"What I'm seeing I'd sure love seeing every morning from now on... Maybe it's a little to early to know if this is gonna work. All I know is you're sure looking good in my shirt."

You Look Good In My Shirt

******

She let out a small hiss of pleasure as the warm water hit her skin, easing her sore and overworked muscles. Kicking down doors and chasing an unsub through the woods was just getting really old. Steam rose all around her from the near scalding temperature as she sank deeper into her hot tub. She let out a contented sigh when she felt a muscular arm pulled her close.

He kissed her shoulder and whispered into her ear, "I'm still not invited?"

"Nope," she grinned.

"Then explain to me, what am I doing in your hot tub, Emily?"

"You're not invited," she repeated, turning around to face him. "But I expect you to be here. Make sense, Derek?"

Morgan kissed her softly then murmured, "I hope we're making more than just sense tonight..."

"Oh, we are..." she replied, pressing kisses on his jaw. As they were about to let their lips reconnect, Emily's stomach betrayed her and rumbled loudly. Slightly embarrassed, she turned her head, effectively burying her face into his neck.

With a chuckle, Morgan ran his hands down her back, settling them on her hips. "Hungry, baby?"

Emily shrugged in response, "Yeah... I haven't had dinner."

He smiled and pressed a kiss on the tip of her nose. "How about I make us supper?" Knowing her and her dietary habits, he knew she wouldn't want anything heavy at this late hour. "I can make a mean grilled cheese sandwich."

The smile that curved Emily's lips was contagious, and Morgan couldn't help but smile back at her. "Mmm, sounds delicious," she murmured, pressing herself closer to his body as her stomach betrayed her and rumbled audibly again.

Cupping her face in the palms of his hands, he kissed her soundly. "Come on," he murmured, when the kiss broke, "Let's get some food into you."

******

Standing at the threshold of her kitchen, Morgan quietly watched Emily butter a slice of bread with a smile on his lips. Her hair was tied losely; baring her graceful neck to him, lose strands of her raven locks framing her face in a way that was simply hers. She had a relaxed, blissful, well-loved look on her face that he had rarely seen. He felt a surge of pride when he realised that he was the one who put it there. But seeing her in nothing but his shirt – and barely covered by them at that – was icing on the cake.

And there was something oddly intimate and arousing to Morgan about Emily wearing his sweatshirt. Maybe it was her scent mingling with his. Or perhaps, it was his name – Morgan – emblazoned over her breast, like he had marked her as his. Whatever it was, he couldn't stop staring. He wanted to make love to her, while she was wearing his shirt, and she knew it.

He was looking at her with those eyes; the kind that made her feel like she was melting into a puddle right there on the floor. And while it made her nervous, it made her almost giddy, like school girl giddy. "You're supposed to me making me a sandwich," she abolished teasingly, her smile negating her rebuke.

"Sorry," he chuckled, "I was busy admiring the view." Walking towards her, he casually said, "That shirt looks great on you."

"Better than it did on you?"

"A lot better," he said, pulling her close and kissed her soundly. When they kiss broke, he murmured, slipping his hands underneath the shirt, "You know, I bet it'll look better on the floor."

"Later," she whispered, grabbing his hands and putting them around her. "Later. I need food first."

"You pick food over me?" he brought his hand to his heart, feigning hurt, "Ouch..."

She chuckled and kissed him softly, "I promise this shirt will be on the floor for the rest of the night. But I need dinner first. I need the energy," she added.

"You wanted a sandwich?" he asked seriously, causing her to laugh.

******

Much later, they curled up on the bed together, clothed in nothing underneath a deep red comforter. They were both worn out and half asleep. Emily smiled softly as she felt Morgan's arms tightened around her and she continued to absently run her fingers lightly along the skin of his forearm, stroking back and forth lovingly.

"I have an idea," Morgan said, suddenly sounding wide awake.

She frowned and shook her head, "Not again, baby. I'm tired."

"I don't mean that," he laughed then added, smirking, "But if you're ready for another round, I'm game."

She rolled his eyes and ignored his comment. "What idea did you have?"

"Throw out all your clothes and just wear mine."

"What? Why?" She shot him an incredulous look.

"Because," he began, kissing the corner of her mouth, "I really like seeing you wear my shirts. You looked so amazing."

"You want me to get rid of all my clothes?"

"Yes." He seemed pretty determined to have her wear only his shirts. And once Morgan made up his mind, there was almost nothing you can do to change it. Almost.

She moved to face him, kissed him hungrily and whispered, "Even that little skirt? The one that had you dragging me into the supply closet?"

"Hmm, I do like that one..." he looked thoughtful for a moment before he replied, "I guess we could keep that."

"What about that black dress?" she asked as she nibbled on his earlobe, "The one I wore to my mother's Christmas party last year. Or that set of lingerie you got me for my birthday?" Her lips travelled down to his neck, and she smirked as she felt his pulse sped up. "How about that red shirt? The one with the deep V neckline. And my costume for Halloween?"

He groaned aloud before rolling on top of her, pressing his body firmly against her. "Keep all your clothes. Just promise me you'll wear my shirts every once in a while."

"Done," she promised smilingly before leaning up to kiss him again.

And true to her word, Morgan's shirt spent the rest of the night on the floor.