Chapter Text
The three of you see it almost immediately looking at pictures of the victims. Thanks to a kidnapping by a disgruntled ex, the details of your preferred kinks are very well-known within your team. It means you only mostly blush when you point out the peri-mortem bondage injuries on the victims. “They were also found wearing collars, so another nod to that lifestyle."
“People choose to have sex like this,” one of the local detectives asks incredulously. You swallow down the lump in your throat and keep your mouth shut. You really don’t want to know what some stranger thinks of the sex life you enjoy in your relationship. “No wonder things went wrong. Can’t expect it to end well if you’re getting tied up like livestock and begging for it.” You already hate this case.
“We don’t know if the victims were consenting. And even if they were, death is not an appropriate outcome,” JJ states sharply. “Garcia, you there?” With a flourish, the tech analyst confirms. “Can we get a list of BDSM clubs and dungeons in the area? Ranked by complaints lodged please.”
Hotch sends you and JJ to the morgue, Morgan and Emily to the first two crime scenes, and sticks Reid with his extra large map for geographical profiling. He and Rossi hit the last two crime scenes. It’s the usual dice-up. Split up, assess, reconvene.
“Cause of death is asphyxiation,” the corner describes. “Methods for the victims seem to be different, either suffocation or strangulation. First victim with a pillow or something similar over her mouth and nose. Second with something rope-like around her throat. Third and fourth were standard choking, hands around the throat.” He points to the bruising on each victim that led to that insight. “These crisscrossing ligature marks are all prior to death, and as rigamortus set in and the ropes or something similar stayed in place, the blood settled and the skin bruised. One odd thing I can’t identify is the weapon making these puncture-like injuries. The wound shape is quite unusual. Each victim has at least one, sometimes more. All were inflicted while the victim was alive. I’ve included a rendition of the shape in the report.”
When you finish with the coroner, his reports in hand, you and JJ sit silently, side by side, in the car for a few minutes. These victims are hard to see, knowing their last moments were spent engaging in a lifestyle you, JJ, and Emily lean heavily into. You know JJ is looking at each of them and seeing you. You know she’s remembering every time restraints left indentations or bruises on your skin. She’s remembering the countless times her hands have wrapped around your neck to cut off your air. JJ clears her throat and runs her hands through her hair. “Fuck,” she groans. “Okay.” She takes a deep breath with a slow exhale, intentionally resetting. “Ready to go?” You nod.
Back at the precinct, Morgan and Emily are bickering about the radio stations in the SUV, even though they don’t actually listen to the radio in the SUV on a case. You know it’s one of Emily’s ways to cope and keep things compartmentalized, and it annoys you all the same. You realize you’ll probably be on edge for this entire case and then some. You’re not worried about something like that happening to you. Your trust in JJ and Emily is unwavering; you’ve been through so much together in the year and a half you’ve been a three. It’s just hard to stomach when you’re so close to it. JJ beelines to Emily and drags her down the hall. Morgan throws his arm over your shoulder and directs you to the precinct’s kitchenette for a fresh coffee.
The BDSM clubs make everybody awkward. It feels so strange walking into one of these places in your everyday mindset; your brain is stuck in a weird melding between two of your worlds that should never meet. Thankfully, Reid seems to blush more than you do, so that’s a small silver lining. He also gets propositioned by at least two dominatrixes in knee-high leather boots and fishnets. The one with the riding crop traces Reid’s tie with it, making him so flustered he trips over his own feet on his way out.
“Mistress Mayhem, if a dominant was looking to play with other submissives, a swingers event for tops and their subs, where would they go?”
“My, my. Look at you, honey. I can always pinpoint the kinky ones, but you slipped right under my radar.” The tips of your ears feel hot, but you successfully resist the urge to squirm under her analysis. “One of the old dungeon masters at the place on Lex and Hillcroft got out of the game awhile back and started a circuit for parties like that in her home or other locations. Requires an entry ticket. From what I hear, those parties are no-bars kind of places. Consent is loose at best, which is why she got out of the dungeon-type world with paying clients.”
“Any idea how someone gets a ticket?”
She tosses her fire truck red curls over her shoulder and winks at you. “You don’t, sugar. Your top does.” Reid opens his mouth, already forming the question about how this woman can tell what you are. “A word to the wise because you seem like a good one. Her parties, if you can call them that, it’s not a safe environment on top or bottom.”
“Appreciated. How does a top get a ticket? What’s the rumor mill about why it’s not safe?”
“Her party, her rules, which means whatever she wants goes. A client of mine came in all worked up because they got an invite and the tops trade subs without much, if any, consent conversations. The lady of the house will also take a sub when she sees fit. If the top stands up to her, they get kicked out and she keeps the sub. Dangerous way to play.”
“Thank you, Mistress Mayhem. We appreciate your time. If you think of anything else, I’ll leave my card.”
“And if you want to work out some stress while you’re here, I’ll open my calendar for you, pet.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you comment, failing to hide your serious blush this time.
You haven’t managed to get your embarrassment under control when you and Reid meet back up with the team in the parking lot. You shove your hands in your coat pocket and stare at the concrete, trying to quell the furious blush on your cheeks, chest, and ears. Emily hovers next to you possessively, quietly checking in; you manage a nod. “And why do you look like a tomato,” Morgan teases. “Make a little detour for some personal fun?”
“Mistress Mayhem did offer her an appointment to work out some stress,” Reid shares. You feel Emily’s jealous eyes glaring holes into the side of your face. “She had some good information. She was very shiny.”
You explain the parties this nameless woman throws and how to get a ticket. You include the bit about the warnings as well. It certainly sounds like a location that would foster the kind of BDSM environment that leads to four dead women. Hotch nods his understanding. “Let’s figure out who she is and when the next party is. We’ll send in Morgan and Ace to scope it out from the inside and learn what they can from the community there.”
“What?!” It’s a unanimous rebuttal. You, Emily, JJ, and Morgan are all vocal at once. This is a bad idea. For starters, you don’t want to even pretend to be subbed at a party that doesn’t involve consent conversations or that trades subs like property. You definitely don’t want to do it pretending that Morgan is your dominant partner.
“Hotch, man, we gotta talk about this,” Morgan insists. This is not his world. He’s got a good thing going with Savannah that at most has some role play or light restraints in the bedroom. He’s not a kinky type. For all his playboy act, treating anyone like that doesn’t sit well with him.
Emily’s body is in front of yours, a physical barrier between you and Hotch, like she can protect you from this assignment. “I can go in. Trying out the party scene before bringing my partner.”
“We’ll see what Garcia comes back with, and then we’ll devise a plan. For now, go get some rest and we’ll start fresh in the morning,” Hotch instructs.
The drive back to the hotel is tense. “I swear to God…” Emily starts. “You’re not taking her into a place like that,” Emily tells Morgan, where he sits in the driver’s seat. “You wouldn’t have the slightest clue how to act or how to keep her safe when consent is so loose. Jesus. This is a terrible fucking idea.”
“Same page, Princess,” Morgan declares.
“If the party host did zero in on me for some reason and demand my attention,” you phrase carefully. “You wouldn’t let it fly, Em, and to keep the cover, you’d have to play along.”
“Over my dead body,” Emily growls lowly. “There’s got to be a female cop we use instead.” JJ’s hand is heavy on your thigh, as you sit in the backseat together. You wonder where her head is at. She vocalized her dislike of the plan when Hotch first said it, but since then, she has been uncharacteristically quiet.
When you make it to the hotel room, you chuck your go-bag in the corner. Emily pulls you straight into her arms, almost crushing you with force; it’s the first time you two have been in private all day, and she's desperate to hold you. “It’s not safe. I hate the idea of you there at all. I hate that mistresses spent the day sizing you up and inviting you back. I hate that I can see you when I look at these victims.” You give her your weight, fully leaning into her, your arms wrapped just as tightly around her. It barely makes a dent in the overwhelming uneasiness you feel. JJ presses against you from behind. You want to disappear into them. You shift slightly, so you can hug JJ too, all three of you intertwined together.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep,” JJ admits quietly. “Certainly not thinking about you possibly going in there.”
“How can we help,” you ask, kissing the underside of her jaw.
“Give me something good to focus on,” JJ requests. “Us together, not anything like the shit we’re seeing and solving.” Emily is quick to agree, her hand wrapping around the back of JJ’s head to pull her in for a kiss.
For everything that the case is, this is the opposite. It’s sweet, tender, and slow. You know your brain won’t get to a point where an orgasm is in your wheelhouse tonight, so you put all your focus into them. When you press your thigh between JJ’s legs, bracing yourself against the mattress on either side of her head, she moans at the pressure, twining her limbs around you. “Promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid,” JJ demands breathlessly against your lips.
“I promise.” You also don’t like the idea of that party, and right now it’s the best lead there is. If you have to go in, you’ll be as safe as you can be because you want to come home to them. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you jest lightly. Solemnly, JJ’s fingers trace over some of your deeper scars - the one on your abdomen from a sniper in the trees, one across your ribs from a mission in Zaranj, one jagged and rough on your upper arm from a foster home incident. “Hey.” You nuzzle her nose with yours. “I’m right here. The scars mean I’m still here.” You kiss the corners of her eyes where tears drip down towards the mattress, and she nods. “What do you want me to do?”
“Keep going. Make me feel good.” You lean over and whisper about positioning to Emily, who smiles her understanding. Easing JJ upright, Emily slips behind her and pulls her back. With the two of them leaning against the headboard, you kneel between JJ’s spread legs. It’s a perfect position for feeling surrounded by love and all sorts of other good things. Emily palms JJ’s breasts and mouths at her neck. You squeeze in as close as you can manage, curling two fingers inside JJ’s wet heat and using your thumb against her clit. Her hips rock to their own rhythm. She grips onto any part of your body she can hold, crescent moon shapes of her fingernails indenting your skin.
“How does your body feel, Jen,” Emily asks, nipping at JJ’s earlobe.
“So good.”
“You want to hear us talk you through it, or keep the pace?”
“Both,” JJ requests. “Tell me something about us, about love.”
You and Emily share a silent conversation over JJ’s shoulder, and you take the turn. “First night we moved into the house. Sitting on the wood floor in the living room surrounded by boxes and furniture wrapped in plastic. We put down a blanket, ate pizza out of the box, wine straight from the bottle because we couldn’t find cups. You were leaning into Emily just like this. All of us were sweaty and half put-together having been moving stuff all day long. Mostly all of Emily’s goddamn shoes.”
“Hey!”
JJ chuckles, but it’s more of a breathy exhale. You work your fingers just so while you talk. You know exactly how to play her body. You draw her brain in with your memories. This time not dirty talk, but talk of love and life and permanence, the three of you together. “God, we laughed until we couldn’t breathe. Christening our living room for all the joy it will see. It’s one of the happiest moments I can remember.”
“Home, Jen. We made a home together. All of us. You want to hear about love? That’s it, sweetheart. It’s us coming home to a place where we can feel safe, where we can laugh like that, and continue making our life. Nothing changes that. When you decided what you wanted, when you knew, what did you call the three of us?”
Her hips buck against your fingers, and she holds your arm in place. “Fuck… our end game,” JJ gasps. “It couldn’t just be you and me anymore. It had to be all three of us. That’s what I needed. All of us together like this forever. This was the end game.” You love hearing her talk like that. It never gets old. Feeling accepted and wanted means everything to you, and here you feel it in spades. You increase the pressure of your curled fingers, massaging up until you find that spongey ridge that makes her toes curl. “Jesus, baby. Right there.” Again and again, you hit that exact spot while you rub tight circles against her clit. “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” she gasps, her back arching away from Emily.
She collapses back against Emily and grabs for you, hands roving to peak your pleasure. “My brain is not going to get there tonight. I’m happy just being close with both of you.” JJ nods her understanding, kissing you tenderly. “Emily?”
Emily cuddles JJ back against her, kissing the side of JJ’s head repeatedly. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can separate it out today. My mental compartments are pretty overloaded,” Emily words carefully.
“You want to talk it out instead,” JJ offers. “I promise you’re not alone in that. You already saw me breakdown once today for similar reasons.” Emily arches her eyebrows in a wordless response. “I know it can be like opening a flood gate for you. If you want that outlet, we’ve got all night. I don’t think any of us is getting a restful night's sleep. Now, later, doesn’t matter. We’re here.”
“All I can think about is if you play a sub at that kind of party, you’re almost definitely going to be touched in ways that are not your choice. People will grab at you and leer at you because they treat people like submissives don’t matter. If that party host gets a hold of you, there’s no telling what she’ll command you to do, and it might put you in a very tough situation of going along with it to keep your cover or calling it and risking your safety. That’s a really terrible position to be in. I’ve been in undercover roles like that, and it is awful. I don’t want that for you, and I can’t seem to think about anything else.”
You nod your understanding. Her concern only increases the uneasiness you’ve been feeling all day. “It’s harder,” JJ tries to explain. “The way we play, when we play like that, it’s our job to keep you safe. Sending you into a party like that as a submissive knowing what we know with us nowhere nearby… it goes against every cell in my body. All the overprotective, jealous, possessive, empathic, worried parts of me feel like they’re on fire.”
“You are mine to protect,” Emily emphasizes. “And you know how seriously I take that job. Even when I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you can take care of yourself.” You listen as they share, giving them space to express their worries. This case isn’t just difficult for you. It’s unsettling for all of you.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. It’s restless in bursts for all three of you. When your alarms go off in the morning, the groans of displeasure are many. You lean against the counter in the bathroom, brushing your teeth with one hand and checking your pulse with the other. JJ arches a single eyebrow at you. “A few low-grade panic attack symptoms. I’ll keep an eye on them and keep you in the loop,” you promise before she even opens her mouth.
“Group text,” Emily clarifies from the hotel room, having heard your statement.
When you all make it to the precinct, Garcia has a lot of bad news. The woman, Missy Carnahan, doesn’t allow other female dominants to her parties, which nixes the idea of either Emily or JJ coming in as your pretend (not at all pretend) top. It goes from bad to worse when Garcia announces that the next event is tonight and she has already procured a ticket. “Morgan, Ace,” Hotch instructs. Dread settles into every part of your body. You know what that means. “Let’s get a bio on Missy Carnahan, Garcia. Morgan, Ace - prep work for undercover. Everyone else, we’re looking for new leads.”
Mistress Mayhem arrives at the station in jeans and blouse, fire truck red curls still perfect. “Hello again, little pet,” she greets.
“Agent,” Emily corrects dangerously.
“Of course. You wanted to know more about the parties we talked about yesterday in the dungeon?” Emily leans against the wall of the conference room while you and Morgan ask questions about the parties.
You are not so oblivious that you don’t recognize Mistress Mayhem flirting and insinuating any number of things about getting you back in her dungeon. You keep professional and polite; it doesn’t stop Emily from getting more and more tense. When the dominatrix is on her way out, she leans in close, and you step back before she can touch you. “I’m already spoken for on all accounts.”
“Shame. My loss, Agent. Good luck with the party, and remember my warning.”
“She’ll be fine,” Emily growls with her hand on your hip; even if she’s also concerned about the party, Emily wants to make it clear that you are not Mistress Mayhem’s to worry about. The dominatrix notes the positioning and nods her understanding. “Have a good day, ma’am.”
The day feels eternal, and your panic symptoms trend on low the whole time. Emily and JJ are all over you, hands constantly on your body in passing gestures or under tables. You get ready in the precinct’s bathroom, ditching your regular clothes, badge, and service weapon in exchange for a skintight little black dress and heels. You leave your hair in a braid and put on a collared necklace. With eyeliner, you’re all set.
JJ sees you first, clenching her jaw. You misread the gesture. “Is it okay? Is this not what someone would wear to this kind of thing? I didn’t know. We don't attend parties like this, so I was guessing...”
“No, no. You look great. It’s exactly what you should be wearing. I just hate how beautiful you look going into that event,” JJ explains. “Let’s get you wired.”
You and Morgan drive a nondescript rental to the location, each of you testing communication separately. “Derek, keep her close to you at all times. Do you understand me,” Emily threatens. He rolls his eyes, but you can see he’s as unsettled as you are.
Parking nearby, you make your way to the door. “Don’t kill me,” Morgan insists, as he settles his hand low around your hips. Briefly, you’re amazed by the sheer contrast in size from the hands that usually hold you there. “You ready for this?”
“Are you,” you counter. You remind yourself you’re playing a part, undercover work. You can do this. The decorative collar around your neck feels familiar for reasons you don’t want to think about.
“Not really. One wrong move on my part, and Emily will filet me alive.” His jeans are tighter than normal; his white undershirt is crisp and clean. Snaking up his forearm, he has a single piece of jewelry - one strap of black leather twirled round and fastened, as a nod to a dominant who likes to use a leash for their submissive.
“Too messy,” you correct. “She’d let JJ beat the shit out of you, and then Emily would just shoot you,” Morgan grumbles next to you. “I’m just kidding. We’ll be fine. It’s a job. We’ve got a killer to catch. No one would believe Reid as a dominant for a second. So it’s us.”
“You know she’s been yammering in my ear all day about these kinds of parties. On and on. Let’s just get this over with and find this son of a bitch.” He tugs you closer, and you bury yourself slightly behind him while he rings the bell. “Game time.”
Missy Carnahan, who opens the door, is elegant and refined. Her bright red heels catch your attention. It’s a pair Emily would adore for certain situations. Morgan hands her a laminated ticket with a flourish. She looks at it critically and then looks over the two of you. “Right this way. My house, my rules.”
“We’ve heard the spiel,” Morgan insists boldly, keeping you possessively close. He’s playing the part too. He’s also scared of Emily if this goes poorly.
“And you’ll hear it again, or you can find the door. You might be the top in your relationship, but this is my house. My party,” Missy states clearly, veiled threats dripping off every word. “Come here.” It takes a beat to realize she’s talking to you until her fingers loop in your collar necklace and tug you forward away from Morgan. “Let me look at you. You can call me Mistress.” You can feel Morgan tense and angry behind you. It’s good in the sense that that’s how she’s expecting him to act; you know he’s up in arms for a different reason. Hopefully, he can keep his head on straight while you pretend the submissive part. “Does your daddy take good care of you, pet?” Her fingers drift from the collar down between your breasts to your stomach.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Mmm, go get him his drink of choice. The bar is right through there on the left and come right back.” She smacks your ass as you walk past her, and you can hear Morgan growl dangerously at her. “You want to try that attitude again,” Missy challenges. Whatever she says after that, it gets drowned out by the party noise.
As you mix a drink, purposefully making it look alcoholic, it gives you a chance to survey the party’s guests and the layout of the house. You keep your eyes averted as two men talk nearby, both of them in various stages of undress. Only one of them is getting sucked off. “Couldn’t have been him. He barely has the cajones to get his slave to do bare minimum tasks,” one of them comments.
“I’m almost positive he was with the lady who was in the news the other day. Swapped her for another top’s slave at Crystal Cove.”
You head back with the drink, weaving through the people and the hallway to find Morgan. “There you are,” he grumbles, tugging you close to his body. Again, the contrast startles you. Where JJ and Emily are certainly strong, they have soft edges and curves. Morgan is solidly muscular with angular lines. “What took you so damn long?”
“Sorry, sir. Messed up the first one. I’m a little nervous here.” It’s a good thing the two of you can read each other’s faces so well. Otherwise, this whole thing would be so awkward. Oh, wait. No amount of on-the-fly behavior analysis makes this less awkward. He leans in under the guise of whispering something in your ear, and you quickly share the overhead conversation from the kitchen.
You follow his lead, as Morgan moves through the living room. His character wouldn’t blush or avert his eyes at the nudity or sexual acts displayed around the room. He keeps his head up and walks you outside. Morgan claims a chair by the pool, near a group of guests all lounging. He pulls you onto his lap, one arm wrapped around you and the other sipping his non-alcoholic drink. Again, you’re acutely aware of the difference between sitting on Morgan’s lap versus the two you’re used to.
It’s a good spot, except for how you’re draped over Morgan like a lap dog. Good in the sense that you can hear several conversations as couples shift inside to outside and vice versa. The murdered women with their bondage-specific ligature marks are the talk of the party. Some speculate. Most are aghast; those can be removed as potential suspects, as they don’t fit the profile. This unsub wants the world to see what he’s done. He wants credit for his handiwork.
A man naked from the waist up saunters over, fitted jeans hugging his hips. You can’t help but squirm feeling his eyes undressing you. It feels like such a violation. “Care for a trade, big man?”
“I don’t share,” Morgan declines. His forearm curls around your waist.
“These are meant to be mix and match. Find one you like and take a test drive. See how others train their ladies. I like her.”
“Let me rephrase. I don’t share with you, big man.” You’re not sure why Morgan is acting so hostile. No works just as well and doesn’t draw so much attention. The last thing you need is the whole freaking party looking directly at you. Rather the last thing you want is the attention of the host.
“Fine. I’ll watch,” he says. “How do you do her?”
Morgan lifts you clear off his lap and stands up, setting you back down on the seat. He towers in front of the insistent man, a very large and sturdy barrier between you. You stand up shyly and slip your hand in the back pocket of his jeans, playing your part and trying not to think about his ass. “How I control my woman is none of your business. She’s mine. Now step off.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Missy soothes condescendingly. Fuck. In your ear, Emily growls a warning. “You again,” she notes. “Keep it up. I’ll kick you out and keep your pet.” Again, she pulls you away from Morgan, first with your arm and then by your collar. She presses herself firmly against your back, hands dangerously low on the front of your pelvis. She rubs purposefully. It takes every bit of control you have not to tense up being touched like that. With JJ and Emily constantly helping you unlearn a lot of your sensory avoidance, it’s easy to forget how touch-averse you actually are. “Are you new to the game, lovey,” she purrs, misreading your tension as hesitation.
“No, Mistress,” you answer. “Just nervous.”
“Let go of her,” Morgan seethes, grabbing your arm roughly and pulling you away from Missy. Your skin itches with the different kinds of unwelcome touch; for the sake of catching a killer, you’re going to stomach it, but you want to be back at the hotel and away from all of this as quickly as you can manage. You want JJ and Emily. Their touch calms you and helps you focus. All of this touch, for the sake of the undercover gig, is making you nervous and nauseous. It’s making your chest even tighter than it has been. You look to the ground, and your attention catches on Missy’s shoes again.
Missy notices. Of course, she does. “Do you want to be stepped on, pet,” she asks with a lewd wink. “A little bit of danger in the bedroom can feel so…” She snaps her teeth fractions of an inch in front of your lips. “So rich.” You swallow thickly. You remind yourself to keep face. “See something you like?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Then get on your fucking knees.” You comply for two reasons. For one, you need to keep the cover. For two, it’s something about the heels. As soon as you get closer, you identify the shape of the stem and realize you’re very close to the murder weapon that was previously unidentifiable. Missy stepped on each of the victims while they were alive. Some more than once. Hard enough to pierce the skin and mimic a stab wound. The profile is wrong. Or at the very least incomplete.
Then your brain realizes how much you’re playing the perfect victim for her while she’s wearing a weapon inches from your face. That tightness in your chest increases significantly. You’re unarmed and out of place.
“Get up,” Morgan growls. “You don’t take orders from her.” He wraps his arm around your chest and lifts you off the ground. “What do you think you’re doing,” he hisses. “Stop embarrassing me.” You can feel her hands on your skin. You can feel her body on yours. You know she killed those women, and your chest seizes in pain, as the first true symptoms of an impending panic attack kick in; it’s not a tightness anymore, it’s downright pain. Morgan’s eyes fly over your features, reading your distress but not understanding why. “It’s time for us to go.”
“The party’s just getting started,” Missy insists, stopping him. He moves you behind his body. Your touch sensors feel all out of whack. Your vision swims, and you curse your body, though this time you feel validated in your response. “You can go. She stays.”
“Like hell,” Morgan spits back. That one is all truth, no cover there. “Her consent is specific to me. That’s how we play. You want her consent, you ask her, and you ask her when her head is clear.” You can’t catch your breath. The panic attack comes in hard and fast, and you don’t want to be here. Your brain screams that you’re not safe while your lungs refuse to cooperate. You grip the back of Morgan’s shirt. “She is not feeling well. We’re leaving.” Black spots sparkle in front of your eyes, and you waver on your feet. Really fucking fast for a panic attack. “Shit.”
——
Morgan scoops the young agent in his arms and walks past Missy straight out the front. The host is the least of his worries right now. The door slams behind him. “Ace,” he calls, trying to get her attention. Her breathing is shallow and rapid. Eyes fluttering closed repeatedly. She’s deadweight. It’s not reassuring.
His communication link is loud in his ear, and Emily is screaming at him immediately. “What the fuck was that,” she hollers. “What happened?”
“Little busy right now carrying your girlfriend back to the car. Need both hands. Need to focus.”
“She’s not that heavy, you asshole. You could lift her with one hand. What’s wrong,” Emily demands. Morgan cites the breathing and non-responsive. “It might be a panic attack. We’ve got an inhaler for her in the SUV. Get in the car. Go around the block. We’ll meet you there.”
Morgan shakes his head. “Stubborn pain in my ass woman,” he comments, sliding the young agent into the backseat. He could be talking about either of them. He’s not specific right now. He’s more than a little worried.
It’s a two-minute drive up a few blocks and over. JJ jumps out of the SUV and hops in the backseat with Ace. “Go. I got her.” Morgan just looks over his shoulder, all concern and discomfort. “Drive.” JJ checks the girl’s pulse, feeling it race dangerously against her fingertips. “What happened?” Morgan explains what the feed wouldn’t have shown. JJ manipulates her girlfriend’s body, bringing Ace mostly into her lap and cuddling her close to her chest. She taps Ace’s cheek repeatedly. “C’mon, baby. I need you a bit more present to give you your inhaler. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. Why was she on her knees?”
“Do I look like I have any fucking idea what’s happening? That’s not my world right there. Especially not with Emily’s girl. Especially not with her passing out mid-job.”
“She didn’t do it on purpose, Morgan,” JJ spits grumpily. “That woman was all over her. You should have stopped it.”
“Not that easy, JJ.”
“Yeah, it is. She was your responsibility!”
“Focus on her then,” Morgan encourages. “We’re still 14 minutes from the station.”
——
The touch is different. In a brief moment of clarity, you recognize her body and not much else, but that’s all you need. You curl around her; she’ll keep you safe.
——
“Ace,” JJ calls as the young woman squirms against the backseat, gripping onto JJ tightly. “Hey, hey. It’s okay,” she soothes, recognizing the change in Ace’s physical reaction. “Can you hear me?” All the while, JJ keeps two fingers pressed firmly against Ace’s wrist to track her pulse. Fast but strong. “This dress is not helping you get air. Jesus. Normally I like you in tight clothes, baby, but right now, I’m not a fan.” Curled around JJ, Ace settles marginally, the familiar touch comforting her.
——
As you come around, your head pounds mercilessly between your eyes, your vision feels woozy, and your stomach flips. “There you are,” JJ greets. “You scared the shit out of us. What happened?”
“Profile is wrong. Not a he. Her shoes,” you manage through shallow breaths. Emily cradles your cheek, her forehead pressed against yours, and encourages you to breathe. “Trying.”
“I know, baby. Take it slow.”
You blink hard. Your mouth feels dry. For some reason, the three of you are in the back of one of the SUVs. You frown. “I’m not taking you into a precinct like this,” Emily states. “Morgan’s bringing your clothes and you can change before we go back inside, whenever that is. No rush.” You grope at your ear for the communication link. “It’s already out. You’re okay.”
“She has red stilettos, the heel… the stem of it matches the stab wounds we couldn’t identify. I saw them because she put me… she put me on my knees.” You squeeze your eyes shut. You miss the way Emily’s eyes flash dangerously, jaw clenched, nose flared. She radiates jealousy and anger. “She was all over me. Her hands were everywhere. Rubbing on me. Pulling the collar. It was bad. It felt bad. I don’t like that.” JJ rubs your shoulder soothingly as you ramble. “Then I saw the heels and it clicked and she killed those women or at least had a part in it and she was touching me everywhere, and her touch made me panic. Morgan grabbed me off the ground, and my chest just… it seized and my vision swam with black dots and I couldn’t breathe and all I could feel was her hands and body on me. I don’t like people touching me. And people kept looking at me like I was property, I could feel their eyes undressing me. It made my skin itch. Fuck, it doesn’t feel good. I don’t like it. I can still feel it all on my skin.”
Emily hauls you into her lap, kissing your forehead and wiping away tears you didn’t realize you were crying. She holds you tightly to keep you from spiraling out of control again. “You’re safe, my love. We’ll let the officers know to bring her in. I’ll interrogate her in the morning. Right now, we’re going to get you back to the hotel and help you level out.”
You can’t really process her words. You hear them, but they don’t compute. “I don’t like other people to touch me. It feels wrong. They’re not you.” All you can focus on is how out of whack your body feels. Your skin itches desperately.
“I know.” She pulls out her phone, holding it to her ear and cuddling you close. “Where the fuck are you,” Emily demands. “How could it possibly take that long to find her clothes?” His words are muffled. “Yes, I’m fucking pissed, Derek. That woman dragged my girlfriend around by a collar and violated her in a room full of people. Just get her fucking clothes. I’m taking her back to the hotel. Have LEOs pick up Missy Carnahan. Specifically, the shoes she was wearing at the event.”
“Might be a pair,” you manage. “She’s the top, he’s a switch. Top with others desperate to show her how he’s learned, sub with her. Two men at the party were talking about it and seemed to have an idea who it was.”
The knock on the window startles you, but it’s just Morgan with your clothes and other things. You thank him. He leans into the window. “You okay, kid?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for getting me out of there.”
Emily mutters something under her breath, and JJ takes your bag of clothes, rifling through it to make sure everything you need is there. When Morgan disappears to assist with the arrest, JJ squeezes your hand tenderly. “That dress might be hard to get out of in a car. Do you want to just head to the hotel?” You hadn’t thought about that. The body con dress is unbelievably snug, and while they have a lot of experience undressing you in tight and inconvenient spots, this might be pushing the limits of reality. “You stay with Emily back here. I’ll drive.”
“Breathing easier,” Emily checks; you nod a little bit. “How’s your chest?” You reply about the tightness, leaning into her and letting her hold you. “Headspace?”
“Overwhelmed. Really overwhelmed.”
The first thing they do is get you out of the dress and heels. You don’t remember the collar necklace being taken off, but you’re happy it’s gone. JJ takes you into the shower, intent on reminding you what good touch and affectionate care feel like. You lean into her, turning your face into her neck. “Just hug first please.”
“Of course, baby. Whatever you need.” Your body knows hers. Skin-to-skin soothes your brain. “I know what you allowed for the sake of getting information. It wasn’t in vain. You did really good work.” You nod; that helps too. It doesn’t make you want to melt into her any less. “We’ll level you out. You’re safe with us. We’ve got you, baby.” You don’t let go. You just absorb all the comfort you can, and you still feel uneasy and off balance. You just keep going back to the feeling of hands on your body that don’t belong there.
Emily guides you into her arms, keeping you in the spray of the hot water. “My love,” she whispers. Something in how she says it combined with how tenderly she holds you opens the floodgates, and your tears seem to come out of nowhere.
Eventually, they help you get clean, and then you’re curled between them in bed, quiet and reserved. You don’t understand why anyone would consent to submission in that kind of environment. It felt awful. You’re not naive enough to think that everyone has an introduction to BDSM and related kinks like you did. It’s so unsettling to see the violent, riskier side of the coin. Everything about this case makes you feel too much.