Chapter Text
Girls’ night has always got rowdy. Ever since the very first one Emily attended, practically dragged there by Penelope’s puppy dog eyes and the flame of attraction that had already started to spark in her belly when it came to Jennifer Jareau, there had been a danger simmering close to the surface. A knowing that it was only a matter of time before something that shouldn’t happen did.
It’s not just the alcohol, it’s also the honesty that comes from being off the clock, the not so subtle scrutiny of one Penelope Garcia as she watches them like subjects in a lab. There’s always been some element of it that sets Emily’s teeth on edge, that reminder that she needs to tread carefully. The knowledge that she probably won’t.
This girls’ night had started out much like any other; tequila poured in heavy commodities, the three of them splayed across the couch and the floor, snacks and glasses gathered around them, debris of a night well had. Emily had leant a little too close to JJ, unable to resist that gravitational pull she had. The reason she always ended up just teetering on the edge of a boundary she shouldn’t cross.
In her defence, JJ had shifted closer, too. The way she always did as soon as the alcohol loosened her up, leaving her giggly and with no concept of personal space, a hand laid across Emily’s thigh, the brush of a socked foot along her calf. Penelope had dropped to the floor, Emily supposes, to further accommodate it, whether intentionally or not.
They had been too drunk to drive home. Too drunk to even pour themselves into a cab, the thought of climbing the stairs to their respective apartment buildings beyond the capabilities of their jello-limbed bodies. So, Garcia had suggested a sleepover. And that was when it had all gone so horribly awry.
That was the exact moment that had led to this one, half an hour or more later.
The warm body pressed to the back of her.
The hand splayed against her belly.
JJ snoring softly into the space between Emily’s shoulder blades.
The pulse pounding between Emily’s legs.
She knows she could move. She should move.
She doesn’t want to.
JJ sighs, shifting against Emily’s spine, hips coming up to cradle Emily’s ass, fingers twitching low against her stomach. So close to where Emily has imagined them buried, but not close enough.
It’s torture, trying to ignore the heat of her there, the knowledge that nothing but two thin layers of cotton stand between her and JJ’s center.
She knows she’s unbearably wet, can feel it spreading across the crotch of her own underwear, so close to where JJ’s fingers are resting. Years of trying not to let it show, of feeling guilty every time JJ gently touches her, somewhere platonic, and the reaction it sparks in Emily being something dirty and repugnant. Unwanted in a way that’s not quite mutual.
And now she’s so close to being found out.
Fucking girls night.
She should have gone to bed in her jeans.
She squeezes her eyes closed, tries to concentrate on her own breathing and not the ache that beats its way through her. Not the scent of JJ’s shampoo, or the way her skin feels, or the movement of her chest against Emily’s back. Anything but that.
It works. For a while, at least. She almost succeeds in falling asleep…
But then JJ moans.
It’s a sound that has Emily’s eyes opening in a flash. A guttural kind of “oh ” that might as well be gasoline, the press of JJ’s fingertips against her abdomen a lit match. She can feel JJ shifting again, the slight rock of her hips, fingers curling into Emily’s flesh with need. Every movement has her tensing more, her pulse loud like a metronome, echoing between her thighs.
If she pretends she didn’t hear it, maybe Emily can erase it from her memory.
“Jayje?” Emily whispers, surprised that her voice exists at all. This must be a dream. This can’t be happening to her. It’s the alcohol playing tricks on her brain. It has to be.
But JJ makes a noise—half squeak, half something else—and freezes.
Her fingers unfurl, loosening their grip immediately, her body peeling away slowly, like JJ is sucking her stomach in, trying to move without giving herself away.
Fuck, Emily thinks. It’s practically a confession.
They lie still in the dark. JJ doesn’t roll away, barely puts an inch of distance between them. Her breathing isn’t steady enough for her to be back asleep, though she’s trying to force it. Emily can feel the slow releases of breath against her neck, unsure if it’s only her own heart she can hear in rich supply, or JJ’s too.
The bed shifts. JJ finally rolling over, Emily thinks, relieved. But then there’s her fingers against the jut of Emily’s hipbone, the warmth of her body as it curls back around her.
Emily’s afraid to move. She’s afraid to breathe.
This is ridiculous—she’s the wrong side of 35 and acting like a teenager.
But, what feels like an age later, when she finally allows herself to move, the comforter shifts with her, and the throb between her legs repeats itself tenfold, threatening to spill her open.
And, worst of all, JJ just moves closer.
“Emily.”
The sound creeps between her lips, low and uncertain, and folds itself tight against the too-taut muscle in Emily’s belly.
She can’t respond, can only just manage to swallow, dipping her head in a mechanical nod.
“I want to…” JJ sighs, and Emily’s so attuned to her movement, like she can feel the words leaving her throat, hanging on every last one of them, “I’m scared. Of ruining it. Ruining us.”
You won’t, she wants to say, wrapping it up neatly with paper and string, but she knows that she can’t. That as much as this current running between them makes her want to do something reckless and impulsive, there’s consequences, and it would be unfair to pretend there aren’t. Emily’s bad at relationships, and she’s bad at letting people in wholly, and she’s only just reached a place where she thinks she might allow herself to come undone at someone else’s hands without splitting in two. If she lets herself fall, really fall for someone, she’s afraid of what might happen.
(But she’s afraid of what won’t if she doesn’t).
“I know,” she says instead, voice like grazed skin, her pinky brushing over the length of JJ’s.
They’re both drunk. It’s better if they don’t, if they shelve this conversation for another time. Or better yet, never have it at all.
But there’s a voice in the back of Emily’s head that’s telling her this moment is pivotal. That there’s a chance she’ll regret this for the rest of her life if she doesn’t. She sees a future where she and JJ exist as two parallel lines, threatening to converge, but never quite touching. The long, lingering looks fade with time, but the scars they leave behind don’t. Emily doesn’t think she could bear it. A lifetime of not knowing.
It’s not because of the alcohol, or the way her body is reacting to JJ’s molded so perfectly around hers.
It’s the first brave thing Emily’s done since meeting her, and she barely has to move an inch. Just turn a little.
JJ lets her, watching in a way that uses her full body.
Emily’s breath ghosts across JJ’s skin, and she’s close enough to see the fine, golden hairs rise in response. The way her bottom lip trembles. Her chest expanding.
“Can I…?”
It’s less of a nod than an involuntary movement of her head. Emily waits, wanting audible confirmation, something undeniable, instead of just the shared breath, the warmth of JJ’s forehead not quite touching hers.
JJ’s eyes dart to her mouth, up again. They’re so close that there’s the phantom sensation of JJ’s eyelashes fluttering against Emily’s skin, the unsteady rise and fall of JJ’s chest a staccato that matches her own perfectly.
“Jay…”
It’s not even quite a word, just a sound, a sigh, a breath cut off at its root.
And then JJ is kissing her.
It’s meant to be careful. An experiment—a question to be answered. Quick, gentle. A controlled flame.
But of course it isn’t that.
JJ kisses her and the air leaves the room.
Every word, every thought, in every language Emily knows, is abandoned. Every reason for why this might be a bad idea suddenly shrinks down to something insignificant, microscopic. The world narrows to just this, just JJ’s lips against hers, and the taste of Penelope’s toothpaste, the scent of day-old perfume.
Emily’s hands cup JJ’s jaw, guiding her closer. This collision of bodies feels inevitable, JJ’s thigh nudging between Emily’s as though it’s done it a hundred times before. As though it isn’t setting a fire under every last piece of restraint either of them had. JJ’s palm against her ribs, up under her shirt, is all the kindling it takes. Her mouth opens, gasping. Immediately, JJ takes advantage of the access, deepening the kiss, dragging her tongue across the edge of Emily’s bottom lip, nipping at it, urging her closer still.
Eventually, they both have to come up for air. It’s reluctant, their foreheads meeting after all, Emily’s fingers tangled in messy blonde strands, trying to catch her breath, feeling JJ do the same, but desperate to stay connected.
“God.”
JJ huffs out a breathless laugh, the “yeah” that follows barely a sound, more of a taste on Emily’s tongue, leaving her hungry for more.
She can’t resist pressing their mouths together again. Savouring the way JJ groans into the kiss, the rhythm of her body, flush to Emily’s, until she feels drunk on it. Drunker.
Slow, steady fingers brush against the underside of Emily’s breast, her nipples already pebbling painfully against the cotton of the shirt Penelope had leant her. It’s impossible not to arch into it, to encourage JJ’s exploration, to match it with her own. It’s worth it for the sound JJ makes when Emily tugs her hair, one hand sliding down to the small of her back, dangerously close to the waistband of her underwear.
But, then, a noise on the other side of the wall gives her pause.
It’s a miracle it’s audible at all over the sound of their heavy breathing. A slight shift of a mattress, a spring creaking, bed frame adjusting.
It comes as a sobering reminder of where they are and who is on the other side of the flimsy wall Emily’s head is inches away from. Her reaction feels not dissimilar to the way she tenses at a raid, hand wrapped around her weapon, listening for footsteps. Only, her heart hammering at the space just north of where JJ’s fingers are splayed is more violent than it ever is on the job.
JJ hovers over her, eyes dark with want, and it’s almost enough to cut through the sudden apprehension that’s taken its grip, but not quite.
Of course JJ notices the shift, not putting words to it, but tilting her head slightly, self consciousness creeping in around the sides.
“I want to,” Emily croaks, echoing JJ’s words from earlier, aiming for a whisper, but her voice sounds achingly loud, “but…”
JJ’s eyes dart to her lips, then back up, fingers curling backward slightly. The way she’s staring at her, like the weight of everything that’s ever existed between them is hanging by a thread, stabs at Emily. She doesn’t know how to fix it, can’t think of anything but kissing her, but then things will escalate again.
“But?”
“But I really, really don’t want our first time to be on Garcia’s futon, with her sleeping less than a foot away.”
She expects JJ to laugh. That soft breathy sound that had made every inch of Emily ache with want since before they’d even touched one another.
But JJ lifts an eyebrow, a slow smirk tugging at her kiss-bruised lips, “our first time?”
“Yeah.”
JJ shifts, pressing her leg firmer to the apex of Emily’s, devouring the reaction it gets.
“So… we’re doing this?” Her gaze holds Emily’s so intensely it burns. There’s still a hint of uncertainty behind it, masked by the confident way her hand drifts upwards, touch so gentle it makes Emily groan, like JJ is half expecting Emily to say it’s a mistake after all.
She bobs her head in a silent yes, not quite able to form the word, not when JJ’s touching her like that.
“Just… not here?”
Her fingers brush Emily’s nipple, and it takes every inch of her control not to moan, loud and guttural and definitely enough to wake Penelope.
“No,” Emily stutters, rolling her hips involuntarily, eyes slipping closed.
And just like that the pressure is gone. The loss of the warmth of JJ’s body leaving her feeling bereft, confused.
She opens her eyes to find JJ has climbed out of bed, already has jeans halfway up her legs.
A bark of laughter escapes before Emily can stop it.
JJ chucks Emily’s bra in her direction, and it shouldn’t be as hot as it is.
“Come on,” she says, buttoning her jeans, “I’ll book us a cab.”