(no subject)
Title: & thanks to this artifice we manage to endure
Author: eudaimon
Rating: adult.
Wordcount: 3479
Pairing: Reid/Prentiss/Hotch
Summary: It's only a bottle of wine; she has no idea how it ended up like this.
A/N: My first fic in the fandom (I just caught up!). Written for bzzinglikeneon, with my love.
The heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good; and thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burdens of the past. - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
It's only a bottle of wine. Yes, it's an expensive bottle of wine, one that her mother sent, a good vintage but Emily's still standing at the counter and opening it, fully intending to drink it alone when the doorbell rings. She answers the door with the bottle in one hand and the corkscrew in the other and Hotch is standing there. It takes her a moment to work out what's wrong, and then she realises; she's not entirely sure she's ever seen him with the knot in his tie loosened before. He looks almost relaxed. She looks him up and down. One eyebrow quirks.
"Freaky," she says.
"Thanks," says Hotch, and, true to form, entirely unsurprisingly, he waits for her to actually invite him in before he steps into the apartment. After years of working with him she's used to the smell of him, feels comforted by the presence of him in her space, and she turns her back on him and she pours him a glass of wine without asking.
"What if I'm driving?" he asks her and Emily shrugs and she keeps on holding out the glass until he takes it.
"Guess you're going to have to stay and eat left over Chinese food with me," she says.
And maybe she knows him well enough to see that he doesn't actually hate the idea.
Maybe.
Sometime during the first bottle of wine, the only really good bottle that she's got, they end up on the couch and Hotch's tie is off altogether and Emily's bare feet are almost in his lap and she looks at him over the rim of her glass.
"How are you really?" she asks him and he doesn't answer her but he does wrap one hand around her foot and squeeze and, if that's all the answer that she's going to get then she supposes that it's going to have to do. They sit in companionable silence, the music turned down low, and Emily's so close to dozing, so warm and so comfortable, so quiet and so safe, that she almost misses the knock on the door. The unmistakable knock. Only one person she knows knocks doors like that, just like he's the only person she knows who answers his cellphone like he does...just like he waves like a kid. Hotch looks up and she knows that he recognises the knock too.
"I'll get it," he says, standing up smoothly and holding out his empty glass to her. "You get more wine."
She's in the kitchen and she hears the low conversation at the doorway, Hotch's voice a rumble, Reid's a little higher - something about movies. Sometimes, Reid comes over and they watch a movie; Emily always wants to watch Art House but, somehow, Reid always wins and they end up watching bad sci-fi and half the time Reid ends up with his head in her lap and Emily plays with his hair, twists it around her fingers and smoothes it back from his forehead and she falls asleep and he's always gone when she wakes up. He leaves whatever glasses they've used neatly in the sink.
She thinks that it probably has something to do with his mother, the way he seems to enjoy that closeness. They promised not to profile each other, which doesn't mean that they don't do it without thinking, every single day.
"Hey, Emily," says Reid, padding into the kitchen, shoes left by the door, bag still slung across his chest. He leans with his ass against the counter and watches her pour three glasses of wine. "I thought we could watch, uh...Event Horizon, which I know you haven't seen and, frankly, it's terrible I mean, the physics are just..."
He tails off, and Emily realises that Hotch is standing there. She hands him a glass and he hands it straight to Reid.
"Drink your wine, Reid," he says.
"Yes, Sir," says Reid, taking a long swallow.
Emily raises the glass and toasts both of them.
Amen.
And maybe this is what they need, after the year they've had. Maybe it needs to be the three of them together, because JJ has Will and Henry and Garcia has Kevin and Morgan has girls and houses and, if it ever gets too much, he goes home to Chicago and sits at his Mom's kitchen table. Emily's always sort of envied that, the ease that Morgan can be around his family with but, hey, she can speak any one of five languages (not including English) with her Mom, and that's got to count for something, right?
Right.
She's never going to be entirely sure how it happens. She's virtually sure that it has to be her fault (it really has to be) but the wine has started to make her head spin, just a little, pleasantly, and she's sitting half leaning back against Reid, and Hotch is in the armchair, and she hears herself say it. It's one of those weird out of body moments, and she's sure it's her fault.
"Okay, Reid," she hears herself saying. "Truth or dare."
There's a pause and, against her back, she feels him swallow and then his glass is resting against his thigh again and Emily is just realising that something's changed in the way Hotch is looking at them and she shifts her hips and ignores the flicker of warmth right in the pit of her belly and then lower. Reid's long fingers stir her bangs, smoothing them to the side. At work, they barely touch each other. It's always interesting how things change when they're on their own time.
"Truth," he says, finally, and she knows him well enough to notice the way his voice is a little higher than it ought to be.
There are three ways that a game like this can go, in the experience of Emily Prentiss; either it's ridiculous and everyone finds it funny, or it's ridiculous and everyone finds it mortifying or, on one or two memorable occasions, everybody ends up naked.
Emily has no idea which one of those this is, but Reid asked for a truth.
"If you were going to have sex with one of the team, who would it be?"
She can't quite believe that this is happening; in the morning, she ought to call her Mom and ask her where the hell she got that particular bottle of wine.
"I...um..." he hesitates, and Emily imagines that he's trying to decide between Garcia and JJ and who the hell can blame him? Even Emily's had moments when she finds herself distracted by the sheer glory that is Penelope Garcia's cleavage. She's also noticed that that Morgan never looks at Garcia anywhere but straight in the eyes.
Reid's long fingers stir against Emily's hair.
"You," he says, finally. "It'd be you."
Somehow, that changes everything, even if it is only Reid and he almost sounds like he'll burst into tears if she turns and looks at him. She reaches back and takes his hand, threads her fingers with his and brings it to rest against her chest and she realises that it's perilously close to her tits and she wonders when everything changed and she's still aware of how Hotch is watching them both. She drags in a breath through her nose and holds it and there's this moment of stillness and then Reid's fingers twitch and brush against the swell of her breast above the neckline of her t-shirt and Emily does her best to ignore the jolt of sensation right between her legs. She tries.
She tips her head back and looks up at Reid.
"Your turn," she says, quietly and her mouth is dry so she pulls away from him, gently as she can, and reaches for her wine. Reid's fingers graze against her spine. They touch casually when they're here watching movies but somehow it's different now. It's like Hotch being here has thrown the balance off, somehow. Or maybe it's the wine.
Reid looks down at her and shakes his head and then he glances up at Hotch. There's this moment when they're all looking at each other and, absurdly, all Emily can think of is one of those movies where everybody's got a gun and everybody's just waiting for someone to fire.
"Did I miss the point at which we all regressed to being fifteen?" he asks but he's got this look in his eyes; Aaron Hotchner rarely smiles but, when he does, you can usually see it starting in his eyes just before it happens.
"Come on, Hotch," says Emily, leaning back, ending up with her back against Reid's chest. He hesitates for a moment, and then his arm settles around her shoulders. "Truth or dare?"
Then, he smiles.
"Dare," he says.
"I dare you to come over here and kiss me."
It's surprising how little she has to think about it.
She watches as he pushes up out of his chair, leaving his wine glass on the table. He crosses the room to them and Emily can feel Reid behind her, barely breathing, as Hoch sinks down onto his knees in front of her, steadying himself with one hand on the couch cushion. Emily licks her bottom lip and she leans forward when he leans in and then they're kissing and Emily's not going to pretend that she's never thought about it.
She probably didn't imagine that Reid would be there, watching.
She hears herself make a noise against Hotch's mouth, soft and longing, wanting more, and then there's no pretending, no ignoring the feeling in her chest and her the pit of her belly and right between her legs. One hand comes up, fingers curling against the back of Hotch's neck, pushing into short hair. The other slides over Reid's thigh, clutching at his pant leg, nails pressing against the seam. He echoes her, a similar noise and the hand against her shoulder slips lower, covering one breast, thumbing her nipple through the thing material of her t-shirt.
Oh, clever boy.
Hotch presses forward, kissing her deeper, a hand on the couch on either side of her, and it's all Emily can do to moan encouragement against his mouth, hand sliding up to press between Reid's legs, finding him hard. She rubs her thumb against his fly clumsily. She can feel the way that he's finely trembling against her.
She breaks the kiss, smudging her lips against the corner of Hotch's mouth, the taunt line of his jaw. He's rough against her lips, almost, barely in need of a shave. Her fingers tighten. She pulls at his hair and she feels the way that a smile touches the corner of his mouth.
Almost experimentally, Reid rocks his hips up against her hand.
"Jesus Christ, Hotch," she says, already breathless, dragging in another deep breath which presses her breast into the palm of Reid's hand. His fingers tighten, squeezing. She whimpers against Hotch's skin before she can catch herself.
"What?" he asks, both hands skimming her waist and up, fingers overlapping Reid's.
"Do I have to dare you to fuck me, too?"
"No," he says, his fingers dipping under the neckline of her shirt, under her bra, grazing her nipple and making her hips jerk like there's a wire stretched tight between her breast and her cunt. Suddenly, there are four hands pulling at her shirt, and Emily knows that she started this but she's starting to feel like she hasn't got any control here at all.
It's amazing how hot that is.
In her bra and her jeans, she turns her head and kisses Reid full on the mouth. He kisses harder than Hotch, wetter, but still good. He kisses younger. Emily cradles his face with both hands, shifts and squirms until she can swing a leg across his thighs and sit astride him. She's aware of Hotch behind her, at her back, his hand sliding against her hips even as Reid's fingers splay against her ribcage. Reid pushes up, kissing her hard and Hotch's lips are against her shoulder, his hands slipping down and lower, pulling her pants open and he pushes one hand inside, cups her against her panties and when her hips rock forward, she's not sure whether she's trying to get closer to Hotch's fingers or Reid's cock. Both hands push into Reid's hair, tips his head back and leans forward to kiss him deeper.
Nothing could be more surprising to her when Reid manages to fumble her bra undone on his first try. Emily slips free off it and guides both of Reid's hands up to her breasts. For a moment, he looks nervous and then he rubs both thumbs against her nipples. Emily's head falls back against Hotch's shoulder and Reid leans forward and presses a kiss to the smooth skin under the hollow of her throat.
"Do you...um..." She watches him process the question, watches him flush a little. Hotch twitches her panties aside, pushing one finger smoothly inside her and Emily's hips lift in answer.
"Do I what, Reid?" she manages to breath, feeling heavy and wanton as Hotch fucks her and she wishes that it wasn't his finger than he was using.
He pinches one of her nipples, lightly, and, this time, it's like that wire's between Reid's fingers and Hotch's and, every time they move, they pull it tight.
"Do you want both of us?" he asks.
Yes, yes, fuck yes. Emphatically yes.
Her hips riding forward against Hotch's fingers, all that Emily can do is nod.
Emily's bed is her biggest luxury in an apartment full of little luxuries, and it's more than wide enough for three. They leave a paper trail of clothes between couch and bedroom. Emily strips them both, so they're naked when they turn to her, when Hotch wraps his arms around her from behind, cupping her breasts, squeezing and pulling her back against his chest while Reid pushes at her jeans and her panties, sinking down with them.
It's unexpected, so the first touch of Reid's mouth between her legs makes Emily cry out, the sound unexpectedly loud in a room where the only soundtrack had been three people breathing. Hotch guides her back with him onto the bed and absently, her hips already falling into a rhythm, her fingers pushed into Reid's hair, Emily wonders if he's done research or something on this or if this is just another thing that his brilliant brain unexpectedly understands.
Stranger things, right?
Reid is good at this, so it doesn't take long before Emily's trembling and squirming, very aware of the way her ass pushes back against Hotch. What does it: when Reid pushes not one long finger inside her but two and Emily comes hard with the thought that the little bastard is experimenting and she barely has the presence of mind to keep her legs spread wide.
When he pushes up off his knees and kisses her, Emily can taste herself on his mouth and she moans in answer, shifting until he's lying back on the bed and she can slide astride him again. She can feel him, pressed against her and, when she leans forward to kiss him, his cock rubs against her where she's wettest and she feels him tremble.
"Emily, please," he whimpers, but Emily's head's already turned and it's Hotch that she's looking at when she reaches into the drawer beside her bed for condoms and lube, stuff that she's allowed to have there because she's a consenting adult, and let's not thinking about the last time any of it actually got used.
She tears a silver foil packet with her teeth, rolls the condom down over Reid's cock with a practiced turn of her wrist. She watches Hotch stroke his own cock and then she looks back at Reid and she's only got eyes for him as she wraps her fingers around his cock and slides down onto him.
For a moment, neither of them move, and Emily's expecting it, so she barely makes any sound at all when Hotch's slick fingers slide down over her tailbone and lower, rubbing her with purpose. It isn't until she starts to move on top of Reid that Hotch pushes a finger inside her and Emily moans encouragement to both of them and she still wishes that it wasn't his finger that Hotch is using.
"Emily, please." This time, the want in Reid is clearly apparent on his face; it's there in the fluttering of his eyelashes, the touch of his teeth against his bottom lip. With both hands on his shoulders, Emily does, Emily will. She starts to move carefully, fucking Reid slowly and, behind her, Hotch leans in against her, presses against her, presses inside her, one inch at a time.
For a moment after that, she can't move, one hand still on Reid's shoulder, the other reaching back to push into Hotch's hair and then Hotch leans forward over her shoulder and kisses Reid hard, with just a hint of possession. Emily watches the slide of the muscles in their jaws, feels the movement of both of them inside her and it's almost verging on completely too much.
In the end, though, she withstands.
They move together, the three of them, awkward at first; there are too many limbs and it's not like any of them have exactly done this before. Still, they find the way. Emily rocks down against Reid and back against Hotch and Hotch cups both breasts in his hands and Reid pushes up on his elbows high enough to lick at her nipples between Hotch's fingers.
Reid comes first, with a sound so soft that it'd be easy to mistake it as coming from a creature already dying, and then it's his hands on her breasts and Hotch's hand slips lower, two fingers grazing her belly and then pressing against her clit right above where Reid is still inside her. An electric pulse goes through her and she turns her head and catches his mouth, the angle awkward, but they make it work.
"You're beautiful," says Hotch, and means thankyou, I needed this, I wanted this.
Emily comes with Reid still inside her, with Hotch still fucking her and his fingers rubbing her and it makes sense that he'd be as efficient at this as is he in every other area of his life.
When Hotch comes, he bites Emily's shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. Her shirt will cover it in briefing tomorrow but they, all three of them, will know that it's there, and maybe that's kind of the point.
Disengaging, they tumble, curl around each other, Emily's arms around Reid's skinny shoulders, his head on her chest, Hotch pressed against her from behind and his arm around both of them. Emily turns her head and kisses Reid's forehead.
"Better than a movie, Reid?" she asks him and she feels him laugh more than she hears it.
"Infinitely," he says, and he stifles a yawn against the curve of her breast.
Emily doesn't know how long after that she manages to stay awake, but she does think that it's probably numbered in minutes. She lasts long enough to know that Reid snores, but only softly.
Somewhere in the long hours in the middle of the night, Emily wakes up and finds Reid still sleeping and Hotch gone. Dressed in nothing but Reid's dress shirt she pads through the apartment and finds him standing naked in her kitchen, drinking a glass of water straight down. She wraps her arms around him and, before work tomorrow starts and changes everything, she presses a kiss to his bare shoulder. For now, he's hers and she's allowed to do that.
"How are you really?" she asks him, and he looks down at her and she sees the smile in his eyes before she sees it on his mouth.
"I'll be okay," he promises her, and then he takes her by the hand and leads her back to her own bedroom, where Spencer Reid's still sleeping peacefully in a tangle of long, graceful limbs, and he'll probably sleep peacefully until someone's alarm wakes them in the morning.
And its what they all needed, and who knows how long it'll last.
"I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you're alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it." - Neil Gaiman.
Author: eudaimon
Rating: adult.
Wordcount: 3479
Pairing: Reid/Prentiss/Hotch
Summary: It's only a bottle of wine; she has no idea how it ended up like this.
A/N: My first fic in the fandom (I just caught up!). Written for bzzinglikeneon, with my love.
The heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good; and thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burdens of the past. - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
It's only a bottle of wine. Yes, it's an expensive bottle of wine, one that her mother sent, a good vintage but Emily's still standing at the counter and opening it, fully intending to drink it alone when the doorbell rings. She answers the door with the bottle in one hand and the corkscrew in the other and Hotch is standing there. It takes her a moment to work out what's wrong, and then she realises; she's not entirely sure she's ever seen him with the knot in his tie loosened before. He looks almost relaxed. She looks him up and down. One eyebrow quirks.
"Freaky," she says.
"Thanks," says Hotch, and, true to form, entirely unsurprisingly, he waits for her to actually invite him in before he steps into the apartment. After years of working with him she's used to the smell of him, feels comforted by the presence of him in her space, and she turns her back on him and she pours him a glass of wine without asking.
"What if I'm driving?" he asks her and Emily shrugs and she keeps on holding out the glass until he takes it.
"Guess you're going to have to stay and eat left over Chinese food with me," she says.
And maybe she knows him well enough to see that he doesn't actually hate the idea.
Maybe.
Sometime during the first bottle of wine, the only really good bottle that she's got, they end up on the couch and Hotch's tie is off altogether and Emily's bare feet are almost in his lap and she looks at him over the rim of her glass.
"How are you really?" she asks him and he doesn't answer her but he does wrap one hand around her foot and squeeze and, if that's all the answer that she's going to get then she supposes that it's going to have to do. They sit in companionable silence, the music turned down low, and Emily's so close to dozing, so warm and so comfortable, so quiet and so safe, that she almost misses the knock on the door. The unmistakable knock. Only one person she knows knocks doors like that, just like he's the only person she knows who answers his cellphone like he does...just like he waves like a kid. Hotch looks up and she knows that he recognises the knock too.
"I'll get it," he says, standing up smoothly and holding out his empty glass to her. "You get more wine."
She's in the kitchen and she hears the low conversation at the doorway, Hotch's voice a rumble, Reid's a little higher - something about movies. Sometimes, Reid comes over and they watch a movie; Emily always wants to watch Art House but, somehow, Reid always wins and they end up watching bad sci-fi and half the time Reid ends up with his head in her lap and Emily plays with his hair, twists it around her fingers and smoothes it back from his forehead and she falls asleep and he's always gone when she wakes up. He leaves whatever glasses they've used neatly in the sink.
She thinks that it probably has something to do with his mother, the way he seems to enjoy that closeness. They promised not to profile each other, which doesn't mean that they don't do it without thinking, every single day.
"Hey, Emily," says Reid, padding into the kitchen, shoes left by the door, bag still slung across his chest. He leans with his ass against the counter and watches her pour three glasses of wine. "I thought we could watch, uh...Event Horizon, which I know you haven't seen and, frankly, it's terrible I mean, the physics are just..."
He tails off, and Emily realises that Hotch is standing there. She hands him a glass and he hands it straight to Reid.
"Drink your wine, Reid," he says.
"Yes, Sir," says Reid, taking a long swallow.
Emily raises the glass and toasts both of them.
Amen.
And maybe this is what they need, after the year they've had. Maybe it needs to be the three of them together, because JJ has Will and Henry and Garcia has Kevin and Morgan has girls and houses and, if it ever gets too much, he goes home to Chicago and sits at his Mom's kitchen table. Emily's always sort of envied that, the ease that Morgan can be around his family with but, hey, she can speak any one of five languages (not including English) with her Mom, and that's got to count for something, right?
Right.
She's never going to be entirely sure how it happens. She's virtually sure that it has to be her fault (it really has to be) but the wine has started to make her head spin, just a little, pleasantly, and she's sitting half leaning back against Reid, and Hotch is in the armchair, and she hears herself say it. It's one of those weird out of body moments, and she's sure it's her fault.
"Okay, Reid," she hears herself saying. "Truth or dare."
There's a pause and, against her back, she feels him swallow and then his glass is resting against his thigh again and Emily is just realising that something's changed in the way Hotch is looking at them and she shifts her hips and ignores the flicker of warmth right in the pit of her belly and then lower. Reid's long fingers stir her bangs, smoothing them to the side. At work, they barely touch each other. It's always interesting how things change when they're on their own time.
"Truth," he says, finally, and she knows him well enough to notice the way his voice is a little higher than it ought to be.
There are three ways that a game like this can go, in the experience of Emily Prentiss; either it's ridiculous and everyone finds it funny, or it's ridiculous and everyone finds it mortifying or, on one or two memorable occasions, everybody ends up naked.
Emily has no idea which one of those this is, but Reid asked for a truth.
"If you were going to have sex with one of the team, who would it be?"
She can't quite believe that this is happening; in the morning, she ought to call her Mom and ask her where the hell she got that particular bottle of wine.
"I...um..." he hesitates, and Emily imagines that he's trying to decide between Garcia and JJ and who the hell can blame him? Even Emily's had moments when she finds herself distracted by the sheer glory that is Penelope Garcia's cleavage. She's also noticed that that Morgan never looks at Garcia anywhere but straight in the eyes.
Reid's long fingers stir against Emily's hair.
"You," he says, finally. "It'd be you."
Somehow, that changes everything, even if it is only Reid and he almost sounds like he'll burst into tears if she turns and looks at him. She reaches back and takes his hand, threads her fingers with his and brings it to rest against her chest and she realises that it's perilously close to her tits and she wonders when everything changed and she's still aware of how Hotch is watching them both. She drags in a breath through her nose and holds it and there's this moment of stillness and then Reid's fingers twitch and brush against the swell of her breast above the neckline of her t-shirt and Emily does her best to ignore the jolt of sensation right between her legs. She tries.
She tips her head back and looks up at Reid.
"Your turn," she says, quietly and her mouth is dry so she pulls away from him, gently as she can, and reaches for her wine. Reid's fingers graze against her spine. They touch casually when they're here watching movies but somehow it's different now. It's like Hotch being here has thrown the balance off, somehow. Or maybe it's the wine.
Reid looks down at her and shakes his head and then he glances up at Hotch. There's this moment when they're all looking at each other and, absurdly, all Emily can think of is one of those movies where everybody's got a gun and everybody's just waiting for someone to fire.
"Did I miss the point at which we all regressed to being fifteen?" he asks but he's got this look in his eyes; Aaron Hotchner rarely smiles but, when he does, you can usually see it starting in his eyes just before it happens.
"Come on, Hotch," says Emily, leaning back, ending up with her back against Reid's chest. He hesitates for a moment, and then his arm settles around her shoulders. "Truth or dare?"
Then, he smiles.
"Dare," he says.
"I dare you to come over here and kiss me."
It's surprising how little she has to think about it.
She watches as he pushes up out of his chair, leaving his wine glass on the table. He crosses the room to them and Emily can feel Reid behind her, barely breathing, as Hoch sinks down onto his knees in front of her, steadying himself with one hand on the couch cushion. Emily licks her bottom lip and she leans forward when he leans in and then they're kissing and Emily's not going to pretend that she's never thought about it.
She probably didn't imagine that Reid would be there, watching.
She hears herself make a noise against Hotch's mouth, soft and longing, wanting more, and then there's no pretending, no ignoring the feeling in her chest and her the pit of her belly and right between her legs. One hand comes up, fingers curling against the back of Hotch's neck, pushing into short hair. The other slides over Reid's thigh, clutching at his pant leg, nails pressing against the seam. He echoes her, a similar noise and the hand against her shoulder slips lower, covering one breast, thumbing her nipple through the thing material of her t-shirt.
Oh, clever boy.
Hotch presses forward, kissing her deeper, a hand on the couch on either side of her, and it's all Emily can do to moan encouragement against his mouth, hand sliding up to press between Reid's legs, finding him hard. She rubs her thumb against his fly clumsily. She can feel the way that he's finely trembling against her.
She breaks the kiss, smudging her lips against the corner of Hotch's mouth, the taunt line of his jaw. He's rough against her lips, almost, barely in need of a shave. Her fingers tighten. She pulls at his hair and she feels the way that a smile touches the corner of his mouth.
Almost experimentally, Reid rocks his hips up against her hand.
"Jesus Christ, Hotch," she says, already breathless, dragging in another deep breath which presses her breast into the palm of Reid's hand. His fingers tighten, squeezing. She whimpers against Hotch's skin before she can catch herself.
"What?" he asks, both hands skimming her waist and up, fingers overlapping Reid's.
"Do I have to dare you to fuck me, too?"
"No," he says, his fingers dipping under the neckline of her shirt, under her bra, grazing her nipple and making her hips jerk like there's a wire stretched tight between her breast and her cunt. Suddenly, there are four hands pulling at her shirt, and Emily knows that she started this but she's starting to feel like she hasn't got any control here at all.
It's amazing how hot that is.
In her bra and her jeans, she turns her head and kisses Reid full on the mouth. He kisses harder than Hotch, wetter, but still good. He kisses younger. Emily cradles his face with both hands, shifts and squirms until she can swing a leg across his thighs and sit astride him. She's aware of Hotch behind her, at her back, his hand sliding against her hips even as Reid's fingers splay against her ribcage. Reid pushes up, kissing her hard and Hotch's lips are against her shoulder, his hands slipping down and lower, pulling her pants open and he pushes one hand inside, cups her against her panties and when her hips rock forward, she's not sure whether she's trying to get closer to Hotch's fingers or Reid's cock. Both hands push into Reid's hair, tips his head back and leans forward to kiss him deeper.
Nothing could be more surprising to her when Reid manages to fumble her bra undone on his first try. Emily slips free off it and guides both of Reid's hands up to her breasts. For a moment, he looks nervous and then he rubs both thumbs against her nipples. Emily's head falls back against Hotch's shoulder and Reid leans forward and presses a kiss to the smooth skin under the hollow of her throat.
"Do you...um..." She watches him process the question, watches him flush a little. Hotch twitches her panties aside, pushing one finger smoothly inside her and Emily's hips lift in answer.
"Do I what, Reid?" she manages to breath, feeling heavy and wanton as Hotch fucks her and she wishes that it wasn't his finger than he was using.
He pinches one of her nipples, lightly, and, this time, it's like that wire's between Reid's fingers and Hotch's and, every time they move, they pull it tight.
"Do you want both of us?" he asks.
Yes, yes, fuck yes. Emphatically yes.
Her hips riding forward against Hotch's fingers, all that Emily can do is nod.
Emily's bed is her biggest luxury in an apartment full of little luxuries, and it's more than wide enough for three. They leave a paper trail of clothes between couch and bedroom. Emily strips them both, so they're naked when they turn to her, when Hotch wraps his arms around her from behind, cupping her breasts, squeezing and pulling her back against his chest while Reid pushes at her jeans and her panties, sinking down with them.
It's unexpected, so the first touch of Reid's mouth between her legs makes Emily cry out, the sound unexpectedly loud in a room where the only soundtrack had been three people breathing. Hotch guides her back with him onto the bed and absently, her hips already falling into a rhythm, her fingers pushed into Reid's hair, Emily wonders if he's done research or something on this or if this is just another thing that his brilliant brain unexpectedly understands.
Stranger things, right?
Reid is good at this, so it doesn't take long before Emily's trembling and squirming, very aware of the way her ass pushes back against Hotch. What does it: when Reid pushes not one long finger inside her but two and Emily comes hard with the thought that the little bastard is experimenting and she barely has the presence of mind to keep her legs spread wide.
When he pushes up off his knees and kisses her, Emily can taste herself on his mouth and she moans in answer, shifting until he's lying back on the bed and she can slide astride him again. She can feel him, pressed against her and, when she leans forward to kiss him, his cock rubs against her where she's wettest and she feels him tremble.
"Emily, please," he whimpers, but Emily's head's already turned and it's Hotch that she's looking at when she reaches into the drawer beside her bed for condoms and lube, stuff that she's allowed to have there because she's a consenting adult, and let's not thinking about the last time any of it actually got used.
She tears a silver foil packet with her teeth, rolls the condom down over Reid's cock with a practiced turn of her wrist. She watches Hotch stroke his own cock and then she looks back at Reid and she's only got eyes for him as she wraps her fingers around his cock and slides down onto him.
For a moment, neither of them move, and Emily's expecting it, so she barely makes any sound at all when Hotch's slick fingers slide down over her tailbone and lower, rubbing her with purpose. It isn't until she starts to move on top of Reid that Hotch pushes a finger inside her and Emily moans encouragement to both of them and she still wishes that it wasn't his finger that Hotch is using.
"Emily, please." This time, the want in Reid is clearly apparent on his face; it's there in the fluttering of his eyelashes, the touch of his teeth against his bottom lip. With both hands on his shoulders, Emily does, Emily will. She starts to move carefully, fucking Reid slowly and, behind her, Hotch leans in against her, presses against her, presses inside her, one inch at a time.
For a moment after that, she can't move, one hand still on Reid's shoulder, the other reaching back to push into Hotch's hair and then Hotch leans forward over her shoulder and kisses Reid hard, with just a hint of possession. Emily watches the slide of the muscles in their jaws, feels the movement of both of them inside her and it's almost verging on completely too much.
In the end, though, she withstands.
They move together, the three of them, awkward at first; there are too many limbs and it's not like any of them have exactly done this before. Still, they find the way. Emily rocks down against Reid and back against Hotch and Hotch cups both breasts in his hands and Reid pushes up on his elbows high enough to lick at her nipples between Hotch's fingers.
Reid comes first, with a sound so soft that it'd be easy to mistake it as coming from a creature already dying, and then it's his hands on her breasts and Hotch's hand slips lower, two fingers grazing her belly and then pressing against her clit right above where Reid is still inside her. An electric pulse goes through her and she turns her head and catches his mouth, the angle awkward, but they make it work.
"You're beautiful," says Hotch, and means thankyou, I needed this, I wanted this.
Emily comes with Reid still inside her, with Hotch still fucking her and his fingers rubbing her and it makes sense that he'd be as efficient at this as is he in every other area of his life.
When Hotch comes, he bites Emily's shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. Her shirt will cover it in briefing tomorrow but they, all three of them, will know that it's there, and maybe that's kind of the point.
Disengaging, they tumble, curl around each other, Emily's arms around Reid's skinny shoulders, his head on her chest, Hotch pressed against her from behind and his arm around both of them. Emily turns her head and kisses Reid's forehead.
"Better than a movie, Reid?" she asks him and she feels him laugh more than she hears it.
"Infinitely," he says, and he stifles a yawn against the curve of her breast.
Emily doesn't know how long after that she manages to stay awake, but she does think that it's probably numbered in minutes. She lasts long enough to know that Reid snores, but only softly.
Somewhere in the long hours in the middle of the night, Emily wakes up and finds Reid still sleeping and Hotch gone. Dressed in nothing but Reid's dress shirt she pads through the apartment and finds him standing naked in her kitchen, drinking a glass of water straight down. She wraps her arms around him and, before work tomorrow starts and changes everything, she presses a kiss to his bare shoulder. For now, he's hers and she's allowed to do that.
"How are you really?" she asks him, and he looks down at her and she sees the smile in his eyes before she sees it on his mouth.
"I'll be okay," he promises her, and then he takes her by the hand and leads her back to her own bedroom, where Spencer Reid's still sleeping peacefully in a tangle of long, graceful limbs, and he'll probably sleep peacefully until someone's alarm wakes them in the morning.
And its what they all needed, and who knows how long it'll last.
"I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you're alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it." - Neil Gaiman.