E is for Everywhere
Title: E is for Everywhere
Pairing: Reid/Elle
Rating: NC17
Summary: "What the fuck was that all about?"
Warnings: Explicit, public sex. Naughty language. Plotlessness. Ridiculousness. Etcetera.
Notes: I am determined to turn the Alphabet Meme into my own personal porn-fest, apparently. But! Miss Ginny (♥) observed that my Elle always seems to be goading Reid into things, and I wanted to maybe turn the tables on that a bit and write an aggressive!Reid/Elle (though my Elle isn't really the type to lie down and take it... ha). So! Blame her! *snicker* And also, blame bubblesuds for the prompt. *accepts no responsibility for filthiness*
Elle's first instinct is to go for her gun, but since she doesn't have it -- she's locked it in the console of her car, figuring that, on a night out with her team, Hotch would have an extra should it become necessary -- the next is to smash the back of her head into the nose of whomever's just come up behind her and pressed her face-first into the wall. Lucky for Reid, he's got a quick tongue and distinctive hands -- big, bony, and perpetually cold -- and manages to get them both working at her in the space between her first instinct and her second.
His hands close around both of her wrists and pull them to the small of her back, and his voice slinks under the tinny bass pouring through the neglected speakers in the hallway outside the bathrooms. "Unbutton your pants."
Elle freezes, maybe more startled now than when she thought some scumbag was trying to feel her up or steal her wallet, and her heart takes a turn too quickly in her chest and crashes to a halt. "Excuse me?" she mutters back, turning her head sideways to try to give him a look. She can't quite do it, though, because he's managed to successfully implement a hand-to-hand strategy for the first time since enrolling in the Academy, and he's got her pinned A-plus regulation against the wall -- though she doesn't remember a fucking hard-on being part of the program.
"Unbutton your pants," he says again, in that annoying enunciated way he has.
If she could move, she'd tweak his ear just a little too hard, but she can't. "You know, I just might take you up on it if I could move my fucking hands."
His grip loosens a little, and she can feel his breath now, warm against the back of her ear. It's rapid. "I'll let you, I was just est..."
"Establishing compliance, I know," she answers, reaching back with her fingertips to stroke along his wrist. He's ticklish, and it works as she feels him jerk away just a fraction behind her. She grins in spite of herself. "You're lucky I don't have my gun, or you'd have it in your face right about now."
"I know," he answers, and she can hear him smiling back, but then he's all business again. "Now I'm going to let go, and I want you to unbutton your pants. And don't turn around." He presses into her palm with his thumb, affectionate in the middle of whatever game he's decided to play with her, and lets the circle of his hand open up.
Elle doesn't move, just lets herself relax into the half-tile, half-plaster of the dirty wall and shakes her head, a little amazed and a lot amused. "Right here?"
"Yes."
"No." Her outright defiance gives him pause, and she can tell he hadn't planned for it. She holds back a laugh and explains herself. "This isn't going to be quite as cute when Hotch wanders back here to take a piss. Trust me. Strangers, okay. Boss? Not so much. For a smart boy, sometimes I wonder."
"I'm not... not right here," he says, fiddling now with the belt-loop at the back of her jeans, tugging it towards his body. "Unbutton them now, then wait for my instructions."
Elle bites down on her smile. "Ohhh, yeah? Is that right? You playing Papi now? Showing me who's in charge?"
He doesn't answer her, just nudges at her with his knee. She can turn now, look over her shoulder, so she does. He's wearing the face he uses in interrogation, expressionless and patient, but his pupils are huge behind his glasses and the way he's working the fabric of her shirt between two fingers is giving him away. Elle raises one eyebrow at him, then slides apart the button of her jeans.
"Take your zipper down, too," he says. She watches him break eye contact and scan around, can tell that he's got one ear cocked towards the entrance to the hall. The bar isn't packed - it's a Wednesday night; they've just gotten in from a case and have the next day off when the rest of the working world will be shuffling in - but there are enough people there to make him sweat. She can practically see him running through the crowd in his memory, calculating the likelihood of them getting caught.
Elle pulls apart the teeth of her zipper, long and drawn-out, and waits. For a moment, they just stand there, his fingers tight in her shirt and her forehead tipped against the wall. "Well?" she finally says, and her voice snaps him back.
"Walk to your right and go out the door."
The door leads out back. There's an alley behind the bar; cleaner than most, but still. It's an alley. "To the alley?" she asks, incredulous but decidedly interested.
"Yes."
"Classy," she says, but she goes. She makes it to the door in only a few strides, Reid at her heels trying to move slower than she knows he wants to, and pushes her way through. The night is warm, but there's a breeze. A cold front coming in. There's supposed to be rain for the next few days, and she can feel it.
Elle hears the door's thick thud as it closes behind her, and then she feels his hands on her again, guiding her to her left towards the brick of the building next door. "Take them off," he says, his voice softer now, clearer, without the background noise.
"Off?" she asks. He obviously doesn't know how this works. "How about down?"
"Off."
Elle leans against the brick with one arm and looks at him through her lashes. Her heart is skidding around again, bumping against the hollow of her throat, and she's trying to hold herself steady, keep the upper hand. "Whatever you say, Papi." She makes a show of peeling her jeans over her hips, holding his eyes with her own, folding down the zipper. She's trying to make him blink. She's failing.
When she gets them down to her knees, she lifts one leg at a time, shaking off her shoes before she slides her foot out and steps back against the ground. It's chilly, even through the denim, but she doesn't flinch.
"Turn around."
"That's how it's gonna be, hmm?" she asks, the corner of her mouth tilting up at him. "From behind in an alley? You gonna pay me afterwards, too? Maybe enough to replace my fucking pants?" Elle cocks an eyebrow at him and starts to turn around, but then his hand stops her, hard at her hip.
"Nevermind," he says, sounding like himself for the first time. "I changed my mind."
Elle rolls her eyes and blows an irritated breath through her lips, covering her disappointment with annoyance. "For fuck's sake, Reid. You know, my drink...." He moves into her space then, all the way, crowding her against the building, and it knocks the rest of the sentence back down her throat.
"Stay like this," he says, low in her ear. "I want you to watch."
"Fine," she says, the surprise in her voice filling it with breath. "Make it worth watching."
Their eyes meet for a second, and then he presses the length of his body against hers, tugging on the back of her bare thigh and bringing it around his waist. Elle slides one hand up the side of his neck and pushes her thumb against his pulse. It feels dangerously fast, heart-attack fast, and she smiles and replaces her finger with her lips.
"Are you....?" He can't bring himself to finish the sentence, even now, but she knows what he means, because he's reached between them and pulled aside her panties.
His answer is waiting for him -- of course she's wet; she's been wet since he yanked her wrists behind her back and put his mouth against her ear -- but he slides one finger inside just to be sure. It's quick, and it's harder than usual -- he's nervous, and they're pressed for time out here -- and it makes her gasp. "Jesus Christ!"
"I'm sorry; did I hurt..."
"No. Don't fucking apologize."
"Okay." He adds a second finger, this one slower, and jams his other hand down, trying to undo his zipper at the same time. He's surprisingly coordinated and manages the button, too, one-handed, as Elle keeps her panties out of the way and bites into the fabric of his shirt. The brick against her back is rough, but it helps her balance, holds her upright as she jerks against his palm. He's got fantastic hands, knows her body like he read all about it somewhere, some manual on how to fingerfuck her until she screams, and he's got her thirty seconds away from losing her mind by the time he gets his cock out.
His finger are gone then, suddenly and without warning, and she swears under her breath in frustration. "Fuck you. Ohhh, God. Fuck you."
"I don't have a condom," he breathes into her ear. "Are you good?"
"I'm good. Come on." The pitch of her voice is higher than normal, louder, like she's hearing it from somewhere outside of her own head.
"Quiet," he says, "there's a window above you," and then he pulls her thighs farther apart and hikes the other one up.
"Yes, Daddy." She grabs him hard, her knees over his hips for leverage, as he reaches down to guide himself, and she feels him draw a hard breath against her ear. "Oh, you like that?" she asks, her voice lower now, back under control. "You wanna be my Daddy? That's what we're playing?" He's where he needs to be now, his cock right against her, but he's stopped, holding back like he's waiting for something. "You want me to ask you nicely?"
He's trembling, and she doesn't know whether it's with the effort of holding her up or the effort of not pushing inside of her, but she likes it. He answers the question she meant as rhetorical, which she likes even more, and tells her, "Yes."
"Okay. I'll be a good girl." She's whispering now, her chin cocked so her lips brush his ear, and his fingertips are digging into her ass so hard they're going to leave marks. "Fuck me. Please. Come on, Papi, right here, where everybody can see you. That's what you want, isn't it? So they know you can have me anywhere you want me? That you give it to me so good I can't wait a fucking hour for it? That you..." Her words dissolve as he slides into her all at once, hard enough to make her hiss through her teeth, and then it's so fast that she can't gather her breath.
He knows how to angle himself to give her friction, to make her squirm and reach for him with her whole body, to make her come before he does so that he can feel her squeeze and spasm and pull his orgasm from him with the force of her own, and that's what he does. She holds on, her fingers inside of his collar, under his shirt, scratching just because she can; because it feels good; because he's filthy and he's beautiful and he's never stopped surprising her; because she's letting him own her, but it comes with a price. When she feels her knuckles slide against blood, she starts talking again, his panting breath in her ear punctuating it. "What if they come out right now, hm? What if we're taking too long? What if they're worried, and Gideon comes out here and sees his pretty boy genius up to his balls in my cunt? Would you stop, Papi, or would you make me scream for him? I bet you'd stop. I bet you'd leave me wet and begging for it."
"Shut up." It's a growl; it comes from his belly; it's the sound he makes when he's so close he can't unclench his teeth. The tone doesn't startle her, but the words do. Elle's eyes go wide, and he stops moving and leans against her into the wall, his mouth open and his teeth scraping her jawline. He moves one hand to the front of her shoulder and pushes back, putting space between them. "I want you to watch."
For a long moment, they just stare at each other, breathing hard and wound up tight, and then Elle's mouth curves into a smile. "You got it. You're in charge. I won't take my eyes off you."
"Okay." He leans in again, pressing their foreheads together. His glasses slide down and hit against her eyebrows, and she has to look backwards through the lenses to see him, blurry and strange and surreal, but she looks. She watches. The hand that held her shoulder moves down between them, and she adjusts her weight and their center of gravity to keep the balance. She can feel his wrist twist, and then he's groping at her, searching for what he wants, and it takes him less than five seconds to find it. He holds two fingers flat against her clit and starts fucking her so hard that she slides up the wall, up his fingers, then back down, the friction making her mouth drop open and her muscles jerk like a knot pulling tight.
She's watching but she can't really see, can't think, can't make any more words, so it's all just sound from here. Her shoulders ache and her back is scraped and her knees are locked, but it's all good. It's perfect. It's just his breath -- whiskey-sour and hot -- and his fingers and somewhere behind his glasses, his eyes on her, waiting. She tries to keep her own open, tries so hard that it hurts, but in the end they squeeze shut and she hits her head on the brick when she comes, the noise she makes startled and ecstatic and pained, all at once.
He holds her through it, fucks her through it, starts to whimper as the pull of her cunt around him makes his body start to tremor, and when she's got him in the place where he can't say no anymore, she whispers, "What's my name?"
He doesn't answer. He can't. He just grips her so hard that his knuckles go white and comes. She feels it, hot and sticky and sloppy between her legs, and she kisses him as he relaxes down into her, as she untangles herself and steps down, as he eases his way out. Breathing hard, she maneuvers her sweaty underwear down her legs and yanks them off of her feet. She wipes him down first, then herself, and as she's balling them up to pocket-size, he lays his palm flat against her cheek.
Surprised, she looks up. "Elle," he says, his smile shaky and soft.
Elle's brows contract. "What?"
"That's your name," he answers, his smile turning into an all-out grin.
"That it is," she says, returning his expression. She watches for a moment as he rearranges his zipper and puts the button back in place. He notices her looking and stops. "You've gotta tell me now... what the fuck was that all about?" She smoothes down the dirty legs of her jeans and fiddles with her own button, her eyes affectionate and amused.
He shrugs, sheepish and all little-boy again. "You."
"Me?" Elle laughs and runs a sticky hand through her hair. "I mean, I know I'm hot shit, kiddo, but I'm not sure I follow."
"I just... you're not all that hard to figure out." Reid shoves his hands into his pockets, pushing them all the way back down, and tilts his head at her.
Elle considers him for a moment, and then rolls her eyes. "I'm done fucking profilers," she says with a grin, then tosses her balled-up panties at him. "Trophy?" He laughs and tucks them into one pocket. Elle hooks her elbow through his and starts towards the door. "Did the handjob under the table give me away?"
"No," he replies. "It was when you propositioned me on the jet, then pouted the whole way back. The fact that it was semi-public was fairly obvious, but the fact that we were flying suggested a need to relinquish control. Also, the pouting. I hate the pouting."
Elle stops with her hand on the door handle, then turns to him, laughing. "First of all, I don't pout. And second of all, that is the shittiest bit of psycho-babble-psuedo-logic I have ever heard you employ, Doctor Reid."
He shrugs. "Well. There was that, and... and I just kind of... wanted to."
"You're allowed," she grins, and yanks open the door. "Anywhere and everywhere."
Elle winks, and he follows her back inside.
Pairing: Reid/Elle
Rating: NC17
Summary: "What the fuck was that all about?"
Warnings: Explicit, public sex. Naughty language. Plotlessness. Ridiculousness. Etcetera.
Notes: I am determined to turn the Alphabet Meme into my own personal porn-fest, apparently. But! Miss Ginny (♥) observed that my Elle always seems to be goading Reid into things, and I wanted to maybe turn the tables on that a bit and write an aggressive!Reid/Elle (though my Elle isn't really the type to lie down and take it... ha). So! Blame her! *snicker* And also, blame bubblesuds for the prompt. *accepts no responsibility for filthiness*
Elle's first instinct is to go for her gun, but since she doesn't have it -- she's locked it in the console of her car, figuring that, on a night out with her team, Hotch would have an extra should it become necessary -- the next is to smash the back of her head into the nose of whomever's just come up behind her and pressed her face-first into the wall. Lucky for Reid, he's got a quick tongue and distinctive hands -- big, bony, and perpetually cold -- and manages to get them both working at her in the space between her first instinct and her second.
His hands close around both of her wrists and pull them to the small of her back, and his voice slinks under the tinny bass pouring through the neglected speakers in the hallway outside the bathrooms. "Unbutton your pants."
Elle freezes, maybe more startled now than when she thought some scumbag was trying to feel her up or steal her wallet, and her heart takes a turn too quickly in her chest and crashes to a halt. "Excuse me?" she mutters back, turning her head sideways to try to give him a look. She can't quite do it, though, because he's managed to successfully implement a hand-to-hand strategy for the first time since enrolling in the Academy, and he's got her pinned A-plus regulation against the wall -- though she doesn't remember a fucking hard-on being part of the program.
"Unbutton your pants," he says again, in that annoying enunciated way he has.
If she could move, she'd tweak his ear just a little too hard, but she can't. "You know, I just might take you up on it if I could move my fucking hands."
His grip loosens a little, and she can feel his breath now, warm against the back of her ear. It's rapid. "I'll let you, I was just est..."
"Establishing compliance, I know," she answers, reaching back with her fingertips to stroke along his wrist. He's ticklish, and it works as she feels him jerk away just a fraction behind her. She grins in spite of herself. "You're lucky I don't have my gun, or you'd have it in your face right about now."
"I know," he answers, and she can hear him smiling back, but then he's all business again. "Now I'm going to let go, and I want you to unbutton your pants. And don't turn around." He presses into her palm with his thumb, affectionate in the middle of whatever game he's decided to play with her, and lets the circle of his hand open up.
Elle doesn't move, just lets herself relax into the half-tile, half-plaster of the dirty wall and shakes her head, a little amazed and a lot amused. "Right here?"
"Yes."
"No." Her outright defiance gives him pause, and she can tell he hadn't planned for it. She holds back a laugh and explains herself. "This isn't going to be quite as cute when Hotch wanders back here to take a piss. Trust me. Strangers, okay. Boss? Not so much. For a smart boy, sometimes I wonder."
"I'm not... not right here," he says, fiddling now with the belt-loop at the back of her jeans, tugging it towards his body. "Unbutton them now, then wait for my instructions."
Elle bites down on her smile. "Ohhh, yeah? Is that right? You playing Papi now? Showing me who's in charge?"
He doesn't answer her, just nudges at her with his knee. She can turn now, look over her shoulder, so she does. He's wearing the face he uses in interrogation, expressionless and patient, but his pupils are huge behind his glasses and the way he's working the fabric of her shirt between two fingers is giving him away. Elle raises one eyebrow at him, then slides apart the button of her jeans.
"Take your zipper down, too," he says. She watches him break eye contact and scan around, can tell that he's got one ear cocked towards the entrance to the hall. The bar isn't packed - it's a Wednesday night; they've just gotten in from a case and have the next day off when the rest of the working world will be shuffling in - but there are enough people there to make him sweat. She can practically see him running through the crowd in his memory, calculating the likelihood of them getting caught.
Elle pulls apart the teeth of her zipper, long and drawn-out, and waits. For a moment, they just stand there, his fingers tight in her shirt and her forehead tipped against the wall. "Well?" she finally says, and her voice snaps him back.
"Walk to your right and go out the door."
The door leads out back. There's an alley behind the bar; cleaner than most, but still. It's an alley. "To the alley?" she asks, incredulous but decidedly interested.
"Yes."
"Classy," she says, but she goes. She makes it to the door in only a few strides, Reid at her heels trying to move slower than she knows he wants to, and pushes her way through. The night is warm, but there's a breeze. A cold front coming in. There's supposed to be rain for the next few days, and she can feel it.
Elle hears the door's thick thud as it closes behind her, and then she feels his hands on her again, guiding her to her left towards the brick of the building next door. "Take them off," he says, his voice softer now, clearer, without the background noise.
"Off?" she asks. He obviously doesn't know how this works. "How about down?"
"Off."
Elle leans against the brick with one arm and looks at him through her lashes. Her heart is skidding around again, bumping against the hollow of her throat, and she's trying to hold herself steady, keep the upper hand. "Whatever you say, Papi." She makes a show of peeling her jeans over her hips, holding his eyes with her own, folding down the zipper. She's trying to make him blink. She's failing.
When she gets them down to her knees, she lifts one leg at a time, shaking off her shoes before she slides her foot out and steps back against the ground. It's chilly, even through the denim, but she doesn't flinch.
"Turn around."
"That's how it's gonna be, hmm?" she asks, the corner of her mouth tilting up at him. "From behind in an alley? You gonna pay me afterwards, too? Maybe enough to replace my fucking pants?" Elle cocks an eyebrow at him and starts to turn around, but then his hand stops her, hard at her hip.
"Nevermind," he says, sounding like himself for the first time. "I changed my mind."
Elle rolls her eyes and blows an irritated breath through her lips, covering her disappointment with annoyance. "For fuck's sake, Reid. You know, my drink...." He moves into her space then, all the way, crowding her against the building, and it knocks the rest of the sentence back down her throat.
"Stay like this," he says, low in her ear. "I want you to watch."
"Fine," she says, the surprise in her voice filling it with breath. "Make it worth watching."
Their eyes meet for a second, and then he presses the length of his body against hers, tugging on the back of her bare thigh and bringing it around his waist. Elle slides one hand up the side of his neck and pushes her thumb against his pulse. It feels dangerously fast, heart-attack fast, and she smiles and replaces her finger with her lips.
"Are you....?" He can't bring himself to finish the sentence, even now, but she knows what he means, because he's reached between them and pulled aside her panties.
His answer is waiting for him -- of course she's wet; she's been wet since he yanked her wrists behind her back and put his mouth against her ear -- but he slides one finger inside just to be sure. It's quick, and it's harder than usual -- he's nervous, and they're pressed for time out here -- and it makes her gasp. "Jesus Christ!"
"I'm sorry; did I hurt..."
"No. Don't fucking apologize."
"Okay." He adds a second finger, this one slower, and jams his other hand down, trying to undo his zipper at the same time. He's surprisingly coordinated and manages the button, too, one-handed, as Elle keeps her panties out of the way and bites into the fabric of his shirt. The brick against her back is rough, but it helps her balance, holds her upright as she jerks against his palm. He's got fantastic hands, knows her body like he read all about it somewhere, some manual on how to fingerfuck her until she screams, and he's got her thirty seconds away from losing her mind by the time he gets his cock out.
His finger are gone then, suddenly and without warning, and she swears under her breath in frustration. "Fuck you. Ohhh, God. Fuck you."
"I don't have a condom," he breathes into her ear. "Are you good?"
"I'm good. Come on." The pitch of her voice is higher than normal, louder, like she's hearing it from somewhere outside of her own head.
"Quiet," he says, "there's a window above you," and then he pulls her thighs farther apart and hikes the other one up.
"Yes, Daddy." She grabs him hard, her knees over his hips for leverage, as he reaches down to guide himself, and she feels him draw a hard breath against her ear. "Oh, you like that?" she asks, her voice lower now, back under control. "You wanna be my Daddy? That's what we're playing?" He's where he needs to be now, his cock right against her, but he's stopped, holding back like he's waiting for something. "You want me to ask you nicely?"
He's trembling, and she doesn't know whether it's with the effort of holding her up or the effort of not pushing inside of her, but she likes it. He answers the question she meant as rhetorical, which she likes even more, and tells her, "Yes."
"Okay. I'll be a good girl." She's whispering now, her chin cocked so her lips brush his ear, and his fingertips are digging into her ass so hard they're going to leave marks. "Fuck me. Please. Come on, Papi, right here, where everybody can see you. That's what you want, isn't it? So they know you can have me anywhere you want me? That you give it to me so good I can't wait a fucking hour for it? That you..." Her words dissolve as he slides into her all at once, hard enough to make her hiss through her teeth, and then it's so fast that she can't gather her breath.
He knows how to angle himself to give her friction, to make her squirm and reach for him with her whole body, to make her come before he does so that he can feel her squeeze and spasm and pull his orgasm from him with the force of her own, and that's what he does. She holds on, her fingers inside of his collar, under his shirt, scratching just because she can; because it feels good; because he's filthy and he's beautiful and he's never stopped surprising her; because she's letting him own her, but it comes with a price. When she feels her knuckles slide against blood, she starts talking again, his panting breath in her ear punctuating it. "What if they come out right now, hm? What if we're taking too long? What if they're worried, and Gideon comes out here and sees his pretty boy genius up to his balls in my cunt? Would you stop, Papi, or would you make me scream for him? I bet you'd stop. I bet you'd leave me wet and begging for it."
"Shut up." It's a growl; it comes from his belly; it's the sound he makes when he's so close he can't unclench his teeth. The tone doesn't startle her, but the words do. Elle's eyes go wide, and he stops moving and leans against her into the wall, his mouth open and his teeth scraping her jawline. He moves one hand to the front of her shoulder and pushes back, putting space between them. "I want you to watch."
For a long moment, they just stare at each other, breathing hard and wound up tight, and then Elle's mouth curves into a smile. "You got it. You're in charge. I won't take my eyes off you."
"Okay." He leans in again, pressing their foreheads together. His glasses slide down and hit against her eyebrows, and she has to look backwards through the lenses to see him, blurry and strange and surreal, but she looks. She watches. The hand that held her shoulder moves down between them, and she adjusts her weight and their center of gravity to keep the balance. She can feel his wrist twist, and then he's groping at her, searching for what he wants, and it takes him less than five seconds to find it. He holds two fingers flat against her clit and starts fucking her so hard that she slides up the wall, up his fingers, then back down, the friction making her mouth drop open and her muscles jerk like a knot pulling tight.
She's watching but she can't really see, can't think, can't make any more words, so it's all just sound from here. Her shoulders ache and her back is scraped and her knees are locked, but it's all good. It's perfect. It's just his breath -- whiskey-sour and hot -- and his fingers and somewhere behind his glasses, his eyes on her, waiting. She tries to keep her own open, tries so hard that it hurts, but in the end they squeeze shut and she hits her head on the brick when she comes, the noise she makes startled and ecstatic and pained, all at once.
He holds her through it, fucks her through it, starts to whimper as the pull of her cunt around him makes his body start to tremor, and when she's got him in the place where he can't say no anymore, she whispers, "What's my name?"
He doesn't answer. He can't. He just grips her so hard that his knuckles go white and comes. She feels it, hot and sticky and sloppy between her legs, and she kisses him as he relaxes down into her, as she untangles herself and steps down, as he eases his way out. Breathing hard, she maneuvers her sweaty underwear down her legs and yanks them off of her feet. She wipes him down first, then herself, and as she's balling them up to pocket-size, he lays his palm flat against her cheek.
Surprised, she looks up. "Elle," he says, his smile shaky and soft.
Elle's brows contract. "What?"
"That's your name," he answers, his smile turning into an all-out grin.
"That it is," she says, returning his expression. She watches for a moment as he rearranges his zipper and puts the button back in place. He notices her looking and stops. "You've gotta tell me now... what the fuck was that all about?" She smoothes down the dirty legs of her jeans and fiddles with her own button, her eyes affectionate and amused.
He shrugs, sheepish and all little-boy again. "You."
"Me?" Elle laughs and runs a sticky hand through her hair. "I mean, I know I'm hot shit, kiddo, but I'm not sure I follow."
"I just... you're not all that hard to figure out." Reid shoves his hands into his pockets, pushing them all the way back down, and tilts his head at her.
Elle considers him for a moment, and then rolls her eyes. "I'm done fucking profilers," she says with a grin, then tosses her balled-up panties at him. "Trophy?" He laughs and tucks them into one pocket. Elle hooks her elbow through his and starts towards the door. "Did the handjob under the table give me away?"
"No," he replies. "It was when you propositioned me on the jet, then pouted the whole way back. The fact that it was semi-public was fairly obvious, but the fact that we were flying suggested a need to relinquish control. Also, the pouting. I hate the pouting."
Elle stops with her hand on the door handle, then turns to him, laughing. "First of all, I don't pout. And second of all, that is the shittiest bit of psycho-babble-psuedo-logic I have ever heard you employ, Doctor Reid."
He shrugs. "Well. There was that, and... and I just kind of... wanted to."
"You're allowed," she grins, and yanks open the door. "Anywhere and everywhere."
Elle winks, and he follows her back inside.