rossi/prentiss; four hours
four hours
..........|criminal minds; rossi/prentiss; pg; Emily invites Dave to her apartment for a night in.
Dave sighed a little and counted the ticks on his watch. Sixteen minutes to go.
He hadn't meant to show up half an hour early; he just sure as hell didn't want to be late. Twiddling his thumbs and whistling some old Sinatra song he knew was probably off-key, David Rossi reclined in the driver's seat of his car and started counting ticks again.
Tick, tick, tick.
Fourteen minutes.
Tick, tick, tick.
Twelve minutes.
Tick, tick, tick.
Ten to go. He'd already burned through his thumb tips and old blues song melodies when a knock came on his window. He rolled it down, startled.
"Dave… what are you doing? Why didn't you come up?" Emily Prentiss asked him, bending down to his sitting level.
If he hadn't known better, Dave would have blushed. "I got here a little early and didn't want to intrude…" he trailed off.
"No, no, it's fine! Come on; I was just getting some spices from my car," she shuffled over to a black car three slots over while he stepped out of his own car.
He attempted to relieve tension. "So what did you cook?" They were alone in the parking lot; it was rather full of cars, but no one seemed to be out at eight o'clock on a Friday night. He almost laughed. Why would they be?
Emily juggled five spice jars in her hands until Dave stepped up and gathered two for her. Paprika and basil, he read. "Thank you," she said, and then smirked at him. "As for that, Mr. Rossi, you'll have to find out on your own!" She smiled brilliantly at him, and he couldn't help but smile back at her. She was like that; contagious. Everything she did.
He chuckled to himself as they moved from the ever-darkening parking lot to her apartment. When he entered, Dave stood at the door for a minute and just stared ahead. She had a beautiful view of DC. Better than the one at his house, and that was saying something. His house had a better view than Monticello, for heaven's sake.
"Like the view?" she teased, and he broke out of his trance, placing the spices on her granite counter.
"Yeah… hell, yes. How'd you find this place?" She shrugged.
"Inheritance. It used to be my mom's for when she came to town, but after I grew up she didn't do much work in the Americas anymore, so she gave it to me." She chuffed. "I still have to pay rent, of course. Elizabeth's not that great."
He doesn't mention that she called her Elizabeth, not Mom.
Dave smiled at her and she told him to take a seat. Moving to the little bar off her kitchen island, he took a chance to study her. She was wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a black Metallica tee (he thinks that was maybe from her Goth phase), but her feet were bare. Others may have found this unprofessional. David Rossi found it endearing.
"Dinner should be ready in about ten minutes…" she said, starting a refrigerator timer. "Until then, how are you?" She took a seat beside him and ran a hair through her hair.
He relaxed a bit. "I am good… wait-I guess that would be well, huh?" She glowed with mirth. "Really, though. I'm happy to be off that case." They both shivered despite the seventy-something temperature inside the building. Their last case had been hard, and not one well won.
But he'd prefer not to think about that. Not now. Not tonight.
"What this brings us to," he started, his tone jovial as she pursed her lips. "Is the more important question. How are you, Emily?"
She closed her eyes in contentment and he smiled again. He'd been doing that a lot, lately. "I am quite well, thank you… tired as a hog, but that's beside the point." Her voice instantly took on a more serious tone. "I'm glad you could make it."
He touched her hand. "Me, too."
XXXXX
An odd hour later, Dave reclined in his wooden chair and stretched explicitly. "That…was an amazing meal, cara. Especially the squash! How did you make it?" She blushed under his praise.
"It was just a little olive oil, basil, and paprika…" He nodded knowingly. So that's what he was carrying in earlier…
"Well, thank you. It was very good," he grinned at her.
She got up and moved to take his plate. "Whoa…" he started. "What do you think you're doing?" She put a hand on her hip. "Getting your dishes… if you'd let me!" On her last two words she reached for his plate, but he moved it just in time, leaving her with an empty hand and too much momentum to balance properly.
She (or he, for that matter) had no idea how she ended up in lap. The fact of the matter is that she did, and now that's where she was.
She didn't mind. Judging by his grin, he didn't either.
His wit was quick. "Well, well, Emily… I have to say this is a first. Never have I had a woman fling herself at me on the first date! They usually wait until I cook for them."
Emily rolled her eyes and stood up, taking her plate (she still didn't have his, the little demon) to the sink to be washed. "You, Mr. Rossi, may do your own dishes. I'll be watching The Godfather if you need me," It was her turn to smirk.
"Really?" He asked, faking insult. "Make fun of me for my race, real funny, Prentiss," She shrugged comically and started towards the den area when he caught her wrist, bringing her face nearer to his.
"Honestly, I never do this," she was caught in a trance, unable to look away from his eyes. "It's ungentlemanly and I'm going to go ahead and apologize beforehand, but you look so beautiful tonight that I honestly can't help myself," With this he covered her mouth with his, and she melted to him. He moved a hand around her back and cupped her cheek with another, thumbing the ends of her hair.
His beard tickled her cheeks, her nose, her neck. She refrained from giggling under the sensation of it rubbing against her fair skin.
She had never experienced anything like this, and she wanted more.
All too soon, though, he broke away, leaving Emily to try to figure out a way to stand up on her own. She was failing.
Rossi chuffed and then smiled her way (and it made her weak all over again, God help her stand).
"Are we still watching The Godfather?" She lit up, and he curled her in his arms.
XXXXX
They never did see The Godfather, but Emily had a much better time watching a different Italian man for near three hours.
Tick, tick, tick.
Might want to make that four hours, she thought, and he kissed her one more time.
..........|criminal minds; rossi/prentiss; pg; Emily invites Dave to her apartment for a night in.
Dave sighed a little and counted the ticks on his watch. Sixteen minutes to go.
He hadn't meant to show up half an hour early; he just sure as hell didn't want to be late. Twiddling his thumbs and whistling some old Sinatra song he knew was probably off-key, David Rossi reclined in the driver's seat of his car and started counting ticks again.
Tick, tick, tick.
Fourteen minutes.
Tick, tick, tick.
Twelve minutes.
Tick, tick, tick.
Ten to go. He'd already burned through his thumb tips and old blues song melodies when a knock came on his window. He rolled it down, startled.
"Dave… what are you doing? Why didn't you come up?" Emily Prentiss asked him, bending down to his sitting level.
If he hadn't known better, Dave would have blushed. "I got here a little early and didn't want to intrude…" he trailed off.
"No, no, it's fine! Come on; I was just getting some spices from my car," she shuffled over to a black car three slots over while he stepped out of his own car.
He attempted to relieve tension. "So what did you cook?" They were alone in the parking lot; it was rather full of cars, but no one seemed to be out at eight o'clock on a Friday night. He almost laughed. Why would they be?
Emily juggled five spice jars in her hands until Dave stepped up and gathered two for her. Paprika and basil, he read. "Thank you," she said, and then smirked at him. "As for that, Mr. Rossi, you'll have to find out on your own!" She smiled brilliantly at him, and he couldn't help but smile back at her. She was like that; contagious. Everything she did.
He chuckled to himself as they moved from the ever-darkening parking lot to her apartment. When he entered, Dave stood at the door for a minute and just stared ahead. She had a beautiful view of DC. Better than the one at his house, and that was saying something. His house had a better view than Monticello, for heaven's sake.
"Like the view?" she teased, and he broke out of his trance, placing the spices on her granite counter.
"Yeah… hell, yes. How'd you find this place?" She shrugged.
"Inheritance. It used to be my mom's for when she came to town, but after I grew up she didn't do much work in the Americas anymore, so she gave it to me." She chuffed. "I still have to pay rent, of course. Elizabeth's not that great."
He doesn't mention that she called her Elizabeth, not Mom.
Dave smiled at her and she told him to take a seat. Moving to the little bar off her kitchen island, he took a chance to study her. She was wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a black Metallica tee (he thinks that was maybe from her Goth phase), but her feet were bare. Others may have found this unprofessional. David Rossi found it endearing.
"Dinner should be ready in about ten minutes…" she said, starting a refrigerator timer. "Until then, how are you?" She took a seat beside him and ran a hair through her hair.
He relaxed a bit. "I am good… wait-I guess that would be well, huh?" She glowed with mirth. "Really, though. I'm happy to be off that case." They both shivered despite the seventy-something temperature inside the building. Their last case had been hard, and not one well won.
But he'd prefer not to think about that. Not now. Not tonight.
"What this brings us to," he started, his tone jovial as she pursed her lips. "Is the more important question. How are you, Emily?"
She closed her eyes in contentment and he smiled again. He'd been doing that a lot, lately. "I am quite well, thank you… tired as a hog, but that's beside the point." Her voice instantly took on a more serious tone. "I'm glad you could make it."
He touched her hand. "Me, too."
XXXXX
An odd hour later, Dave reclined in his wooden chair and stretched explicitly. "That…was an amazing meal, cara. Especially the squash! How did you make it?" She blushed under his praise.
"It was just a little olive oil, basil, and paprika…" He nodded knowingly. So that's what he was carrying in earlier…
"Well, thank you. It was very good," he grinned at her.
She got up and moved to take his plate. "Whoa…" he started. "What do you think you're doing?" She put a hand on her hip. "Getting your dishes… if you'd let me!" On her last two words she reached for his plate, but he moved it just in time, leaving her with an empty hand and too much momentum to balance properly.
She (or he, for that matter) had no idea how she ended up in lap. The fact of the matter is that she did, and now that's where she was.
She didn't mind. Judging by his grin, he didn't either.
His wit was quick. "Well, well, Emily… I have to say this is a first. Never have I had a woman fling herself at me on the first date! They usually wait until I cook for them."
Emily rolled her eyes and stood up, taking her plate (she still didn't have his, the little demon) to the sink to be washed. "You, Mr. Rossi, may do your own dishes. I'll be watching The Godfather if you need me," It was her turn to smirk.
"Really?" He asked, faking insult. "Make fun of me for my race, real funny, Prentiss," She shrugged comically and started towards the den area when he caught her wrist, bringing her face nearer to his.
"Honestly, I never do this," she was caught in a trance, unable to look away from his eyes. "It's ungentlemanly and I'm going to go ahead and apologize beforehand, but you look so beautiful tonight that I honestly can't help myself," With this he covered her mouth with his, and she melted to him. He moved a hand around her back and cupped her cheek with another, thumbing the ends of her hair.
His beard tickled her cheeks, her nose, her neck. She refrained from giggling under the sensation of it rubbing against her fair skin.
She had never experienced anything like this, and she wanted more.
All too soon, though, he broke away, leaving Emily to try to figure out a way to stand up on her own. She was failing.
Rossi chuffed and then smiled her way (and it made her weak all over again, God help her stand).
"Are we still watching The Godfather?" She lit up, and he curled her in his arms.
XXXXX
They never did see The Godfather, but Emily had a much better time watching a different Italian man for near three hours.
Tick, tick, tick.
Might want to make that four hours, she thought, and he kissed her one more time.