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The moment he steps into the room, Mick's mouth is on his.
They never hook up in Washington. In Washington Prophet's got his digs, a small apartment he keeps very private and never invites anyone to, and Mick's got his countless girl-trophies he picks up as easily as he breaths. Mick's charming when he chooses to be and women like him even if they don't take him seriously which is how Mick actually prefers it anyway.
It's different when they're away on a case. They're a Red Cell, a rapid-response team, which means they must move swiftly, have little to no time for rest and are in constant adrenaline rush from racing against the clock. It's strange, really, how they only find opportunities for sex with each other in such unfavorable circumstances but for some reason the less crazy pace of their Washington lives doesn't seem to do it for them.
Mick's form pressing him against the door is warm and heavy. Looks like he's just got out of the shower when Prophet knocked on his door, and the only thing he's got on is a towel wrapped around his hips. Handy. The skin is sleek, moist with water and fresh sweat, and he smells of aftershave - Mick shaves in the evenings so the light stubble in the mornings gives him that vaguely shabby look he seems so keen on cultivating. Practical habit, too, saving Prophet from stubble burns after their crushing kisses.
He lets his hand under the towel, fingers grazing Mick's thigh, and Mick gasps into his mouth. Mick's cock is half-hard, Prophet brushes his hand over it, teases his balls lightly and then squeezes Mick's buttock, hard. This forces another gasp out of Mick and he breaks the kiss, drawing back an inch. His eyes as he looks Prophet straight in the face are bright and dancing and a little intense.
"How you want it?" he breaths out huskily, and just like that Prophet knows it's going to be one of those nights. Mick's a player and always open to possibilities. Their sex life, if rushed, is far from boring although with the strange arrangement they keep they've never had a chance to get into anything really kinky. But there are these little things, a hint of power play, occasional creative outlook on the use of cuffs and such, that suggest Mick, for one, wouldn't be opposed to that. Sometimes when Prophet thinks about it, it almost starts to weird him out. The power games remind him of the things he's seen in lock-up. Just seen, never taken part in, but then he remembers that he's never thought he'd end up having sex with one of his male team members in the first place. Despite the nickname he's really not that good at predicting future, not his own, at least, so he finds it best just to go with the flow.
"Suck me", he responds and Mick grins at him while undoing his belt and jeans and then drops down on one knee.
Mick's good at giving blow-jobs. The discovery has been a surprise for Prophet which doesn't actually make a lot of sense: up to that moment he knew very little about Mick's personal life. Not that he knows much more now, but he is a profiler so he deduces what he can from the little he's got and it's obvious by now Mick's at least as experienced with men as he is with women. He's simply not flaunting that part just as much.
That's when the thinking mostly stops. He leans against the door, full-weight, easing the muscles, the back of the head hitting the door with a low thud, looks down on Mick. Mick seems very focused: he licks his lips, not so much in preparation as in anticipation, and runs his tongue over the head of Prophet's cock as if tasting it, sending a shiver up Prophet's spine. Mick draws him in then, first slowly, carefully, then speeding up the pace, taking him deeper and deeper on each go, just falling short of deep-throating. Prophet keeps watching even as the heat grows hotter and the eyelids grow heavier and the mind goes blanker, losing grip on the gruesome details of their current case. Breathing gets hard and he can see Mick's free hand, the one he's not using to steady himself by holding on to Prophet's hip, move under the towel in sync with his mouth on Prophet's cock.
He's holding back for as long as he can but he's on a short fuse tonight. He digs his fingers into Mick's ruffled hair and he thrusts into his mouth, again, and again, sharper, harder, less play and more urgency, keeping Mick still, out of control. Mick takes it easily enough and in any other situation Prophet would make a point of noticing this - because Mick, as easy-going and laid-back as he seems, is in fact a controlling bastard and there's nothing in the world he hates quite as much as feeling helpless. But he doesn't struggle for control, not with Prophet, not now, and Prophet is in no state for that kind of character study, he just keeps going and then pulls away, yanking Mick up by the shoulder and pushing him at the wall.
Mick braces himself, casting the towel aside, as Prophet fumbles with the rubber and the lube and then pushes in, just like that, no foreplay, no warning. Mick throws his head back and makes a low growling sound in the back of his throat. Both of his palms are pressed to the wall, and Prophet's got one hand on his shoulder and the other wrapped around Mick's cock jerking him off, the rhythm rough, merciless, unyielding, and Mick goes with it, the muscles of his arms, his legs, his back dancing and trembling, the sweat curling the hair at the back of his neck and running down his sides, his breath heavy, panting. He's the first to lose it, too, coming hard, with a stifled cry, and drawing Prophet over the edge with him. The whole thing lasts no longer than fifteen minutes.
"Don't leave just yet", Mick says drowsily after they somehow manage to clean up and fall onto the hotel bed, although Prophet shows no intention of going anywhere. They never stay the night in each other's rooms, their thing isn't about that but right now he feels just too mellowed out to move and Mick knows that, if for no other reason than feeling the same way. "I'm thinking about going another round".
Prophet chuckles under his breath. Yeah, right, leave it to Mick to think two steps ahead. Another round sounds good, though. They've been having a rough patch lately, with the case load and stuff, it's going to take some time to unwind. One night squeezed between two very busy and exhausting days isn't going to help much so maybe it's not such a good thing they don't do this back home. But one night is better than none at all, so they'd better use the time they allow themselves to have.
Both fall asleep without even realizing it's happening.
A knock on the door is what wakes them up in the morning. They've got four hours' sleep in course of which they somehow ended up between the sheets instead of over them, and Prophet is out of his clothes even though he has no clear memory of taking it off. Mick's already scrambling out of bed before Prophet even registers that there's been a knock. Mick cracks the door open.
"Yes?"
"Coop sent me to wake you up, he wants us in conference in ten", says Gina's voice from behind the door in the hallway.
"I'll be there".
"Good. Um, by the way, do you know where Prophet is?"
Mick doesn't even make a movement to look over his shoulder.
"No idea. Why?"
"I've knocked on his door, he's not answering".
"Maybe he went to get some coffee", Mick shrugs. "Now, if you excuse me, I need to get dressed".
This comes out a little rushed and Gina is sure to notice that. Prophet can almost hear suspicious squint in her voice as she asks: "Are you alone in there?"
"Yes", Mick's voice is acid now which means he's fully awake. "We're on a case, darling, if you haven't noticed. Now, may I get dressed or would you like me to go into the briefing like this?"
Apparently Mick wrapped in a wrinkled sheet doesn't strike Gina's fancy so she lets him go. When he comes back to the bed, Prophet shoves his clothes at him and they both begin to get dressed quickly.
Out in the hall they pause. Both feel that after Gina's call arriving together would feel weird, both are unsure of how to breach it.
"I'll go get a coffee", Prophet finally says and Mick grins at him.
The meeting goes swiftly. The sheriff's people have located the unsub, but he's locked himself in with a hostage and threatens to blow the place up. He's agreed to talk though, so one of them will have to negotiate.
Coop turns to him at this point.
"Prophet, I want you to go in", he announces and then explains into the slightly puzzled silence, "You've best chance of building a rapport quickly enough. Considering the circumstances. Mick," Coop continues without waiting for an answer, "you're the back up. You try to get a shot, you hold it, if we see there's no other choice you take it. Understood?" Mick nods curtly. He really needn't be instructed on how to do his job. "Okay, people, let's move. Mick, Prophet, you've got five minutes to get ready".
"Can I ask you something?" Prophet says when they're alone getting into their vests, Mick checking his rifle.
"Sure".
"If you've only got the kill shot, don't take it". Mick looks up at him sharply. "Give him a chance to get out of this alive".
"You do realize the guy's killed three people and is holding another one hostage?"
"Yeah. But you know the case. His daughter was brutally murdered, and they... " he trails off. "The guy deserves better than this".
Mick ponders it for a moment.
"You get me anything better than a kill shot, I'll go with it", he finally states. "If I'm forced to take a shot, I’m taking the sure one".
"Fair enough". They look at each other and exchange a smile, then go to take their positions.
"Good job, both of you", Coop is telling them later when the whole thing is over, the unsub is in custody and the paramedics have finished treating a deep cut from a bullet Prophet's got in his upper arm. He doesn't comment on the tense moment when the unsub was threatening to pull the trigger and Mick warned over the radio: "I'm taking it" which, Prophet knew, considering their respective positions, could only mean the kill shot. "Not now, wait, give me another minute", he pleaded then, hoping that Mick would know he was talking to him as much as to the man in the room and all the way trying to maneuver the unsub so that killing him wouldn't be Mick's best, or at least only, option. He's heard Mick curse even before he felt the pain in his arm, and for a moment he was sure the poor bastard was dead - no way Mick would have given the unsub the chance of making another shot. But Mick, arrogant son of a bitch that he is, took the risk and now everyone is alive and mostly well, even though the chances of that have seemed pretty slim for a moment. Coop'll give them hell about all of this in debriefing, that's for sure, but right now he just says "good job" one more time and turns to go, then stops as if remembering something. "By the way I talked to the director. He said we all can take the rest of the day off and fly back tomorrow or even the day after unless something extremely urgent comes up. So consider that a two day vacation". Coop gives the both of them his small smile and goes off, leaving them to deal with the time on their hands.