"Don't marry someone you would not be friends with if there was no sex between you."

William Glasser

"Lisa?" Aaron Hotchner called, walking into the foyer.

"Up here!" her voice began, from upstairs.

He walked upstairs to find her in the room they'd designated as her office. "You went upstairs to put on a pair of socks…what are you doing in here?"

"I wanted to measure the room," she said, retracting the tape measure. "I think this might be the best room for the baby. I can take the smaller room as my office."

"You sure about that?"

She nodded, "Yeah, this way we won't have to move him or her later. They can just grow up in this room." She looked around at the walls. She'd hidden their stark white color by hanging the many awards and plaques she'd been given over her FBI career.

"I don't know if the other bedroom will have enough wall space for all of your accolades," he gently teased, stepping up behind her and slipping his arms around her.

"Then they will go into a box," she firmly said, "I just put them up so I wouldn't have to decide on a color to paint the walls." She looked back at him, "Walk with me…"

"Where to?" he said, as they walked, in the same position, to the closet.

She opened the door and frowned, "What the hell is in those boxes?"

"I'm not sure," he replied, peering into the closet. "Could be anything."

"Great investigative skills there, Hotch," she snickered, "Way to be the FBI Poster Child."

"Wise ass," he returned, releasing her and stepping closer to the closet.

"We should go through them," she decided.

"Now?"

"What better time is there? We've got nothing else to do."

"I don't know that you should be moving boxes in your condition,"

She fixed him with a smart grin, "Hotch…" she began, shaking her head, "I don't intend on moving anything. That's why I have you around." She ran her hands down his t-shirt covered chest. "Those well concealed muscles of yours will serve just fine for this little project."

"I always suspected that you only wanted me for my body," was his dry reply.

She leaned forward and kissed him, "You know it was your mind that hooked me. But," she allowed, "The body definitely was a bonus. Eye candy is just such a wonderful thing."

He feigned hurt, "I feel so used. Is this what a whore feels like?"

"No, Darling," she returned, sitting on the high backed desk chair, "You're doing this for free. That would make you a slut."

"Thank you for the clarification,"

"Anytime," she nodded, with a smart smile, then, nodding towards the closet, "If you can just stat dragging those boxes out, I'll start going through them." Then, with a playful giggle, "And if you want to do the true eye candy thing, you can lose the shirt."

Rolling his eyes at her, he turned back to the closet. This was the latest facet of Lisa's pregnancy, the one she lovingly referred to as "eat like a pig, screw like a rabbit." It seemed that once the morning sickness finally went away, not only did her appetite return, but it brought along a friend, a fairly constant state of arousal.

Although he promised not to compare Lisa's pregnancy to Hayley's, he knew damn well that his first wife did not experience this particular phase. Dr. Bergen assured them both that not only was this normal, but it could possibly last through the rest of the pregnancy. He wondered, as he lifted the first box out of the closet, if a man could die from too much sex.

"What's that deep in thought look for?" she asked, as he slid the box over to where she sat.

With a laugh he said, "I was just wondering if a man could actually die from too much sex."

She raised a brow, "Why? You feeling suicidal?"

"I'm sure you'd be willing to help me test my theory, wouldn't you?" was his dry return.

"Yeah," she shrugged, taking off the lid, "But I'm not so sure I wouldn't kill myself in the process. So I'm vetoing that idea."

"Chicken," he said, under his breath, sliding box number 2 out of the closet.

"Excuse me?" she laughed, "This from the original chicken?"

"Who, me?"

"Yeah, you, Mr. I'm-Not-Going-To-Tell-My-Best-Friend-I'm-Hot-For-Her-Even-Though-She's-Coming-On-To-Me," she teased.

"I don't think that would fit on my id," he returned. "Besides, you had your own agenda that night. I wasn't about to try and stop you. It would be like trying to stop a speeding freight train."

Ignoring him, she looked up, "Aaron Hotchner is their any particular reason you have saved your tax returns from 1989?"

"In case I'm ever audited."

"The IRS can only go back 6 years," she recited.

"And where did you get that from?"

"I spent a long weekend with a Warrants and Investigations Agent from the IRS," she grinned. "He did my taxes for me…"

"And what did you do for him?" he smartly returned.

"I refuse to answer that question on the grounds I may incriminate myself," was her equally smart reply, "And, we are getting rid of 1989 tax returns, and the 1990 tax returns, and basically the contents of this entire box."

"Fine, just make sure you shred them first."

"I like the shredder," she returned with an evil grin.

"Yeah, I know," he sighed, "Here, box number two. This one is yours."

"And how do you know?"

"Your handwriting across the top of it that says, Lisa's Documents."

"Don't ever go by what's written on a box," she dismissed, lifting the lid, "See…these are your old notes from the Academy."

"We are NOT shredding them," he concluded, placing the lid back on the box.

"Okay…moving right along…"

XXXXX

While he sorted through the next two boxes, Lisa ran down stairs and grabbed them both water bottles and a box of Vanilla Wafers, her new favorite food. Sitting back down on the desk chair, she opened the box and took out a cookie.

She studied her husband for a moment, watching as he looked through old papers. He sat on the floor in a pair of old jeans and his ancient Tom Petty concert t shirt, his dark hair, normally combed perfectly and held in place by more styling product than people would guess, was free of said product and completely tousled, dark locks falling across his forehead.

He looked years younger and much more relaxed than she guessed anyone at the BAU could ever imagine him looking. She thought for a moment of taking his picture on her cell phone and sending it to Penelope Garcia with a message that said, "See, I told you so," but decided that she'd rather keep this side of him all to herself.

"Are you going to share the cookies with me this time?" Hotch asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

"Yeah, I guess I will." She held the box out to him. As he took a handful of cookies, she said, "I think that next box is mine. Wanna drag it over?"

He nodded, mouth full of cookies, and slid the box to her. As he turned his attention back to the closet, he heard Lisa laugh and say, "Oh, shit..."

"What's so funny?"

"Nuthin'," she laughed.

"Did you find those grade school albums my mother insisted that I take?" he asked, turning to face her, "I refuse to be responsible for how I looked in the third grade. Those plaid bell bottoms were not my idea any more than the red turtleneck."

Lisa grinned, "Nope, this is definitely not third grade. As a matter of fact, I'd say that this is definitely not even third grade appropriate."

XXXXX

He could she that she was holding a picture, but from his angle, he could only see the back. "What do you have, Lisa? Is this something I'm going to have to discuss with my mother? I swear, that woman has kept some pictures just to terrorize me as an adult."

Lisa clutched the picture to her chest, "Nope, it's not you in this picture."

He grinned, "Another picture of you with the Pippi Longstocking braids and the glasses?"

She shook her head, "No. And you can give it up, cuz you're not going to see this one."

"Come on," he laughed, moving over so that he was kneeling next to her, "Give it up."

"Nuh uh," she said, shaking her head.

"I can over power you," he playfully threatened, grasping her hands and trying to pull them from her chest.

"We both had the same training," she countered, with a laugh, "And if you remember, I even took the advanced courses."

"Ah, but did they teach you how to defend yourself against this?" he said, releasing her hands and tickling her sides.

"No fair!" she laughed, squirming to get away from him. "Oh, damn…stop!"

"Give up the picture…"

"Fine, here," she said, releasing her grasp.

Taking the picture, he studied it for a moment, feeling a broad smile cross his lips. "Well, well, well…the very prim and proper, Lisa O'Reilly won first place in the…" He studied the picture for a moment, finally allowing his eyes to take in the back ground, "Carlos and Charlie's wet t-shirt contest" He looked at her, "I thought you said you were all shy and retiring until you joined the Bureau."

She shrugged, "Well, that was Spring Break in Cancun. Nobody's shy and retiring when they've been doing tequila shooters since breakfast."

He stole another glance at the picture, deciding that although she tried to make it seem like an anomaly, this was the Lisa he knew and loved. Her dark red hair was pulled back into a high pony tail and she was wearing a very short pair of denim shorts and a soaking wet white Carlos and Charlie's t-shirt that clung to every blessed curve, showing everyone in the bar just how happy she was to see them. And damn, was she happy to see them.

But despite what she'd think, what he noticed most was the way she was smiling, her green eyes sparkling with that devilish look she wore when she was doing something that she knew would raise eyebrows on the folks back home. He found that look very sexy and his body was reminding him just how sexy.

"Are you trying to commit that to memory?" she laughed, standing up and holding out her hand.

"Sorry," he said with a sheepish grin, handing her the picture, and then standing. "I'm actually kinda sorry I missed this one. Looks like a fun night."

"Oh, it was. But that was way before I met you and probably way before I even thought of joining the Bureau."

"My loss," he nodded, "Although, I think I still would've enjoyed that night."

"I'm sure you would have," she winked, looking at the picture. "I was pretty damn loaded by that point of the night. You probably could have scored pretty damn easy…"

"So…" he asked, casually, "Did you score that night?"

"Believe it or not, no," she replied, a hint of pride in her voice. "And I know you won't believe it, but I was actually still a virgin."

He raised a brow.

"Don't try it, Hotchner," she faux glared, "I told you my ex was my first. Just cuz a woman displays her breasts to half of Cancun does not mean she puts out."

He laughed, "Oh, I'm sure you put out in a few guys fantasies that night."

She swatted him, "Hotch! That's disgusting!"

"But probably true," he mused. "Hell, I'd have been fantasizing like a fool to this picture."

"Really?" she asked, surprising him by her seriousness. "Cuz just that morning, I swore I'd die a virgin, cuz not one guy looked at me the whole trip. They all fawned over my friend, Katie. Long blonde hair, 36C, tan, stood all of 5'3". Then along I came, tall, loud, redheaded Lisa…"

"With gorgeous green eyes, legs that go on forever, and a set of 38C's that just stood up and said hello…"

"Yeah, they did stand up back then, didn't they?" She looked down at her chest, "And after this kid pops out, they're gonna start heading south even more."

"I'm kinda enjoying them now," he slyly said, unzipping the hooded sweat shirt she wore to reveal the form fitting pale pink t-shirt she wore under it. He knew she wasn't wearing a bra. He'd learned a long time ago that when Lisa was just hanging around the house she refused to wear a bra, shoes, or make up. Of course, if someone showed up unexpectedly, she would quickly don all three items, but he wasn't complaining about her current status. Not one bit.

"Of course you are," she laughed, as he slid the sweat shirt from her shoulders, allowing it to drop to the floor. "They're getting bigger every day. I feel like Dolly Freaking Parton and Dr. Ben said they're gonna get even bigger?"

"Maybe we should go to Cancun," he said, reaching over to where her open water bottle sat on the desk. "I bet you'd win hands down."

"Um, Hotch…" she said, wincing, "You forget…" She pointed to her softly swollen stomach.

Despite what she thought, he didn't think she looked pregnant. Not yet. She simply looked like she needed to lose a few pounds. Not that he'd ever tell her that. Instead, he said, "The brunette in your picture had a bigger stomach than you do. And she won second place."

"Well, there is another difference," she went on, "Thanks to you; I'm not allowed any alcohol. And yeah, I may have grown brass balls since then, but I'm sorry, no tequila shooters, no wet t-shirt contest."

"I don't know about that," he returned, holding up the water bottle, "We could have our own private contest."

"And what fun would that be?" she replied, with a smile, her dilated pupils telling him that she was enjoying his suggestion.

"I think it could be a lot of fun," he said, leaning in for a kiss.

"What were you saying about a man dying from too much sex?" she giggled, as he pulled back and slowly poured water over her shirt.

"Damn, I should have grabbed the camera," he replied, stepping back to admire his handy work.

"Why? Need something to fantasize over?"

With an evil grin, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

"Hotch," she warned, "No…"

Nodding, he flipped it open and pressed the keys to bring up the camera. "Come on…just one? For when I'm away…"

She laughed, "You mean to tell me you're going to go back to your room, whip out your cell phone, and…come to grips with yourself next time you're away?"

He snapped a picture, and then held the camera back to look at it. "It's a great way to release tension. Yeah, this will do."

"Let me see," she said, reaching for the phone.

"Nope…it's for my fantasy use, not yours," he smartly said, flipping the phone shut and putting it back in his pocket.

"Oh, I see how it is…" she returned, snatching his water bottle from where he left it on the floor and removing the cap.

"What are you going to do with the water?" he asked, although he knew roughly where it would end up.

"I could pour it on your shirt…" she mused, "Or over your head…but I like your hair like that…" Her eyes took on that devilish sparkle, distracting him, while her hands grabbed the waist band of his jeans and stuck the bottle in it, upside down. "I think it's time for a Wet Willie contest."

"Damn that's cold!" he said, pulling the now empty bottle from his jeans. "Couldn't you have warmed the water up first?"

"What fun would that be?" she asked, lifting her Blackberry from the desk and pressing the camera key.

"No…no pictures," he said, reaching for it, but she held him off.

"Fair is fair…"

"Lisa, the picture of you looks hot," he looked down, "This picture will just look like I peed myself."

She looked at him and started to laugh. "Oh, damn…you're right."

"Now, put down the Crackberry," he instructed, using the "disarm the unsub" tone.

"Drop your pants and I might…" she challenged.

"Lisa…"

She shook her head, "Nope. You got a fantasy shot, I want one too. Now, either it's you looking like you peed yourself or you drop them…"

"The things I do for you, you vile woman," he muttered, unbuttoning his jeans, then quickly unzipping them. "Do you need to take a picture?"

"I do…" she nodded, "I can stand here holding this thing all day…"

Rolling his eyes, he dropped his jeans and boxers to the floor. "I feel really stupid standing here like this," he said, looking up at the ceiling.

"Really? Because parts of you are really glad to see me," she giggled, snapping a picture.

'Well, he's got a mind of his own," he returned, finally directing his eyes back to his wife to find her with a smug smile.

"Yeah, he does," she agreed, reaching out and caressing him. "But sometimes, he comes up with a good thought or two." She smiled at him, then sank to her knees in front of him, taking him into her mouth.

She worked him quickly and it didn't take long before he felt control slipping away. Deciding that he wanted more than just a quick release, he pulled back and slipped out of her mouth.

"I wasn't done," she said, as he helped her to stand.

"I almost was," he told her, tugging the hem of the wet shirt up and over her head, "And I thought we could finish it together."

"Ah, I do like it when you think with the bigger head," she grinned, as he hooked his fingers into the waist band of her yoga pants and slipped them and her panties down over her hips.

He looked around the office for a moment, debating whether to lay her down on the floor or attempt to move to the bedroom.

She picked up on his quandary and said, "Sit down."

He looked at her for a moment and she elaborated, "On the chair…"

Wishing he would have thought about it, he sat on the soft fake leather chair and said a silent round of thanks IKEA was out of the chairs with the armrests on the day he went to pick up her office furniture. All thoughts of IKEA vanished from his mind when she straddled his lap and lowered herself onto him.

As she slowly ground against him, she leaned forward, her lips brushing his ear and said, "Just remember this when you're fantasizing over that picture."

Feeling himself pushed dangerously close to the edge he spoke, his words coming out as a gruff warning, "Keep talking like that and this will be over before it begins."

She stopped moving and looked down at him, "Oh no you don't…you need to wait for me."

He slipped his hand behind her head and pulled her lips to his, taking them in a savage kiss, "Then get moving," he commanded, "Because waiting is no longer an option."

He assumed that something about his words flipped some sort of switch within her mind because once he'd uttered them; she returned the kiss, taking charge of the situation, telling him what she needed, giving him direction on getting her to his level of arousal. She was in charge of the show and he found it very erotic, very enticing.

"Lisa…" he said, giving her a warning that he was nearly at the point of no return.

She smiled at him, her eyes carrying that dreamy quality they took on during sex, "I'm almost there," she purred. "Think you can hold on just a wee bit more…"

"Not with you talking like that," he said, his hands settling on her waist, slowing her movement. "There…that's it…slow it down…"

She rocked against him, using slow, deep movements. "How's that?" she asked, her tone breathless.

"Good, Baby, real good," he said, watching as she smiled at his term of endearment. They rarely used them outside of the bedroom and usually, when they did, it was totally tongue in cheek. But when they slipped out during love making, they worked surprisingly well. "How is it for you?"

"It feels good," she breathed, as her nails raking his shoulders confirmed her statement.

He slipped his hand between them, using his fingers to help her along.

"Oh, God, yes," she sighed, her movements becoming more focused, more driven, telling him that she was nearly there.

He waited, knowing that she would let him know when she was ready and knowing by the way she bit her lip that it wasn't too far away.

"Now, Aaron," she said, using his given name, another act that had surprising results and this time was no different.

All thoughts of control vanished as they furiously finished. She cried out when her body spasmed at the end, pulling from him a guttural groan as he reached his own climax. As his body came down from its prior high, he felt her collapse against him; her head nestled in the crook of his neck.

"Damn," she laughed, her lips tickling his neck as she laughed.

"That's it," he said, running his hands along her back. "I do believe a man can die from too much sex."

She pulled back and kissed him, "Only if it's good sex…" she kissed him again, "Really, really good sex. Kinda like that."

He looked down at the boxes on the floor, "We really need to finish those boxes."

"No, we really need to sit here for a few minutes," she decided, then smiled. "And your child needs to calm down."

"I guess we stirred him up, huh?" he laughed, as they both looked down at her stomach.

"You've got to be able to feel this," she said, taking his hand and placing it on the soft mound of her stomach. "There…"

He waited for a moment and then, was rewarded with the slightest flutter of movement beneath his palm. He looked up at her for confirmation.

"You felt it?"

"I felt it," he laughed, pulling her into an embrace.

"It's about damn time!" she laughed, as her Blackberry rang. "Damn it…"

"Don't answer it," he suggested, but her look told him that wasn't an option.

Climbing off of him, she answered the phone, "This is Lisa O'Reilly," she listened for a moment, then, "Sure Ron, what do you need?" she asked, shooing him out of the chair as she pulled on her pants, then sat down, "Let me just boot up my laptop…"

Knowing she'd be a while, he bent and picked up his jeans. Slipping them on, he noticed the wet t-shirt picture laying on the floor. With a quick glance Lisa's way to see if she'd noticed, he lifted the picture, stole a quick glance, then tucked it safely into his back pocket.

With a satisfied smile, he pecked her cheek and walked out of the office.