Christmas was a hard time of year around the BAU. Emily had poor memories of growing up in a cold, constantly moving household; Morgan had his own childhood to contend with; JJ was one of the few, if any, who enjoyed the season and tried to bring about a little comfort and joy to her friends, Emily in particular. After she and Will had split, the blond had taken to inviting her best friend over for Christmas weekend, no matter which calendar days they fell on. Christmas Eve and Day they always spent together, often times bent over some "assembly required" toy for Henry until late in the night, and sharing a glass of wine over the gingerbread blobs Henry had slaved over hours earlier in the kitchen.
Tonight was no exception. Quiet laughter and a curse word exploded from underneath the tree, followed by a yowl and frantic shushing.
"Sorry," Emily tried to whisper. "Sergei got up the tree again," she complained, untangling the cat from the tempting lights for the third time in as many hours.
JJ tried hard to hide the smirk behind her half full glass of pinot grigio – her second glass, in fact. Which is why she failed, laughter spilling easily from her lips as she watched Emily cuddle the recalcitrant cat to her chest, then release him with an annoyed huff when he struggled.
"What's so funny, Cheeto?" the brunette asked, scooting over to sit in front of Jennifer, watching the play of lights across the other woman's face and feeling a familiar ache in her gut. She quickly reached for her own glass and killed it, attempting to drown the irritating spark of pleasure and desire that could never go anywhere. Not if she wanted to keep moments like this.
She'd been woolgathering too long – JJ had put her glass on the side table and leaned down to peer into her face. "Em? You okay? You just looked so…" whatever word was going to describe her mirth faded from her mind as the space between them stilled, waiting for the inevitable to occur.
"I – what?" JJ said with a blink. She leaned back into the couch and closed her eyes. Shit. Shit. Multiple repititions of the word. Also other four-letter words good mommies didn't say. Had she been about to kiss Emily? As in…kiss? With lips and…potentially tongue. God, she was not thinking about Emily's tongue. In her mouth, or licking along the shell of her ear. Oh yeah, she was not thinking about that.
A hand on her crossed legs, just above her knee, made her jump. "Jay?" Breathy. "You okay?"
Emily, up on her knees in front of her, both hands flat on the couch, a clear attempt not to touch her further.
Oh. "You can, you know."
Don't, JJ. Don't say it, Emily begged silently. I am not a cold, strong, enigmatic woman. I am weak, and much too hot for comfort. So please just tell me we are drunk and being stupid and this will never, ever happen.
"Touch me," the woman finished, and Emily threw up her hands and gave in to her own desire, sliding them up to cradle the smaller woman's face, feeling the soft skin, her mind pointing out that clearly there was a skin care routine in place her and it didn't really matter because she was kissing that mouth, the competent, barking, happy, full of joy and life mouth that ran the team and ran her – like a yoked oxen.
Emily would follow JJ into hell if only they could keep kissing on the way.
