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It's hard, getting Ema out of the lab. Which is not something he would have expected, given how much she loves bitching about work. But she's always got one more DNA analysis to process, one more set of prints to run. On more than one occasion he's fallen asleep at her desk while waiting for her, snoring into the quiet as she tests just one more--always one more!--piece of evidence with Luminol.

So it's nice, spending an afternoon in the park together. They even got one of those checkered picnic blankets, and Ema made sandwiches--ridiculously big sandwiches stuffed with, perhaps, the meat of an entire hog.

Apollo's feeling sleepy, having just devoured half a pig by way of ham sandwich. He yawns, resting his book on his chest. Next to him, sharing the bookbag they're using as a pillow and with her nose in a book of her own, Ema steals a sidelong glance at him.

"You know what sucks about summer?" she asks, apropos of nothing.

"Um, it's hot?" he asks, squinting up at the sun.

"Scientifically speaking, yes. However, I was going to be a bit more specific."

"It's really hot?" he offers.

She gives him one of those smirks where he's not sure if she's laughing with him or at him. "What sucks is being on your period and wearing a pad on a hot day."

"Huh," he says. That certainly wasn't what he'd been expecting. "I imagine that would suck."

She nods, turning back to her book. "I've got, like, the worst chafing ever right now."

"Very sexy," he says dryly.

"I thought you'd think so."

Back at his apartment, Ema makes a beeline for the bathroom, purse still slung over her shoulder. When she reappears in the kitchen, Apollo hands her a glass of lemonade--which she finishes in one gulp, immediately holding out the glass for more--and asks, "Feeling better?"

She raises an eyebrow, then smiles when she realizes what he means. "Why yes, I am feeling rather fresh."

"Can I ask you something?" he asks, handing back her glass, now full once more. He pours another for himself, then they both take a seat at the kitchen table.

"Fire away, Slugger."

He shakes his head--he has a love/hate relationship with her constant, ridiculous nicknames--and asks, "Why don't you just wear a tampon?"

"Well, there's toxic shock syndrome to worry about, although admittedly it's pretty rare, especially if you use them properly. But mostly they're uncomfortable."

He takes a sip of his lemonade, considering, and then asks, "More uncomfortable than a pad?"

She nods. "They're fine going in, but sometimes I'm just constantly aware of them once they're up there and it feels really weird. And pulling them out? Ouch."


"Although, I wonder if there's just something weird with my vagina. When I do wear tampons, I use the ones sized for teens and they still kind of hurt coming out." She pauses, giving him the eye. "And I swear to god, if you say anything about the implied tightness of my vag..."

His eyes go wide as he chokes on his lemonade. Ema is so blunt, he's still not quite used to it. He manages, "I definitely wasn't going to."

"Good." She leans back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest. She's giving him a look he can't quite decipher.

Smiling cautiously, knowing he may well be opening a can of worms with this, he asks, "What?"

She's got her Scientist--capital S!--face on now, leaning forward to prop her elbows on the table. He half expects her to whisper, share some sort of secret, but at a normal volume she asks, "Have you ever had period sex?"

The look on his face isn't one of disgust--just shock--so Ema figures she's probably got some pull here. She can't help but smile as he very calmly answers, "Why no I have not."

"Yeah, me neither. Always wanted to though." Leaning back again, she leers at him a little. No subtlety here.

"I can't say I've ever given it too much thought."

"I just wonder if it's different, you know? And there's only one way to find out..."

"Thorough and repeated testing?" Apollo guesses.

Ema nods, grinning. "We must be proper scientists."

"Wouldn't it be kind of messy?" he asks, wary.


He looks at her, at the hesitant hope in her eyes and, knowing there's a distinct possibility that he's biting off more than he can chew here, concedes, "Alright. For science."

"For science!" she echos, pumping a fist into the air. And not a second later, she's out of her chair and into his lap. He laughs, moving his hands to her hips.

"Well hello," he says, smiling up at her.

"Hello, Champ," she says, a softness to her voice that he hears only in moments like this.

She leans down to kiss him, gently at first, slipping her tongue past his lips and exploring slowly, lazily. But honestly, neither of them is ever so patient, and it's not long before they're nipping at each other's lips, hands twisting roughly in each other's hair.

Apollo lets out a disappointed whine when she suddenly moves off of him, standing in the center of the kitchen. He looks up at her, confused.

"We should probably move onto the linoleum in case there's, you know, a mess," she explains.

He wrinkles his nose. "Very romantic."

"I'm just being practical. And scientific. Now take off your shorts and get on the floor." He bites his lip, staring at her, and she smiles, asking, "You kind of liked that, didn't you?"

He shrugs, standing, and looks up at her through his lashes slyly as he starts on his belt.

She smiles, watching him, but then suddenly her lips twist into a frown. "I'll be right back."

He watches her dash off into the bathroom. He's got his shorts around his ankles at this point, and he wonders whether or not he should wait for her to get back before undressing further. He decides on going most of the way, stripping down to his boxers.

He feels kind of foolish, standing around his kitchen in nothing but his underwear.

"Okay!" Ema says brightly, throwing open the bathroom door. She's naked, leaning against the doorframe and wearing an exaggerated come-hither expression. He'd laugh except that it is, somehow, more alluring than it is silly.

"Come over here," he says, his voice a few registers lower than usual. Ema's cheeks pink, but she hurries over.

As soon as she's within reach he grabs her around the waist, pulling her to him. She tugs at his boxers, trying to get him out of them, but he's having none of it, too busy following the curve of her neck with his lips.

"Seriously," she says, shivering pleasantly as his breath dances over her skin, "I can't fuck you if you keep these on."

He laughs, even as arousal shoots down his spine, and he moves away from her, letting her slide the boxers down his legs so he can step out of them, kicking them under the table. He feels her smile against his skin as she moves back into his embrace, resting her lips against his shoulder, not quite a kiss.

He lets his hands move over her body, enjoying the now familiar curve of her ass, the weight of her breasts. She arches appreciatively under his touch, letting her own hands move over his back, down his arms as she kisses her way up his jaw, moving eagerly to his lips.

His instinct is to reach between their bodies, slip his hand between her legs and press his thumb against her clit, make her writhe and squim against him. But he remembers at the last minute that she's not exactly available for that sort of touching, not unless he wants her menses all over his hands, and honestly he's just not quite there yet.

So instead he skirts his fingers over her thigh, through the dark thatch of hair between her legs, and she shudders in anticipation of the touch they both know isn't coming.

"We need to lie down," she says quietly, her breath quivering as his mouth moves over her chest.

They try to move to the floor without breaking contact, which results in much stumbling and laughter, but they make it in one piece, Apollo on his back and Ema straddling him, legs on either side of his hips. His erection is pressing hot and hard against her thigh, and for the first time he catches a look of uncertainty on her face.

"Hey," he says, reaching out to run a soothing hand down her arm. "I really want to do this, okay?

"You're sure? Because I'm not going to lie to you: there exists the possibility that this might end up being gross."

"We're scientists," he says seriously, and she laughs, leaning down to kiss him, running her thumb along his jaw affectionately.

"Alright then," she says quietly, her breath ghosting against his cheek. She reaches between them, wrapping her fingers around his shaft, and guides him into position, both of them letting out a gasp as he pushes inside of her.

He notices immediately the incredible warmth, so much more intense than usual. She moves over him, against him, and he watches her face, watches her eyes screw shut, her teeth dig into her bottom lip.

She's slicker than usual, almost like when they're in the shower. He glides easily inside of her, and she moans, pressing back hard, her hair falling into his face as she leans forward. He reaches up, tucks the wayward strands behind her ears, and she leans into the touch, brushing her cheek against his knuckles.

She feels electric, a tingling all over her body. She feels simultaneously more and less sensitive than usual, the pleasure less intense at her sex but spreading warmly throughout her entire body. She feels almost light-headed as the sensation rolls through her in waves, and she thrusts hard against him, hearing him moan beneath her.

"Is it good?" he asks, trying to read her face, looking for any subtle differences in her expression.

"It's sort of incredible," she breathes. "Like you're touching me all over, almost. You?"

"It's so warm," he manages, and then she twists her hips, and he gasps, eyes going wide.

She smirks. "Guess that means it's good."

He makes some unintelligible murmur of agreement, grabbing her hips and pulling her down harder, pushing his own hips up to meet her, slamming into her. She's got her hand around his biceps now, digging her nails into the skin she finds there, leaving deep crescents in his flesh.

It's the warmth that does him in, so intense and all around him, and he thrusts into Ema twice more, hard, and then pulls out of her abruptly, spilling onto his belly. Ema watches him, watches the way his jaw tenses, the way his brow crinkles, and she reaches between her legs to bring herself off along with him.

Spent, Ema rolls off of him and onto her back to lie next to him on the cool linoleum. Absently, she wipes her fingers against her leg.


Beside her, Apollo nods his agreement. As he lays there, sated and not quite ready to investigate the lingering stickiness at his thighs, he hears Ema rooting through her bag.

"I hope you're getting tissues."

"We need to record our observations as soon as possible, while they're still fresh in our minds," she says, locating her notebook and pulling it from her purse.

"You're kidding."

"Scientists never kid," she chides. He looks over at her, and she's grinning. It occurs to him that she might be messing with him.

"So," she starts, sitting up. "You said that it was warm. Could you elaborate?"

Her pen hovers over the paper, waiting for his reply. He rolls his eyes and sits up, ready to indulge her until he notices the faint tinting of red covering his thighs.

"Uh, ew," he says. Curious, Ema follows his gaze. When she sees the mess on his legs, she laughs.

Of course she laughs. She's Ema.

"Alright," she relents, moving to her feet. "The lab report can wait until after we shower."

"Sure you don't want to collect a sample first?" Apollo asks as he follows her into the bathroom.

"Hey hey, Buddy," she cautions, a mischievous look in her eyes. "Do not even tempt me."