Gifts

"When the weariness of the road is upon me, and the thirst of the sultry day; when the ghostly hours of the dusk throw their shadows across my life, then I cry not for your voice only, my friend, but for your touch...Put out your hand through the night, let me hold it and fill it and keep it; let me feel its touch along the lengthening stretch of my loneliness." ~Rabindranath Tagore

*Author's Note: With this latest installment, this fic is officially moving up to the M-rating category, so there will be no more warnings before M chapters. Just FYI.*

May 2013. Rural Virginia.

David Rossi stood in the front foyer, his heart in his throat at the sight of the woman standing so casually in his house as if she'd spent her whole life there. He glanced back at the front door, at the carport, which only held one car, to the two security details who hadn't even seemed aware of her presence.

"How'd you get here?" He knew that this wasn't really the time for questions, but his naturally curious mind had to know.

"Taxi," she answered easily, an amused smirk on her lovely features as she watched him try to mentally unravel the little mystery that ended with her in his foyer.

"Do they know?" He motioned back to the black suburban.

"Not yet."

"How the hell did you get in my house?"

With a slightly sheepish grin, she reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a small torsion wrench and half pick on a chain, holding it up as she explained, "I picked up several valuable skills during my stint in Organized Crime."

"Remind me never to piss you off ever again," he quipped, and she laughed in the deep, open way that he loved so much.

"Trust me, I'm the one who should've been scared, sneaking into the house and planning to surprise a man who keeps a Springfield strapped to his hip at all times."

"I see you overcame that fear," he commented, moving closer to her. She moved forward as well, pulling his body into hers.

"Some things are worth the risk."

Her stilettos were higher than the pumps she wore at the office, and now she was just as tall as he was, their current heights mimicking the levels of their faces when they made love—a small detail, but an intoxicating one. She pressed against his chest, kissing the corner of his mouth lightly as she tenderly asked, "Did you enjoy your party?"

"I would have enjoyed it more if you were there," he answered truthfully, the tip of his nose running the length of her jaw, taking in the scent and warmth of her skin. She was wearing a different perfume, something heavier, something darker and much more Erin than the light floral scent that she wore at the office.

She simply hummed, smiling softly as she whispered, "I was too busy engaging in illegal activity on your behalf."

"It's only illegal if you aren't welcome," he reminded her.

"And am I?" Her eyebrow arched in question. She was being playful, but he could still see the brief wave of uncertainty in her green eyes.

His hands traveled the length of her dress, finding the curves hidden by her pleated skirt, "You most certainly are."

She leaned forward again, capturing his mouth with her own, her tongue parting his lips and finding that familiar spark of electricity as it rediscovered the warmth of his. She pulled back, giving another breathless smile as she moved away, grabbing his hand as she led him into the dining room.

On the table sat an ornately carved box, next to another white box with a simple silk ribbon tied around it. Erin turned to him expectantly, practically giddy with excitement and nerves as she motioned to the boxes, "You still have presents to open."

He shook his head softly, smiling at the unexpected tokens of affection. "What is all this?"

"Open the wooden box first," she directed, and he obeyed. Inside the beautifully carved box was a set of his favorite cigars.

"Those are still your favorites, aren't they?" Erin stepped forward nervously. "I remembered those were the ones you ordered last year."

She didn't finish the sentence—last year, at the hotel, when we bumped into each other in the lobby and ended up in bed together again, last year, when you changed everything, when we changed everything, when we started down this road—but he knew all that she was trying to say and capture in this gift.

"They are," he replied with a soft smile. "Erin, you shouldn't have—"

"You still have another gift," she interrupted, waving away his protest and motioning to the simple white box.

With another grin over his shoulder at the adorable woman who seemed more excited about his gifts than he was, David opened the box. Inside lay a black smoking jacket with gold detail. In scrawling script, the initials DR graced the chest.

He felt Erin move closer, felt her breath on his neck as she asked, "Would you like to try it on?"

If he had any doubts about how this night was going to end, they were certainly removed when he turned back around and looked into those captivating eyes, which made no effort to hide the absolute lust shining in them.

Erin Strauss was wooing him. It was novel, after all those years of chasing women, to actually be pursued by one, especially since she already knew that he was caught. He knew that this was also part of Erin's gift to him, because for so many years, she'd refused to let him be affectionate towards her, and she'd shut him out in so many small ways. Now, she was atoning for it, showing him that he wasn't the only one who'd held back those impulses.

He simply nodded, completely entranced by what he saw in those green eyes. Erin's eyes had always been beautiful, full of spark and humor and emotion, but the simple act of darkening her makeup made them seem to glow like coals, capturing him, commanding him, Look at me. Only me.

Those burning orbs were now focused downwards as she turned her attention to the buttons of his shirt. But this was not the frenzied undressing that usually accompanied their nights together—she moved slowly, softly, secure in the knowledge that this time, there was a promise of future experiences. There was no need to rush, to try and devour the other person whole, to try and get enough to tide them over until the next meeting, which may be years from now, if ever. For once in their history together, they had time. It was a beautiful, wondrous new luxury, and Erin was going to make sure that they both enjoyed it to the fullest.

"Cuffs, please," she murmured, and he dutifully held out his wrists, smiling at how adorable she looked as she cocked her head to the side to see the small buttons. She pushed back the fabric and set her lips onto the pulse point on his wrist, her eyes flickering back to his as she left a slow, languorous kiss on the smooth skin. The reaction she saw in those dark hooded eyes set a wave of heat rippling through her body.

She leaned forward again, her mouth connecting to his neck, tasting the warmth of his flesh as her hands quickly unfastened his belt, unzipping his pants and letting them rest on his hips as she pulled the tails of his shirt loose. She pulled the gun and holster off his belt, carefully setting it on the table. Then she reached up, placing a hand on each shoulder as she slowly pushed the shirt off his frame, taking the time to feel the skin and muscles beneath her fingers, leaning in closer so that her chest was flush against his. Her hands moved back up his arms, over his chest, down his sides, her head rolling against his shoulder as she simply enjoyed the solidness of his chest.

"I've missed you," she said quietly, and he understood the depth behind those words—because, like Erin, every time their bodies reconnected, he always felt the strange sensation of home. Of course, tonight the feeling was intensified by the knowledge that perhaps this time, he would be home to stay.

She stepped around him, leaning over to grab the smoking jacket from its box. He shifted, helping her pull the jacket over his arms and shoulders. She took a step back to admire the black silk, which only enhanced his dark features.

Though the heated look in her eyes said it all, David couldn't resist asking, "So, does the lady approve?"

"Well," she stepped forward again, pretending to be uncertain. "I can't get the full effect. I'm going to need to take off your pants, to be sure."

He simply grinned in response as she knelt down, tapping his left ankle, which he lifted so that she could pull off his shoe and sock before repeating the action with his right foot. But instead of rising to her feet again, Erin sank forward on her knees, her hands traveling back up to David's hips, gently pulling his pants and boxers down.

His cock stiffened even more at the cool rush of air against his bare skin, at Erin's soldering eyes as she looked back up at him, silently assuring herself that this was what he wanted. The soft amazement in his eyes was enough to reassure her; she loved being able to inspire such tender expressions on the face that was usually set in a hardened mask, blocking the world from his thoughts and emotions. She felt a tremor in the pit of her stomach at the realization—I do that to him. I pull his defenses down, he lets me see everything underneath. Just me. Only me.

Keeping her eyes locked on his, she gingerly held him with her right hand, her tongue coming out to massage the tip of his cock, slowly remembering the taste of him, which seemed so oddly familiar after so much time and distance. She saw the muscles in his throat tighten, and she felt another flush of heat—his smallest reaction was enough to charge her entire body with electricity, but right now, all she wanted was to give him exactly what he wanted.

She closed her lips around him, taking him in slowly, her hand covering the rest of the shaft. Her tongue and mouth caressed him, her eyes following every sensation, every nuance of his expression as her free hand slowly massaged its way up his thigh, across his pelvis, as far up his chest as she could reach. His hand clasped hers, threading their fingers together, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

The tightness in David's chest wasn't just from the tension that Erin's mouth was building inside of him—he felt a wave of emotion, something close to adoration, for the woman before him. Even now, as she sucked and pulled and licked him (in the middle of his dining room, no less), her other hand was caressing his, the pad of her thumb gently rubbing the inside of his palm, connecting him, grounding him to this moment with her. Her eyes had never left his face, those burning orbs filled with something softer than lust, yet no less intense in its depth.

His other hand went to her face, caressing the curve of her cheek as she continued. It was then that she closed her eyes, her hand breaking away from his as it traveled back down, gripping his hips with both hands as she braced herself for his release. She could feel his muscles tensing beneath her hands, could feel the involuntary jerk of his hips and she knew that he was almost there. His hands were now in her hair, his fingers curling through her locks with a sudden urgency as he felt the familiar rush of fire through his veins.

He came quickly and quietly (which always surprised Erin, because in every other aspect of his life, David Rossi was loud and gregarious, yet when they made love, he hardly made any noise at all—just another secret that she knew, another treasure to keep in her heart). She waited until he was still again before gingerly pulling back, hiding a grimace at the pain in her knees (she wasn't as young as she used to be, and the hardwood floor of the dining room reminded her of that). She gently kissed her way up his abdomen, caressing the muscles of his chest, running her hands over the dark silk of his smoking jacket, silently calming the blood pounding in his veins.

David leaned against the table, watching his lover as she wordlessly traveled into the kitchen. He heard the sink running, heard the cabinets open as she searched for a glass, then she reappeared, water in hand, taking a sip as she casually motioned to his smoking jacket, "I think it suits you quite nicely."

If David wasn't already in love with this woman, that would have sealed the deal—she was standing there, so nonchalant, though her face was flushed and her hair was messy and the smell of sex still hung in the air. She was a dame and half, a powerhouse, a force of nature, and he couldn't help but grin at the realization that finally, he would get to experience every nuance of Erin Strauss in living, breathing color. He imagined that what he felt now was something akin to the thrill that tornado chasers felt whenever they approached a big twister (it may blow us all away, it may tear us all to Kingdom Come, but what an awesome sight it will be).

She studied the smile on his face, thinking she probably knew the motives behind it, but still she gently asked, "What?"

"I'm just thinking of the future," he answered simply, and she grinned in response, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. That was another thing he loved about her—how quickly she could change from vixen to love-struck schoolgirl and back again, how easily she flowed between emotions (though only when she was with him, only when it was just them). He pushed off the edge of the table, wrapping the smoking jacket's sash around him as he entered the kitchen. "C'mon, bella, let's get some dinner."

She simply followed him, an amused smile on her lips as she leaned against the counter, watching her dark-haired love as he moved easily around the large kitchen. Aside from the attire, he looked like he could be hosting a cooking show—each item was set out in an ordered row, cookware and dishes were lined up as well.

He turned on the stove burner, lightly coating the inside of a small pan with olive oil as he gestured to the cutting board, "Everyone works in this kitchen, bella."

She stepped forward hesitantly, "What do you want me to do?"

"Slice and dice the tomatoes. Nice, small pieces."

She gave a slight shrug—it was simple enough—as she picked up the tomatoes which had been placed on the counter, washing them before taking a knife from woodblock next to the stove. David moved behind her, retrieving more ingredients from the refrigerator, taking a moment to appreciate what her stilettos did for the lines in her calf muscles.

"What are we making?" Erin asked, glancing over the items that were already on the counter.

"Crostini Rossi," came the reply, and she simply grinned (of course he's renamed the dish after himself). She felt him shift behind her, brushing closer to her than necessary in this sprawling kitchen. "Prep the tomatoes like you would for bruschetta."

She nodded, popping a small piece of tomato in her mouth, the tartness mingling with the aftertaste of him, and she felt a simple happiness bubbling inside her chest at the domesticity of the moment. It was comforting, being able to engage in something so basic as cooking a meal together. It made this thing between them real, solid, true, something deeper than it had been.

Of course, when David Rossi was involved, even the most domestic of chores became foreplay.

Once he'd placed the slices of baguette in the pan, he had a few free moments to further appreciate Erin's outfit, pretending to trace the outlines of the large buttons across her chest as his fingers sneaked further outward, towards the nipples that were already hardening beneath his fingers.

"The crostini's gonna burn," Erin scolded him, only gently, because, really, she couldn't give a damn about toast when his fingers pressed into her flesh with such achingly delicious precision.

"Are you questioning my cooking skills?" He asked, giving her right nipple a sharp tweak, which earned him a slight gasp.

"Never," she returned playfully, her breasts tightening at the loss of his weight and warmth as he moved back to the stove.

"Would you like me to drop you off at Quantico or at your house tomorrow morning?" He asked in a conversational tone, as if there was no doubt that Erin would not be leaving until the next day.

"My, my," she couldn't help but tease him, shooting him an amused look. "You're quite a presumptuous boy, aren't you, David Rossi?"

He merely returned her grin with a wicked one of his own, "You have no idea."

Those four words held such promise that Erin felt another flash of heat spread through her veins, reigniting the delicious fire that had begun the moment he'd stepped into the foyer. Of course, it didn't help that although David had already found some release, she was still a tingling, dripping bundle of nerves that had yet to be sated. He could be talking about the price of tea in China and her body would still be reacting to him as if he were reading the Kama Sutra aloud to her.

She ducked her head, trying to bring her lust-riddled brain back into the present as she returned to the original question, "Tomorrow's my day off, so you can take me home."

"How early will we have to leave to beat Anna and save you from the walk of shame?" He joked.

"Anna's with her father," Erin answered easily. "She alternates between me and Paul each week."

"I see." There was something in David's voice that informed Erin that he was pleased with this new knowledge, and was probably already figuring out how to work it to his advantage. Naughty, naughty boy.

She waited a beat, taking a breath before adding, "She's already told the others about you. Or, at least what she knows about you. Now Jordan and Christopher are clamoring to meet you."

There was another pause as David contemplated her words, and Erin felt a brief wave of fear—had she pushed too quickly, too soon?

"And what about you?" He asked quietly, his gaze remaining focused on the slices of bread as he flipped them in the pan. "Are you ready for me to meet them?"

She suddenly understood his hesitancy—if she wanted him to meet her children, then she was openly admitting to their relationship, full-heartedly committing to something more, and he wanted to know that it was truly what she wanted (because that was their agreement, she would decide when and if, just like she had all the times before). Her heart swelled again for this sweet, sweet man and his gentle touches and soft questions, his tender martyrdom for her wants and needs and wishes.

"I am," she answered, slightly breathless as a sudden wave of emotions hit her. It was utterly, completely true—she wanted him to meet her children (his son), her brother, even her bitchy sister Carole, she wanted him by her side at holidays and family dinners, on road trips and quiet evenings at home, through every shape of love, in every shade of her life. She wanted him in a way that made her lungs cling to her ribcage, caught with sticky need and unnamable emotion, in a way that made her skin burn and her heart flutter, as her mind prayed: Don't ever let me leave this web you've caught me in, keep me here, love me here, sew me to your side and carry me with you always, because I'll be good and quiet and loving and whatever you want, whatever you need, just never let me go.

She saw the corner of his mouth curl into a smile, saw his shoulders relax (she realized with another pang of love that he'd actually been holding his breath as he awaited her response) as he continued with his culinary endeavors. Now it was her turn to move behind him, wrapping her arms around him as she gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"You do want to meet them, don't you?" She had to ask, even though his response had already answered the question.

"Of course," he replied easily, flipping the toast again, this time sprinkling some herbal mixture over the lightly golden slices. "After all, Jordan and I traveled the country together for months, and we've never actually met face-to-face."

She smiled at the quip, warmly remembering the times they'd spent together during her first pregnancy—he'd even gotten to witness the strange sight of the babe's foot visibly protruding from her mother's side as she slowly began turning, preparing for her own arrival. David had informed Erin that she looked like a victim in the next Alien film, and she'd merely shot him a dark look.

"She's read all of your books, you know," Erin commented, moving back to the cutting board.

"Really?"

"Really," Erin resumed her task, not even bothering to look up as she added. "She thinks you're a brilliant writer."

"Your daughter has good literary tastes."

"I thought you'd say that."

Erin's phone buzzed from her purse, which was still in the dining room, and she clipped back into the other room, finding her phone and answering with an airy, "Erin Strauss."

Her face lit up when she recognized the voice on the other end of the line, "Ruthie! Ruthie, how are you, my darling?"

David looked up, smiling at her excitement—he'd forgotten that she'd adored Rutherford Golden, who was her SAC when she transferred from Philadelphia into the D.C. office. Ruthie was a progressive man who didn't share her previous supervisor Goodwin's views, who had allowed Erin the free reign she needed to truly do her best work, who shared her sharp wit, though his tongue was softened by compassion (something that the younger version of Erin Strauss hadn't quite mastered). It was under his tutelage that Erin had finally come into her own at the Bureau, and David realized sadly that Ruthie was probably one of the only former colleagues that Erin would classify as a friend.

He watched her slowly return to the kitchen, the sway of her hips more pronounced due to her impossibly high heels. She was smiling softly, her gaze unfocused as she listened to Ruthie, cradling her cell phone between her shoulder and her ear as she returned to the cutting board, absentmindedly taking another piece of tomato and popping it in her mouth.

"I know, and I'm so sorry that I had to miss it," she apologized, giving David a knowing grin as she added, "But there was a personal matter that couldn't wait."

Ruthie spoke again, and she nodded, "I'd love that."

Her gaze drifted out to the large windows at the opposite side of the kitchen as she listened to her friend.

"Well, I actually have a meeting first thing tomorrow morning, so how about lunch instead?" She smiled at his response, "Perfect. See you then, Ruthie."

She set her phone on the kitchen counter, grabbing another tomato and resuming her bruschetta responsibilities.

"I thought you were off tomorrow," David commented.

She gave a small smirk, "I am. But it just so happens that I plan on having a very productive and enjoyable conference with one of my agents tomorrow morning."

He bit back a grin as he moved behind her again, his lips touching her ear as he murmured, "You are quite a presumptuous girl, aren't you, Erin Strauss?"

She arched her back, her bottom pressing against his groin as she replied with a naughty grin, "You have no idea."

He chuckled at the response, his hands snaking around to fondle her breasts as he nibbled her ear, which made her giggle and squirm. However her ticklishness disappeared whenever his lips continued downward, following the curve of her hairline, back to the soft skin at the nape of her neck. Erin's head rolled forward, allowing him access, as she braced her hands on the countertop, closing her eyes and taking an unsteady breath as a shiver raced down her spine. David's mouth stopped its ministrations and Erin gave a slight sigh at the loss.

"Erin?"

"Mmm?"

"Those tomatoes aren't going to dice themselves." The teasing in his tone was unmistakable.

"David Rossi, you are a bastard, you know that?"

He simply laughed at his lover's feigned anger, his arms firmly wrapped around her waist as he watched her hands resume their task. He liked the feel of her body moving against him, even in such a menial chore, the steady rhythmic movement of her shoulders against his chest as she sliced and diced, the pulse of the knife on the cutting board creating a staccato beat. Her hips occasionally swayed as she reached for another tomato, transferring the diced pieces into the glass bowl beside the cutting board, as if her body was keeping time to some unheard melody—a habit which he was sure that she didn't recognize (just like she didn't realize that she rolled forward on the balls of her feet whenever she stood in front of the mirror applying makeup), probably something she developed to help her move through the tedious motions of making dinner for her family for countless years.

"What are you smiling at?" She asked, still pretending to be miffed. He didn't ask how she knew that he was smiling, when her eyes were focused on the tomatoes.

"You," he answered simply.

"Me and how you love to torture me so?" She drawled, taking a moment to shoot him an arched look over her shoulder.

"Oh, now, bella," he cooed, his hands moving back around, pressing into the bundle of nerves at the base of her spine, massaging them in slow, luxurious circles. "Surely this isn't torture."

He felt the involuntary arch of her back at the first pressure, felt her muscles slowly melt back into the blissful sensation of his fingers as his mouth returned to her neck.

"It is," she argued, almost too distracted by his touch to even breathe, much less speak (almost).

"Then do you want me to stop?" He asked in a knowing tone.

"No," she admitted, biting her lip as his hands traveled further down, tracing the outline of her hips, moving underneath her skirt. Her body sang with delight as his hands touched her bare skin for the first time all day, a sure sign that deliverance was not far away.

David halted his attentions to her neck as his hands realized that although Erin's calves where cased in nylon, her thighs were bare, which meant...he gave another wicked grin as his fingers found the garter straps.

"You used to have a thing for pinups," she supplied, and he hummed in affirmation.

"Still do." He smiled at the thought that she'd remembered that detail after all these years. Then he realized that tonight was the first time that they'd actually planned to spend the night together, the first time that she'd dressed just for him. His heart raced at the thought of how many more exotic delights lay ahead, now that this thing between them was changing, growing from frenzied hands to slow lovers.

"Done," she announced quietly, interrupting his thoughts. She leaned forward, reaching for the spice rack as David's hand splayed across her ass, relishing the feel of her flesh moving and rippling beneath his fingers. His hand shifted, easily slipping to the warm space between her thighs, smiling at the faint hitch he heard in her breathing as she settled into his hand. To her credit, this time she kept her attention on the basil, which she sprinkled over the diced tomatoes. He could feel the moisture seeping through the silky fabric, and he felt a slight pang at the fact that he'd neglected her obvious needs, after she'd so wonderfully taken care of his own. She'd been so patient, never asking, only offering whatever he wanted, simply because it was (almost) his birthday and because she wanted to make him happy.

Well, it was time to repay the favor. Despite the fabric, David's fingers pressed harder, finding the pulsing bud at her apex. Erin gave a slight hiss, rolling forward on the balls of her feet involuntarily. He began making slow, deep circles, and Erin's head dipped forward again, a hum rumbling in her chest as the first few pressures eased some of the heat and need that had been clamoring inside her for what seemed like an eternity. But relief was temporary, because soon, she felt the familiar tightening, the coiling deep in the caverns of her hips, the feeling of fire radiating from her core as David's fingers continued their steady movements.

He could feel the first light tremors in her thighs, could feel her body tensing as it prepared to topple over the edge—she was going to come undone quite beautifully, and he didn't want to miss a single second of it. He pulled away, turning her to face him, his own body filling with delicious anticipation at the sight of her lust-hazed eyes and flushed face. His hand quickly disappeared beneath her skirt again, this time pushing aside the thin material that separated her bare skin from his fingers. His fingertips feathered around her opening and she widened her stance in response.

"Please," she breathed, bracing herself against the countertop, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge, trying not to melt to the floor.

David moved closer, pressing his left knee against her right, his free hand pressing against the small of her back, keeping her steady as he slowly slipped two fingers inside her hot, silky core. He groaned at how absolutely beautiful she felt as his thumb moved to her clit, her walls clenching against his fingers when he applied pressure. He continued the movements of his hand and her head rolled forward again, her forehead resting against his as she simply focused on his touch, her hips finding sync with the rhythm of his hand. Their mouths were so close, open, sharing the same breath, several loose strands of her hair falling into his eyes as the tips of their noses brushed gently.

She was close; he could feel the rigidness of her body, could feel her holding her breath as she held on to the moment-before-the-fall feeling.

"Erin," he whispered, not knowing what else there was to say, or even what he wanted to say, but it didn't matter, because at the simple sound of her name on his lips, she tumbled into her orgasm, the moan building in her throat as she shuddered around his fingers. He added at third digit, twisting them just-so, and her low moan became a full cry as she sank deeper into his hand, her knees quivering as her arms braced against the counter, keeping her upright.

The moment seemed frozen in time as he simply breathed, waiting for her spasms to quieten, for her to regain composure as she slowly spiraled back down to earth. He reached behind her, pushing aside their cooking endeavors so that he could gently pull her hips up, sitting her on the countertop. She still leaned forward, her face still touching his as her arms wrapped around his neck, keeping him with her in the moment for just a little longer.

"I think I'll have to cook with you more often," he said softly, and this earned him a shaky, breathless laugh from the blonde, who pulled him into a languorous kiss, her fingers gently running through his hair. She was still trying to let her flesh re-gather itself, let her melted bones slowly reform and solidify so that she could stand on her own two feet again. He seemed to understand, because he simply stood there, returning her small kisses and gentle caresses.

"Now," she sat back, an amused grin dancing at the corners of her mouth. "Shall we finish dinner?"

*Author's Note: I actually wrote most of this chapter during a film shoot in a gay bar. You needed to know this, because…well, you just do.*