Author's Note: Another repost. I was trying to only juggle three or four of these at a time, but I'm finding with the other ones I currently have going, that they are requiring more work to clean up the early chapters than some of the other stories I put up did. And sometimes that work, is actually 'work' aka, not fun :) So I wanted to have another one in the mix that I knew was already in good shape, and would be easy on my brain to repost. Here we are!

Now to the original note below.

WARNING

M for Sex, of the smut'ish variety

If you're getting here from Aaron & Emily, obviously you already know why this is M for sex. That's their arrangement. And fair warning going in, on occasion, we will be rather explicitly following along their activities (like in this chapter).

And this story picks up about a week after A&E ended. Although I'm using canon for 'inspiration,' in that I might make reference to actual canon cases they covered in this timeframe in Girl proper, the 'behind the scenes' events would not be identical to what was written in Girl or shown in canon, because this is, again, a spinoff world. So basically, just please go with the liberties taken :)

And FYI, the outfits Emily's looking at in the beginning, they're all from Victoria's secret. If interested, (and it is a helpful visual if you know what she's wearing when he shows up) you can see pics of them on my Tumblr post about this story, here, sienna27. tumblr

TV Bonus Challenge #44, Smut & Nothing But!

Show - Call Me Fitz

Title Challenge – How Do You Say 'Blow Job' in Pennsylvania Dutch?

Teddies, Baby Dolls, & Blow Jobs, Oh My!

It was just after eight o'clock on Thursday night, and Emily was standing in the middle of her bedroom, completely naked. And with the air conditioning on . . . already a necessity this time of year . . . she was beginning to get a few goosebumps, in places where goosebumps generally only popped up on pole dancers.

But unfortunately she just couldn't decide what to wear.

That's why she was biting her lip as she stared down at the three pieces of lingerie that she'd spread out on top of her pretty, cherry blossom print, duvet cover.

First there was the long, satin, aquamarine nightgown . . . her gaze shifted . . . then the black and white silk teddy, and finally . . . her teeth ground together . . . the pleated, white lace, baby doll. They were all good choices.

And that was the problem.

After fifteen minutes of digging around in her fancy lingerie drawer, these were the finalists in her search for the perfect outfit for the evening. All were items that she hadn't worn in close to a year. Before this week, she'd really had anybody special to wear them for. Her eyes crinkled slightly . . . but now she did. She had Hotch.

Her new sex buddy.

A sex buddy that was presently on his way over . . . after having just left the office, three hours after her . . . and so she was really excited (though admittedly also a bit nervous), about his impending arrival. This was their first 'get together' since they'd arrived home from Connecticut the week before.

She was really looking forward to getting some!

That point was not in dispute. But there were a couple of things slightly tempering Emily's enthusiasm for the evening. One of them being, because this was their first official get together, she had a bit of anxiety about how to dress for the occasion.

She wanted to set the right tone for the rest of their 'dalliances.'

Their first time sleeping together was one thing. They were out of town and it was all impromptu and emotional, and honestly . . . because of all the emotional stuff . . . kind of down and dirty. And down and dirty was good, it had been GREAT for their first time, but you didn't want that all the time.

At least she didn't.

Tonight she wanted things to be special. She wanted to wear something pretty. And, well . . . she reached out to touch the silky nightgown . . . sexy. After all, this thing between them was all about the sex. It was a sex only, no strings, relationship. Which admittedly sounded a little, 'low class,' and 'skank whore'ish' on its face.

At least that's what the annoying little lapsed catholic voice in the back of her head kept whispering.

And that was the other thing that was tempering her enthusiasm for the evening . . . her fucked up psyche.

Though Emily knew in her heart, that there was nothing at all low class or whorish about what she was doing, the little voice was still there. And it was so stupid that it was still there, because for one thing . . . prior to last week . . . she hadn't had sex in like five MONTHS, so it wasn't like she had a habit of sleeping around with every Tom, Dick and Harry in the Metro DC area.

She was very selective in choosing her sexual partners.

And besides that totally KEY point, the man that she had actually CHOSEN as her newest sexual partner, wasn't just some random dude that she'd met on Craig's List. This was Hotch. And Hotch was somebody that she cared about.

A lot.

And she knew that he cared about her too. And that's why this wasn't just a low class, booty call thing. Like he was going to come over and have a quick 'wham bam, thank you ma'am,' fuck at two am, because he'd struck out finding anybody better to sleep with.

This wasn't that AT ALL!

This was simply two, single, consenting adults who had chosen to enter into a MONOGAMOUS, sexual 'arrangement,' for their personal . . . mutual . . . satisfaction. There was nothing at all wrong with that.

Not a damn thing.

Which was why it was so irritating that all day . . . as in as soon as she'd start to get excited thinking about Hotch's arrival tonight . . . she'd also immediately start to get a guilty (dirty) little whisper in the back of her brain. And that little whisper sounded like her old high school CCD teacher, Sister Mary Kathleen. And it sounded like Sister Mary Kathleen, (that bitter old crank), was calling her a whore.

The fact that that bitter old crank had INDEED once called Emily a whore . . . while violently slapping her across the face for French kissing Tommy Doherty in the boy's bathroom . . . was not helping.

Of course this 'incident' had happened back in Emily's teen years when she was so INCREDIBLY screwed up. And intellectually she knew that memory was coming back again now, just because of that damn . . . burned into her SOUL . . . Catholic guilt. The guilt was there because of her mother. She had been very religious. Like ardently so. She was an old school Catholic. Mass every Sunday . . . plus all the Holy Days . . . and full Stations of the Cross, for the entire Season of Lent.

Emily didn't know ANYBODY else who had spent as much time in church growing up, as she had.

So although she didn't prescribe to any particular religious affiliation as an adult, Emily's entire youth had consisted of years and YEARS of The Church telling her that all sex outside of that for procreation (which this arrangement with Hotch was most definitely NOT) was wrong. And actually those warped sexual mores being driven into her brain, were probably part of the reason that Emily had rebelled the way that she'd had, as a teen.

It was one more "F You," to the woman that she blamed for so many of her problems.

Of course both her (major) issues with her mother, and any real control that the Church's antiquated teachings might have had on her sex life, were all in the past now. At her age . . . aside from a firm belief that a person's sexual activity was a private matter, aka, she didn't kiss and tell, ever . . . she didn't generally have too many sexual hang ups. And she didn't really consider that latter point to be a 'hang up.'

It was just good manners.

The bottom line though, was as old as she got, she just couldn't quite shake off all of the bad things that had been imprinted from her youth. Nobody could really. But she just didn't need ANY part of her sub-conscious . . . no matter how very 'sub' it was . . . telling her that she was behaving like a low class whore.

That was not good for her still, at times, shaky self-esteem.

Especially given that she'd had a TERRIBLY low self-image as a teenager, and as a result had spent a regrettable portion of her formative years actually engaging in behavior with more boys than she cared to remember, that resulted in her regularly being called a whore, a slut . . . her stomach turned . . . a tramp, and every other variation therein.

Which was why she did have some (understandable) sensitivity, to the idea that she could slip back into that kind of behavior again.

She'd had no respect for herself then.

And although this situation now was COMPLETELY different . . . she was completely different . . . it was somewhat unsettling that on any level, twenty years later, she'd still worry about sliding into such an old (terrible) habit like that.

But you never could escape from your past. It was always nipping at your heels, waiting . . . like now . . . to mess with your head at the worst possible moment. And Emily was a bit worried that all that lingering teen angst crap, could potentially ruin this arrangement with Hotch.

And she would just hate for that to happen.

This was going to be good for them, both of them, and not just in the sense that they were going to be having regular, mind-blowing, sex for a while. The sex was actually kind of a secondary point. The primary reason that they were getting together on these nights, was because they were both lonely. They were lonely, and sad, and isolated.

Terribly isolated.

But they'd discovered that when they were together, intimately, that those things . . . and the rest of the darkness in their lives . . . they were pushed away.

At least temporarily.

So although there were perhaps some correlations to be found with this situation now, and the reasons that she'd screwed around in high school (again, she was lonely and sad back then too), the difference now was that she did respect herself. And she did have standards.

And now she was sleeping with someone who cared about her.

But also . . . and this was key . . . this someone, although he was a kind and gentle man, was just as fucked up as she was.

Perhaps even more so.

Hotch was broken, and he needed somebody to help make him whole again. Emily was trying to be that somebody for him. So if anything . . . her eyes suddenly widened as a realization came to her . . . this sex was therapeutic. And that . . . she started to feel that lingering guilt falling away . . . was what truly made all the difference. It wasn't just that they were having sex because they could. Again, it wasn't the two am mindless, drunken fuck before he went home to sleep one off in his own bed. This sex was much more than that.

It was to heal them.

Both of them.

If they could find just the right balance to this little arrangement, the right level of passion tempered with tenderness and affection, they could be, correction, would be . . . better people. And that was the ultimate goal of the human race.

Evolution.

That's what they were striving for. A better place in the world. And now that she'd made peace with her little internal conflict . . . though she'd unfortunately stood there ruminating long enough for her teeth to now be chattering . . . Emily knew that it was time to move away from those more serious meditations, and just refocus in again on the fun portion of the evening.

Aka, the actual 'intercourse' portion of the evening.

Which meant, as she scowled slightly seeing that she'd lost another five minutes, that she needed to just decide on the damn outfit. Though she was sure that Hotch would 'enjoy' seeing her in any of the clothes she'd picked as finalists . . . given the reason he was coming over, he'd probably 'enjoy' seeing her in a burlap sack . . . she still wanted to make sure that she kicked this thing off right.

Given her revelation, setting the right tone now seemed all the more important.

So as her gaze shifted across the bed, Emily took in the relative pros and cons of each option.

For instance, the nightgown. Though it was silky, and clingy in all the right places (which upped the sexiness factor), it was also quite elegant, and classy. Unlike say . . . her brow furrowed . . . the open-fronted teddy, and matching teeny tiny bottoms. That was just straight up smutty.

But in a good way.

Or at least she was pretty sure that Hotch would see it in a good way. But she just wasn't sure that she wanted to answer the door . . . on the first night he was spending in her home . . . in a straight up, full on, smutty outfit.

Though it was true that no matter what she put on, that smut was really going to be the underlying theme. And that's because she was planning on jumping Hotch's bones . . . and ripping off his clothes . . . the SECOND he walked in the front door.

That's why the clothes were key.

Not that she was planning on raucous sexcapades being her standard greeting for him whenever he came over, but this was a special night. They'd been separated (like really completely separated) since they had gotten back home from Connecticut.

First there was the rest of the weekend (which Hotch had spent with his son), and then he and Dave had flown out to Boston . . . just arriving back that morning . . . while she and the rest of the team had been dealing with a stalker case.

As work weeks went for people like them, things were relatively mild, no dead children at least, but it had still sucked that he'd gone away just when they were starting things up.

It had been six days since they'd checked out of the Dragonfly. Six days since she'd had sex with the man who had reintroduced her to the concept of multiple, consecutive, orgasms. So to lose THAT man, just when he'd brought all of those special things back into her life, had totally wreaked havoc on her libido. So for their first time at her house . . . when she was now horny as HELL, she was PMS'ing a bit . . . she really didn't want to waste any more time on preliminaries than they needed to.

Hence her plan to rip his clothes off at the door.

Of course she was also planning on feeding Hotch a nice dinner too . . . just because it wasn't a relationship, relationship, didn't mean that they couldn't have pleasant in-house meals together . . . but that could wait until after she'd made him all naked and sweaty. Her lips twitched.

And maybe rinsed him off in the shower.

Yeah . . . she bit her lip, thinking back to their last morning in Connecticut. Hotch all naked and slippery, taking her against the tile wall. Pounding into her again . . . and again . . . and . . .

PHEW!

Okay . . . Emily started fanning herself . . . no more thinking about Hotch screwing her in the shower. Not unless she was actually in a position to recreate those previous events. And although banging a slippery and naked Hotch was a laudable goal, it was not her PRIMARY goal at the moment.

Her primary goal was still picking out her damn lingerie!

All right . . . she reached out to pick up the teddy . . . focus. Though the teddy was an outfit that she was sure Hotch would like, she had now decided (for sure) that it was a little too smutty to greet him at the door in.

After all it wasn't even completely dark yet.

So with that item off the table, Emily walked over to tuck the silky floral print back into the drawer whence it came. It would keep for another day. Maybe she'd save it for some evening when Hotch seemed particularly depressed or stressed out.

It would definitely cheer him up.

And with one less option on the table, Emily was feeling a bit cheerier herself. Though as her eyes darted back over to the alarm clock, she realized that she still really needed to get a move on. He'd called forty minutes ago to say that he was on his way to the elevator. So she knew that even with traffic, that he was going to be showing up any minute. And though her toes and nails were painted, makeup was done and her hair curled and spritzed . . . she'd decided to glam up a little as a treat for him . . . she still didn't want to be RACING down the stairs when he knocked on the door.

Her all red faced and sweaty . . . and not in a good way . . . wasn't exactly going to scream "TAKE ME! TAKE ME NOW!" when she whipped the door open and tried to sport a sexy pose.

That didn't really go with her doubled over huffing and puffing like a train engine.

And with that image in mind . . . of the FIRST thing that she wanted Hotch to see when she opened the door, a "TAKE ME NOW!" outfit . . . Emily knew exactly what she wanted to wear.

The white baby doll.

It was SUPER sexy, but it had a little more coverage than the teddy. Not a lot more, but it wasn't quite so smutty. And unlike the longer nightgown, which she was now carefully folding back up again, as far as Hotch's presumptions were concerned, there would be no doubt as to EXACTLY when the sexual festivities would be starting.

Immediately.

And once she'd tucked her pretty blue nightgown back into the dresser, making a mental note maybe to wear it for his next visit, Emily went up to her underwear drawer to pull out a tiny white lace thong.

Though she wasn't a fan of them for day to day wear . . . she preferred her 'out of the house' underwear to be a bit more modest , all she could think was what if she got shot and how embarrassing that would be if they cut her clothes off in the ambulance . . . lace thongs were obviously perfect for evenings like this.

Ones where she'd only be wearing them for five or ten minutes.

And after she'd slipped on the little scrap of fabric . . . it was literally a 'scrap,' not even half the size of the regular "normal " underpants that she'd worn to work that day . . . Emily went back over to the bed and slipped the baby doll over her head, trying to be careful not to muss up her fancy hair.

The material felt soft and silky as it fell down around her skin, and onto her breasts.

And when she walked over to look at the full length mirror in the closet, her eyes crinkled as she fixed the little bow in the middle of the torso.

Perfect.

Hotch . . . as she had learned last week from all the fabulous nibbling and caressing of her nipples. . . was most definitely a breast man. And these lacy little peekaboo cups were a breast man's DREAM!

And now that she was properly dressed, and feeling both sexy AND confident in her appearance . . . a rare combo for a thirty plus year old woman who still suffered from major bouts of poor self-esteem . . . Emily went over to her vanity. There she spritzed on a bit of her best perfume, and then headed over to the bedside table closest to the window, to pop a Tic Tac from the emergency box she kept in her nightstand. It was tucked in there next to her condoms, hand sanitizer, lube, super racy old timey romance novel, and pretty pink vibrator in its pretty little white pearl case.

Obviously she never needed the Tic Tacs and lube on the same night that she needed the vibrator and the old timey romance novel, but she just had the one combo 'singular evening,' 'partner evening,' Sex Drawer, so everything was kind of jammed in there together.

Martha Stewart would not approve.

But fortunately that drawer . . . like the one above it where she kept her backup weapon . . . had a little combo lock on it.

Nobody was getting in there but her.

And once she'd pushed the little drawer shut again . . . though opting to leave the Tic Tacs out in case she decided to jump Hotch's bones again at 3 am . . . she pulled down the freshly changed sheets. Then she turned the end table lamp on to its lowest wattage (she was aiming for mood lighting) before taking one last quick look around the room.

Immediately spotting that day's dirty underwear sticking out of the hem of the dress pants she'd been wearing . . . the pants were draped over the end chair by the vanity . . . Emily cringed as she hurried across the room.

'Yeah, that's super sexy,' she thought with an eye roll as she yanked the pair of cotton briefs out. And after she'd gone in to toss them into the bathroom hamper, she paused to do one last check of her appearance.

Most importantly confirming there was nothing green in her teeth, her hair hadn't flattened out into some weird helmet shape, and no makeup was running down her face.

Aaaand . . . her brow creased as she opened her mouth and turned her head back and forth, checking both her hair and her teeth . . . yes, all good. Well . . . she nodded to herself . . . nothing embarrassing happening anyway.

Then Emily's eyes crinkled slightly as she tossed her hair back, and saw the curls fall back down. They were in soft little ringlets brushing her shoulders.

Nice.

Very pretty actually, if she did say so herself. Not that she would actually say that to anybody else, but for tonight, she knew that she looked damn good, and she was pretty sure that Hotch would agree. Then she felt a little tickle of apprehension in her belly.

Hopefully anyway.

It was always a little nerve wracking trying to plan a night like this. Especially in a situation like this one with Hotch. For one thing everything was all brand new, and they were still finding their sexual footing with each other. And it wasn't like they were dating and in love and he was coming over for this big romantic evening. One where he'd be seeing all of her little bodily faults and potential foibles, with rose colored glasses.

No, he was showing up tonight with REGULAR glasses.

Regular glasses would notice the tiny little laugh lines starting to form around her eyes and mouth. They would also notice the way her boobs were maybe not quite so 'perky' as they had been back in her twenties. She pouted slightly as she turned to look down at her ass.

Nothing was quite as perky as it had been back in her twenties.

But . . . she sighed . . . such was life.

Basically though, she knew that she could still pull off Hot and Sexy when the situation called for it. And tonight . . . she dabbed a bit of sparkly shadow into her cleavage dip . . . it definitely called for it. Putting aside for a moment all of their emotional bonding, to just focus on the physical, it had been a VERY long time since she'd had a lover as good as Hotch.

And she wasn't going to screw it up!

And now that she was sure everything on display in the teddy was on display in its proper place . . . basically that her nipples weren't doing something horrifying like poking through the lacy bits in different directions . . . it was time to go downstairs.

Again, Hotch would be there at any moment and she wanted to be all cool and collected when he arrived.

And because it was . . . and had been . . . more than a little chilly wearing basically nothing, before she left her room, Emily stopped to get a robe from the closet. Though the robe was a pink plaid flannel, and didn't really fit in with her whole 'sexy seduction at the door' theme, it was warm.

She'd just toss it on the back of the couch before she let Hotch into the apartment.

So with everything now . . . in her mind . . . as perfectly planned as she could make it, Emily finally headed back downstairs.

Once down in the living room she went over to put a CD in the stereo.

Enya.

Not exactly the backdrop to a dirty, hot sex, porno . . . she'd need a little Nine Inch Nails for that . . . but Enya seemed appropriate for the mood. The bonus being it should (tastefully) drown out most of the sex screaming.

The neighbors didn't need to know she was getting any tonight.

And once The Memory of Trees was playing at an unobtrusive level, Emily turned to look around the downstairs space.

She'd already tidied up when she'd arrived home from work, so fortunately the living room looked nice and neat for company. And she'd opted not to make a big mess in the kitchen . . . her cooking skills were only about average anyway . . . by just picking up takeout. Chicken marsala and tiramisu from her favorite Italian restaurant.

Yum.

So with that nice dinner chilling in the fridge, they'd have something to eat a little later in the evening. Sometime after they'd worked up an appetite.

Just then the doorbell rang, and Emily's heart started pounding as her eyes snapped down to the end of the little hallway.

Showtime.

After she took a little breath to calm her nerves . . . it was silly to be so nervous, she'd just seen the man three hours ago . . . she started over to the door yelling, "one second!"

Though she'd planned to drop the robe on the couch, her FBI brain had just reminded her that maybe, just maybe, somebody else was at the door besides the man that she was planning on having sex with. Like it could be the doorman with a package. And that would be a 'package' of the non, bad porno, variety.

Or maybe just her next door neighbor looking to borrow a cup of sugar.

And she really didn't want to greet either of those theoretical people . . . or really ANYONE besides Hotch . . . in a skimpy little white teddy.

It would set a bad tone for future interactions.

So before she, literally, disrobed, she stopped at the door . . . getting up slightly on her freshly self-pedicured tiptoes . . . to peek out through the peephole.

But fortunately . . . her eyes crinkled as she broke into a huge smile . . . it was Hotch.

YAY!

Feeling another little flush of excitement . . . and butterflies . . . she quickly slipped off the flannel. Then she hurled it . . . in balled up form . . . through the open doorway of the rarely used dining room off to the left and slightly behind her.

Then she took another deep breath to push out her breasts a bit, and turned the deadbolt.

When the door swung open, to Emily's disappointment, she saw that Hotch wasn't even LOOKING at her! He was staring down at his phone reading something. She pouted slightly.

Well, so much for making her dazzling first impression.

"Sorry, I'm so late," Hotch murmured as he got to the end of his email from the Forensics lab, "I got stuck on a call, and then Strauss wanted me to send the . . ."

And then he looked up.

And his mouth fell open.

"Whoa."

Emily smiled . . . finally!

"Hi."

Hotch blinked.

"Hi," he croaked back while jamming his phone into his jacket pocket. "Wow . . . just wow."

His gaze ran up from her toes painted with the bright red polish . . . that was new since last week . . . up and over her stunningly gorgeous legs . . . just as he so fondly remembered them . . . and then up to the little white cotton nightgown just skirting her thighs.

That thing . . . whatever the hell fancy name the women had for it . . . had just became his favorite outfit EVER(!)

Finally his gaze settled back on her beautiful face. He shook his head in disbelief.

"You look amazing, Emily."

God, this regular sex thing was SUCH a good idea! And if his damn phone rang even ONCE tonight, he was seriously going to flush the damn thing down the toilet!

Feeling a little blush hit her cheeks . . . though she'd known that she'd looked good, it wasn't the same as getting that level of validation from him . . . Emily murmured back a quiet "thanks," as she stepped back further into the hall.

"So," she put her hand on her hip and struck a little pose, "are you coming in?"

Hotch's gaze dropped down, his eyes locked for a moment on those luscious breasts which were almost falling out of the lacy material in front of him. His eyes snapped back up to hers.

He smirked.

"Hell yes, I'm coming in."

Emily burst out laughing, all pretext of serious seductress gone . . . that was never going to last.

It just wasn't her thing.

"Good," she chuckled while reaching out to grab his tie, "because the last two and a half hours of me getting ready," she yanked him through the doorway, "would have been TOTALLY wasted if you decided to go home now!"

Hotch, after dropping his bag to the floor, caught Emily around the waist just before he kicked the door shut behind him.

"Not a chance in HELL of me going home now," he growled, while backing her into the wall.

She was already pushing off his jacket as he pulled her into a blistering kiss that involved a hell of a lot better Frenching than she'd ever done in a high school boy's bathroom.

And after she got Hotch's jacket off . . . and his arms were free again . . . his hands immediately moved up to do the same for her breasts, pushing aside the flimsy straps, to slide those perfectly shaped globes out of the little lace enclosures.

His head dropped down to suck one of her nipples into his mouth.

Emily moaned and hooked her leg around his thigh, pulling him in closer.

Pulling him into her.

She wanted to feel that bulge forming. That heat. It was what she'd been waiting for all week.

And as Hotch continued to lick and suck her breasts and nipples, his hands dropped down to slide the thong off her hips. If she hadn't been so incredibly turned on, Emily would have laughed.

Two plus hours to get ready . . . the scrap of fabric hit her feet . . . and Hotch was going to have her stripped naked in thirty seconds flat.

But then to her surprise, he stopped undressing her. His mouth was still busy with her breasts as one of his hands moved around to her ass, and the other moved in to cup around her own . . . much softer . . . heat.

She immediately jerked up against his touch, desperately trying to get his fingers to go where she wanted them to go.

But they wouldn't.

Unlike the week before when he immediately began to work on bringing her to climax, this time he was doing nothing like that. He just tightened his hold, his palm pressing more deeply into her soft flesh, his fingers spreading out, and into her . . . but basically staying still. It was a possessive touch. And she realized then what he was doing . . . marking territory.

Marking what he felt was now his.

Alpha male dominance, at its purest . . . and feminism be damned, she'd never been so turned on in her LIFE!

But two could play at that game.

And as he continued to nibble her breasts while she continued rub against his fingers . . . feeling the wetness spreading even without his stimulation . . . she moved on to begin fumbling with his belt.

Before he knew it, she'd yanked down his zipper and pushed his pants and boxers past his hips. His erection sprang out . . . and she marked her own flag.

Her hands began gently stroking, back and forth, feeling him getting harder beneath her touch.

Then she gave him a tug.

Hotch immediately gasped, his head snapping up from her breasts just as his hands slid around to her hips.

His fingers dug into her flesh.

Now she was in control.

And feeling that power and dominance . . . and understanding what a drug it was, especially being in charge of someone like him . . . she licked her palm. And then she gently squeezed and tugged, running her hands back and forth . . . up and down . . . using her spit and his pre-cum as a lube to keep the movements smooth and steady. She was watching him the whole time. Watching his breath coming in small pants while his eyes were locked onto the wall behind them.

And then his breath caught, just as his eyes fell shut.

"Emily," he hissed, "whaa . . ."

The rest of his words were lost in a breathless moan as she moved one of her fingers up just behind his scrotum, to stroke back and forth, caressing that special spot.

He didn't even try to speak again.

She smiled, leaning up to smack a quick kiss to his lips even as she went back to focusing her efforts on the continued slow and steady pump that was clearly bringing him so much pleasure.

Even if the lack of control was moving him out of his psychological comfort zone.

But that was the goal here. Not just the orgasms, which were really the fun byproduct of this arrangement, but the bonding.

He needed to learn to trust people again.

And this was an excellent place to start. There was no greater trust exercise than learning to allow somebody else to control your body. And that's exactly what she was doing. But she would never abuse that power.

She just wanted him to feel good.

And seeing that his hands had fallen away from her hips and were now curled into tight fists as he panted a small litany of curses, Emily realized that she really was completely in control.

Which meant that she could take things a step farther.

Now she had the opportunity to do something that she'd wanted to do the week before . . . the thank you she hadn't had the chance for before they left Connecticut. So after one more soft kiss on his lips, where she whispered, "trust me," she dropped down to her knees.

Then she took him into her mouth.

Slowly moving back and forth, sucking and licking the shaft while gently stroking the sensitive skin on the underside of his testicles . . . and again . . . just a bit further back.

That was the spot that was making his eyes roll back.

And though she could tell from the way his muscles were quivering and his breath was catching, that he was trying desperately to hold onto his last vestiges of control . . . she also knew that even he couldn't control biology. So she started going faster, moving her head back and forth, her lips tight as she sucked and sucked feeling that little trickle of juice running into her mouth. She reached back to touch him again.

And that's when he lost it.

His hips bucked with just the contact . . . apparently everything had reached a level beyond just sensitivity . . . and he swore as he thrust into her mouth.

"JESUS CHRIST EMILY!"

Hotch doubled over, his palms slamming against the wall as he began to thrust over and over into Emily's mouth. The action was involuntary . . . and he was trying to stop, he was about to lose all control . . . but Emily was making that nearly impossible.

Her mouth was so warm and wet, and she was taking him deeper and deeper. Her hands had stopped playing . . . she'd been killing him with that touch . . . and had moved back to his ass.

She was holding him in place.

And he just couldn't stop the rush . . . or the cursing. Because he had never let Haley . . . or the few women before her . . . ever touch him this way. They'd never taken take things this far.

And he was about to lose his last shred of control.

But then Emily finally pulled back for a split second to suck in a breath of air, and that gave him the opportunity to able to croak out something more intelligible than, "fuck me."

"Emily," he gasped as she deep throated him again, "please . . . I can't," he sucked in another breath, "hold out much longer."

This had not been his plan! He was supposed to be the one in charge . . . NOT the other way around!

Knowing that they'd gone far enough with the lesson for one day, Emily gave one final . . . lengthy . . . sunctiony . . . run along Hotch's length, before she slowly pulled away.

With the back of her hand, she wiped off her mouth. And then she looked up at him with a soft smile.

"That was my thank you for all the special attention you've been giving me and my nipples. I just wanted you to know that I had some," she smirked, "sucky skills of my own."

"And now," she simultaneously climbed back to her feet, while stepping completely out of her thong, "my turn to get in on the fun."

Trying to ignore his throbbing cock . . . if he didn't come soon he was going to break something VITAL . . . Hotch backed Emily against the wall again.

Though that time there was a scowl on his face.

"I almost came in your mouth!"

There was more than a little genuine anger in his voice . . . after all, he was genuinely irritated . . . but it didn't seem to bother her.

Or surprise her.

What was it about this woman?!

"Oh come on," Emily pouted, her hands settling down to stroke along his bare hips, "are you trying to say that you didn't enjoy my thank you present?"

Hotch took a breath . . . it was impossible to stay angry with that pout, especially when she was running her hands along his body that way.

So his expression softened.

"No," he reached out, holding one hand on her side, while the other gently pressed into her warmth, making sure she was ready for him, "I'm not saying that. I'm just saying that's not something I'm very comfortable with you doing."

Seeing the little crease settle into her brow, as the pout morphed to a frown . . . Hotch knew that he'd just hurt her feelings. Clarification was in order.

"You are incredibly talented," he leaned down to kiss her, mumbling against her lips, "and it felt amazing. But I'd rather we didn't go too far there." He pulled her close, whispering in her ear, "I prefer to be inside you."

Then he started slowly rubbing his thumb around her clit.

"I know that's what you want," Emily began to rub against his hand, her fingers now clenching into his t-shirt, "that's what I want too. But I can also do other things to bring you to that point, Hotch. Things like that. I just want you to trust me. Trust that I won't hurt you." She leaned back then to look at him, her face flush, her hips rocking, feeling his touch bringing her closer and closer to climax.

"Trust me, like I'm trusting you now." Her breath started to catch just as her hand came up to his cheek, "I trust that you won't hurt me. It should be the same."

Hotch's stared down for a moment at her ruddy cheeks, before his gaze shifted to the wall, digesting her words. Finally he nodded.

"All right. I guess we can try it a little," his eyes snapped back to hers, "but I can't promise anything. We have to go slow."

Emily started to respond, but then her breath caught again.

"We'll talk after . . ." she swallowed, "tonight."

And feeling Hotch's length now pressing against her stomach, she moaned.

"I'm ready," her eyes started to fall shut, "you can run the rest of the shoooo . . . ah, FUCK me!"

Seeing . . . and feeling from moisture pooling in his hand. . . that Emily was now in the throes of her first orgasm of the night, Hotch took advantage of the moment to quickly step the rest of the way out of his pants and boxers, and shake his dress shirt to the floor.

Socks and t-shirt would have to stay.

And then . . . with Emily still rocking on his hand and his cock about ready to explode from a life threatening case of blue balls . . . he made the quick change. Pulling his fingers out and hoisting her up.

Her leg immediately locked over his hip . . . and he slid inside her.

They both gasped.

"Do it hard," she panted as he began to move, "go hard, and go fast," her lips latched onto his throat, her breath now coming in erratic bursts, "I can feel another one coming."

And here again, multiple, consecutive, orgasms. Best, lover . . . she bit back a scream . . . EVER!

"All right," Hotch sucked in a shallow breath, "hard and fast, but you have to tell me if it hurts."

Seeing her nod and gasp again, he began to thrust.

Over and over, losing count after a few minutes of how long they were there building it up, just losing himself in the exquisite pleasure to be found in that warm, tight, space.

And over his own gasps and pants, he listened to Emily's breathing becoming faster and more erratic. It was hot in his ear . . . driving him CRAZY!

And then he felt her whole lower body shaking around him. She was screaming to Jesus . . . and then she was screaming his name. And the latter knocked his own pleasure up another notch.

But he wasn't quite there yet.

And he so desperately wanted to come at the same time. So once she'd dropped her head back to his chest, he did another quick change.

This time switching them around so that he was against the wall, and hitching her up completely to wrap her legs around his waist.

Then he began to push into her again, even harder than before. He'd switched them around so he wouldn't hurt her.

Now it was his body taking the rough punishment of the plasterboard.

And she was pushing back against him, bouncing and riding him, and half strangling him with the way her arms were locked around his neck.

He LOVED it!

"One mooore," she half moaned, half hissed, her back arching as she locked down around him for the last time.

And that was finally enough for him.

He gave one final groan, as he thrust into her one more time. And then . . . while his world was filling with light . . . he spilled into her.

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!

And with that, he almost fell to the floor. Instead, he caught himself by slumping back and letting the wall hold them both up, while he waited for his heart to stop pounding and some of the oxygen to go back into his lungs.

If sex with Emily didn't honest to God kill him, it would be a fucking miracle!

Though Emily seemed to be in about the same physical condition he was. Her body was sweaty where she was wrapped around him, and her heart was pounding against his chest.

Their beats had synced together.

Then finally . . . when they both were able to take a deep breath again . . . she leaned back, her arms still around his neck as she gently kissed his brow.

"Good job," she whispered, her eyes crinkling as her fingers came up to brush through his hair, "I've been looking forward to EXACTLY that, all week."

His lips curved in a tired smile.

"Well," he huffed, "I can't take all the credit. You were clearly a key component to the process. And also," he shot her half a dimple, "you did greet me at the door looking like every man's secret fantasy."

"Yeah well," she shot back a sleepy huff, "we can't count on that every time. Don't forget this is me after two hours of special grooming."

"No," he shook his head, his expression softening, "that's just you."

Again feeling the little butterflies in her stomach . . . and again wondering how this man could be so amazingly sweet and nobody else seemed to know it . . . Emily gave him a shy, slightly watery, smile.

"Thank you for making me feel like I'm special," she whispered, "nobody else does that like you do."

Then she leaned down to give him a thank you kiss. The kiss was soft and gentle . . . they were both too exhausted for anything more involved than that. And when Emily was done saying thank you, she moved her hand back to his neck, and tucked Hotch's head down against hers.

She rubbed her cheek against his stubble.

They stood there for another minute, just breathing in the same air. And when he finally seemed to have enough strength to straighten up again . . . even with a physique like his, that was still a hell of a work out . . . instead of lowering her to the floor as expected, Emily felt Hotch slide his arm more securely under her bottom and hitch her up a little higher. So she pushed herself up a bit more, feeling his pubic hairs tickling the backs of her thighs. And once she was sure that he didn't want to put her down, she locked her legs tightly at the small of his back.

Her head dropped down to rest on his shoulder. He squeezed her tight.

It was a vertical cuddle.

She liked it.

"I picked up dinner," she murmured with a soft kiss to his throat, "it's in the fridge. But if you want, we can go up and take a nap before we eat."

Hotch nodded slowly.

"Yeah," he gave a little nod and a weary sigh, "a nap sounds really good."

And with that, he turned on his heel, and started for the stairs.

A/N 2: See, definitely taking advantage of that M rating!

Funny, all the stories I've written with them as a couple, I've never written Emily planning a big 'sex night' with Hotch. And right now everything's new and she's trying to be a good 'hostess,' and it's more of a traditional getting all gussied up production. I think that's why when the scene started coming to me, that I had to write it down as she saw it. It was her all nervous and excited and rambly and just a little bit emotionally conflicted, about the whole idea of this unconventional arrangement. And also just trying to capture that moment of her, with a certain amount of 'single woman, pushing 40' insecurities about inviting a man over for a night like this.

And seeing as this is a story at its core, (and in the title!) all about them having sex, I figured I'd hit the ground running with the first night back home. Not that all the chapters will be like this, in fact they most definitely will not be :), but it just worked here to continue the tone from how the last story ended. Also the blow job was kind of key (a vaguely similar moment was touched on in Second Chances) to show Hotch in his emotionally closed off, ultra alpha stage, not trusting Emily enough for him to let go completely. It's just in this version she had more control over the moment, so it took him longer to 'shut it down.' Though if you follow them all the way through to "Life & Such" you'll know there is a chapter there where it very clearly is alluded to that oral on both sides, is a common thing. So again, as in Chances, the more explicit element to the sex, had an underlying goal to move them forward on a psychological bonding level too. And given that hot, sweaty sex is a topic that might be outside some people's comfort zones, I thought best to let them know up front, the outer edges of the envelope we'll be pushing. Now they can decide if they want to stick around :)

Basically here we're just trying to get some balls juggling again! And not just Hotch's! :)

Thanks in advance for any feedback, hope you liked chapter 1!