Emily Prentiss One-Shots

Emily/JJ **

Slow Hands - ambiguousem (Ao3)

Rating - Explicit

Someone suggested Jemily. Ask and you shall receive. 

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Emily was lying on top of her, nuzzling her neck while dropping small, open-mouth kisses below her ear. JJ scraped her nails along the expanse of Emily's lower back, tilting her head back and sighing. This whole thing was still relatively new if they weren't counting the years of flirting and non-dating dating.

Emily had been beaten up by the leader of a cult in a compound, and it only took the sight of Emily's face covered in both dry and fresh blood, clutching at her side as the flames began to settle into a long burn behind her for JJ to run forward, throwing her arms around Emily's neck and kissing her deeply in front of the team, survivors and about thirty detectives from the local office.

JJ had been written up.

It was worth it, devastatingly obvious in the six months following when JJ could kiss Emily whenever she wanted, addicted to her taste, the whispered sounds Emily made whenever JJ would sink her teeth into the soft skin stretched across her hipbone, and the yearning almost carnal moans when JJ buried her head between her thighs.

And Emily, God, Emily.

Emily made love to her every single night. Penelope didn't believe her until JJ slowed her speech and held eye contact while whispering "Every. Single. Night."

Every single night Emily would worship her body, on her knees while JJ leant back on her arms, her hands sinking into the mattress, balancing the weight of her torso, Emily licking long and deep into her centre. Emily would push two fingers deep into JJ, her lips on her shoulder, her fingers threading into her hair and pulling. JJ would flail, desperately finding purchase on whatever skin of Emily's she could find, her nails digging into Emily's back.

Her second favourite thing in the world was Emily's lips, only losing out to the winner, Emily's hands.

She was obsessed with Emily's hands, her fingers thin and soft, the white scar on her right palm. JJ noticed Emily's hands all day long, whether her thumbs peaked out from where her hands were shoved into the pockets of her slack, brushing her bangs off her forehead when she was stressed or gripped tightly around her flashlight or gun, her fingertip brushing delicately against the cool metal of the trigger.

And when they finished work, heading back to either one's apartment, Emily's hand would offer her a glass of red, her palm would brush against the small of JJ's back while they cooked together or gripping a pen while JJ would lie back between her legs on the couch, Emily balancing the Times on JJ's stomach as they worked through the crossword together.

JJ didn't have any complaints.

Not really.

She was only stuck obsessing over Emily's hands, often caught in a daydream imagining all the ways Emily could make her feel so immensely full the way she did while still having her hands all over JJ's body.

Honestly, the answer hadn't occurred even now, Emily's hands brushing along the bottom of lace of her bra, her knee pushing slowly in between JJ's thighs. She was embarrassingly aroused, knowing already that when Emily's fingers reached their destination, JJ would not only feel delirious with desire, but a tinge of pink would spread across her chest, betraying JJ's embarrassment. Emily would groan, her eyes wild and dark at the sensation, and JJ would immediately forget all about it.

Emily nipped against her pulse point at the same time as brushing the pads of her thumbs across JJ's nipples, and JJ immediately groaned, her hands jumping to the back of Emily's neck, sliding one hand upwards into the tangles of pitch-black hair.