Author's note: Back sooner than I thought I'd be! I got massively carried away with this; so you can expect one more part at least (hopefully within the next week, but don't hold me to it haha)

The formatting was a bit of a bitch with this one, the site didn't seem to like it, so apologies on that front. As with the first chapter, this hasn't gone through a beta. And I did drink two glasses of wine while writing it. So any mistakes are doubly my fault.

As the weeks go by, he hones in on that voice. He can't resist (God help him, he tries) but he's a red-blooded man first and foremost. That something remains unfurled low in his stomach, gnawing at the line he'd he'd reflexively drawn when she'd first presented herself in his office with a dazzling smile and a firm handshake, handing him paperwork for a transfer he'd definitely not signed off on. He'd been married then.

(Married, but not blind).

Now, sitting in his office, he realizes that the line is quite forgotten; in fact, he's been trampling all over it on an almost daily basis. Objectively, he thinks, it's human nature to conjure up harmless, fleeting fantasies about people you regularly spend time with. Especially if they're attractive. Maybe - if he pretends he wants it to - this highly inappropriate crush on his subordinate will just…disappear.

Prentiss. Prentiss. Prentiss. He taps his pen on the edge of the form he's filling out, hoping the action will help drum her last name into his head - because it's Emily that's at the forefront of his mind these days and that terrifies him just a little bit. But the black ink splotched across the corner of the paper reminds him of the color of her hair too much, so that's another battle lost.

Still, he's been trying not to dwell on it, making a (weak, by anyone's standards) effort to remind himself of harmless and fleeting every time he purposefully makes sure she's in his line of sight in the office, out in the field. If she picks up on it, she doesn't show it, but he expects no different from a woman who often gives the impression she'd started compartmentalizing in the womb.

Hotch.

Silk. Smoke. Honey.

It's a slippery slope and as time goes on, he notices more and more. A husky undertone when it's Hotchner; ever diplomatic when she's addressing cops, tinged with warmth when it's a witness or a victim's family member, scathing and harsh when it's half-spat at the UNSUB du jour. How easily that extra syllable tumbles from her lips.

And really, her lips and mouth are another problem entirely.

—

Two weeks later they've wrapped up a case in Baltimore and have somehow ended up at one of the city's local dive bars after dinner. At the door, he insists they go on without him; he's not as young as he used to be and frankly wants nothing more than to flop down on his hotel bed and fall asleep to the tunes of whatever commercial jingles they show at night, but his resolve weakens as JJ flashes him not-so-subtle puppy eyes and Garcia - who's also come along this time - insists that they make the most of things.

Behind the tech analyst, Prentiss regards him, calm and impassive - waiting. As he tears his gaze away from her, the first drop of what promises to be a heavy downpour catches on his eyelashes - cementing the decision, really. He's not going anywhere for a while.

—

He's four beers down and feeling the buzz as he observes Reid, JJ and Garcia bopping (for lack of a better word) to the cheesy music. It's definitely not his scene, but he likes to see the week's tension dissipate from his team's faces as they get progressively more animated. Across from him Morgan and Rossi are ordering what looks to be another round, and shit, he's going to feel this tomorrow morning.

Then she's there - back from the bathroom. He registers the warmth of a hand on his shoulder as she indicates for him to shuffle over or let her in. He goes for the latter as he knows she loves the inside spot in these sort of booths, and has barely moved his legs to the side before her hips brush against him as she half-tumbles in.

'Sorry, sir.'

There's something awfully wicked about the corners of her mouth when she says sir and fuck, he's not sober enough for this. He shoots her a look that all but betrays him and knows it's not beyond the realms of possibility that she's relishing this slightly. She's a little drunk for sure - sporting a delightful blush across her face, cheshire cat grin slightly lopsided.

Resplendent, he thinks as she leans away from him, arms coming up to rest casually on the backrest. Almost too late he swallows the 'you look beautiful' that had suddenly lodged itself on the tip of his tongue. Chases it back down with the remnants of his beer as Morgan and Rossi approach with fresh drinks.

Wordlessly, he slides the gin-tonic they drop off towards her. She holds his gaze, reaching over to grab the glass. Her pinkie brushes against his thumb as she takes it from him, and once again those damn corners of her mouth curl into a shy smile.

And he realizes that maybe her mouth is betraying her.

And suddenly he feels boyishly brazen.

(And that stupid little line dissolves completely.)

Another one down, another one to go. (Knowing what I'm like, it might even be two). As always, reviews and feedback are much loved!