geekystudmuffin | Why You Should Never Drink Too Much in Vegas, Rossi/Prentiss, NC-17

Title: Why You Should Never Drink Too Much in Vegas
Authors:

severity_softly
Pairing: Rossi/Prentiss
Rating: NC-17
Summary: What Emily Prentiss really did when the team spent that extra night in Vegas.
Word count: ~10,500
Spoilers: Set between The Instincts and Memoriam, with some dialogue/situations lifted from the first scene of Memoriam, but no real spoilers otherwise.
Notes: This is in the same universe as a fic we haven't posted yet, a Hotch/JJ fic that we're working on re-writing. All you really need to know about that fic is that JJ and Hotch like each other and won't admit it at the point where this fic and that one cross paths. This is self-betaed, so feel free to point out any remaining errors.

"Oh, my God," Emily muttered as soon as wakefulness thrust itself upon her. She shifted and buried her face against the pillow--or tried to. The pillow groaned, and a chill ran down her spine. She'd slept with someone. She'd gotten drunk and slept with someone. She was in Vegas. Oh, God, what had she done? She thought she'd outgrown this sort of thing after college. "Oh, my God," she said again.

"Shhh," came the reply. "I cleaned the bathroom up already. Pee if you have to, but don't wake me up."

Her heart stopped for just a minute. David Rossi is in my bed. I slept with David Rossi.

"God, I hate Vegas."

***

Vegas. The city that never went dark. Sin City. Emily grinned as she stepped into the hotel lobby, pleased that their case had had a good ending and that they were staying an extra night. God, she loved Vegas.

It was only a shame that JJ begged off early. Of course, Emily understood given JJ's condition, but it would have been great to have had a drinking buddy for the night. Morgan was God knows where, doing God knows what, and Hotch certainly wasn't the sort of man you did shots with. It was fine, Emily decided. She was a big girl and knew how to have fun on her own.

In Vegas, it shouldn't be very hard to find something entertaining anyway, and it wasn't long before she was sitting at one of the tables, second drink in hand.

Why she hadn't considered Dave, she really wasn't sure, but she was surprised when a familiar voice was in her ear. "You bid too high," he said, and she jumped and looked at him. He was eying her cards.

"I don't remember asking for help," she said, smiling at him.

He grinned back at her. "You should have." He glanced at her drink and shook his head. "This doesn't seem like your kind of scene. I figured you'd gone off dancing with Derek, and instead I find you gambling?"

"I'm having more fun than you, apparently," she retorted, pleased to get one on Dave.

But he just raised his eyebrows and grinned at her.

She reached over and patted the seat next to hers. "Here. We'll fix that," she said, then realized the dealer was eying her. She gave him a sheepish grin and folded because she probably thought she was cheating anyway after Dave had leaned over her hand. "I'm in for the next round," she told him, and turned back to Dave, continuing where she left off. "There is alcohol circulating freely, and we have no upcoming cases. I'm claiming you for my companion tonight," she told him.

"Ah," he said. "I feel so wanted." She made a face and his grin went more lopsided.

"Come on, admit it, you weren't sitting here wishing I would show up."

"I didn't think you'd be..." She shrugged, not knowing what to say. She hadn't thought of him, but that didn't mean she didn't want his company. "Come on, you can't say no."

"I can't?" he asked.

She frowned at him, and grabbed his arm, tugging him down into the seat next to hers. "Do you have other plans? Honestly, you just don't seem like the drinking and gambling type."

She realized as she said it that it was probably ridiculous. She'd heard all the rumors about Dave, about how he was when he was starting the BAU--rumors that, quite honestly, excited her more than they should--but she just knew him as Dave. He'd never quite lived up to the rock star persona of BAU lore, regardless of the cocky air he sometimes wore.

"Well, okay fine. You don't seem like the sort of person who'd want to get shitfaced with me," she admitted finally.

"Oh, so the goal tonight is drunken debauchery?" he said, sliding an arm around her shoulders. "You should have said so sooner. I can definitely help with that." He winked at her and turned his attention to the next deal.

It was interesting watching him play. She knew him fairly well, she thought, but she couldn't tell when he was bluffing. She was jealous of his skill, but as she tried to emulate his demeanor, she found that her luck took a turn for the better, too.

Until that last hand. "One more," she said, "double or nothing," despite the way Dave was encouraging her to quit while she was ahead. And just like that, double or nothing, she'd lost two hundred dollars instead of winning.

Dave dragged her away from the table while she was still groaning. "No, you can't win it back. Not at that table, and not with an attitude of desperation. This is how gambling addictions are formed."

"Right, like you know so much about it," she retorted.

He shrugged. "I'm a recovering marriage-aholic." And the grin he gave her was too charming to resist.

"Oh, is that what it was?" she asked. His hand was still on her arm, so she shifted so she was tugging him... back toward the bar. "Is there a twelve step group for that?"

"Step one, admitted that I was powerless over women and that my life had become unmanageable? Step two, came to believe that only a power greater than myself could restore me to sanity?" he said, and didn't protest when she ordered him a scotch. "Something like that."

"So what step are you on now?" she asked.

His grin went crooked. "Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, I try to carry this message to others who are still suffering." He winked and pulled out his wallet to pay for their drinks. He waved off her protest. "Nah, it's on me."

"Does that mean you're done with women? Because I'm pretty sure Hotch and Morgan are both straight, so you'd better make a play for Reid," she joked.

His eyebrows went up. "Let's just say I'm through with marriage," he replied, and lifted his glass in a toast.

She sucked in a little breath and toasted him. "Isn't that the problem with addiction, though? No cure. One taste, and before you know it, you could wind up hitched again. Blue and white house, picket fence, a cat, a dog, and 2.5 kids..." She suddenly wondered if he regretted never having kids.

"Wow, you're some profiler," he said. "The house is blue and white, and I have a cat, but no picket fence, and I gave the dog back to my ex-wife." He sipped his scotch. "Not to mention I can't exactly see myself as a dad. Aaron at least tries to be there for his son. Me, I'm too damn selfish." He leaned back a little, watching her. "What about Emily Prentiss, though? I can see you as a mother. Your husband would have to stay home with the kids, though. You wanted the BAU too badly to quit to have babies."

Emily laughed, but she suddenly didn't feel as cheerful as she had just a moment ago. "No, I wouldn't, but I don't see anyone lining up to marry me. Or give me children, so..." She shrugged and sipped her drink, watching Dave, then blatantly turned the tables back to him. "You're not that selfish."

He shrugged, too. "I wouldn't want to give up my two-seater convertible so I could put in a baby seat, or cart the ten-year-old to soccer practice every day. Trust me, I'm not the fatherly type. I'm the rich black-sheep uncle type that everyone tells their kids not to emulate, but wants them to suck up to me so I'll remember them in my will."

Emily shook her head. "And I've seen how sweet you can be when you're dealing with victims. And how patient you can be with Reid when he's off on a tangent."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Are you trying to talk me into something? Emily, trust me, you're a beautiful, intelligent, highly attractive woman. You can find someone better than me to father your children."

That snapped her out of her mini-funk, and she burst out laughing, throwing her head back. Then she downed what was left in her glass. "I need another drink," she said, amusement clear in her voice.

"The idea's that appealing?" he said, looking amused.

She just laughed and waved down the bartender. "Not after your glowing self-assessment," she murmured, looking back at him and holding his gaze.

"How many have you had?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Not enough," she replied. "Obviously."

"Why, does something special happen after you've had enough?" He was only halfway through his scotch, but he picked up the tab for her drink again.

"Maybe once I've had enough I'll stop being annoyed that some guy thinks he has to keep buying me drinks," she shot back.

Dave held up a hand defensively. "Fine, fine, you can buy my next scotch." Then he glanced down the bar. Emily automatically followed his gaze, until she saw a blonde woman in her early forties who was clearly watching Dave. "Unless she gets to it first," Dave added.

Emily rolled her eyes, but managed not to glare at the woman, then looked back at Dave. "Okay, I realize we're not together, but she doesn't know that." Dave was just smirking. "Oh, you are not..." She shook her head and sighed. "Why isn't Garcia here? This is the problem when you drink with a man that's not interested in you. They let their dicks guide them across the room, and I wind up drinking alone anyway. You're as bad as Morgan," she complained, frowning at him over the rim of her glass as she took another drink, feeling more than a little tipsy.

"I'm hurt," he said, planting a hand against his chest. "You think I would abandon you for a single night of alcohol-fueled passion with a stranger I'll never see again? Emily, obviously you don't have a very high opinion of me."

She just raised her eyebrows and looked at him.

"Give me a break, like you won't have some gorgeous thirty-something businessman throwing himself at you before you finish that drink."

She laughed softly, though it wasn't overly amused, and glanced around them. "Nope. No one looking," she said.

He rolled his eyes.

"Even if anyone was, I have this uncanny ability to put men off. Honesty. If they're a nice guy, they're either married, or I scare them off within ten minutes." She shrugged, but he was just watching her. "I attract men like The Viper, Dave," she finished, her tone flat.

This time he just snorted and lifted his glass to his lips.

"You don't believe me?"

"You sound like you're trying to convince me you're not a sexy, confident woman, when I know damn well that you are," he replied. The words sent a thrill through her, which she shoved away. Dave tilted his head, a slow smile creeping across his face. "Fifty bucks says you pick someone up before I do tonight."

She laughed. "Right," she said, but then realized slowly (too slowly) that he didn't seem to be joking. "Oh, come on. You're not serious."

"I'll get you started," he said, and flagged the bartender down. "Excuse me, miss, could you send a drink over there to that gentleman in the blue shirt." He gestured at a man across the bar, and Emily noted that Dave apparently knew her type. He had dark hair and dark eyes, not too tall or too short, and was slightly older. He was sitting with a small group of friends looking casual and confident.

"Tell him it's from her," Dave finished, and Emily dragged her attention back to the bar.

"Wait. No," she said, but the bartender had already walked away, so she turned a glare on Dave.

"What? You're tired of men like The Viper, so we find you someone else. And he's not married, because he doesn't have a ring on and he doesn't look like he's missing it." Dave leaned back in his seat, looking amused. "Anyway, I thought you said you were looking for a night of drunken debauchery. It's hard to get debauched by yourself."

"You said debauchery. Drinking and sex don't always go hand in hand for women."

"Often enough," Dave said.

"You're not sending your girl a drink," Emily pointed out, and then saw the man Dave had pointed to lift his glass and smile at her. He actually did look interested.

Damn it.

She smiled back and waved, and cursed Dave internally for grinning at that.

"I'm bringing her a drink," Dave said.

"Bringing--Dave! You're supposed to be my..." He was already gone. She sighed. "Date," she muttered. She barely resisted the urge to hide her face in her hands. This was why she'd wanted him along--so she didn't have to deal with things like sending men drinks.

As soon as Dave was gone, the man in the blue shirt said something to his friends and started making his way towards her.

"Hi," he said, flashing a charming smile at her.

"Hi," she returned. "I don't, ah, usually do this," she said, gesturing at the drink.

He laughed and sat in the chair Dave had just vacated. "Well, I'm glad you decided to change things up."

She shrugged. "What happens in Vegas..." she said, and he tilted his head at her. God, she sucked at this.

"I'm Eric," he said after a pause, and held out his hand.

"Emily," she said, shaking his hand. Then she wondered if she'd gripped too firmly, if she shouldn't be so assertive. Then again, she'd sent him a drink--well, as far as he knew, she'd sent him a drink--so maybe he liked assertive women. "Do you come to Vegas a lot? Oh, God, I just used a line on you."

Eric laughed, his eyes crinkling nicely at the corners. "This is my first time here, actually. Buddy of mine's getting married; this is the bachelor party. What about you?"

"Oh, I was here for work. But I've been here several times before. I love Vegas. All the lights and excitement...I must sound like a total small-town girl."

"Well, if you're excited to be here, and you've been here before, imagine how I feel," he said. "What are you drinking?"

"Oh, I don't need another," she said, but he was waving the bartender down again and refilling her drink anyway

Yep. He was trying to get her drunk enough to ensure getting lucky.

Emily's eyes darted over to where Dave was sitting with the blonde woman, and found herself annoyed at how happy she seemed to be sitting with him.

Before she could look away, Dave glanced over at her. He raised his eyebrows and grinned at her, then turned his attention back to his companion. She kept watching Emily for a moment, then turned and leaned in to say something to Dave.

"I don't think you need to worry about your...friend?" Eric said. She looked at him, and he was watching her. "At least, I hope that's not someone who's likely to get jealous that I'm sitting here."

Emily forced herself to laugh, but she was annoyed. "No, he's not. He's a coworker."

"Oh," he said, sounding relieved. "What do you do?"

Emily suddenly felt compelled to watch Dave when she saw the woman move out of the corner of her eye, but she forced herself not to look. "I work for the FBI," she said.

He blinked at her. And this was the part where she scared him off. Male companion freak out in three, two...

"What do you do with the FBI?"

"I catch serial killers."

One.

His mouth dropped open for a second, then he snapped it shut. "Ah, you--" He suddenly seemed at a loss for words.

She gave him her best smile. "What about you? What do you do?"

He stared at her for another moment. "I'm a lawyer. Public defender. You catch serial killers? Wait, you said you're in Vegas for work."

"Oh, yeah, but we caught him," she said quickly. She didn't bother to point out that he was a she this time, or that she wasn't killing Eric's type. "And I work on a team of people who catch serial killers," she added, which afforded her a reason to look at Dave this time.

The woman he was with was touching his arm. Emily was far too drunk, she realized then, because in spite of having considered on more than one occasion that Dave was attractive, sexy even, there was no reasonable excuse for the flash of jealousy that struck her.

She turned back to Eric, who was looking a little shell-shocked (though he was trying to hide it). Shit. He was going to leave. Dave was going to get laid, and Emily would go back to her room drunk and alone.

"Hey, my friend's waving at me," Eric said. "I think we're heading for the Luxor after this. Um, it was nice meeting you, Emily." He stuck out his hand again, and Emily sighed.

"Yeah, likewise." It was a lie. It was never nice meeting men who were threatened by women who carried a gun and worked in law enforcement. But as much as Emily hated watching Eric walk away, she could never do what she knew Morgan would advise. Show a little more leg and a little less intelligence, he would say, but even for a one-night-stand, she couldn't pretend to be someone she wasn't. She'd spent way too many years doing that for the sake of her mother's career to ever do that again.

She took a long sip of her drink and glanced over at Dave. He turned his head just slowly enough for Emily to realize he'd been watching her get shot down. Great. Emily would go back to her room drunk and alone, and Dave would get laid knowing Emily was drunk and alone. "Shit," she muttered, and glared at her drink.

"Hey, sweetie, that guy down the bar sent this to you." Emily glanced up, surprised, but the bartender was smiling at her. "As soon as blue-shirt guy walked away, he flagged me down. I think he'd been watching you."

Emily glanced along the bar, confused until a blond guy in a white shirt lifted a hand and smiled.

Emily lifted her hand in thanks, and then turned to face forward at the bar again. "Dave gets laid, and I get a consolation prize," she muttered to herself, and debated pushing the drink away.

Instead, she gulped half of it in one drink, and turned to face Guy Number Two when he slid into a seat next to hers.

"Come here often?"

She barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. "All the time," she lied, because she was already too annoyed to even consider taking this one to her room. "Jane," she said, and stuck out her hand.

"Danny." He grinned, and took it. "Hey, me too, but I've never seen anyone like you here."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" she retorted, arching an eyebrow.

He blinked at her for a minute, then laughed. "Compliment! So what are you here for? In town with a convention?"

She tilted her head. "Yeah. Dairy Farmers of America."

"Oh," he said, then paused, and added, "That sounds interesting."

"Psh, no it doesn't," she said. "But, you know, seven generations... I couldn't just let Ma and Pa down."

"No offense, but you don't look like the farmer type," he said, leaning in a little.

"I left my overalls at home," she said. "What happens in Vegas..."

He laughed loudly, and she wasn't sure what was worse, a man that didn't get her, or a man that was just feigning interest to get into her pants.

Emily shook her head, annoyed with herself for even putting up with this. "Are you for real? You're really that desperate to get laid? Come on. If you don't respect women, at least respect yourself." She rolled her eyes and drained her drink, then stood up. "Thanks, but no thanks."

She couldn't help but glance at Dave just before she left. He was watching her again, and she wasn't sure what to make of his expression from the fleeting glance she caught. She told herself she didn't care. This was just stupid.

She pushed her way through the crowd until she reached the lobby, where the air was less stuffy. She heard the door open behind her again, the sound escaping for a moment before it closed. She ignored it, though she got ready to give the man another piece of her mind if he'd actually been audacious enough to follow her.

"Maybe there's a reason you scare them off," said a warm voice behind her.

Emily pursed her lips and turned to face Dave. "Dave, I'm drunk, and your..." She gestured vaguely, looking for the word, then settled with the most generic, "...woman is going to wonder why you're following me back into the lobby if you don't get back in there. You win. I'm going to bed."

He didn't say anything. He was just watching her.

She sighed. "Fine. Enlighten me. Why?"

He smirked at her. "I don't know what you said to him, but he was still sitting there shell-shocked when I came after you. Anyway, she'll be fine without me." He closed his fingers lightly on her elbow. "And maybe I should walk you to your room, make sure no one takes advantage of you."

She let him start to guide him toward the elevators, but after a moment, she realized she was just staring at him. She didn't bother to look away, though; she could blame the alcohol tomorrow. "I'm taking this as a forfeit."

"Are you?" he said, his voice lowering. His gaze was warm and never wavered from hers. "You sure about that?"

Emily drew in a slow breath through her nose, realizing as his fingers tightened slightly on her elbow that he was issuing an invitation. "What about your woman in there?" she blurted, and felt her face get hot as soon as she'd spoken. Why did she always say the wrong thing?

"What woman?" Dave asked, still watching her.

"The one who--"

"What woman?" he repeated, his lips curling up.

Oh.

She blinked at him for a moment. She knew she was drunk, but this should be making more sense than it was. What had that whole bet even been about if he was planning on taking her to bed?

"Um," she said. Brilliant. "It's still a forfeit," she managed after a moment. "Paying you fifty dollars for taking me to bed is a level of pathetic I haven't even begun to reach."

"How about we call it 'we both win' instead of a 'forfeit'?" he suggested. "Unless you're saying no." He touched her chin gently, then guided her into the elevators as the doors swished open.

"I'm not saying no," she said, a little too quickly, she thought, but her tongue was already loose. "I'm confused, but I'm not saying no."

His hand slid from her arm to the small of her back, and she sucked in a breath. "What's confusing?"

There were two other people in the elevator, but she moved closer to him anyway and didn't answer. She wasn't sure she would be able to muddle it all out right now anyway, but what she did know was that she wanted this regardless of the reason.

Eventually, she just tilted her chin up a bit, watching him with half-lidded eyes. It was almost a dare for him to kiss her right here.

Dave slid his arm around her, which was nice, but not quite what she'd been looking for. "I meant what I said, you know," he murmured, smiling at her. He lifted his other hand and brushed it against her cheek. "You are sexy and intelligent and beautiful."

"So are you," she said softly, leaning in a little closer. "Well, maybe not the beautiful part," she teased.

"Hmm." He took the dare and leaned down, brushing his lips lightly against hers. "Emily," he whispered. "I'm glad you scared them off."

She hummed happily, her entire body erupting in tingles. "Me too. At least I know you won't humor me if I suddenly develop a keen interest in cows." Before he could question that, she kissed him, this kiss hungrier than the last, her arm hooking around his shoulders.

For a moment, her body humming with anticipation--and alcohol, a lot of alcohol--she forgot they were in public, and her other hand slid lower to squeeze his ass. He tensed a little and pulled back, and her hand slipped away when she started laughing. The look on his face was priceless, torn between embarrassment and arousal. Emily glanced over at the other two people, still laughing, and was even more amused that they seemed to be pretending she and Dave didn't exist at all.

"God, Dave," she said, and leaned up to kiss him again...

...just as the elevator doors slid open.

"Dave?"

Emily froze. Oh, God, it was Hotch. Thank God they weren't actually kissing at the moment. Dave's arms tightened around her and he met her gaze briefly, then turned them both. "Aaron, good timing. Emily's over-indulged just a bit. I told her I'd walk her to her room."

Hotch was staring at them, but when Dave guided Emily forward, he offered an arm. "Everything all right?"

"Hey, Hotch," Emily offered a little late, and draped her arm around his shoulders. He seemed to be thinking a little too hard about what he'd just walked into, so she lowered her head to his shoulder after a moment. Maybe he'd just think she was an affectionate drunk. His arm tightened on her a little, so she took it for a good sign. "Everything is fine. Fine," she murmured.

"Fine," Hotch echoed, though from the sound of his voice he was looking at Dave and not at her.

"Fine," Dave repeated. "I just happened to run into Emily in the bar and she saved me from being bored to death by some lady from California."

Hotch made a non-committal noise. "Prentiss, do you have your room key?"

"Mmm, s'in my pocket," she said, smiling. Her head was leaning against his shoulder, which meant Dave could see her expression better than Hotch could. She glanced over at Dave, daring him to get the room key for her.

He scowled at her. "Get it yourself," he said, and she laughed and straightened as they reached her door, digging in her pocket.

She looked at Hotch as she did. "Thanks. You're a great boss, you know? I like you. We all like you... JJ likes you." She slipped her key in the door before she started laughing again, and pushed it open.

She heard Hotch say something, and Dave replied, but she wasn't sure what they actually said. She was too busy stumbling towards the bed. A moment later the door swung shut and Dave caught up with her, sliding his arms around her waist and holding her up, her back against his chest.

"How are you feeling?" he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Drunk," she informed him, and slid a hand back over her shoulder and into his hair as his lips made a little trail over her neck. "Want you," she murmured a few seconds later. "What did you tell him?"

He chuckled. "I told him I was going to make sure you get settled and drink some water."

"And he believed you?"

"Mmm, maybe not. But you and I both know how he feels about JJ, so he's got no room to talk." His arm was circling her waist, and as he spoke, his hand slid up from her belly to cup one breast. "Emily, I find you incredibly attractive, and I very much want to make love to you. But I don't want you to regret this later." His breath was warm in her ear. "I don't want to take advantage of you when you're drunk."

God, he was such an intriguing man. In some ways he was crass and arrogant and even pompous, but he could be gentle, sexy, and chivalrous. And she had a feeling he could be romantic, too. This is one night, she reminded herself.

"I won't regret it," she breathed, sliding her own hand over his and encouraging him. His hand tightened a little, kneading gently, and she moaned softly. "I like you. I've always thought you were handsome."

"God," he breathed, and kissed her neck, nibbling lightly. "And we'll be able to work together tomorrow? Emily, I want you so much." She almost laughed. She knew he was trying to be honorable, but saying things like that didn't make her any more inclined to turn him away.

"Yes, yes, we'll be fine," she promised, and turned her head to catch his lips in a kiss. Her fingers tightened in his hair when he returned it with a hunger he'd held back in the elevator, and she turned in his arms quickly so she could get the full effect without craning her neck. His hand slipped from her breast, but it was up under the back of her shirt before she even missed it. "Mmm, Dave," she whispered.

"You are amazing," he said, walking her backwards towards the bed as his fingers slid up to unhook her bra. "Sexy and competent and smart. I want to please you, Emily."

She grinned, but didn't miss how easily her bra clasp was opened, and a thrill went through her. She was about to find out if rumors of his prowess were true. Still... "Tell me you have condoms and I'll be pleased," she murmured, kissing him. "Not that I'm letting you off the hook that easily, but it's a start."

He laughed and pulled back. "And here I thought you'd be of the mindset that women should take care of their own protection," he murmured, his gaze warm. He slid his palm up her back and kissed her neck. "Of course I have condoms. Hope springs eternal, after all." He brushed his nose along her jaw and then kissed her again hungrily.

She moaned softly into the kiss, though the last statement surprised her a little. A moment later, he was tugging her shirt up, and she forgot about it. "I'm of the mindset I shouldn't be getting laid while we're on a case," she countered. "But I am on the pill." She tossed her shirt aside, and he pulled back to slowly slide her bra off, his gaze hungry on her in a way that made her shiver.

"We're not on a case tonight," Dave murmured, stroking his knuckles lightly along the swell of her breasts. "And you are utterly perfect." He leaned down to kiss her throat.

She tried to laugh, but he flattened his palms against her then and massaged her. She felt herself shiver, her already hard nipples brushing against his palms, and he made a pleased, hungry noise, and slid one of his hands down into the back of her pants.

"Wait, you're going to have me naked before I get to see you," she complained, but she couldn't manage anything but a needy sound, and she started to pull open the top few buttons of his shirt.

"You're a hell of a lot nicer to look at, anyway," he said, sounding amused. He lifted his head and kissed her mouth, teasing his tongue against hers as he let her fingers slide down his chest undoing buttons.

"My boobs are pretty much old news to me," she said, grinning, and made him stop touching her for a moment to push his shirt of his shoulders. God, he felt good. Solid. Strong. She trailed her hand over his chest, brushing a thumb over his nipple, then leaned in to whisper in his ear. "You know, the times I dared to imagine having you like this, this was not at all what I expected."

He made a growly noise and brushed his cheek against hers. "What were you expecting? Someone who wouldn't be interested in drunken debauchery? Come on, Hotch has to have told one or two stories about the old days." He sounded amused, but he also sounded a little defensive, and she wondered what would happen if she pushed him.

"Oh, I've heard stories," she murmured, then drew her tongue along the shell of his ear. "That's why I would have expected more being shoved against a wall, and maybe losing a few buttons."

"Would you rather I shove you against a wall?" Dave murmured, sliding a hand down to pinch her ass. "I'd hate to disappoint."

She gasped and bit his ear lightly in response. "Did I say you were disappointing me?" she asked. "But I'm not fragile." She pulled back and met his gaze, her own clearly wanting. "I want you to fuck me like you've been wanting to fuck me."

Dave looked at her for a long moment, his gaze heating. "Emily Prentiss, you will never stop impressing me," he murmured, and the next instant they were halfway to the wall. "Not that I dislike the idea of making love to you," he breathed in her ear. "But God, you are the sort of woman who wants to be fucked too, aren't you? Not a fragile creature, no matter how beautiful you are." He pressed her against the wall and kissed her hard, one hand roaming down to brush teasingly between her legs.

Her breath hitched and she slid her leg up over his hip, pressing against his hand. "Yes," she breathed. "There's a time and place for everything, but I think being drunk in Vegas warrants a good hard fuck." His weight against her felt good. She slipped her hands between them and started to yank open his jeans.

"I bet you get off on saying 'fuck', don't you?" he murmured in her ear. His hands slid down to her hips, tracing along her pants until he could undo them. "Your mother would be appalled, the good little ambassador's daughter saying words like 'fuck' and 'cunt'. You like words like that, don't you?"

She dropped her head against the wall, suddenly the sensations starting to overwhelm her in the best way. "Yes," she admitted, as his hand slid down into her pants, over her panties and down the inside of her thigh. "Like hearing you say them, too. I think you like knowing you're about to fuck a 'good little ambassador's daughter' against the wall until she screams," she said, opening her eyes again and looking at him hungrily.

"Hell yes, I like knowing that," he said. He kissed his way down her neck and nipped at her shoulder, making her laugh at the chill it sent through her. Then she gasped when his mouth found her nipple, his goatee scratching slightly in a counterpoint to the wet heat of his tongue.

"Oh, God," she moaned, and she dropped her leg to push at his jeans and boxers, shoving until they slipped from his hips. Her own pants were sliding down, but his focus was on flicking his tongue just right across her nipple. And then she felt teeth and she gasped again. "Fuck, Dave, harder," she growled. He made an amused noise and obliged, dragging a strangled noise from her.

His fingers were sliding against the satin of her underwear again, and her pants slipped farther. "You're so wet and ready for me. Can feel it through your panties," Dave panted, moving to the other nipple.

"God, yes," she moaned, her voice going up when his thumb shifted and sent a jolt of lust through her entire body. "Dave--God" She loved how he was teasing her, and it drove her crazy. And she loved that he knew it was driving her crazy and kept doing it. She dragged her fingers through his hair, tugging, wanting a kiss. He obliged her, but pulled away too soon and smirked at her.

"I want to taste you," he said, and dropped to his knees. Then his hands had stripped away her panties and his mouth was on her, and God! He definitely lived up to the stories. She let her head thump back against the wall, her fingers tightening in his hair.

"Oh, Fuck, Dave!" she gasped. His tongue was slow and practiced at first, seeking out the method that worked best for her, not at all like the younger men she'd been with who seemed to think women's clits were all the same. Once Dave had her gasping for breath, he sped, lapping at her gently, but in a way that made her think that between him and the alcohol, the bed might have been a better choice, as her knees were going weak.

He seemed to notice, and pressed a stabilizing hand on her hip, and then the fingers of his free hand were sliding inside her, and his fingers crooked just right. She cried out softly, whimpering. "God, God," she babbled, her fingers going tighter in his hair.

He hummed a laugh and then sucked, and that was something no one had ever tried with her before. It sent sensations through her that, combined with his fingers, pushed her over the edge. She hadn't been expecting to really scream, but the noise she made might qualify when she arched back, her toes curling as she came. Dave wasn't shy, either. He didn't pull away as soon as he felt her start trembling. He kept at her all the way through, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her again. Oh, God, this was why older men were so much better.

She was still making little noises of pleasure when he pulled back, and she slumped against the wall. "Oh... God," she managed, and she knew he was watching her, but she didn't care. Her fingers loosened on his hair, but she didn't move her hand, and after a moment, he shifted and kissed her thigh, his goatee damp against her skin. "Sex against the wall was a better idea before you made standing feel nearly impossible," she murmured. "God."

He chuckled and stood, gathering her in his arms and pinning her to the wall. "Should I give you a chance to recover?" he asked teasingly, then kissed a spot just under one ear.

"No," she panted, grinning lazily. He was pressing against her, hard against her folds, and after her release her nerves were highly aware of the feel of his body against hers. She slid her leg up again, tightening her arms around his shoulders. "Just don't let me fall."

"I will never let you fall," he promised, tightening one arm around her while the other stroked down her thigh. "God, you're amazing," he breathed, and then he was lifting her leg a little higher and slipping his hand under them to position himself.

A second later, he was filling her, and she gasped and arched against the wall. He was panting against her neck, and she curled her nails against his skin when he moved again. She hadn't really gotten much of a look at him, but he felt big, thick. "Yes," she panted, tightening her leg around him, and he sped, his thrusts smooth and forceful, pausing between each one to let her nearly catch her breath, and then taking it away again.

"Fuck, Em, so fucking hot and tight," he gasped, his teeth grazing the corner of her jaw. She exhaled raggedly and tightened her muscles around him, making him groan. He shifted the way he was holding her and then she felt him circling and teasing at a nipple. "Emily, yes, goddess," he breathed, and kissed her hungrily. She could taste herself on his tongue, and it sent a shudder of need through her.

She moaned in reply against his lips. Her body felt like it was floating, every part of her tingling except for the low, pleasant ache of his cock each time her buried himself inside her. "Dave," she whimpered, and he was speeding, his hips jerking against her hard. "So fucking good," she gasped, clutching at him.

"Knew you'd be a good fuck," he panted in her ear. "Sweet good girl image, but you like being bad. So hot watching you come. God!" She could tell he was getting close from the way his thrusts were growing harder and faster. He pinched her nipple, shocking her with discomfort that turned almost instantly into pleasure. Then he was caressing again, his thumb flicking across the sensitive nub almost in time with his thrusts. She arched her head back and tightened her leg around his hips, pulling him in deeper.

His teeth bit into her neck and she made a strangled noise and moved against him as best she could. For a time, their words dissolved into pants and moans. His movements made her shudder and writhe, and he was doing it on purpose, too, because each reaction he got only spurred him on.

Eventually, both his hands fell to her hip and tightened on her, and then his thrusts were almost bruising, her back shifting against the wall hard. His breath was erratic, and his thrusts quickly became that way too. "Fuck, you're fucking beautiful," he managed, and then he stilled and she felt the hot flood of his release as he came.

"God!" she gasped, gripping his shoulders tightly and praying he wouldn't drop her. Then she felt a shiver like she'd been hit by a cold wave as she realized they'd talked about a condom and then forgotten it. "Oh, God," she moaned, but Dave apparently took it as a compliment, because he leaned in and kissed her neck, his hand sliding down between them.

She wondered if she should say something as he let her leg down to the floor again. It was over, and it was ridiculous to worry about it now. But when he pulled back, the lazy smile on his face slid off at her expression. "Are you okay?" he said quickly, concern slipping onto his face. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, God, that was..." Great. Fantastic. Mind-blowing. She waved a hand, still breathless. Time stood still for a moment. "But Dave...we forgot the condom."

"Shit," he muttered, watching her anxiously. "God, I never forget, I..." He shook his head. "Look, I'm always really careful, it's been years since I...forgot. Shit."

She let out a shaky breath that was an attempt at a laugh, and pressed her hand over her eyes. The room was still swimming a little. "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment?" she breathed. "Fuck."

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her securely. "Definitely a compliment," he murmured. "It'll be all right, Em. Three wives and one other woman, I swear those are the only people I haven't used protection with. God, I'm so sorry."

She slumped against him, grateful for his words. She didn't want to have to ask how careful he'd been, after all. She shook her head against his neck. "It's done," she mumbled, trying to push down the sudden churning of her stomach. "Let's get in bed." It suddenly struck her that he might not have been intending to stay, and she lifted her head to look at him. "Or I should, at least, but if you want to stay..." She wanted him to, but she was afraid maybe she shouldn't say that.

But he nodded and stroked a hand down her cheek. "I'd like to stay," he murmured, and kissed her softly. He was smiling. He stroked a hand down her back, then kissed her again, more deeply. "Thank you, Emily."

She laughed softly. "You're thanking me?" she said, and pulled him in for another kiss.

"I've had a very good evening," he said, tightening his arm around her. "And it's only polite to say thank you...after I've ravished you." He grinned at her, though he still seemed a little upset about the condom.

She laughed again and looked at him. "Nice to be polite after we've done things that were anything but?" she said. "Thank you," she added, and started to tug them towards the bed.

He shrugged and then his grin widened and he swept his arm behind her knees and picked her up. She managed to swallow a noise of surprise, though she couldn't quite suppress the way her stomach sloshed unpleasantly.

"Dave."

"Can't help it. You're a very nice armful, Emily Prentiss." He settled her on the bed and climbed in next to her, not acting in the least self-conscious.

She made a noise half way between amusement and nausea, but when he settled next to her, he wrapped her in his arms. It felt nice. Better than it should feel, but she hadn't shared a bed with a man in a long time. She shifted to pull the covers up over them, and then rolled against him. "You smell good," she murmured.

He chuckled and stroked his fingers idly against her shoulder. "I really hope you don't shoot me in the morning." His voice was warm. She thought it sounded nicely affectionate. "What do I smell like?"

"Like... a man," she said vaguely, and kissed his throat. "Don' ask me to describe it. You smell the way a man should smell. Strong..." She snorted. "Don't ask me questions like this when I'm drunk."

He laughed again, softly. "Or I might get the truth?"

"You can't handle the truth," she muttered, and was pleased when he laughed.

"Would you have invited me to your room if you hadn't been drinking?" Dave asked.

She sighed, and kissed his neck again. "Probably not," she admitted. "But not for lack of want. For lack of courage."

"Emily..."

"No matter what I'm like every day, or at work, I suck at this, Dave." Her stomach was still rolling a little, and she swallowed hard at a sudden wave of renewed nausea. "God, the room is still spinning."

Dave chuckled. "For what value of 'this'?" he asked. "You're damn good at sex. And you're one of the bravest women I know." He turned his head and kissed her forehead, and it struck her as a surprisingly sweet gesture.

"I suck at actually getting men to the point that they'd want to be in my bed at all. Well, that's not entirely true, Guy Number Two tonight was enthralled when I told him I was a seventh generation dairy farmer." She sucked in another breath, the sick realization that she might be ill suddenly hitting her. She swallowed again, fighting it. "Guy Number One ran away when I told him I carried a gun," she managed.

"Hmm. You know, I would have sworn that cop who got shot in New York, what was his name, Cooper? Would have sworn he was sweet on you." Dave's voice was mild. She wondered if he knew how much she'd liked Cooper.

"And he was married," she said flatly. "I told you last night-- tonight--- whenever... that they're either married or I scare them away." She sucked in another breath and held it, then finally said, "I think I'm going to be sick," and quickly untangled herself from his arms and scrambled out of bed.

She heard him say something, but she was too concerned with making it to the toilet before she lost it. She didn't quite, but a moment later she felt thick cloth settling around her shoulders as she heaved. A steady hand pulled her hair away from her face and held it, and one hand rubbed her back.

Oh, God, she thought miserably, blinking against the reflexive tears that rose to her eyes. And if I don't scare them away before sex, I do it right afterwards. She finished heaving for the moment and let out a half sob.

There was silence for a moment, then Dave said, "Women don't usually react that badly to having sex with me." He flushed the toilet and she heard the water running, then a cool cloth was against her face.

"God, I'm sorry," she managed, and resisted the impulse to rest her head against the toilet seat. Drunk and sick or not, this was still a hotel bathroom.

"Shh," he whispered, the cool cloth still brushing over her face as his hands worked circles over her back.

"You don't have to stay," she breathed.

"I'm not going to leave you like this," he murmured. He pulled her against his chest and chilled the washcloth again. "Do you think you're done, or should we stay here for a while?"

"I just horked on the floor," she said, hating the way her voice tried to turn into a wail. She hated throwing up.

"Yeah, that part wasn't really sexy," he admitted, but she felt him kiss her hair. "Want to go back to bed?"

"Mmm," she whimpered. "Not sure." She realized suddenly that the cloth over her shoulders was one of the hotel's complimentary robes, and she worked her arms into the sleeves and pulled it closed. "Thank you."

"S'okay," he said gently, and the cloth was brushing over her forehead again. "Not feeling better?"

"A little," she said. "Don't trust it." The way he was touching her was soothing, though, so she let herself relax back against his chest and close her eyes.

***

Dave had been awake for some time before Emily moved, but he hadn't been prepared for the sharp jab of her chin as she buried her face against his chest. He ought to be exhausted, considering he'd been up until well past two in the morning cleaning vomit from the bathroom floor (okay, fine, he was a fucking softie, but he'd stayed in too many hotels to leave a mess like that for the cleaning staff). Instead, he'd slept for nearly four hours and woken feeling energized, even if his legs were a little sore. He'd stayed still and enjoyed the feel of a beautiful woman pressed against him, and tried not to feel guilty about the condom. She'd said she was on the pill, but he couldn't help the nagging fear that this could be very bad.

Emily muttered, "Oh, my God," a couple of times, which he figured had something to do with what had to be a lousy hangover. He yawned and didn't open his eyes.

"Shhh. I cleaned the bathroom up already. Pee if you have to, but don't wake me up."

Her next words sort of offended him. "God, I hate Vegas."

"Good morning to you too," he said, frowning.

"Dear God, stop talking," she said, clumsily pressing her fingers to his lips, and then she rolled away, moving her hand to plant the heel of it against her forehead. "Fuck," she whined. "My head."

Dave sighed and climbed out of bed, snagged his boxers from the floor (he did have to keep working with the woman, after all), and went over to get her bag from where it was sitting on the closet valet. He carried the whole thing over to the bed, having learned from the first of his wives never to go through a woman's things, and then went back to the sink for a glass of water.

"This is why you wanted me to stay, isn't it?" he grumped, setting the glass on the bedside table. "So you'd have someone to nurse you through the hangover after that thrilling display of vomit last night."

She looked up, her eyes barely open, but they were open enough to glare at him. "Oh, fuck you," she said, but there was very little heat to it as she started to rummage through her bag, holding the bed sheet up modestly over her breasts. "I don't really remember asking you to stay, but I'm sure that wasn't the reason."

"I've already seen them," Dave said, waving in the direction of her chest. "They're fantastic, by the way." But he couldn't help grinning. This was why he liked Emily so much; she was what his father would have called a 'very classy broad' who could make you feel like a hero and then turn around and put you in your place.

God, shoot me now, Dave thought, or I'll be putting her behind a white picket fence and 2.5 kids. He snorted and went to start the coffee brewing.

"Yeah, well, things are different in full morning light," she grumbled, tossing two pills back, and moving to sit on the edge of the bed, dragging the sheet off it and wrapping it around her where she sat. She sort of slumped over her knees then, her head pillowed between them. "Oh God... I groped you in an elevator. And Hotch..." She stopped talking and made a sort of whimpery noise.

"It's not the first time I've been groped in an elevator," Dave mused, picking up the bathrobe from where she'd dropped it last night. He carried it over to her and draped it over her shoulders, tucking it around her and then placing a gentle kiss to her hair. "Though it was definitely the most exciting. I don't think Hotch believed us, but as long as we don't have any trouble working together, he won't say anything."

There was something incredibly endearing about seeing Emily like this. Dave pushed down a swell of affection and silently cursed himself for a damn fool. Affection certainly hadn't been part of the plan last night when he'd challenged her to that competition, though he ought to know himself better by now.

She stilled a little when he kissed her, and he didn't miss it, but after a moment she slumped further against her legs. "He's never going to look at me the same way again. Fuck.... Fuck. It took long enough just to get him to like me," she moaned.

"I didn't realize you had designs on the SAC," he said, rubbing his hand idly against her back. "You're wasting your time there. He's already got his eyes on someone else."

She groaned. "Shut up, just stop talking, can't you? Your marriages must have failed because you like the sound of your own voice too damn much."

"Ouch," he said, and got up. He didn't look back, but he heard the rustle of bedclothes like she was suddenly afraid she'd succeeded in offending him. He just went to pour them both a cup of coffee, then came back to the bed, where she'd already dropped her head against her knees again.

"You weren't there, Dave. He didn't want me on the team-- and I'm a woman, and he knows how you are; he won't care about you. And... fuck, he knows my mother," she whined.

He blinked at her for a long moment, and then couldn't help himself. He started laughing.

"Okay, first of all, you've more than proven yourself on this team, and Aaron himself has said some very complimentary things about you. And while he might know your mother, he works with you. What the hell do you think he's going to do, call and tattle on you? God, Emily. Go get in the shower. I'd offer to join you, but I'm afraid you'll shoot me."

She'd been glaring at him since he started laughing. She didn't stop glaring, but she sat up after a moment. "You're right. We can't... you don't understand," she blurted finally, and sat up in a tangle of sheets and the robe. She struggled for a moment to get into the robe and drop the sheet while not revealing anything, and he had to fight laughing again.

God, she was sexy, and smart, and utterly, ridiculously female.

"Understand what?" he said, knowing he sounded amused.

"I'm taking a shower," she said instead of answering, and disappeared into the bathroom.

Dave sighed and leaned back on one elbow, sipping his coffee in contentment. She'd clearly uninvited him, but he gave her five minutes, then got up and tapped on the bathroom door. "Sure you don't need help washing your hair?" he called, though he supposed he was approaching that line where she really might get angry. Still, that last enticing glimpse of her breasts made it difficult to think about anything else.

The shower curtain pulled back just enough for her to flail an arm out, and he had to duck not to get hit with a wet bar of soap. "Go away!" she growled.

He grinned and glanced from the soap on the floor to the shadow behind the shower curtain for a long moment. She stopped moving, other than lifting her hand to run it through her hair (from what he could tell), and Dave stood there waiting for what he knew was coming.

She finally sighed. "Can I have the soap back, please?" she asked finally, and held a hand out from behind the shower curtain.

Fighting laughter, Dave picked up the soap and cupped Emily's hand in his. He placed a tiny kiss on the palm before wrapping her fingers around the soap. "See you downstairs. You've got about forty minutes." He started collecting his clothes and dressing.

If pressed, he would have had to confess to a certain disappointment that she was being so surly this morning, but he couldn't say he was surprised. He'd actually been surprised that last night's plan had worked at all.

"Is this seat taken?" He'd settled across from the woman, setting both glasses of wine on the table between them to let her pick one.

She'd raised her eyebrows. "It is now. Have a fight with the girlfriend?"

"Co-worker," Dave had said. "And as you're easily the most beautiful stranger here, I'm using you to make her jealous. If you don't mind." He'd delivered the truth with as warm and charming a smile as he was capable of, and she'd laughed.

"Wow, and you're easily the most honest man here," she joked. "I'm Gail."

"Dave. I must say, I find it surprising that a woman as attractive as you is sitting here alone. Unless you've decided men are all banal and uninspiring."

She'd laughed again and taken the wine. "It's working. She's looked over here twice already. Though it looks like you have some competition..."

Dave was grinning as he let himself into his room. Hell, Emily was a sharp woman. There was a good chance she'd realized from the start that he was just trying to prove to her that she could have anyone in the room before making her choose to be with him. He checked his watch and grabbed a fresh set of clothes from his bag. He just had time to grab a shower before the team met downstairs.

Dave glanced around the lobby, but the only person he saw was Morgan, who was parked at a slot machine. Shrugging, Dave carried his bag over and dropped it next to Morgan's, then unfolded his complimentary newspaper and claimed the loveseat for himself.

"You win last night?" Morgan asked, not looking away from the screen. Dave had to fight a grin. Morgan had asked if he would be gambling, to which Dave had replied, Big time.

"Yeah," he said briefly. "Won big time." He scanned the headlines, though he didn't miss seeing Emily step out of the elevator. She almost seemed to walk with a wince. He wondered why she didn't have her sunglasses on.

He was unsurprised when she went straight for the coffee, wincing at every word out of Morgan's mouth until she politely asked him to shut up and collapsed with a groan next to Dave. He turned and looked at her. She'd managed to put herself together all right, though her hair wasn't quite as perfectly pin-straight like she usually got it when she wore it like that. God, even like this (maybe especially like this, knowing what had happened last night to ruffle her), she was sexy.

"Late night?" he asked casually.

To her credit, she managed not to glare daggers at him like he knew she probably wanted to. Instead she pressed a hand over her eyes, and groaned, "I hate Vegas."

Dave kept assessing her, ignoring Morgan's teasing, until Reid showed up, very late and claiming he wanted more time to spend with his mother. That didn't sound good, but Morgan was already watching Reid like a hawk, so Dave decided to leave that matter in Morgan's hands. He wasn't surprised when Morgan caught him before they got to the SUV, though, and suggested maybe the two of them stay a couple of extra days to keep an eye on Reid.

"Sure. I'll tell the girls." Dave caught up with Emily and guided her around to the passenger side. "You can have shotgun," he murmured. "Derek and I are going to stick around with Reid."

"Good plan," she said. She slumped back against the passenger side door and looked up at him.

Dave looked back at her for a moment, wishing...something. That was the trouble with women like Emily Prentiss. They got under your skin and made you wish things. "I don't suppose," he said, fishing in his pants pocket for a moment, "that you'd feed my cat for me?" He held out his keys. He wouldn't really need them until he got back, and maybe having access to his house and personal effects for a day or two would help her realize that vulnerability was a two-way street.

She looked at his keys, her lips parting, and for a moment, a funny sort of expression crossed her face. Then it disappeared, and she reached out and took them. "I guess I do owe you for cleaning up my vomit." She bit her lip and looked like she had something to say, but she didn't say anything. Dave wondered if she'd remembered what they'd forgotten last night once Dave had left her this morning.

Dave grinned. "You don't owe me anything, Emily. But I'd appreciate it, and my cat probably will, too." He nudged her leg lightly, enough for her to feel it but not so the others would see. Hopefully the look in his eyes said they would talk later, if they needed to.

As he walked away, he was feeling pretty damn cheerful, despite whatever demons they were about to dig up in Reid's life.

God, he loved Vegas.