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There are at least fifty people milling about around the small loading dock. Taping off the area. Writing in little notebooks. Taking witness statements. Being useful.
It is all very chaotic and Garcia is having quite a bit of difficulty processing it all. This is not her stage. She doesn't go with. She purposely chooses not to do field work, and this is partly why. She feels ridiculously out of place. An annoyingly bright pop of color amongst a sea of charcoal suits and dark sunglasses. The vest with FBI boldly stitched across the chest is itchy and tight, restrictive. She tugs at the collar, loosening it a little just so she can breathe and have something to do with her hands.
From across the way, JJ catches her eye. Mouths something resembling You okay? And while it does little to calm her nerves, it does help her feel a bit more at ease. She merely nods in response, trying for a smile that resembles something similar to confidence. JJ doesn’t look convinced but lets it go. For now.
Garcia doesn’t have to look to know Alvez is beside her, watching her closely. She can feel his gaze as it settles on her, the weight of it pressing heavily into her skin. He is standing too close, right in her space, and everything suddenly feels very confining.
“Can I help you?” she bites out with a glare.
He shrugs, completely unaffected. “You were good out there today," he tells her. Then, almost as an afterthought adds, "I’m glad you were with me.”
The surprised huh is mostly a non-committal noise in the back of her throat, and she fakes a cough to cover it. Squints a little at against the sunlight and the infuriating twist of his mouth.
They are good at banter, at their little game of back and forth. It is comfortable, learned, their version of common ground and Garcia has gotten to the point where it is actually fun rather than just simply a defense mechanism. Which is probably why the sincerity behind the words throw her for a loop – they don’t deal in meaningful declarations or niceties.
“You, you know, you weren’t so bad either. Very efficient and effective.”
His grin is slow as it stretches across his mouth. “Careful now. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
Garcia tilts her chin defiantly. Looks away. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t press your luck, Mister.”
They banter back and forth on their way to the SUV. It’s familiar, nice almost, and does much to calm the mess going on inside her head.
When he opens the door for her and helps her inside, his touch lingers a beat longer than necessary somewhere near the small of her back.
She pretends not to notice.
Garcia’s got, like, a million different reasons why this is a truly awful idea.
She keeps them organized neatly in bright red ink and on a bullet-point list that is permanently etched in the back of her mind. It serves as a cautionary tale or sorts. A reminder of why this is, quite possibly, the most fucked up thing she has ever done.
(And she did a lot of fucked up things, you know, before.).
Yet here they are: a cheap hotel room after a case, her ass perched on the edge of some dresser, and Alvez’s mouth on hers as his hands trail along her thighs, pushing them wide open at the knees just so he can step between them.
There was an order to meet back at the airstrip in an hour, so they don’t have a lot of time. Which may have been a problem if she weren’t already so keyed up and on edge, the adrenaline from being in an actual freakin’ car chase still humming through her veins. Which is probably a good thing, she thinks, because later when she is replaying this back and trying to convince herself that it isn’t, like, a thing, she can blame it solely on other things: the car chase, the adrenaline, the whole catching-an-Unsub-and-physically-saving-a-life-while-risking-her-own-thing.
Instead of, you know, the fact that Alvez does this thing with his mouth and hands that make her so incredibly easy.
Or that, despite her better efforts, he knows her. He can read every want and need hidden in the weight of a sigh or flick of her tongue against his. Knows that she likes kisses with a bit of teeth, with a little push, and is doing just that now in a way that takes the breath right out of her. Makes the edges of her vision blur. She has to lean back a little, suddenly unable to carry herself upright, and her shoulder hits the mirror behind her with a resounding thud that almost hurts.
Alvez moves with her, chasing her mouth as he presses between her legs. His hands are at her hips, pushing at the fabric there until it bunches at her waist, then underneath, squeezing her ass.
He’s an ass man. And a boob man. Actually, Garcia is pretty sure there isn’t any aspect of a woman he doesn’t appreciate. Which is a nice perk for her because sometimes she allows him to take his time, to show her just how appreciative he can be. Allows him to pay special attention to every single inch of her until she is just on the cusp of begging, but not quite right there. Never quite willing to allow the words to fall out of her mouth because that is allowance she refuses to make for him.
She would never beg – not for him. Not now.
They don’t have time for any of that today, barely have any time at all, and she reminds him of it with a flick of her wrist as her hand captures his and leads it between her legs. He grins, wide and sloppy, and she can feel it against her teeth. Swallows the slow moan that escapes from his mouth as he follows her lead.
He told her once, just once, that he likes how bossy she is, even more so when it is just the two of them. She gives him a little of that now: tangles her fingers in his hair, pushing downwards a little. It’s more of a command than a suggestion and his response is practically instantaneous with her bottom lip suddenly between his teeth, sucking a little at first, then harder until she’s the one moaning, the sound wrapped around all sorts of filthy expletives.
It is easy to get lost in him, in the things he does to her, in the way he makes her mind go bright then blank, erasing all ability to think about anything and forcing her just to feel. Garcia is all too ready to give into that feeling now. Feels almost desperate for it and guides his hand under the edge of her underwear and presses it against herself harder.
Alvez pulls away suddenly, swearing into her neck. She laughs a little. Tries to sound completely unaffected, but there is a hitch in her breathing, a slight gasp for air that gives her away completely.
“You’re being impatient,” he mumbles, teeth grazing the line of her throat.
Between her legs he moves until his hand is now covering hers, taking control, applying their combined pressure over her clit. Garcia hates herself a little for the way her head falls backward. Barely recognizes the sound that bursts out of her as she bumps the glass of the mirror with the back of her head.
“You’re being a tease.”
“You like it.”
She doesn’t have to open her eyes to see the smug grin stretching across his mouth, but she does, her gaze slamming instantly into his. Something thuds and kickstarts in her chest. A tight constriction that leaves her swallowing for air. Alvez reaches for her with the hand that isn’t buried between her legs, and palms her cheek, thumb tracing the outline of her lips. He likes her mouth too, she knows, appreciates it especially for all the things she can do to him with it: build him up, cut him down, suck him off. His thumb draws faintly over the corner now, almost tenderly, and something in her instinctively wants to lean into his touch, to press a kiss to the palm of his hand.
It doesn’t feel right to want to do that, though. Doesn’t coincide with who they are to each other in her mind. So she shoves the instinct down, down, down into this deep, dark crevice of herself where she keeps all things pertaining to this and them for safe keeping.
Her smirk is wicked when she says, “I’d like you on your knees more.”
He hums something appreciative in the back of his throat and she swears she feels the vibrations of it in her bones. His hands leave her in instant, and there is an abrupt loss of heat that leaves her both hot and cold, a delicious sort of shiver running up her spine. His mouth presses to hers as he slides her underwear down her legs and over the heels on her feet before tossing it to the side. His hands move slowly back up her legs, tracing the swell of her calves, the delicate curves of her knees, the long lines of her inner thighs. Her muscles actually quiver in response to his touch which is an actual thing that happens apparently, and her fuck is both graceless and choked as it falls out of her mouth.
When he kneels before her he does so without hesitation, parting her legs gently with steady hands.
The second his tongue smooths against her, just once, she jerks her hips forward, desperate for the friction he is carefully withholding.
“Easy,” he murmurs, real deep and low, and she can feel the satisfaction radiating off of him as he presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh.
She rolls her eyes even though they are closed. Tightens her hands in his hair. Pushes.
“Shut. Up.”
Alvez is always good at doing what she tells him to and she comes with three of his fingers buried inside her and his tongue solid against her clit.
After, when her hands are adjusting her skirt and trying to smooth out the wrinkles, she hears him laugh.
A glance is thrown towards his reflection in the mirror and she stills for a beat, watches the delicious way the muscles of his forearms flex as he re-tucks his shirt and combs through his hair where she’d messed it all up.
Garcia arches an eyebrow. “Got something to say?”
Suddenly he is behind her, palms against her shoulders. He grins crookedly, leans into press a discrete kiss at that spot where her collarbone disappears into her shoulder and she hates, hates, hates the way something hammers in her chest. Hates that she still feels a little wet between her thighs.
“I think I’m wearing you down,” he says. Their eyes meet in the mirror as his fingers carefully trace the curve of her shoulders, then the length of her arms before falling to his sides. They are no longer touching, but still so close that his chest collides with the arch of her back with every inhale. “I think you might actually like me.”
He looks proud, happy, and suddenly he is too close, his presence behind her too overwhelming. She feels dizzy from it, out of control, so she turns until she is facing him, laughing a little only to cover just how unhinged he makes her.
“Oh, newbie,” she says, smiling coyly as she uses her thumb to rid him of the lipstick smeared at the corner of his mouth. “I only like what you can do for me. And it’s important for you to remember that what you can do for me is nothing I can’t do for myself.”
His smile catches and falls. Garcia sees it just before he can school his expression and feels something she doesn’t know how to label yet settle low in her belly.
The push of her shoulder against his as she passes is purposeful, deliberate.
It’s an unspoken dare. A promise.
Alvez reads it easily.
Next time, she waits him out.
Makes him come to her.
It may take days, weeks even, but it will happen.
Eventually, there is another case, another long week, another horror witnessed and filed away. He comes to her, all crooked grins and quiet confidence, and Garcia makes a show out of hesitation before letting him inside her place. Makes him work for it. Demands he take his time with her, touching every single inch of her in the reverent way she deserves.
After, and only after, she climbs on top of him the way she knows he likes, her back already arching at the way he fills her up. Watches as he mouths her breasts. Moans a little at the way he tells her how fucking beautiful she is, how he’s thought about this and her for days, dreamed about her even. His fingers tighten on her hips, urging her to move, letting her know he’s ready for whatever she has to give him.
She makes him wait. And wait. And wait.
But when she gives in, when she finally starts to move it is slow, almost painfully so, and she holds her gaze as she calls him Luke, but only because she likes to watch him lose control.