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geekystudmuffin2010-01-11 08:33 am
severity-softly.livejournal.com) wrote in geekystudmuffin2010-01-11 08:33 am
I Wanna Hold Your Hand, Rossi/Prentiss, PG
Title: I Wanna Hold Your Hand
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
innerslytherin and severity_softly
Pairing: Rossi/Prentiss
Rating: PG
WC: ~1900
Summary: He wasn't an Elvis man, but he chose A18 on the jukebox anyway.
Notes: From the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
staringout prompt for 5 January. Title from the Beatles song. :)
They'd been over it a hundred times. Maybe more than that. For some reason, though, the conversation was comfortable. It reminded Dave a little of the ridiculous arguments his parents had all the time.
"All I'm saying is that not everything in the 70s was tacky. Elvis was."
"Name one thing that wasn't tacky in the 70s," Emily challenged, arching an eyebrow. For all that they'd argued this so much, it still sometimes got heated, but he didn't really mind that either. Emily was sexy when she was worked up.
Dave smirked. "I wasn't."
She laughed. "Right. I'm going to get Garcia to hack around and find pictures of you from the 70s. You probably had those big sideburns and wore butterfly collars."
"Maybe, but hey, there are levels of tacky. I wasn't wearing bejeweled, polyester bell bottoms." Dave frowned and took a sip of his beer. "Are you going to tell me your hair wasn't five feet tall in the 80s?"
"It was about a foot tall and pitch black, and I wore black lipstick, and you know it. I never claimed that I haven't had tacky periods in my life." Emily folded her arms and gave him a crooked grin. "Anyway, you just contradicted yourself. I win."
Dave's frown deepened. "How the hell did I contradict myself? I was damn sexy for the time," he complained. "Anyway, we're talking about Elvis. Fine, on top of tacky, his music is boring, and outright bad during the tacky phase. I can give him credit for some of the earlier stuff, but he's nowhere near the Beatles."
"You said you weren't tacky, then tried to qualify tacky by saying there are levels of tacky," Emily pointed out. "Anyway, fine, you think his music is boring, and yet you don't think songs like 'Glass Onion' are boring? How can you possibly say that? At least there's a point to songs like 'Little Less Conversation' and 'One Night', which you can't claim for the Beatles."
Dave had managed to not get angry when she made fun of the White Album after hearing her do it over and over. That didn't mean it didn't still annoy him. "The White Album is one of the most important albums in the last hundred years," he grumbled. "You just have a hard on for that 'One Night' song because it's sappy."
Emily rolled her eyes. "One of the most important albums? Please. A song where the lyrics consist entirely of 'Why don't we do it in the road?' and three versions of the same song? I had lived just fine for thirty-seven years without hearing the album in its entirety, before I met you and Hotch. I never felt deprived in any way like I'd feel deprived if "Mama Loved the Roses" didn't exist."
Dave shook his head. He had certainly been surprised to hear the album was Aaron's favorite, though he didn't really think Aaron appreciated it the same way he did. Aaron had skipped the wild and crazy period of life that Dave had taken full advantage of when he was young enough to pretend he didn't know better. "You're boring," he accused, though he had a hard time keeping the playful grin off his face, and he knew she would know it. "Besides, 'why don't we do it in the road?' is a pretty good question." He held her gaze, probably a little too long, then took another sip of his beer.
"I'm boring now because I find a sense of security in boringness," she countered, though her cheeks heated at his not-so-hidden implication. "The White Album is a bad drug trip interspersed with a few good songs. I had enough bad drug trips in my youth to not want to re-experience them musically."
"I don't see where you get bad drug trip from?" Dave said, then flapped his hand when she opened her mouth again. "It's obvious you're too stubborn to ever listen to me, so let's just stop now."
"You're one to talk," she muttered, but she just sipped her drink, her eyes sparkling with her enjoyment of the old debate.
"I'm stubborn because I'm right," he said, his lips curving up.
"You're stubborn because you can't admit you're wrong," she countered, but he could see her suppressing her smile.
"Hmm," he hummed, and glanced around the bar. They were in Texas, and their case was finished. He wasn't sure how they'd wound up in this dive debating music.
She laughed. "At least we agree on football." In true diplomatic fashion, she always had to end the argument by pointing out something they had in common.
"Thank God for that," Dave said, and raised his glass to her in toast.
"Yeah, it's a good thing, because I can forgive a man for liking the Beatles, but if you liked the Steelers, you would be dead to me." She grinned and toasted him back.
Dave grinned. When he first met Emily, he never imagined she'd be spending time at his house in sweats all through football and baseball seasons. "Oh, we wouldn't even be talking if you liked the Yankees."
She laughed. "It's so nice to know you have good taste in some things, even if it isn't music."
Dave snorted, and looked over at the makeshift dance floor in the old bar they were in, then back at Emily. He was tempted to ask her to dance. He took another sip of his beer, and abruptly changed the subject. "How's your love life?"
That sent her eyebrows up. "Nothing to write home about, but then I never write home anyway."
Dave chuckled. "I don't blame you."
"You know, just because I badmouth my mother doesn't mean you're allowed to," Emily said, but she didn't look bothered.
Dave lifted his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, but I wasn't actually badmouthing anyone." They both knew how he felt about her mother, though, even if he had managed not to say most of it out loud. Emily's relationship wasn't great, but Elizabeth was still her mother.
She smiled faintly at him. "I know, my family's nothing like yours." She took a long drink of her beer and sighed. "Sometimes I think it would be nice to have a big family."
Dave nodded. "An avalanche of Rossis. It has its advantages, and it's never boring--that much is for sure."
"There must always be at least one other person you really enjoy spending time with in a big family," she offered.
"Oh, I enjoy almost all of them, even when they annoy the crap out of me," he said. His beer was almost finished, and he gestured to their waitress for another. "You?" he asked, gesturing at her glass.
"Sure," she said. "So you enjoy being annoyed, is that what you're saying?"
"I do have the same stupid argument with you all the time, don't I?" Dave laughed. "I can accept certain types of annoyance from the people I love."
"And I'm people you love?" she asked, her gaze on her glass. Her cheeks seemed flushed.
He couldn't help but grin. That was the second blush he'd gotten tonight. "Of course. Any other staunch Elvis supporter would have gotten the boot by now."
She glanced up, lifting her eyebrows. "I wasn't aware there was any 'of course' about it," she said. "Though maybe I should have realized."
He snorted. "Why wouldn't there be?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess you do put up with my company an awful lot." She smiled.
"Yeah. You're lucky," he said. The music stopped, and there was silence. There must have been no more requests from the jukebox.
Her expression softened as she looked at him. "I know I am," she murmured. He probably wouldn't have heard her if the music had still been playing.
So he decided to take a chance. He probably shouldn't, as it would only make him want her more, and if she didn't feel the same way, it would make it worse. But it was a gesture she could take any way she wanted. He tilted his head at her. "Wanna dance?"
Her expression went surprised, but then she smiled. "All right." She took a long drink, then stood, watching him.
His smile went lopsided. He fished in his pocket for some change, then headed to the jukebox. He flipped through the song choices, and there was sadly no Beatles songs to annoy her with. There was Elvis Presley, though.
Dave frowned at the machine, and looked through it again. Then he sighed. If he was going to do this dancing thing right, he might as well play her favorite song. He hit A18, and turned around to see her standing on the dance floor as the opening chords of One Night filled the bar.
She got a funny look on her face when she realized what the song was, then she smiled and held a hand out to him. She was watching him closely as he walked over to join her. When he took her hand, her smile brightened.
He slid a hand around her waist and tried to ignore the way it felt so good to touch her like this. Her arm went over his shoulder, and then they were pressed together as they swayed. "This one is your favorite, right? Or was that Hound Dog?" he teased.
He felt her chuckle and she tightened her hand around his. "This one," she said in his ear. He could feel her breath against his skin. She was a good dancer, able to follow his cues even though he didn't try anything fancy. "I didn't realize you're such a dancer," she murmured.
He thought about telling her his second wife had put him through a few dance lessons for their wedding, but decided not to. He'd forgotten the more complicated stuff anyway. "I'm going to make you swing dance in a minute," he said, matching her tone.
"I hope you're a good lead," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice. "I only dance well with people I trust." She slipped her arm closer around his shoulders. "I haven't danced in a long time."
"Does that mean you haven't trusted anyone in a long time?" Dave said. She trusted the team, and Dave knew that, but he also knew it was hard to get close to Emily; she got so insecure.
She hummed. "Not like I trust you," she said finally.
Dave felt a wash of pleasure at those words. "How did I get so lucky?" he said, nudging her away slightly so he could lift her arm and spin her.
That made her laugh, her hair swirling out away from her face. She gave him a delighted look. "Must be your charm and good looks, Agent Rossi."
"It always is," he said, grinning.
She snorted as she spun back to him. "And your humility, of course," she added dryly.
"Of course," he agreed, putting his hand on the small of her back and holding her a little closer than before.
He heard her suck in a breath, then she moved close enough that he could feel her hair tickling his cheek. "And maybe it's just because you're people I love too," she murmured.
Authors:
innerslytherin and severity_softlyPairing: Rossi/Prentiss
Rating: PG
WC: ~1900
Summary: He wasn't an Elvis man, but he chose A18 on the jukebox anyway.
Notes: From the
staringout prompt for 5 January. Title from the Beatles song. :)They'd been over it a hundred times. Maybe more than that. For some reason, though, the conversation was comfortable. It reminded Dave a little of the ridiculous arguments his parents had all the time.
"All I'm saying is that not everything in the 70s was tacky. Elvis was."
"Name one thing that wasn't tacky in the 70s," Emily challenged, arching an eyebrow. For all that they'd argued this so much, it still sometimes got heated, but he didn't really mind that either. Emily was sexy when she was worked up.
Dave smirked. "I wasn't."
She laughed. "Right. I'm going to get Garcia to hack around and find pictures of you from the 70s. You probably had those big sideburns and wore butterfly collars."
"Maybe, but hey, there are levels of tacky. I wasn't wearing bejeweled, polyester bell bottoms." Dave frowned and took a sip of his beer. "Are you going to tell me your hair wasn't five feet tall in the 80s?"
"It was about a foot tall and pitch black, and I wore black lipstick, and you know it. I never claimed that I haven't had tacky periods in my life." Emily folded her arms and gave him a crooked grin. "Anyway, you just contradicted yourself. I win."
Dave's frown deepened. "How the hell did I contradict myself? I was damn sexy for the time," he complained. "Anyway, we're talking about Elvis. Fine, on top of tacky, his music is boring, and outright bad during the tacky phase. I can give him credit for some of the earlier stuff, but he's nowhere near the Beatles."
"You said you weren't tacky, then tried to qualify tacky by saying there are levels of tacky," Emily pointed out. "Anyway, fine, you think his music is boring, and yet you don't think songs like 'Glass Onion' are boring? How can you possibly say that? At least there's a point to songs like 'Little Less Conversation' and 'One Night', which you can't claim for the Beatles."
Dave had managed to not get angry when she made fun of the White Album after hearing her do it over and over. That didn't mean it didn't still annoy him. "The White Album is one of the most important albums in the last hundred years," he grumbled. "You just have a hard on for that 'One Night' song because it's sappy."
Emily rolled her eyes. "One of the most important albums? Please. A song where the lyrics consist entirely of 'Why don't we do it in the road?' and three versions of the same song? I had lived just fine for thirty-seven years without hearing the album in its entirety, before I met you and Hotch. I never felt deprived in any way like I'd feel deprived if "Mama Loved the Roses" didn't exist."
Dave shook his head. He had certainly been surprised to hear the album was Aaron's favorite, though he didn't really think Aaron appreciated it the same way he did. Aaron had skipped the wild and crazy period of life that Dave had taken full advantage of when he was young enough to pretend he didn't know better. "You're boring," he accused, though he had a hard time keeping the playful grin off his face, and he knew she would know it. "Besides, 'why don't we do it in the road?' is a pretty good question." He held her gaze, probably a little too long, then took another sip of his beer.
"I'm boring now because I find a sense of security in boringness," she countered, though her cheeks heated at his not-so-hidden implication. "The White Album is a bad drug trip interspersed with a few good songs. I had enough bad drug trips in my youth to not want to re-experience them musically."
"I don't see where you get bad drug trip from?" Dave said, then flapped his hand when she opened her mouth again. "It's obvious you're too stubborn to ever listen to me, so let's just stop now."
"You're one to talk," she muttered, but she just sipped her drink, her eyes sparkling with her enjoyment of the old debate.
"I'm stubborn because I'm right," he said, his lips curving up.
"You're stubborn because you can't admit you're wrong," she countered, but he could see her suppressing her smile.
"Hmm," he hummed, and glanced around the bar. They were in Texas, and their case was finished. He wasn't sure how they'd wound up in this dive debating music.
She laughed. "At least we agree on football." In true diplomatic fashion, she always had to end the argument by pointing out something they had in common.
"Thank God for that," Dave said, and raised his glass to her in toast.
"Yeah, it's a good thing, because I can forgive a man for liking the Beatles, but if you liked the Steelers, you would be dead to me." She grinned and toasted him back.
Dave grinned. When he first met Emily, he never imagined she'd be spending time at his house in sweats all through football and baseball seasons. "Oh, we wouldn't even be talking if you liked the Yankees."
She laughed. "It's so nice to know you have good taste in some things, even if it isn't music."
Dave snorted, and looked over at the makeshift dance floor in the old bar they were in, then back at Emily. He was tempted to ask her to dance. He took another sip of his beer, and abruptly changed the subject. "How's your love life?"
That sent her eyebrows up. "Nothing to write home about, but then I never write home anyway."
Dave chuckled. "I don't blame you."
"You know, just because I badmouth my mother doesn't mean you're allowed to," Emily said, but she didn't look bothered.
Dave lifted his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, but I wasn't actually badmouthing anyone." They both knew how he felt about her mother, though, even if he had managed not to say most of it out loud. Emily's relationship wasn't great, but Elizabeth was still her mother.
She smiled faintly at him. "I know, my family's nothing like yours." She took a long drink of her beer and sighed. "Sometimes I think it would be nice to have a big family."
Dave nodded. "An avalanche of Rossis. It has its advantages, and it's never boring--that much is for sure."
"There must always be at least one other person you really enjoy spending time with in a big family," she offered.
"Oh, I enjoy almost all of them, even when they annoy the crap out of me," he said. His beer was almost finished, and he gestured to their waitress for another. "You?" he asked, gesturing at her glass.
"Sure," she said. "So you enjoy being annoyed, is that what you're saying?"
"I do have the same stupid argument with you all the time, don't I?" Dave laughed. "I can accept certain types of annoyance from the people I love."
"And I'm people you love?" she asked, her gaze on her glass. Her cheeks seemed flushed.
He couldn't help but grin. That was the second blush he'd gotten tonight. "Of course. Any other staunch Elvis supporter would have gotten the boot by now."
She glanced up, lifting her eyebrows. "I wasn't aware there was any 'of course' about it," she said. "Though maybe I should have realized."
He snorted. "Why wouldn't there be?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess you do put up with my company an awful lot." She smiled.
"Yeah. You're lucky," he said. The music stopped, and there was silence. There must have been no more requests from the jukebox.
Her expression softened as she looked at him. "I know I am," she murmured. He probably wouldn't have heard her if the music had still been playing.
So he decided to take a chance. He probably shouldn't, as it would only make him want her more, and if she didn't feel the same way, it would make it worse. But it was a gesture she could take any way she wanted. He tilted his head at her. "Wanna dance?"
Her expression went surprised, but then she smiled. "All right." She took a long drink, then stood, watching him.
His smile went lopsided. He fished in his pocket for some change, then headed to the jukebox. He flipped through the song choices, and there was sadly no Beatles songs to annoy her with. There was Elvis Presley, though.
Dave frowned at the machine, and looked through it again. Then he sighed. If he was going to do this dancing thing right, he might as well play her favorite song. He hit A18, and turned around to see her standing on the dance floor as the opening chords of One Night filled the bar.
She got a funny look on her face when she realized what the song was, then she smiled and held a hand out to him. She was watching him closely as he walked over to join her. When he took her hand, her smile brightened.
He slid a hand around her waist and tried to ignore the way it felt so good to touch her like this. Her arm went over his shoulder, and then they were pressed together as they swayed. "This one is your favorite, right? Or was that Hound Dog?" he teased.
He felt her chuckle and she tightened her hand around his. "This one," she said in his ear. He could feel her breath against his skin. She was a good dancer, able to follow his cues even though he didn't try anything fancy. "I didn't realize you're such a dancer," she murmured.
He thought about telling her his second wife had put him through a few dance lessons for their wedding, but decided not to. He'd forgotten the more complicated stuff anyway. "I'm going to make you swing dance in a minute," he said, matching her tone.
"I hope you're a good lead," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice. "I only dance well with people I trust." She slipped her arm closer around his shoulders. "I haven't danced in a long time."
"Does that mean you haven't trusted anyone in a long time?" Dave said. She trusted the team, and Dave knew that, but he also knew it was hard to get close to Emily; she got so insecure.
She hummed. "Not like I trust you," she said finally.
Dave felt a wash of pleasure at those words. "How did I get so lucky?" he said, nudging her away slightly so he could lift her arm and spin her.
That made her laugh, her hair swirling out away from her face. She gave him a delighted look. "Must be your charm and good looks, Agent Rossi."
"It always is," he said, grinning.
She snorted as she spun back to him. "And your humility, of course," she added dryly.
"Of course," he agreed, putting his hand on the small of her back and holding her a little closer than before.
He heard her suck in a breath, then she moved close enough that he could feel her hair tickling his cheek. "And maybe it's just because you're people I love too," she murmured.
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