A/N: I usually wait until I have a fic finished before I post it, but I'm working on my masters degree (I have one final and six weeks to go!) and am afraid that if I wait to finish it, I won't ever finish. I think if I post as I finish each chapter, it'll keep me motivated to keep going. So hang in there and be patient with me, there will be more, and soon! Thanks for reading and reviewing! :)
Chapter Two
The thudding bass gave way to sultry tones, drawing a wide grin from Morgan. He pulled Garcia to him, pulling her close as she giggled at him. Only Penelope would choose TLC on the juke box; it was a joke she and Morgan had shared for years. A throwback to adolescence when life should have been simpler. At least the music had been fun.
None of them had had the brightest childhood, each suffering some loss or trauma that had led them here. Garcia was determine to create positive memories, one retro '90's tune at a time and Morgan loved her all the more for it.
Prentiss felt her cheeks flush at the first strains of the song, not sure if she wanted to curse Penelope or kiss her. She knew she was walking a fine line, hovering at the point of no return.
If she let him pull her close – and God how every cell in her body was begging for him to – she wouldn't be able to hold back. His hands at the small of her back were already stretching her self-control to its limits.
Their eyes met and the fire she saw burning in his melted away what was left of her self-control. She had never had such an intense heat focused on her, not like this, not from someone she already cared so deeply about.
Shushing that little voice in her head that was telling her that this could be a big mistake, Emily closed the small space between them pressing her body to Hotch's.
Hotch's right hand pressed more firmly into her back as his left hand came up to tangle in her hair. Her right hand snaked its way up to rest on his shoulder, her fingers lightly, mindlessly caressing his neck. She rotated her hips against his slowly, easily falling into the slow roll of the music.
He moaned lightly, matching her movements with his hips. She let out an undignified squeak of surprise; she never in a million years would have guessed stoic, serious SSA Aaron Hotchner, lead agent of the BAU could move like that.
Hotch smirked at her squeak and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk off of his face. In the most creative way possible.
She pressed her body even tighter into his, her heart racing. Her heels gave her enough added height that all she had to do was turn her head and she could brush her lips against his neck. This realization alone elicited a response from her body, and the room, the team, everything faded until all that was left was the two of them and the music.
Emily had been carrying a flame for Aaron Hotchner for over a decade. She'd met him while she was still at Yale, back when he smiled more. She'd been immediately drawn to the dimples and the mischievous sparkle in his hazel eyes. She hadn't missed, however, the thin band he wore on his left hand; she had always been rebellious, with a wild streak she fought hard to control, but she still held firm to morals and values and marriage vows were a line she would never cross.
She'd gone back to school that fall still burning for Aaron, a fire that drove her to work harder so that she could finish school and put even more distance between them.
With time and her work with the CIA, that fire died to nothing more than smoldering embers. She kept tabs on his career for a while, but lost track of him when she went on what ended up being her final undercover assignment.
His was the last name she'd expected to see on her transfer papers. Strauss had forced her onto Hotch's team, hoping she'd bring the unit chief down, totally unaware of Emily's past with him. The minute his eyes met hers, that ember roared to life, the flame burning bigger and brighter. Except he didn't trust her, or know her really, anymore; and he still wore that damn ring.
So she did what every good agent and profiler did and she boxed away that flame and did her job. She did her best to be supportive from a distance, first through the divorce and then the ordeal with Foyet. She allowed herself to get a little closer after Haley's death, knowing he believed she did it for Jack. The flame grew brighter as he slowly pushed everyone away.
She was sure he'd never had any idea, and it slowly consumed her.
And here they were tonight, pressed to one another with reckless abandon. Shutting out the world, letting their walls crumble, not considering what the consequences may be.
Emily just knew that she couldn't fight it anymore. Hotch had given her an inch when he'd let her lead him to the dance floor and she was going to take a mile. She'd, they'd, deal with the fall out later.
Still blissfully oblivious to everyone and everything around them, they danced.
She gave in to the desire and curiosity she'd stamped down for so long and brushed her lips ever so gently against his neck, grinning when she heard him gasp.
He brought his lips to her ear, whispering a lust laden "hey now" into it. She shuddered and felt him grin against her hair.
"Oh, Hotch, "she whispered back, "I'm just getting started." She pressed her hips harder into his, her brown eyes widening when she felt the way his body was responding to hers. She'd known for a while that he'd felt something deeper for her than he had when she'd first joined his team, but had never entertained the idea that he'd feel anything close to what she did for him.
She knew he'd loved Haley deeply, the unwavering love of high school sweethearts who had grown up together. She knew he still loved her, even a year after her death, and knowing this had never allowed herself to over-analyze the lingering glances across the table, the fact that he often sat next to her on the jet, allowing her to use his shoulder as a pillow after an especially grueling case, or how his fingers would brush hers, seemingly innocent and unintentional, when he handed her a cup of coffee or a pen.
Some profiler she was. Everything about him and his behavior tonight pointed to hundreds of missed signs over the years.
That flame rekindled, roaring to life and burning up all of her pretty little boxes.
Emily's hands found their way to his shoulders, trailing slowly down over his chest as they continued their slow sensual dance.
Hotch's left hand continued to tangle in her hair, caressing the silky strands, as his right hand snaked under the hem of her t-shirt, tracing small circles on the smooth skin.
She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her breathing becoming quick and erratic as she breathed him in. She could feel and hear his breathing speed up as he buried his face in her hair.
She felt like she was on fire and barely noticed when the last bit of her self-control snapped. She brought her right hand up to cup Hotch's face, turning just enough to press her lips to his with a whisper of a kiss.
She groaned when he pressed back just a little bit harder. She hesitated for a split second before a sense of urgency took over. She returned his pressure, her tongue darting out, seeking entrance. Hotch's hand tightened in her hair, holding her face to his as he opened up to her.
Morgan and Garcia stopped dancing and simply grinned at the pair. Rossi chuckled, his drink hovering midway to his lips. Even Reid, typically oblivious, noticed, his hands stopping mid-flail as he gaped at the couple making out on the dance floor.
JJ couldn't help but grin at her friends. She knew Emily would try to blame the alcohol tomorrow; she also knew that her incredibly private friends would be mortified if someone didn't stop them before they fell head first into the haze of lust and mutual attraction.
She cleared her throat and gestured to Morgan, imploring him to move in and cool things down. He rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly. He knew what JJ was thinking and he agreed. But he also knew that Hotch needed this and that Emily had waited too long for him to get here.
And he knew they'd both reign it in before it got completely out of hand. They were masters of self-control and self-deprivation.
Just as Morgan expected, the pair pulled apart, just enough to breathe. They stood forehead to forehead, panting slightly, barely moving. The song changed, a bass line thumping away again, pulling them both back to where they were.
Emily started to pull back, suddenly very aware of the team's eyes on them. She squeaked when Hotch grabbed her hips, keeping her close. She pulled her head back to meet his eyes, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Wait." His voice was raspy and just a little breathless and she couldn't help but grin. She did that and the realization of the power she held over him heady and intoxicating.
"Problem, Agent Hotchner?" she murmured, her voice deep and husky, as she rotated her hips against him.
His grip tighted almost painfully; later she'd find faint bruises from his fingers on her hips. "No, Agent Prentiss, no problem. But we should get out of here before there is." He growled, pressing into her.
She moaned lightly, her knees going weak at the feel of his erection, obvious even through his clothes, pressed against her.
He could see the wheels turning in her head as she worked out how to get out as quickly as possible.
In the end she realized that discretion and stealth were pointless – they'd all seen the kiss and even Reid knew what comes next. She simply grabbed his hand and led him out of the bar.
Emily stopped short when they reached the curb; Hotch ran into her, catching her just before she tumbled into the street.
She turned to face him worrying her lip, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"I didn't drive." She blurted out. "JJ did. She knows that I have a tendency to have a few too many after these kinds of cases – the ones with kids – so she always drives –"she rambled, suddenly nervous.
"It's ok. I did." She started to object; he'd been drinking too. "Prentiss, it's fine. I can drive. My place isn't far from here."
This time, it was Hotch who took Prentiss' hand, and dragged her off in the direction of his car.
