First off, thank you all SO much for voting for My Dark Duke. It won Best Drama in the Profilers Choice Awards, and I am SO very happy that you all enjoyed it so much. I'm sorry I haven't updated my fics in like forever, but life has gotten in the way, so I hope you'll forgive me.

I asked HGRHfan35 if she wanted a sweet or sexy fic for her birthday and she said both! So here it is, Part 1 of a two shot. Happy birthday my darling! Sorry this is late. Hopefully Part 2 won't take as long!

As always, the characters do not belong to me etc. etc. (see my previous disclaimer). This takes place right after Emily bumps into Hotch in "A Brief Interlude". I hope you'll like this.

"This is the best pie place you know?" Hotch looked dubiously at the dilapidated shopfront with its peeling paint and the faded sign above the rectangular glass window that allowed passersby to look inside the fluorescently lit shop. The interior did not help in inspiring any confidence with its ageing formica topped tables and plastic chairs.

"It's the best pie place I know that's open at this time of the night," corrected Emily, tugging him through the door. "And one that's licensed to serve alcohol."

A smiling, red-cheeked, plump woman looked up from behind the counter as they entered. "Ah, Miss Prentiss! How lovely to see you again." Hotch thought she sounded like she had a Scottish burr.

"Hello Mrs Baker. How are you?" They approached at a table in the back and Hotch sat down next to Emily, preferring to be near her, rather than across the table, even though that would make conversing easier.

The proprietress moved from behind the counter and came and stood next to them. "I'm very well indeed. And I presume that you are well too, as you have a gentleman friend with you?"

"I have never been better, and yes, this is my gentleman friend. Although I'm kinda hoping he's not going to be too much of a gentleman tonight." Emily winked.

Mrs Baker laughed and shook her head, obviously used to Emily's cheek.

Emily grinned in reply, and Hotch felt his breath catch as her midnight dark eyes sparkled. God, she was beautiful. Why had he never noticed how beautiful she was? But of course he had. He just never allowed himself to think of her in that way. He had been her supervisor, and that was a line he would never cross. So he had let her go, the fool that he was. He barely heard the conversation as Emily continued to chat with Mrs Baker. A day had not passed that he did not think of her, however fleetingly. He hadn't even been sure if he would ever see her again.

And then there she was. A vision of perfection in her red cashmere coat standing at the entrance to the Opera House as if fate had deliberately placed her there for him. As if fate was giving him a second chance. He swore to himself right there and then that he was not going to let her slip away, not this time.

Mrs Baker bustled away and Emily looked up at him enquiringly. "Hotch? Are you all right?"

"What? Oh. Uh, yeah, I'm fine." Real smooth, Hotch.

Her mouth curved and a mischievous light gleamed in her eyes. "Are you thinking ungentlemanly thoughts? Because I was only joking, you know." She screwed up her face. "No, it was only half a joke. I won't mind if you were a little ungentlemanly tonight."

Hotch suppressed a smile. "That's not going to be a problem. You can pay for the meal."

Emily rolled her eyes but she was smiling. "I totally fell into that one, didn't I?"

"Totally." He leaned back in his chair and studied her, admiring the graceful line of her neck that was exposed by her upswept hair. She was a study in sophistication tonight, her make-up perfectly applied so that her lips were coloured the exact shade of her coat. The smoky grey of her eyeshadow made her eyes appear sultry and mysterious at the same time, and just gazing into them made him feel as if he was falling deeper and deeper under her spell.

Freaking hell. What was wrong with him? Falling under her spell? He must lightheaded from hunger. He shook his head as if by doing so he could clear it. "So, should I ask what you ordered for me?"

"Oh, you know, a little bit of this, a little bit of that." At his raised eyebrow, she chuckled. "Don't worry, there's nothing too exotic on the menu. Steak and kidney, beef in red wine and a chicken and mushroom with thyme. And of course, the mushy peas."

"I'm feeling a little offended that you would think that I'm not adventurous when it comes to food," he said, putting on said offended expression. "I'm open to new experiences."

"Mm hmm." Emily didn't look convinced. She was probably right to. He really didn't like exotic food. It was probably a good thing he worked for the FBI and not the CIA. "Tell me you're not worried about the mushy peas."

"The mushy peas isn't because I'm not adventurous, it's just the thought of what it'd look like. And the texture. Tell me it doesn't look like green baby food."

Her mouth twitched. "It looks like green baby food. And possibly regurgitated green baby food."

Hotch groaned. "I can't believe you said that."

"What?" she protested, looking as innocent as the Wicked Witch of the West. Ok, a very sexy version of the wicked witch, and a helluva lot prettier too. He also had the feeling that her black, probably extremely form fitting evening gown looked much better than a witch's garb. Yep, he was definitely not himself tonight. But even as he thought that, his mind teased him with an image of her in some slinky black number which displayed all her curves with mind-numbing precision. His body responded accordingly.

Her eyes narrowed, as if she had just read his mind. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I just make you lose your appetite?" she asked sweetly. A little too sweetly, he thought.

Just because he was now sporting a raging hard on didn't mean that all the blood in his body had rushed south. His brain could still function. Sort of. "On the contrary, I'm starving." There was no mistaking the look on his face. He made sure of it.

Although how the hell it had gotten to this point this fast he had no idea. Nor did he know what the hell he was going to do about it.

Oh. My. Fu..freaking. Goodness.

Emily swallowed hard. Day 1 of Lent when she had promised that her penance was going to be no swearing, and this is what happens. God was punishing her. He must be.

Because Hotch, Hotch for goodness sake, was looking at her as if he was the Big Bad Wolf and she was Little Red Riding Hood. Hmm… in hindsight, drinking two glasses of champagne during the intermission on an empty stomach was a bad, bad idea. Because she was suddenly imagining big, bad, hungry Hotch, still dressed in his tux, covering her naked body as she lay on her red cashmere coat, fucking her within an inch of her life.

Shit. Wait, if she used fucking as a verb, was that counted as swearing? Of course, this was only a vague thought that floated by, given that she was now hot and completely bothered. Even that one image had been enough to make her ache between her thighs. Double shit. Shit wasn't swearing. Not really, she told herself.

Now what was she going to say. She really didn't have a clue because her mind was blank. Well, blank when it came to words. She still couldn't get rid of that image of them having sex. He was still looking at her as if he was about to reach over and pull her up onto the table so that he could devour her right there and then when Mrs Baker arrived with their order.

Emily heaved a sigh of relief as the older woman placed the pies and drinks on the table. It was happening way too fast. And yet, hadn't they known each other forever? Damn it. What was she going to do?

After Mrs Baker left, Emily turned to Hotch, determined to act as if nothing had happened. It was just the easiest option for the moment. Also, she was really trying not to show him she was freaking out on the inside. "So, you said you were starving? Dig in!" She smiled brightly at him, giving thanks that he was now looking like his normal – ie. impassive – self.

He looked at her a moment longer, long enough that she stopped breathing for a moment, then nodded. Oh boy, she thought as she bit into the crispy, butter crust. This was bad. She had it so bad for him it was almost funny. Except of course that it wasn't. Because he meant so much to her that the thought of never seeing him again after tonight was like being stabbed in the chest. She would know.

"Hey." His voice was soft.

She looked up, her chest aching anew at the look of concern on his face.

"Where did you go?" Hotch reached across and took her hand in his. The skin on his palm was slightly rough and the warmth of it seeped into her, soothing her turbulent thoughts.

"Sorry," she said, giving him a weak smile. "I'm such a downer. Bet you wished you had stayed to watch the second half of Macbeth instead."

He smiled back, then shook his head. "And miss out on the mushy pea slash green baby food experience? No way."

His reply coaxed a reluctant laugh from her. He always knew when she needed him.

"That's better," he said approvingly, before lifting her hand and brushing a kiss across her knuckles. Releasing it, he went back to cutting up his pie. "Tell me what Interpol's like?"

It took Emily at least a minute to recover her voice. He had kissed her hand so casually, as if they were long time lovers, rather than two people on their first date. Her heart was beating ridiculously fast from that one touch of his lips. Geez, if this was what she was like after such an innocuous action, what was it going to be like to actually have sex with him? She didn't even dare to imagine it. She also thought she had more than likely imagined that look of sexual hunger on his face. So she determinedly put it out of his mind. She took a deep breath and answered him.

The rest of the evening passed quickly, filled with stories and reminisces and much laughter. Hotch paid after all, looking rueful when Emily reminded him about his earlier comment. But then she had expected nothing less. It was bred in him, part of him. He couldn't be ungentlemanly if he tried. It was yet another thing she loved about him.

Wait. What?

Hotch caught her when she stumbled hard on the steps leading up to his hotel. "Are you all right?" he asked worriedly.

Emily looked down with bemusement when he knelt down and lifted her gown away from her feet. His warm hand swept over her ankles, sending a shiver through her. Or maybe that was the cold night air.

Who was she kidding.

"Everything looks intact," he declared, before dropping her gown and standing up.

Everything except her heart. Emily almost rolled her eyes. Maybe she could give up her day job and start writing country music lyrics. "Sorry, champagne and cider and these ridiculous heels are not a great combination."

His mouth curved into a smile. "I'm not going to complain about your choice of footwear. They're very nice."

Emily frowned. "Just very nice? I'll have you know these babies cost me a month's pay."

Hotch's eyebrows shot up. "In that case they are fucking amazing." He emphasised the f-word.

She laughed so hard that she had to lean against him. He chuckled, the rumbling in his chest making her feel so happy that she felt slightly giddy. Yep, she was in deep, deep shit. The weird thing was, she didn't care. This was Hotch, and she knew that he would rather shoot himself than allow there to be even the slightest risk of hurting her. And if she didn't take this chance to be with him now, she would regret it for the rest of her life.

So she tilted her head back and looked up at him. At that dear, familiar face that she had missed more than she had admitted, even to herself. "The taxi's waiting, but…maybe I can see you tomorrow?"

Something flickered in his eyes, and then he did something totally unexpected. He kissed her. It was gentle and reverent and just that slightest bit tentative.

It was bliss.

Her heart fell when he pulled away just as the kiss began to deepen. Hotch took her hands in his, eyes focused fiercely on hers. "Tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and the day after that, for as long as we both shall live. If..if you want to, that is." His voice was uneven, his eyes anxious, so unlike him, and she felt tears prick her eyes.

What else could she say? Emily exhaled shakily. "Yes."

Joy flared in his eyes and he swallowed hard. "I know this is presumptuous, but would you like to come up for a bit?"

Emily laughed out loud. "All right, but just because I said yes to spending the rest of my life with you doesn't mean I'm going to let you get into my pants without any foreplay."

Hotch blinked. "I wasn't...I didn't mean…" he stammered, then stopped. He frowned when she bit her lip to stifle another laugh. "Did you just make me sound like Reid?"

A giggle escaped despite her best efforts.

"Right, that's it."

Emily watched in fascination as he raced down the steps and paid the taxi driver. He was barely breathless by the time he got back. He cupped her elbow with one hand and firmly guided her to the glass doors at the front of the hotel. As they stepped into the elevator, he said something to her that made her gasp aloud.

His voice was deep and dark, and so very dangerous, exactly like that Big Bad Wolf that she had imagined him to be. "You want foreplay? You've got it."

Reviews make me ecstatic, so send me one if you have a moment to spare! Next chapter - SEXY times, so get that fan ready.