidently also surprised, judging by the tone of his voice when he remarked, "Do slaves deserve pleasure, Greg?"
"Of course not," Hotch replied, pausing in his attentions to her. "But I'd imagine that one of the worst things Agent Emily Prentiss could experience is a total loss of control."
Harris was appeased by this response, which was closer to the truth than Prentiss would have liked. Still, this would distract the spectators and she had to admit that it was better than being beaten. She prepared herself to sell it to the crowd.
He was kneeling between her legs, letting his tongue slip between her folds. The warmth of his mouth sent jolts of energy through her entire body. As his tongue found her already throbbing clit, a moan burst from her lips. He took it as encouragement and redoubled his efforts. He pushed her thighs further apart and slipped two fingers inside of her, eliciting a deep growl from her throat.
As he sucked, nibbled and nipped at her, all he could think of was what she'd said earlier, about how after he tortured her, he would fuck her without mercy. The way she'd said it seemed strange at the time, but as he buried his face in the hot wetness of her cunt, he realized that the tone of her voice when she'd said it was tinged with anticipation.
Prentiss was close. Compartmentalization or not, she was about to come very hard in a room full of the most vile men she could imagine. Hotch's fingers curved inside of her and he increased the pressure of his tongue's rhythmic ministrations until she was moaning loudly and writhing, pulling against the chains that held her. She closed her eyes tightly as she came, screaming and thrashing, her entire body flushed.
As soon as the rush of her orgasm had passed, her legs gave out and she forced a quiet sob. Hotch rushed to release the chain and she crumpled into his arms. He could tell from the murmured appreciation of the spectators that they were enjoying seeing her suffer.
"Ten minutes," Garcia's pained voice said into his ear. Just a little longer and they'd be saved. He laid Prentiss on the floor, probably more gently than he should have to maintain their deceit. He groped for another implement to strike her with, hoping he could avoid the assault he knew the crowd was hoping for.
This time when he used the switch on her, she wailed. Each time he struck her, her body shook harder and the sobbing grew louder. He was impressed by her commitment to the ruse, but worried that she might actually be in pain.
"How pathetic," Harris said, coming to stand next to Hotch over Prentiss's shuddering body. "An FBI agent reduced to this. Greg, any objection to my taking a turn with her?" he asked, beginning to remove his coat.
Another power play, Hotch knew. "When I'm finished," he hissed, the dark glare of his eyes stopping the other man in his tracks. Harris stepped back into the shadows with the others.
Prentiss opened her eyes and bit her lip. He knew she was hurting, but she would live. They would both live, as long as they bought the team another eight minutes.
"Roll over, Agent Prentiss." The least he could do is save her from having to look him in the eye. She slowly rolled over onto her stomach as he removed his pants. He straddled her thighs and leaned down to line up his straining cock with her entrance. With several slow thrusts he filled her and she moaned again, her cunt gripping him firmly. She was tight and wet for him.
As she felt Hotch's cock slide into her, Prentiss was shocked at the feeling of fullness as he stretched her to the limit. He pressed her head down against the floor as his thrusting became more urgent. She could feel another orgasm building in her and tried to fight it, but Hotch snaked his hand under her to rub at her clit while he fucked her.
"Tell me you love it when I fuck you, Agent."
"I love it, sir," she gasped. "I love it when you fuck me."
Suddenly he needed to see her face. He withdrew and then rolled her over onto her back. Their eyes locked as he sank into her again. He pinned her hands above her head as he slammed into her again and again.
She tried to close her eyes as she felt herself nearing the edge again, but he stopped her. "Look at me, Agent," he said. He brought his hand to her clit again and pressed against it as he continued to thrust. Moments later she was coming again, screaming, writhing, with her eyes locked on his.
"Ted," a woman's voice cut through the crowd. It's warm, melodic tones were a strong contrast to the shouts and grunts coming from the men. "Perhaps Greg would like another slut to play with."
Harris, who'd started to approach Prentiss and Hotch again, laughed and stepped back.
"A splendid idea. Will anyone volunteer their new toy to help our friend Greg?"
"Obviously I will," the blonde said, gesturing for the young girl to join them. The girl hesitated, so the older woman slapped her and then turned to Harris and said, "On second thought, why should this piece of trash have all the fun? I'd like to help our friend Greg punish his slut myself."
Hotch caught the woman's eye but said nothing. Harris sized her up, then gestured for her to step into the pool of light in the middle of the room.
"Well, Greg," she said, "I've always had the fantasy of watching a man fuck a woman while she goes down on me. How does that sound?"
Hotch nodded and the woman slowly stepped out of her panties. She sat on the floor and pulled up her dress, revealing her bare, glistening core. He flipped Prentiss, still recovering from her last orgasm, over and drew her up onto her knees. He rubbed his cock up and down her slit while the blonde tangled her fingers in Prentiss' hair and pressed her face down.
As Hotch entered her from behind, Prentiss fluttered her tongue against the blonde's clit. He pushed her face down forcefully, drawing loud moans from their new partner. As he sped up his rhythm, fucking her hard and faster, she increased her pace, using her hands and mouth to pleasure the writhing woman. She would come again, she knew, but this time her attention was completely focused on the curves in front of her and the hardness behind her.
Hotch looked down and saw Prentiss's tongue expertly plundering the blonde's pussy. From the shudder of her body and the look on the other woman's face, he knew they were all very close to the point of no return. Suddenly the blonde stopped them, then reversed her position so that she was under Prentiss. She began to hungrily lick at the dark-haired agent's clit, gasping as Prentiss nipped at her inner thigh. Taking the hint, the blonde bit down on the same spot as Prentiss' body began to spasm on Hotch's cock once again. She screamed, really screamed this time, her orgasm continuing as the blonde also called out her release and Hotch came hard inside of her.
The observers were all enraptured. Suddenly the lights went out and there was shouting. Hotch pressed both women to the floor and shielded them as well as he could as the cavalry barged in, guns blazing.
An hour later, Prentiss was sitting in the back of an ambulance as they sorted the wounded from the dead. Harris was gone, as were two of the other buyers, but all of the women survived. She had already separated herself from the events of the evening, and she hoped she wasn't the only one with a talent for detachment.
JJ approached the ambulance hesitatingly, unconsciously smoothing the hem of her emerald green dress. She smiled weakly at her friend, gently touching the bruises on her face.
"You should see the other guy," Prentiss joked.
"How is he?"
"About what you'd expect." JJ sat next to the brunette and gripped the edges of the gurney. When she spoke again, her voice was steady but her knuckles were white, and Prentiss could tell how much she was struggling as well.
"I hope it was the right thing," the blonde said. "I thought, if it was someone you knew, it would be… easier."
Prentiss nodded. "It was. "
JJ stood to leave, but stopped and turned, pressing her lips to Prentiss' cheek. The dark-haired agent enveloped JJ in her arms. They stood that way for a long time, until Prentiss pulled away and lightly brushed her lips against JJ's.
JJ could taste herself on her friend's mouth. She deepened the kiss, running her tongue along Prentiss' lower lip. After a moment, they parted, and Prentiss smiled.
"Thank you. For all of it."
"I had to do something. The next part of Harris' fantasy… neither of you would have survived."
"The team took longer than I'd expected."
"Rossi had to punch out a Coast Guardsman to get the boat."
"Rossi? Not Morgan?"
"Morgan knocked out four of them."
Both women laughed, then JJ embraced her for a long time, only letting go when a small noise alerted them to Hotch's presence.
"I'll go get my car so I can drive you home home," JJ excused herself quickly, leaving the two alone.
After a long silence, Hotch cleared his throat. He seemed about to say something, then reconsidered and they both grew quiet and still. Suddenly, Prentiss stood.
"When I was with Interpol," she began, "we used to say that an op was a success if all the good guys lived."
"Do you still believe that?"
"I do." Another long silence engulfed them before she continued. "If they'd seen through your ruse, we would both be dead now. We did what we needed to do, and there's no shame in that." She moved stiffly from the ambulance. "I'm going home, Hotch. I'll see you on Monday."
She was halfway to JJ's car before Hotch called out, "Prentiss… it's Saturday."
"Jesus, Hotch, if you don't want to give me tomorrow off, just say so," she replied, a smile on her lips as she settled into the car and they pulled away.