Title: Swagger
Author: Lil
Feedback address: tarnishandtears@gmail.com
Date in Calendar: 17 June 2010
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Penelope Garcia
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1354
Spoilers: None
Advertisement: Part of the FSAC:DD10

Disclaimer: "Criminal Minds", the characters, and situations depicted are the property of The Mark Gordon Company, Touchstone Television, Paramount, ABC, and CBS. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Criminal Minds", CBS, or any representatives of the actors.

Beta: Thanks to Olizashihar for the beta

The first thing that catches your attention is that ass. Long, lean legs encased in pinstriped trousers end in a lush, apple bottomed booty. She's sauntering passed you towards the bar, hips rolling with every confident step.

You've been coming to this queer-friendly bar for a couple of weeks now, ever since your relationship with Kevin finally fizzled out. You haven't told anyone at work about it, mainly because you're not as heartbroken about it as they would expect you to be. Boys can be so needy sometimes, and while normally you don't mind at all, lately you've found yourself in the mood for something a little more sultry... a little more fierce. This is what brings you to Twist on your nights off, sitting back with a watermelon martini and eyeing the crowd.

You've seen some beautiful and sexy women here. Tall ones, short ones. Girls who wear makeup and ones who don't. Long hair for pulling and tiny little titties on display for everyone to see. It makes for a luscious contrast against your own ample cleavage, prominently displayed in your favorite teal corset.

Everyone is on display here, and it all looks good, especially that juicy number at the bar. Finally, you're turning your attention to black stiletto-heeled boots (you approve), the white long-sleeved top and the matching striped vest. Black hair is pulled sleekly back into an elegant French twist, showing off a slim neck you can already imagine laying kisses along the length of. She's leaning idly against the bar, making time with the bartender, and you kind of want her to turn around, so you can see if the front side is just as nice as that back side.

But you can wait. Your martini glass is half full; so if you finish it before tall, dark and sexy has a chance to turn around, you might just find yourself next to her while you order another.

The crowd is heavy tonight. People move in and out of your way as you continue to scan the bar for other available eye candy.

Then she turns to sit on a barstool. There's a baby punk dyke in front of you, distracting with her spiked collar and clashing eyeliner, so you still can't get a good look at her face, but there is no mistaking that tell-tale bulge around her hips. Eyes wide, you lean back in your seat and fan yourself idly. You do have an appreciation for a woman who packs in public. Your tongue comes out to touch your lips, possibilities swirling in your head.

She looks to be alone, but you doubt it'll stay that way for long. Maybe you should go up and introduce yourself?

You finish your drink quickly and then get up, moving through the crowd with a flirtatious glance here, a curve of your lips there. Some other girl beats you to it, and your heart stops as the stud turns to smile at the tartlet. You know her. That's Emily.

This calls for a retreat. You need to think about your next move - if indeed you make any at all. Knowing that it's Emily doesn't take away the hotness factor of a girl in a strap-on; if anything it exponentially increases it. Emily is smart, funny, and geeky. She's got this beautiful, brave soul and a stubborn streak a mile wide. You've always been a little besotted by her, but it's never been an issue. First, there was Kevin, and then as far as you knew, she wouldn't have been interested. Judging by the way she's running a fingertip down that tart's arm, though...

You need to think about this.

You toss the bouncer a wink and a half-smile as you leave the bar, thoughts swirling. Are you looking for a one-night stand or something more? Emily doesn't seem like the casual kind. And you did just get out of a semi-serious relationship.

But you're getting ahead of yourself. You don't even know if she'd be interested in you, much less in the hearts and flowers forever kind of way.

You have a hard time falling asleep. You're preoccupied with what you saw in the bar, and fantasies of the way it could have gone, if it hadn't been her. Those fantasies, of course, end up morphing into fantasies of Emily. You wonder what she's into, where her limits are, and if they're compatible with yours. You sigh, and curl a little more tightly into your pillow, and resolutely begin stringing code in your head: nonsensical gibberish that, if run, would execute a program of kittens playing with cherries. You know this code like you know the alphabet, and soon enough, you're on the edge of sleep. A part of you wishes like hell that you weren't alone.

The next morning, you hole up in your office and try to avoid the questioning gazes of those damned nosy profilers. Every single one of them has noticed that you're having difficulties meeting Emily's eyes. Derek's even kind enough to ask if you're running a fever, as you look a little flushed. Jerk. You dart a glance at Emily. She's watching you with concern, head tilted to the side, smooth dark hair swinging and catching the light. You're fine, you say, just a little preoccupied.

JJ calls you all to the Round Table Room - then there's nothing to be done but concentrate on how you can best provide your boys and girls with all the information they need to come home safely. The details of the case are laid out in all their icky, gory glory. You shudder and look away as the rest of them eye the photographs with a well-practiced clinical detachment. Wheels up in forty-five, and you hurry back to your haven to pull up flight itineraries and keep an idle watch on air traffic.

It's just your luck that the object of your infatuation chooses now to knock on your door.

"Hey. Is everything okay?"

"Oh! Of-of course it is!" You stammer out a reply as you start stringing code on an empty screen, hoping to look busy. "Everything's fine."

She doesn't believe you. "It's just that you seem a little flustered today."

You could brush it off. You know she'll let you get away with it. You also know that you'll kick yourself later if you don't say anything now. "Did you have a good night last night?"

Emily raises her eyebrows at the apparent non sequitur and nods. "Yeah. I felt like company, so I went out and had a drink."

"I know. I, uh, I saw you. At Twist."

Emily rocks back on her heels a little. "Ahh." Her gaze is dark and searching. "You could have said hello."

You shrug a little. "You looked like you were a little busy." You can feel your face heating as you glance up at her and then away again. "And to be honest, I didn't want to have to compete for your attention."

You'll never understand why you can flirt with Derek all day long, but when it matters, you get flustered and shy.

Emily stares at you, head tilted at that angle that says she's considering her next words carefully. "How's Kevin?"

You offer a half-smile. "I cut him loose a few weeks ago. I just wasn't feeling it anymore."

Derek calls for Emily and she waves him on, then turns back to you. "We're not done here," she warns as she takes two steps forward and then crouches in front of you. "But for the record, you will never have to fight for my attention. Who can compete with a goddess?"

She smiles warmly and draws a feather-light touch over your arm as she rises, then leaves even as you're still reeling, a warm glow unfurling in the pit of your stomach. Five seconds later, you pounce on your keyboard and pull up the surveillance cameras. A fond smile curls the corners of your mouth as you watch the slender line of her leave.

Every step is a swagger.