Part Two: Turn.

"Love begins with an image; lust with a sensation." ~Mason Cooley

If Emily Prentiss had one major character flaw, it would be her own sense of nihilism and self-annihilation, the way she couldn't seem to leave any situation without destroying any bit of good that remained—perhaps it was a safety mechanism, a way of keeping herself from looking back with wistfulness or longing, a way of ensuring that she ran into her next phase of life with open arms, grateful for some kind of refuge from the catastrophes of her own making. Tonight, however, it was definitely not a shield, but rather a weapon. Her fingers were trembling, looking for kindling, for anything to burn, and Erin Strauss had given her just that—a chance to destroy something, which she took with both hands.

It took a moment for Erin to register what was happening—Emily had lunged forward, grabbing the back of Erin's head and pulling her mouth forcefully against her own. Erin let out a small gasp of surprise and Emily used it to push her tongue into the older woman's mouth, feeling a spark of electricity when it brushed against Erin's.

Her green eyes looked up and she was surprised to see Emily's brown ones still locked onto hers, hard and challenging. Emily's hands moved down her spine to the curve of her waist, pulling her closer as her tongue forged deeper in.

The pressure of the younger woman's body against hers made Erin's knees quake and suddenly she realized with utter clarity that she'd unleashed a tempest without fully thinking of the consequences. She'd pushed without any thought of being shoved back.

Emily's fingers dug into her flesh and Erin tried to stop the moan that filled her throat, but a whimper still escaped. She closed her eyes in shame (a point for Emily, she found a weak spot), but she could still feel the brunette's smile against her mouth. She'd been the first to flinch, the first to cave, and that made her angry. But the best defense was a good offense, and that was the only tactic Erin Strauss knew—meet all force with equal or greater force.

So she went on offense, grappling the lapels of Emily's jacket with both hands, pulling her further into her mouth, darting her own tongue around the curve in Emily's. She felt the younger woman's body stiffen in surprise, but it quickly melted back against her own. She leaned back, feeling Emily's body pull with hers, feeling the wanting, the need to stay connected, and now it was her turn to smile.

She broke the embrace, a smirk still on her lovely features, "You're very good at taking orders, Agent Prentiss."

Her lips were red, raw and pounding from Emily's attack, and Emily couldn't tear her eyes away from them. They were tart and smoky, tasting of whiskey and sin and darkness and something unknown.

"I…I do what I can, ma'am," Emily replied, deciding to follow this line of conversation wherever it went. Strauss had started the game, she'd set the rules, and though Emily had no idea what either was, she would play them right down to a tee.

This retort earned her a low chuckle from the older woman, who dragged the edge of her bottom lip between her teeth. Her eyes (deep grey now, the color of the sea before a storm) were focused lower, on the heavy pulse at the base of Emily's neck, and the wonder in her eyes was unmistakable (I do that to her, I can create that in her).

Emily's eyes flicked over to the credenza behind Strauss' desk, where a single tumbler sat. There wasn't an alcohol bottle beside it (Erin had stashed it away again), but she could still see the sheen of moisture at the bottom of the glass. She wondered how many drinks she'd had, how far gone she was—too far to know what she was doing?

Erin's gaze followed her own, and she seemed to read the younger woman's mind. Briefly, she flitted to the fearful thought that Agent Morgan had said something, had warned Emily of her problem, but Morgan didn't seem like a gossip and Emily didn't wear that pitiful expression that most people did when confronted with her alcoholism.

"I've had a nightcap. One." Her light eyes found Emily's dark ones, and she tried to telepath the meaning behind those words.

Emily seemed to understand, because she nodded quickly, blinking and swallowing back a wave of nerves as the full impact of the situation hit her like a tidal wave (this is so wrong she's a superior my superior what are you doing Emily this is a bridge you don't want to burn).

But that was just it. Strauss wasn't her superior. Not anymore. And this was a bridge she wanted to burn—a bridge she wanted to set fire to and dance about with fear and wonder at the delicious heat. She wanted to watch the flames rise, to let the smoke and soot tangle in her dark tresses, to let it change the color of her skin and cloud her eyes and muddy her judgment, and in the morning she could wash it all away if she wanted to, pretend it never happened in the cold light of day. But daybreak was ages away, and right now, she wanted this much more than she wanted a clean conscience.

"You don't have to do this," Erin spoke softly. She'd seen the hesitation, the fear and the uncertainty, and it had been a stab at her heart. Yes, she'd wanted to punish Emily in some way, to make her realize what she was truly doing by leaving, to make her understand the frustration and disappointment—but she didn't want to hurt her, certainly never wanted to be the cause of the fear in those big brown eyes. Suddenly she felt stupid—she was a bully, an idiot, and oh, gods above, why did she do it? She fumbled for an explanation, a way to mend whatever wound she'd placed on this woman's soul, "I would never…I don't even know why…I'm…I'm sorry."

She stumbled back, moving towards the door to open it, to release the poor caged creature she'd pushed and shoved into reacting, this meek animal who'd been baited into attacking.

Emily was beside her again, her hand clasping over Erin's as it clutched the doorknob.

"No."

Erin looked up, surprised by the response.

Emily didn't move her hand. She leaned forward, her dark eyes seeking out those light ones, which were reflecting back her own feelings of fear and uncertainty and something else (wanting, please let that something else be wanting, the same wanting flickering across my skin like heat lightning).

"I just want to be sure," Emily spoke in a low tone. "I just don't want it to be something…I didn't think you felt that way, and I just—"

"I didn't," Erin gushed. Her heart plummeted at the crestfallen expression on Emily's face. "I mean, I didn't think I felt that way before, it just…something just happened. And now I don't know."

Emily simply nodded in understanding.

"What…what about you?" There was a strange, almost hopeful, note in Erin's voice. "Did you feel this way before?"

"No. At least I don't think so," Emily pulled her hand away, and Erin flinched at the loss of heat. "I've never thought about it, I guess."

Erin gave a small nod. Her eyes strayed to the pale flesh of Emily's chest, to the light, almost indiscernible scar over her left breast that fluttered with her uneven breath (that monster left that mark on her, that man who is responsible for Emily's departure, for her fear and uncertainty and displacement...gods, I'd kill him if he weren't already dead). Erin realized that this would be the last time she saw that scar, the last chance she had to touch that flesh, to find out just what this little chemical thing was between them, the thing that had always been there but never explored, never tested like this.

"Let's not think," Erin suggested, leaning closer. She could smell the tang of whiskey on Emily's breath—the taste from her own mouth, the taste she'd put in Emily's mouth with her own tongue—and heat flooded her body again. She'd been attacked by that mouth, she'd reclaimed it, branded it and made it her own, and that alone intoxicated her brain more than the shot of whiskey had.

Emily swiveled and pressed her back against the heavy metal door, her eyes lowering to Erin's mouth again, where a small feline smile now danced around the edges. Her chest rose and fell erratically as she gave a quick nod of acquiescence.

Erin gave a low hum of approval, her grin widening. She was a hunter, a natural born predator, and every fiber of her being sung at the promise of the chase. During the twenty-six years of her marriage, she'd rerouted those instincts into her career field, using them in a solely professional setting, and they had served her well (so well, through promotions and unexpected victories and firestorms of every shape and size). But her marriage was dead and buried, and those instincts were starting to push (demand, scream, force) their way back into other arenas. She'd never chased a woman (never kissed one, never wanted one like this), but that only added to the challenge and Erin was nothing if not one born and built for challenges.

She placed both hands firmly on the door, effectively hemming the brunette in. She leaned forward, her lips tracing the curve of the jawline, the lean line of the neck, the slight indention of the collarbone that peeked out from beneath the tousled t-shirt and jacket, never making full contact, but simply ghosting her breath along the lines, taking in the scent of her, the light pulse of her veins, the way goosebumps spread across the pale flesh that sang and tingled with anticipation. She heard Emily's head softly bump against the door as she looked up, arched forward, silently begging for Erin's lips to actually touch her skin.

She slowly (tantalizingly, achingly, cruelly) made her way back up the neck, smiling as she heard Emily bite back a sigh of frustration (no, she'd never done this to a woman, but in some ways, a woman was just like a man, and that was a creature whom she knew how to unravel quite beautifully). With a soft sigh of her own (the breath rippling across Emily's skin, hot and damp and promising so many more dark things to come), she leaned in, placing a kiss on the soft flesh behind her ear before traveling just a few inches down to sink her teeth into her neck—a light, tentative nip, which was quickly salved by her hot tongue. Emily whimpered and Erin hummed again, knowing she'd hit her mark. She used her teeth again, harder, and the whimper became a gasp as Emily's head rocked forward and her own lips found purchase on Erin's shoulder, which was sadly covered by clothing. That would not do. That would not do at all.

Emily gently pushed the offending fabric away, being careful not to disturb her former boss, who was slowly making her way back down her neck, one bite, one deep sensuous massage of the tongue at a time. She took a moment to marvel at the lightly freckled skin before slipping her arms under Erin's, snaking them back up her shoulder blades and pulling the other woman forward as her mouth made contact, mimicking Erin's movements by planting her own teeth in Erin's flesh.

A laugh rumbled in Erin's throat, rippling against Emily's pulse like a gentle wave at the edge of the sand. However, Emily did not think that it was such a laughing matter and she suddenly sucked hard on the skin, causing Erin to gasp in surprise and the slightest hint of pain. When she pulled away, she could already see the purple and red brewings of a hickey, and she fought back a self-satisfied smile. Erin would have a mark to remember her by in the morning, and for some reason, that pleased her (You can't wash it away in the morning, I've staked my claim on you, you can't pretend I wasn't here, I've left my signature scrawled across your flesh and I'll leave many more before this is through, oh yes oh yes I'll leave no doubt that I was here).

She traced her tongue to the base of Erin's throat, pushing the woman's chin upward so that she had unrestricted access as she sucked and pulled at the skin, her hands slowly moving back around, sliding up to her breasts, taking a moment to knead them before traveling further up, wrapping around Erin's neck and pulling her forward again, making more marks, staking more claims (I was here, and here, and here).

Erin grabbed Emily's wrists, pushing her back, pinning them against the door as she lunged forward again, capturing Emily's mouth with her own and pressing her body against the younger woman's, pushing her into the door.

For a moment, the brunette surrendered, her knees buckling as she sank, lowering her body until Erin fully hovered over her (it's what you want, isn't it, you want me to capitulate, you want to know that you've caught your prey).

But Erin's teeth came out again; she bit Emily's bottom lip, dragged her teeth over it, bruised it as she pushed further in with her tongue (not yet, not yet, give me something more, don't be so easily won).

Emily understood the unspoken request, and she gladly obliged—Erin gave a gasp of surprise as Emily surged forward with a guttural growl of her own, pushing the woman back several feet and breaking all physical contact completely.

The blonde stumbled backwards, blindly reaching out behind her and catching herself on the edge of a chair. There was a moment of stunned silence.

Emily rose to her full height, and suddenly it felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Her eyes never left Erin's face (those eyes so wide with shock and lust, that mouth so red, so open and wanting) as her hand slid across the metal plate behind her, finding the doorknob and locking the door. A wicked grin (oh, she's a hunter, too, she can chase and dive and catch her prey between her talons) blossomed across her face as she stepped forward with one weighted, deliberate step. The step of a panther who knows that it has cornered the frightened fawn, the step of a lioness whose prey is already bleeding and panting on the ground, the assured movements of a victor.

Erin felt her knees quake again (with anticipation, with delicious anticipation) and she realized that, once again, she'd underestimated the vulnerable brunette with the Bambi eyes. She was quite certain that the tables were turned. Emily's eyes were dark, darker than she'd ever seen them, her lips red from Erin's own lips and teeth—the hunted had tasted blood and grown fangs and realized that she wanted to be the hunter. But there can only be one hunter in this game, and if you aren't the predator, then you are the prey.

"This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last." ~Oscar Wilde