Author's Note: This picks up back at her place.

FYI, there is a sex scene in this one that is a little bit 'whoa.' I know. I did it on purpose. I will explain at the end.

Early January

Dress Shirts, Chinese Food & Major Awards

Hotch looked up from his position lying on the bed, and over to a naked Emily standing in the middle of her bedroom, pulling on his dress shirt.

His brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Where are you going?"

She paused mid-button.

"The Chinese food should be here soon. I'm going downstairs to wait."

With a scowl, Hotch quickly pushed himself up and swung his legs around so his feet hit the carpet.

"No," he reached down to grab his boxers off the floor, "you're not."

Was she freaking crazy?!

Then he saw Emily's brow wrinkle in confusion.

"Why not?" She asked slowly.

His gaze slowly shifted up her body, and over all of those beautiful curves he was now becoming so intimately acquainted with. Their eyes locked.

"Do you seriously think that you're dressed appropriately to go answer the door? Like that?"

"Well," Emily frowned as she looked down, "I'm covered almost to my knees." Then she thought about that point and she rolled her eyes at him, "God Hotch, I have skirts shorter than this."

Now shaking his head, Hotch quickly pulled on his boxers before he crossed over to where she was frowning at him.

There she was, smelling of sex. Her hair wild, her cheeks pink, and naked except for his dress shirt, which was open down to her cleavage, and clinging to her breasts.

She was absolutely gorgeous.

He didn't say any of that though, he just stared at her while she looked up at him in confusion.

"What?"

But he didn't answer. Instead he just picked her up and carried her back to the bed. That was where he placed her gently down into the middle of the rumpled sheets, and stood looking at her with a half raised eyebrow.

Emily pushed herself up on her elbows.

"Kind of hard to answer the door from here," she smirked at him.

"Kind of the point," he answered drolly.

When she let out a snort, he climbed back onto the bed and began slowly running his hand up her leg. Caressing her calf, then her knee, and sliding the shirt aside as he went higher. Then something caught his eye, and his fingers paused on a discolored patch of flesh on her upper thigh. And he wondered what had left that mark, but knew by the sudden tension in Emily's body that he shouldn't ask.

He lifted his head, and seeing the fear in her eyes he felt terrible. Because even if it had been inadvertent, he knew that he had put that fear there.

It had been his intrusion on her past.

So he crawled up beside her, and wrapped her up in his arms before he tipped his head down to whisper in her ear, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

Though Emily nodded her acknowledgment of his words, she didn't answer him. That's when he knew for sure, however she'd received that mark, it had not been accidental.

So in an effort to provide some comfort and apology for plundering into an area of her life clearly not up for discussion, he curled his body completely around hers. Then he pulled back the corner of the dress shirt so he could kiss her back. After that, he just tucked his head down to her shoulder, and held her close, just waiting until the tension started to leave her body.

It took a few minutes.

But finally she rolled over to face him. And after she'd looked at him for a moment, still saying nothing, he picked up her hand and kissed the back of her fingers.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asked softly.

Emily's eyes widened in surprise.

"God, no!"

It was obvious Hotch had already inferred that the scar from her skin graft wasn't a topic for discussion. Certainly not tonight, possibly not ever. Because she'd never told anyone that story. And when his fingers had stilled on her thigh, she'd been absolutely terrified that he was going to ask her what had happened.

That was how it always went.

Invariably every man she'd ever been with, had asked the question, and every single time it had been the end of the relationship. Not that it was a dramatic 'get out of my house' moment. Usually she just changed the subject. Depending on how they took her doing that, sometimes it killed the mood completely.

Sometimes it didn't.

But she'd always known at that moment, that moment when the man had asked her the question, that this was a person she had no intention of ever confiding in.

But Hotch, simply by not asking, by just knowing, not to ask, made her feel so differently. It was really too bad that this wasn't a relationship, because if it was, she thought that maybe, someday, she might actually have told him what had happened to her in Saudi Arabia. And that was why it had taken her longer to recover than it should have, for a non-discussion of a twenty-four year old scar. It was that she was thrown by the sensation that Hotch was somebody who, maybe, she could tell her secrets to. Because she had a feeling, based on the marks she'd seen on his back, that he had a few secrets of his own.

But tonight wasn't for show and tell.

Show and tell meant that you were in it for the long haul, and their exit was coming up shortly. But as she lightly ran her hand along his abdomen and felt the strength there from the muscles rippling beneath, she knew that she didn't want him leaving her bed any sooner than he had to.

So she rolled him onto his back and climbed onto his torso. Then she looked down and stared deep into his eyes.

Yeah . . . her teeth sunk into her lip . . . her secrets would definitely be safe here.

Hotch reached up then to grasp her gently by the hips, and her eyes began to sting as her lips curved in a sad smile. She leaned down to give him a kiss.

"Don't leave," she whispered with a crackle in her voice, "please. I don't want you to go."

Hearing the pain in Emily's voice as she pleaded with him not to leave, Hotch wanted nothing more than to know who had hurt her so badly. Because the pain that person had inflicted on her, would be NOTHING compared to what he would do if he ever found them. But for tonight, all Hotch could do was take care of her.

So in an effort to provide what little comfort he could, his eyes were soft as he gently brushed the back of his fingers down her cheek.

"I'll stay as long as you want me to."

It was a promise he intended to keep, no matter what else happened. And then Emily shifted to lay her head down on his shoulder.

"I want you to stay until the clock runs out . . ." she turned to nuzzle his neck, "and then we leave together."

Feeling a pang in his gut, Hotch clasped his arms around her back and held her close to his chest.

"Okay," he whispered with a kiss to her temple, "okay."

It was then that he understood, whatever casual thread that they'd thought would pull along this night of coupling, had snapped. It had been replaced by something more. Something stronger.

Something that was going to keep them bound even after they walked out her front door in the morning.

But as he felt her warm breath tickling his throat, and her slim body wrapped around his, he realized how much he would actually welcome that bond. Back in the bar, Emily had offered herself to him because she'd seen that he was lonely and broken. And he had accepted her offer because he'd needed to know if he was still capable of making a connection with another person. And he had been.

He was now.

But they had both already gotten MUCH more than they had bargained for when they'd made that agreement in the bathroom. And Hotch was pretty sure that was because they were more similar than they'd realized. They were connecting because, though for different reasons, it was obvious that Emily was lonely and broken too.

That thought made his heart hurt.

So with a faint sigh he began to run his hand soothingly up and down her back, wishing that he had the time to find out what had happened to her. To see if there was anything he could do to fix it. But that kind of trust took time, and that, he thought sadly, was one thing that they did not have.

But then a few minutes later the doorbell rang and he found an opportunity to lighten the mood a bit.

"Your friend Billy's here," he whispered with a pat to her back. And as he'd hoped, Emily began to chuckle against his chest.

"I can't believe that you remembered the name of my Chinese food delivery boy."

Hotch shifted slightly so he could give her a quick peck on the lips.

"Of course I do." He murmured before pulling back with a smirk, "he's competition."

Then shot her a mock scowl as he rolled her to the left, and swung his feet back to the floor on the right.

"That's why," he stood up, "you are NOT answering the door like that."

Emily started laughing as she put her hand out so he could pull her over and up next to him.

"I still don't understand what the big deal is, Hotch." she chuckled, "I'm completely covered."

With a grunt, and a shake of his head Hotch slipped his arm around her shoulders and they started out of the bedroom.

It was amazing that she honestly had no idea how sexy she looked . . . his lips twitched . . . well, perhaps he should give her some idea. His eyebrow inched up as he stopped them in the middle of the upstairs hallway. Then he looked down at her.

"If I wasn't so damn hungry I'd take you against the wall right now."

Feeling another smirk touch her lips, Emily let her hand slide down so she could slip it inside the waistband of his boxers . . . she ran her thumb along his hip.

"Don't say it if you don't mean it," she whispered.

"Emily," Hotch dropped his own hand down to still her fingers, "it would probably be best if I didn't answer the door with an erection." Then he squeezed her hand while adding drily.

"Billy would probably get the wrong idea."

Emily snorted and then laughed out loud as the full mental image hit her.

"True," she huffed, "and unlike you, I do have to live here. So yeah," they started walking again, "let's not have you make any sexual overtures to my delivery boy."

The matter dropped for the time it took for them to walk down the staircase, but when they reached the bottom of the steps, the bell rang again but Hotch ignored it as he looked down at her.

"One last point, just so you know, after we eat, I do plan to take you against the wall."

And simply to punctuate that point . . . and to cut off her snort of laughter . . . he backed her against the wall next to them before he leaned down to lave his tongue over her nipple. He sucked it to a tip through the cotton shirt.

When he pulled away, and looked back up (with a smirk), he saw Emily biting her lip.

"You do that," she huffed with a dirty look, "and THEN pull away?! That's just mean!"

"Well," he started down the hall, calling back over his shoulder, "that's what you get for doubting me!"

It wasn't until he'd reached the door, and had checked the peephold, that Hotch realized he didn't have his wallet with him. Or even his pants. Still, he whipped the door open, and looked down with some amusement at the young Asian kid standing there holding a large, brown, paper bag.

The infamous Billy.

His eyebrow quirked up just so he could confirm.

"Billy, yes?"

The kid gave him a suspicious nod while he very openly looked him over.

"Yeah, that's me. Who are you? There's a lady that lives here."

Hotch's lips twitched.

"I'm a friend of the lady's."

Then he put his hand on the doorjamb and called back over his shoulder.

"Emily, do we have a wallet handy?!"

"Oh yeah," she straightened up from the wall where he'd left her, and her eyes began frantically darting around on the floor through the living room. All around her were the remnants of their first coupling which had started with them tearing off each others' clothes once they'd cleared the front door. Now she was just looking for a pair of pants.

Either his or hers would do.

Boot . . . button . . . button . . . belt . . . shirt . . . shoe . . . PANTS!

His.

She snatched them up so she could start digging into his pockets. And even though she'd now had the man inside of her twice, it still felt like an oddly intimate invasion of his personal space to be going through his pants.

Badge . . . keys . . . wallet!

After she'd yanked out the thin leather square, she hurried down to the front door to hand it over to him. That's when she noticed that Billy's eyes were bugging out as he peered around Hotch's arm to see her.

Realizing then that Hotch might have had a TINY point about the outfit . . . and perhaps not answering the door IN it . . . she quickly stepped back to hide herself behind her new bedmate. And then, while standing on her tiptoes, she put her chin on his shoulder and her hand on his side.

"Hi Billy," she said with a little smile.

Billy's mouth snapped shut and then he swallowed hard, "uh, uh, hi Miss Prentiss."

Not liking at all where this was going . . . exactly down the road where he'd said that it would . . . Hotch simultaneously glared at the younger man, while he cleared his throat.

Loudly.

The delivery boy's eyes immediately snapped back to his.

"Uh, um, $33.50," he stuttered.

In exchange for the bag of food in Billy's hand, Hotch handed him two twenties and a VERY cold smile.

It was more of a sneer.

"Bye now, Billy."

After a nervous nod back, the kid took off at (literally) a run down the outer corridor.

Good.

Though as Hotch pushed the door closed, he felt a hard smack on the shoulder.

Emily was clearly not pleased.

"Did you just scare him?!"

And he turned around to see her scowling as she added angrily.

"Because Billy's never run off before like he was on fire!"

With a shrug he turned back to hit the deadbolt.

"I may have intentionally scared him, and I will not apologize for it." He turned to look at her seriously, "because after seeing you in that shirt tonight, from now on he was going to view you primarily as a sexual being. And the next time he comes to the door, you're probably going to be here by yourself."

Exasperated with his presumptions, Emily interrupted with a roll of her eyes.

"Hotch he's not a sex offender. He's a sweet kid."

As he walked past her down the hall, Hotch continued on matter of factly.

"That may very well be, but he was going to start looking at you differently, more as an object. And you would have picked up on it, and it would have started to make you uncomfortable." He placed the bag down onto the counter before he paused to look at her, "and because of that, before long, you won't be ordering from that restaurant anymore. But now, instead of you in that shirt, the last thing he's going to remember about this night, is me. And the very real threat of me kicking his ass for looking at you that way."

"So now," he turned back to the bag and started taking out cartons, "Billy is afraid of me. Which means that your relationship with him can go on just as innocently as it was before tonight."

Emily's expression suddenly softened in understanding.

"So you were mean to Billy," she asked quietly, "just so I can keep getting the Chinese food that I like?"

As he opened the container of sesame chicken that she specifically wanted from this restaurant, Hotch nodded slowly.

"Yep, that's why I was mean to Billy."

She stared at him for a moment, and then, biting her lip, she went over and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.

"That was really sweet," she pressed a kiss to his back, "thank you."

Another sweet in a 'fucked up' kind of way, but it was a way that Hotch expressed affection. And honestly, given her own broken wiring, it was a way that she could understand. And that action from him, had meant more to her than all of the empty promises lesser men had ever made in a futile effort to get into her pants.

Then Hotch turned around in her arms and leaned down to capture her lips . . . but it only took a moment for the kiss to deepen. Their mouths opened, and then she began to suck on his tongue as he had sucked on hers back at the bar.

That was the point where they both started to lose control.

Feeling Emily scraping her fingernails along his back, as she began to grind her hips against his, Hotch was at full staff again in a matter of seconds. And that was even though they'd just finished having sex barely twenty minutes ago. Maybe it was all those months of celibacy. But God help him, he was pretty sure that he was going to set a personal record that night. Either that or drop dead mid-coitus.

At this point either was fine with him.

So with a groan . . . and their mouths still attached . . . he picked Emily up, cupping her ass with both hands as she immediately wrapped her legs around his waist. The dress shirt had ridden up, and his erection was pressed against her ass.

There was heat there.

While Emily continued to rub herself against Hotch, rotating her hips, she felt the wetness pooling. And with his still clothed erection throbbing against her ass and vaginal lips, she once again had the sensation that she needed him inside of her immediately, or she was going to go insane. No man had ever done that to her before. Just made her go completely out of her mind. It was frightening, that need.

But it was also exhilarating at the same time.

Hotch carried Emily over to the couch, while still frantically kissing her, trying to taste as much of her as he could so that he wouldn't forget.

Because he didn't want to forget any of this.

And for her part, Emily was rubbing her breasts against his chest, and grinding her sex against his penis, and the sensation of her naked body pressing into him was enough to make him feel like a sixteen year old boy again.

It took every bit of his considerable self control to keep from shooting things off prematurely.

When they got to the sofa she loosened her legs and slid to the ground. When she looked up at him then, with the shirt hanging half off her side, it was with a wantonness that almost killed him.

So he yanked his boxers down and tossed them somewhere off by the stairs. Then he reached down, ready to hook her leg over his hip so he could slide into her. But suddenly she turned around and leaned forward over the couch.

He realized that she wanted him to take her from behind.

It showed a trust in him that made him want her even more. And as he slipped his hand under her shirt, his shirt he suddenly remembered, and let his fingers slide into her, he felt her vaginal lips already plump, and her center nearly dripping.

His more sentimental thoughts were overtaken by primal ones.

Quickly, he shoved his knee between her legs to spread them even wider. He pressed her forward so her ass was up. And with his hands firmly settled on her hips, he shifted to angle himself just right.

Then slowly . . . so slowly . . . he pushed into her. Reveling in not only the moan she immediately let out, but the agonizing slide into her smooth, wet, depths.

Still, even with her already letting out that moan, as with the times before, he stopped for a moment, waiting to make sure she was completely adjusted before he moved again. But once he felt her muscles relax as she bit out, "do it, go hard," he pulled back almost all the way, and then drove his hips up, so he could pound back into her.

It was hard, just like she wanted it.

Over and over, giving a slightly swivel each time, and with as much strength as he thought he could use without her hurting her. And given the sounds she was making with each rotated thrust, he knew that what she was feeling wasn't pain.

She was letting out a soft, mewling, sound.

Hearing that, and knowing those waves of pleasure were washing over her, all he wanted to do was fuck her. And that was the word for it . . . fuck. He felt possessive, and primal. He wanted to make her his. His woman. Not one to be looked at by any other man. Even if it was just a nineteen year old boy doing the looking.

And even if she could only be his for one night.

The sweat was beginning to pour off his brow and down his back as he felt his own pleasure growing. Then he let one hand come off her hip, so he could reach around to begin massaging her clit.

He had already seen that she was capable of multiple orgasms, so there was no reason she shouldn't get them.

Every damn time.

As Hotch's calloused fingers began to run perfect circles around her clitoris, Emily felt her toes begin to tingle and the vibrations begin to spread out from her center. The warmth that came with them was filling her. Then suddenly it exploded and she screamed.

Honest to God screamed.

Usually she was much better at keeping her emotions under control, even during sex. But as Hotch kept moving within her, over and over with his hot breath at her neck, she knew another one would be coming almost immediately. Her body was already shaking. And feeling almost embarrassed at how loud she knew it was going to be . . . the crest she was hitting was so high she was losing her breath . . . she frantically grasped a throw pillow to muffle her cries. Immediately though, Hotch immediately pulled it away as he roughly panted, "no, Emily. I want to hear it. Scream . . . scream for me."

So she did.

She let herself go like she never did for anyone before. And before it was done she'd screamed his name over and over again. She lost count. And the name she screamed was Aaron, and given how when she first said, he had buried his face in her neck and squeezed both of her breasts, she knew that Hotch was inordinately pleased about that.

But then feeling him suddenly suck in a harsh breath as his movements began to slow with the final thrusts, she braced herself against the couch. Finally, with her coming down from her own last, squealing, high, he came against her with an almost violent, cursing, shudder.

His seed filled her.

And when he stopped then, finally, God knew how long after they had started, for a moment he just slumped over her. Gasping as he pinned her down. But after a minute he straightened up, and shifted to pull out of her.

She winced as she felt him come out, feeling almost bereft at the loss of their connection.

For her, sex was mostly just a physical act intended to bring about pleasure. Rarely did she feel more than that. Sometimes, if it was a nice guy that she'd been dating for awhile, she felt something deeper, but it had always been restrained. But being with Hotch was different. She wanted to keep him with her . . . in her.

It was a troubling feeling that she tried to push aside.

Mostly because she knew that she couldn't let herself get attached to him that way. Because even if that connection was there between them . . . perhaps built on their preexisting levels of trust . . . this was the only night that they could act on it. If she allowed herself to forget that, to WANT him the way she did right now, then it would make it that much harder tomorrow morning when they had to go back to their real lives.

Back to the world where they couldn't do this anymore.

And feeling Hotch's hands sliding along her stomach, as he pushed her hair aside to kiss her neck, she felt a burst of genuine happiness that had nothing to do with the sexual act they'd just engaged in. So when she felt his hands slide to her hips and he began to turn her around, she pushed aside those faintly melancholy thoughts. Because she wasn't going to wallow in what they couldn't have.

She was just going to be happy with what they did.

So when she lifted her head to look up at him, she ran her hands up his chest, and gave him a brilliant grin.

"Best . . . fuck . . . ever!"

Immediately he burst out laughing as he lifted her up off the ground. And hearing that laughter from him . . . a man who so rarely even SMILED . . . brought her joy. So when he buried his face against her shoulder, and slid his arm under her bottom to hoist her up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

"Seriously, best ever," she continued on while leaning back to give him a soft kiss even as she murmured against his lips, "we should like win a major award or something."

With his lips now twitching, Hotch slowly shifted Emily back so her legs could drop to the floor . . . though still he kept her close to his chest.

Her let his arm slide around her waist.

"What exactly would an award for that look like, do you think?" He asked in amusement.

"Hmm," she scrunched up her face, "I don't know. But probably not something you could put in the living room."

Hotch let out another chuckle as he tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear.

"Did you know that you're the only person that can make me laugh?"

And she looked up at him in astonishment, "I am?"

He nodded.

"Yep, well, Garcia maybe has once or twice. And," he got a faraway look on his face, "Jack makes me happy, but besides him," his eyes crinkled as he gaze refocused on hers, "you're the only one that really can make me laugh."

Perhaps that was why being with her like this didn't feel strange or inappropriate. Their bond was already deeper, different, than anything so mundane as simple colleagues.

Emily was more than that.

Feeling her eyes sting at his words, Emily bit down on her lip. Because she was both humbled and saddened by what he had said. It felt like a great honor to be a person that could make him happy, and she felt especially grateful because he'd actually shared that fact with her. But on the other hand, she felt a wave of sadness that he had so little joy in his life.

He deserved so much more than the misery of their job.

So she leaned up on her toes to give him a kiss and then a watery smile.

"Thank you for telling me that."

And as he wrapped his arms around her body, and tucked her back under his chin, she made a vow to herself that from now on, she would make sure that he smiled at least once every day.

Regardless of the nature of their relationship, physical or not, that was one promise she could at least keep.

From there, after another moment of just being close, they finally separated so they could clean up before dinner. Emily headed for the small half bath off the front hallway. And as she scrubbed her hands and face, and wiped herself down with a washcloth, she again thanked God that she was on the pill. Given how little time they had together, it would have sucked if they'd needed to go fumbling for a condom each time the mood struck.

Like now for instance, that would have TOTALLY broken the rhythm of the Best Sex Ever, if they'd had to stop so one of them could run upstairs and get a condom. She snorted.

Maybe she should start keep some tucked around the downstairs like Easter eggs.

But God, she hadn't had sex without a condom in, well, she couldn't even remember. After she'd gotten pregnant when she was teenager she'd become SO careful. Taking double precautions ever since. So unless it was a long term boyfriend, which was basically just Sully, she'd always used a condom even though she was on the pill. That was just her being overly cautious though. Because God knew she didn't want to end up with an unexpected baby begin fathered by one of her usual, stellar crop, of short term boyfriends.

Yeah . . . she huffed to herself as she tossed the washcloth into the hamper . . . a baby by one of those guys would be a hell of a mess.

A moment later when she stepped out of the bathroom, she walked into the kitchen to find Hotch, still sans boxers . . . and in all of his muscular, naked, glory . . . still scrubbing up at the sink.

Her lips twisted in a smirk as went back to the living room to pick up his underwear off the floor.

When she returned to the kitchen, he was wiping his face with the hand towel. She held out the boxers with a twitch of her lips.

"I can tell you right now," she stated drily, "that there is NO way I'm going to be able to concentrate on my dinner, if you don't put some pants on."

Huffing, Hotch took them back from her.

"Well," he quickly stepped into them, "I am an old man," he yanked them back up, "and you've already somehow managed to get me going three times tonight. So it really wouldn't have mattered how distracted you were at dinner," he shot her an eyebrow, "because there's no possibility of you getting any more action until at some point well after the fortune cookies. Not unless you want me to collapse on top of you."

Emily let out a chuckle of, "yeah, and then I'd have to finish us both up all on my own," as she patted his chest. Then, while listening to his snort of laughter, she turned to go over and started picking over their food.

It was all cold.

Again she was beginning to wonder how long they were in the living room. Basically she was in a little time bubble with Hotch, so she was trying to avoid looking at the clocks too often. Afraid if she did then she'd start to feel like time was slipping away.

And she didn't want to see it go.

So she let out a breath and walked over to pop the sesame chicken into the microwave. That was better warm, but while it was heating up, she grabbed a fork out of the drawer and started eating the beef fried rice cold from the carton.

She was ravenous and fried rice was good either way.

Of course in her haste to get sustenance, she forgot . . . small bites with rice or you'll choke on it. And she tried to swallow too much too fast . . . and as was to be expected . . . she choked on it.

But she made sure not to panic. Because she lived alone, and that was the first thing you realized when you lived by yourself. You can NOT freak out if food gets lodged in your throat! You have to remain calm or else you'll make it worse.

Although not panicking didn't seem to be really doing the trick like it usually did, because she just could not get this bite to go down. She kept choking. Then she doubled over, gasping.

Oh crap!

Just then, when she started to lose it, a glass of water appeared in front of her. And then she felt Hotch's hand on her back. She snatched the glass from his hand, and took a gulp of water . . . and then another. And another. The water was dribbling down her chin, but at least she could feel the rice starting to slide down.

Two more gulps and she felt like she could breathe again.

Eyes watering, and breath rasping, she finally looked up sheepishly at clearly VERY concerned Hotch. He rubbed his hand down her back.

"Are you all right?" He asked worriedly.

"Yeah," she answered with a cringe and a nod, "sorry. I ate too fast." Then she let out a self deprecating, snort, "but that really would have sucked for you if I had died and you had to explain what you were doing here."

Hotch rolled his eyes.

"Yes, because obviously the most upsetting part of that scenario would have been explaining my presence in your home. Not you being dead."

Then with a scowl clearly directed at her, he turned away and started tapping his fingers on the counter.

It was obvious that he was pissed.

A point which genuinely surprised her, but apparently he didn't appreciate her joking about dying. So she leaned down and tried to catch his eyes as she said contritely, "sorry for the bad joke."

No response.

And he still wouldn't look at her. Man, apparently she'd really fucked up. Well okay . . . she took a breath . . . that meant she was going to take advantage of their special, One Night Only, relationship and do something that she'd never be able to do in the office if she'd made him angry.

Without another word, she took a step forward and slipped her arms around his waist, and rested her cheek against his chest, hugging him tightly, refusing to let go until finally she felt his arms encircle her. When he squeezed back, she sighed in relief.

This was a move that definitely wouldn't work in the bullpen, but here in her kitchen, yeah, this was something that she could get used to.

Hotch let out an exasperated sigh as he tipped his head down to rest his cheek on the top of her head.

"What if I hadn't been here?" He asked softly, "you really could have choked to death, Emily." He rubbed his hand down her back, "you have to be more careful."

When she'd doubled over and had started gasping she had absolutely scared the crap out of him! Of all the ways that he worried about losing them, just choking to death on a piece of food had never occurred to him before. But it happened to people every day.

It could have happened to her too.

Emily nodded against his chest.

"I know. I do need to be more careful. But rice is like the bane of my existence. It always seems to expand in my throat. I must choke on it like once a month. But Jesus, who can't eat rice?! A billion people on the planet eat it for like three meals a day every day, and yet somehow I manage to choke on it at least once every time. Too big a bite, it expands in my throat, too small a bite and the granules trigger a gag reflex, and . . ."

She paused as she felt her face starting to burn.

"And as I am now realizing I just said all of that to you, OUT LOUD, you must think that I am a complete and utter moron."

Oh God, she was SO embarrassed! She couldn't believe she just told Hotch she didn't know how to eat RICE! Her hands came up to cover her face as she turned half away from him.

What a fucking IDIOT!

Seeing how mortified Emily was over what she'd just said to him, the last of Hotch's irritation with her melted away. His expression softened as he tugged her back to his chest.

"Emily, hey," he began rubbing her back, "it's okay, don't be embarrassed. You can tell me anything, and I would never think that you were stupid."

She looked up at him nervously, "really?"

His eyes crinkled slightly as he nodded.

"Really, really." And she put her head back on his chest, and sighed in relief, "thanks, ditto."

He huffed slightly as he continued to rub her back, and not for the first time that night began to wish that Emily Prentiss was somebody that he'd met under different circumstances. Because he liked being with her like this. Getting to see her vulnerable side, it only increased his affection for her. It also made him feel protective. And he worried about who usually looked after her in her private life.

If she ever had anyone.

His meditations on that point where interrupted by the beeping of the microwave. Hotch looked over.

"Chicken's done."

Hearing the microwave, Emily broke away from Hotch again. Then they gathered up their food and drinks to bring down to the living room. After they'd spread it all out on the coffee table with forks and chopsticks, they settled in on the couch. That's where they watched a rerun of Mythbusters while they ate their mostly cold dinner. And they joked and laughed, and shared their food, and for a little while, Emily almost forgot that they weren't a normal couple, on any normal Thursday night. But then suddenly she remembered.

They weren't a couple at all.

She looked over at him and he smiled at her. So she put down her box of lo mein and moved over to climb into his lap. And as he wrapped her up in his arms, and whispered in her ear, she snuggled against his chest, and pretended for just a little while longer, that they really were together.

And that they were happy.

A/N 2: Yeah, the sex there was rather explicit but this one, going with the underlying flow I mentioned, was primal and possessive. Again, building a connection in a much more immediate way than they ever would in their platonic relationship building. But that bit wouldn't have happened without the prior bonding in her bedroom when he sees her scar and he starts to feel more emotionally protective towards her, in a way that he hadn't before. And that she also had started seeing him in a new light, was how they ended up at the couch engaging in, "dear God my eyes!" activities.

And doing the repost, I actually was happier here than I thought I'd be, because the first time around, all those years back, I was just getting the hang of writing smut. This was my first story with explicit sex in it. So the 'technicalities' of that, were something I was still working out back then. I think the balance of also working in their emotional connection DURING the smutty bits, was something that I hadn't gotten the hang of yet. So on the final here, I was much more pleased with how it wove together.

With the scar thing, his and hers, in terms of accelerated bonding, we've now jumped ahead on that one issue to where they wouldn't be in Girl for almost ten more months. So again, a way to bind them together more quickly.

Hoping to get the next one up a little faster. It's a shorter chapter and there will be less to 'peruse.' Thanks all, and still love hearing from everyone :)