A/N: Inspired by some Tweeting on Twitter, it was supposed to be a PWP story, but dang if Hotch and Emily didn't have other ideas. They actually demanded that there be some type of emotional thread, plot, structure behind this. So while there will be 'naughty bits', our two serious agents insisted on some dramatic storytelling. At most a three-shot, but I'm thinking it'll just be a two-shot. It depends on how I split the second part. Hope you enjoy. Also, don't forget you have less than a week to vote in the Profiler's Choice Awards. The final ballot is at forum. fanfiction. net/topic /74868/ 51253709/1/ (just eliminate the spaces to make the link work). Voting ends November 30th.
She wasn't anywhere to be found and Hotch had to fight down that initial wave of panic he felt rise up in him when he couldn't locate her and she didn't answer her cell phone. Of course he didn't know where she was every second of the day, no matter how much he desperately wanted. He didn't know what she did away from the office unless he happened to overhear her plans: recertification training with Morgan, drinks with JJ, shopping with Garcia. He sometimes knew, but there were many hours unaccounted for and those times preyed on him. What was she doing? Was she okay? Would he see her the next morning or would she be gone?
But this was an entirely different situation. They were in a strange city, just having finished up a case that rattled him more than he had showed to his team and wanted to admit to himself.
They were in Birmingham after a serial killer targeting brunette exotic dancers. They had all been young, beautiful, fit women who had reminded Hotch far too much of another young, beautiful brunette who's fit body he had noticed all too much.
And now that beautiful brunette was missing.
The others had decided to go out for drinks, glad that the case was finally over. Emily and Hotch had declined. Hotch had thought she would be in her room, but when he knocked to ask if she wanted to grab some dinner, there had been no answer. He thought she might be in the shower and called her room about 20 minutes later and then her cell phone. She answered neither one and she wasn't in the hotel restaurant or bar. After a moment's hesitation, he went up to her room and knocked on her door several more times before he came to a decision.
As a precaution, Hotch made certain he had a master key to each of his team member's hotel rooms when on a case. He had never had to use it before, but he did now.
"Prentiss?" he called out as he opened the door. She had left a lamp burning and he moved further into the room. He could see immediately that it was empty and he saw the suit she had been wearing that day neatly laid over the back of a chair.
Hotch frowned, knowing she hadn't accompanied the others because he had seen them off personally and she hadn't been with them. So where was she?
He knew she hadn't been to Birmingham before and knew no one in town but the local law enforcement they had dealt with on the case. Hotch's fist tightened reflexively when he thought of those men. He had seen how some of the local officers had looked at his beautiful agent, their eyes leisurely traveling over her long, lean form, fantasizing what was underneath those conservative suits. Was she with one of them? She hadn't seemed interested, or even seemed to have noticed she was being admired by the hordes of men involved in this case.
Because the victims had all been exotic dancers, there were a lot of men involved in this case. Not only with the officers involved, but the witnesses and suspects they had to interview. Customers who frequented the strip clubs, the employees, managers and bouncers, and the relatives, nearly all of them male. And Emily had been in the midst of those men who simply saw women as objects. They had looked at her the same way they looked at those dancers. It had infuriated Hotch and it took every ounce of self-control to remain professional and allow Emily to do her job. All he wanted to do was protect her from them and their hungry eyes.
As these noble feelings of wanting to protect Emily rose up within him, so did his own self-loathing because the reason behind his feelings were far from noble. JJ had also garnered some attention, but he didn't feel that need to shelter her like he did with Emily. That urge that made him want to protect Prentiss from these other men, it was his jealousy, possessiveness. He wanted to show these hungry men they couldn't have her because she was with him. She was his and pity the man who tried to touch her. But he had no right to claim her. He was like the other men, simply admiring and desiring her from afar.
He tried her cell phone again. She still didn't pick up.
She was a grown woman. A trained FBI agent. Hell, a trained CIA agent who was more than capable of taking care of herself. She was probably the last person who's safety he had to be worried about. But then he remembered the photos of brunette victims and he was dialing Garcia's number.
"Oh Captain, my Captain, what can I do for you?" came Garcia's cheery voice.
"Garcia, I need you to track Emily's phone and let me know where it is."
"Emily's phone?" Garcia's queried. A note of concern crept into her voice. "Why am I tracking Em's phone? Is she okay?"
"Garcia, I'm just trying to locate her. Can you get a fix on her phone?" Hotch said in a soothing tone. He didn't mean to frighten the tech analyst but he knew this was the fastest way to find Emily.
After a minute, Garcia had located the signal and sent the coordinates to Hotch's cell. He thanked her and assured her he would call her as soon as he found Prentiss. Without wasting another moment, Hotch hurried downstairs to the other SUV. He made a note that it was there. They were only assigned two vehicles which meant that Emily either took a cab, walked, or was taken somewhere. Hotch's mouth thinned into a grim line. He hoped she took a cab somewhere.
The coordinates took him to downtown Birmingham to a quiet street filled with small, independent businesses. It was early evening and most of the places were closed or closing, though a few restaurants and bars were doing a brisk business. The address on his phone led him to a two story building. The downstairs was a bicycle shop that was dark and closed. The second floor rooms had lights on. Hotch parked and got out of the car, pausing in front of the building for a moment. His eyebrows went up when he saw the sign for the second story business.
An arrow led him to the side of the building where a staircase led up to the second floor. He quickly mounted the steps to a door that was unlocked. He opened the door and stepped inside. He could hear a woman singing, the lyrics vaguely familiar, but sung in a slow, seductive pace, different from the hard rock beat he typically associated with the song.
The lights are on,
But you're not home,
Your mind, is not your own.
Your heart sweats,
Your body shakes,
Another kiss, is all it takes!
You can't sleep,
You can't eat,
There's no doubt,
You're in deep.
Your throat is tight,
You can't breathe,
Another kiss,
Is all you need.
Oooh, you'd like to think that you're immune to the stuff, oh yeah.
It's closer to the truth to say you can't get enough
You're gonna have to face it
You're addicted to love!
Slowly, Hotch made his way down a narrow hallway, the sound of the music getting louder as he neared the room at the end. He looked through the open doorway and stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide and his brain not quite functioning when he saw what was going on before him.
Emily was alone in the room, dressed in a tight, red exercise tank and black yoga pants. She was barefoot and her hair streamed out behind her in silky waves. Hotch watched as her hips swayed sensuously from side to side, one hand grasping the silvery pole in the middle of the room. She started a slow walk around the pole and then suddenly hooked one leg around it and twirled herself around, lifting her other foot off the ground as she spun on the pole.
Hotch watched in stunned surprise as she continued to move with catlike grace around the pole, using the pole, showing off an impressive amount of strength and flexibility. His surprise slowly melted into admiration which quickly slipped into desire as he watched what was developing into an erotic, sensual performance. Each move was filled with sinuous grace, a burning layer of eroticism and sexuality as she dipped, stretched and wrapped herself around the phallic symbol that cut through the center of the room. Hotch had never been so jealous of an inanimate object as he was right now watching Emily grasp the pole with both hands so she could leap up and wrap those long legs around it, her sex pressed against the cool, metal surface. Yep, he had pole jealousy as he watched her cradle it between her thighs.
He felt his gut tighten and a warmth spread through his body as he continued to watch the beautiful woman perform for him alone. A flicker of guilt filled him because she wasn't performing for him, he was invading her private moment, but that one flash of conscience disappeared as more primal desires took over and overwhelmed him. He was so caught up in watching Emily that he didn't notice the muffled ring of his cell phone.
"You'd better get it. It might be important," Emily said as she did a slow turn around the pole.
Hotch started out of his lust-filled daze and realized Emily had known he was standing there the entire time, watching her, and letting him watch her. Hastily, he reached for his cell phone and snapped out a crisp, "Hotchner."
"Oh sir," Garcia's worried voice came over the line. "Did you find her? Emily. Is she okay?"
"She's fine," Hotch replied, his eyes still locked on the woman in question as she bent over, offering him a delectable view of her pert, toned ass and then slowly she straightened up, arching her back. "I've found her. She's okay."
He heard Garcia sigh in relief and she cheerfully bid her boss a goodbye, secure in the knowledge that her friend was in good hands. His hands.
Right now, Hotch really wanted Emily in his hands. In his bed. In his life.
He hung up and slipped the cell phone back into his pocket. During his entire conversation with Garcia, Emily had continued with her routine, still graceful, still sensuous, still eliciting wave, after wave of desire from Hotch.
During this last case he had looked upon the men who visited the strip clubs to watch the dancers with a certain amount of disdain. He had been raised to respect and honor women and these men had reduced them to mere objects to gratify their sexual fantasies and in the case of their Unsub to force them into his.
But here he was, doing the same to a woman he had known for years, wanting her to star in his own sexual fantasies. Hotch realized thought, that she had been the main star of such fantasies for quite a while. Right now she was bringing some of them to vivid life.
"Someone worried about me?" Emily asked as she finally stopped her routine and walked over to a chair where he could see a gym bag with a towel draped half in and half out of it. She bent over slightly to pick up the towel, the fabric of her yoga pants stretching over her ass once more, highlighting the curve of it and sending another jolt of pure desire through Hotch.
He cleared his throat and walked over to her, deliberately keeping his gaze up at a more respectable level, but nearly groaned when he took in her slightly damp skin that glowed in the soft light of the room, her flushed cheeks and those bottomless dark eyes that looked up at him inquiringly.
"Garcia," he replied. "When I couldn't reach you and found out you weren't at the hotel, I became worried and had her trace your phone."
Emily frowned. "Couldn't reach me?" She bent over her bag again and began to rummage through it, finding her phone and letting out an exasperated sigh. "Sorry. I had it on vibrate. I forgot to switch it back after we took down the Unsub." She gave him an inquiring look. "Is something wrong? Why were you looking for me?"
Why was he looking for her? Hotch blinked as he tried to remember what started his hunt because he didn't want to tell her that he was really driven by the fear that she had disappeared from his life once again. He didn't want to reveal that when he couldn't find her his stomach had dropped and blind panic threatened to overwhelm him as he was transported back to ten months ago and when he turned around in the BAU bullpen and she was gone. He wouldn't see her again until days letter, lying on the dirty floor of a cold warehouse, bloody, broken and almost dead. He didn't want to tell her about his irrational fear that the Unsub they arrested that afternoon might have targeted her because she too much like his victim of choice, brunette, beautiful, lithe. He couldn't say any of that to her, though it was what had made him hunt her down.
She was waiting for his answer, her deep, dark eyes looking inquiringly at him.
"I was wondering if you wanted to go grab a bite to eat," he finally said. "I knew you didn't go with the others, and thought you might be hungry. Then when I couldn't find you, couldn't reach you, I became worried."
"I'm sorry," she said again.
"Don't worry about it." He paused. "I think we all need to learn to adjust."
Her eyes became contrite and she dropped her head. "I'm sorry I've forced you to think that way."
"It's not your problem, Emily, it's ours. Mine." They were heading into dangerous territory. She was berating herself for what happened with Doyle and how it's changed how they looked at her, worried about her, and he was revealing far more than he had intended. All he wanted to do was find his missing agent and make sure she was safe and she was. Or was now. He wasn't too happy with the apparent lax precautions she took with her safety.
"How did you know about this place?" he asked as he looked around.
"I've been taking pole dancing lessons for a little over a month now. My instructor has a friend here and suggested I get in touch with her if I wanted a workout while in town. I did and here I am."
"Alone," he commented. He turned irritated eyes towards her. "You're here alone and the front door was unlocked. Anyone could have walked in."
She gave him a pointed look. "Obviously someone did."
"That wasn't safe, Prentiss," he snapped out. "Dammit, we've just caught a man killing exotic dancers and you what do you do? Go to a studio, alone, in the evening and leave the front door unlocked. You should be more aware."
"I knew you were there the entire time, Hotch," she snapped back.
"And if it wasn't me? What if it was someone who was intent on harming you? Your back was turned. Your bag on the other side of the room. Would you have been able to reach it in time to get your gun?" He was getting progressively angrier, his words coming out in harsher tones as each new scenario of what could have happened to her if someone else had walked into that room and not him. Watching her dance, he had to fight the urge to grab her and have his way with her, what if he was a different type of man? What if he was one of those men who went to those clubs and watched these women entice and tease, but only here, there was no unspoken barriers, no bouncer to come between the women and the lascivious hordes. She would have been vulnerable and she could have been hurt, defiled, killed.
He didn't know who he was angrier with, Emily for putting herself into such a dangerous situation or the imaginary deviants who may have considered harming her if he hadn't come along. Or himself for knowing his anger was stemming from something more than just concern over her welfare.
"I can take care of myself," Emily said as she started to move back to the pole. She gripped the pole with one hand and then spun around it slowly. "You keep forgetting I'm a former CIA operative. I can handle myself."
He stepped into her path, stopping her slow turn around the pole. "I haven't forgotten," he said softly. He stared at her for several long heartbeats and she stared back at him, not flinching from his gaze. Finally he nodded at the pole. "Why did you take up the dancing?"
"Its great exercise," Emily said as she let go of the pole to move around him.
"Somehow I don't think that's why you've started doing it," Hotch replied. She had started another slow walk around the pole but stopped when she heard his words. Her back was turned to him, but he could see the slight tensing of her shoulders. Hotch moved closer to her until he could feel the heat radiating off her body, burning through his clothes and scorching his skin. "Emily, talk to me."
There were several more seconds of silence, but without turning around, Emily began to talk. "After Doyle," she began haltingly. "After what he did to me. The branding, the stabbing, remembering everything I went through when I was undercover. Having him touch me again." She shivered and Hotch's hands twitched to reach out and touch her, but he held them down by his sides, curling them into fists in an attempt to control them and the overwhelming anger whenever he heard Doyle's name.
"I felt…unattractive. Less of a woman. I don't know, I thought maybe something like this would help me feel differently. Get back in touch with my sensuality. Feel like a woman again. Maybe prove to myself that I could be attractive as me, scars and all." Her hands had moved in front of her, and Hotch knew she was picking at her nails, a nervous habit she had yet to overcome.
His hands came up then and he placed them gently on her shoulders. "Emily," his voice rumbled deep in his chest and he felt her shiver again and that pleased him, making him wonder if he was having that affect on her or was she simply cold. Reflexively, his hands started to massage her shoulders. "I don't think you need to prove anything to anyone."
She stepped away from him and his touch. Emily turned around and looked up at him. She was in her bare feet and Hotch was struck by how much shorter than he she really was. He had always thought her a tall woman, but right now she looked petite and delicate as she stood before him without her heeled boots.
"That's a nice thought, but you know as well as I do that after something like Doyle, there's bound to be some residual effects." Unconsciously she started to rub her abdomen where the scar from her wound laid. "And it's different for everyone."
"Has it helped?" he asked quietly, pleased and honored she was letting him see into her mind like this. He had made a few attempts to get her to talk, but she had neatly deflected all of his efforts. He knew she hadn't spoken to any of the others of her fears and concerns either. He suspected this was the first time she's ever verbalized them.
Emily shrugged. "I don't know. I just usually get a lesson or practice in front of my instructor. My female instructor," she noted wryly. She sighed. "I doubt I'm turning her on and if I am, she's not the demographic I was thinking of." She sighed again. "Well, at least it's keeping me in shape."
Hotch had to agree with her. If this was her main source of exercise, the pole dancing was keeping Emily in very good shape. The words slipped out before he realized what he was saying. "I guess you haven't noticed almost every man stares at you wherever you go." Hotch clamped his mouth shut.
Emily looked at him with incredulous eyes. "What?"
Hotch sighed his regrets in saying anything being overwhelmed by his continued surprise that as a profiler, Emily was so oblivious of the reaction she could elicit in men. But then again, considering what she had gone through and the mental and emotional turmoil she had experienced, Hotch could understand her getting too far into her own head space and not realize the looks of admiration and lust directed at her.
"What are you talking about?" she asked as she took a step closer to him, her head tilted slightly to one side, a curious look in her eyes.
"You didn't see the looks the local police officers were giving you during this case?" Hotch asked with a raised eyebrow. He shook his head gently. "Especially, Smith, the lead detective. When he first saw you, I swear his jaw dropped to his knees." His eyes softened as he looked at her. "You're a beautiful woman, Emily. I don't think you ever have to worry about being attractive to men."
The smile didn't quite reach her eyes and he knew she wasn't convinced. "Thanks, Hotch." Her hand went to her stomach again. "But they only see the outside. I'm sure they would feel differently if they got too close."
She started to move past him, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. "If they knew you, truly knew you, Emily, they would think you were the most beautiful woman they've ever met."
He had gone too far, revealed too much, but he couldn't bear to see her consumed with doubt and insecurity. If it meant going out on that limb, he would do it. For her, he would do anything. When she raised her dark eyes to look into his, Hotch prepared himself for embarrassment, anger, disgust, some emotion that told him that he had crossed the line with her. But when he looked into her eyes, he was surprised by what he saw.
Softness. Curiosity. Hunger.
Hotch felt his mouth go dry as she stared back at him. Several heart beats passed before she said in a low voice.
"Do you really think I'm beautiful?"
He moved closer to her, stepping into her space so closely that her full breasts brushed against his chest. He could smell her unique Emily scent heightened by the heat her body had generated during her workout.
"I know how beautiful you are," he murmured. "And every day, when I first see you, I think you've grown even more beautiful."
Their eyes locked with each other. The studio was completely silent save for their quiet breathing. Hotch wasn't certain how long they stood there, their eyes revealing to the other what they've been scared to say with words. Emily finally licked her lips and said in a whisper.
"Will you do me a favor?"
"Anything," Hotch murmured, his head dropping closer to the top of her head so he could smell her fragrant hair.
"Watch me dance."
A/N 2: The song is "Addicted to Love" as performed by Florence & the Machine.