Author's Note: Yes, third chapter, and nothing else has gone up since this started. That wasn't the plan when I started this repost :) But, good news, I am now on vacation! Specifically STAYcation! So I am home for the next seven days! YAY! And I have big plans to do nothing but write, bake, and clean. Yay! And also rest, because I jacked up my ankle yesterday. More of a 'womp, womp' there than a 'yay,' but as I'm currently trapped on the couch with an ice pack and a ridiculously high stack of pillows under my leg like I'm acting out my own personal version of The Princess & The Pea, clearly I'm not getting much baking or cleaning done. So, writing is the focus. At least for the next 48 hours while my ankle deflates.

Now back to the show, picking up a few minutes later.

Domestic Initiatives & Sexual Intermissions

By the time Hotch and Emily made their way downstairs, dinner was on the verge of being overdone. Fortunately though, after Hotch had cut off the outer edge of the now overly crunchy, pasta, it was all completely edible.

And quite tasty!

That was to be expected though. Tuscano was one of Emily's favorite local restaurants, and she'd picked the chicken marsala because it was the house specialty. And after the side of antipasto salad, and a couple of day old (toasted) ciabatta rolls she found in the bread box, Emily's stomach FINALLY stopped rumbling like she had a thunder cloud in there.

Of course filling up on the wine helped too.

She'd bought two bottles of Riesling specifically for Hotch's visit. And by the time they were done eating dessert, the first bottle was totally gone, and the second one was half empty. And although consuming all of that food sopped up a 'decent' amount of the alcohol they ingested, it didn't suck up all of it.

They both had a nice little buzz going when they got up to carry their plates back into the kitchen.

Hotch's fingers had started going too.

Just after Emily shut the door to the dishwasher, he caught her around the waist and pulled her back against his chest. Then he started fussing with the tie on her robe.

It was clear that he was trying to get her undressed again.

Emily started to giggle as she brushed his fingers away. Then she turned around in his arms, and explained with a little smile, that unless he wanted her to get a cramp . . . something akin to going swimming too soon after lunch . . . that dinner needed to digest a bit before she'd be back in shape for whatever reindeer games he had in mind for the rest of the evening.

Hotch's eyes crinkled as he whispered back an "understood." Then he kissed her nose, and pulled her into a hug. Emily assumed that he was being so sanguine about her pushing off sex, because he didn't want to risk a broken playmate. Or maybe he really was just that nice.

Or maybe it was a combination of both.

But whatever the reason, with their planned activities temporarily tabled, they decided to do something domestic.

Watch TV.

The decision gave Emily a little flutter in her chest.

It was silly that them deciding to watch television . . . such a ridiculously mundane activity . . . could hold any actual significance as a life decision, but by Emily's estimation, it really did. Because given the parameters of their agreement, this was supposed to be ALL about the sex.

But it had clearly stopped being all about the sex.

Because they'd just finished having a nice, fancy, dinner. A dinner where they'd talked about things that had NOTHING at all to do with work, or sex. They talked about favorite restaurants, favorite foods. Best meals they'd ever had. And she'd laughed and fed him dessert, and he'd flashed his dimples and kissed a drop of sauce off her lip. And it all felt so normal.

It all felt so real.

And now they were settling in on her couch with him in his boxers, and her in her old flannel robe, to watch TV. They were doing things that any regular couple would do, on any regular Thursday night.

Hence the flutter.

It was . . . Emily slipped her arm around Hotch's waist as he tucked her against his side . . . another tick in the 'this WAS a real relationship,' column. And she was beginning to wonder if she should just start to think of it that way. Or would it be healthier to keep up with the pretext . . . even if it was just in her own mind . . . that this arrangement was still just no strings sex, and nothing more. That was the definition still on the table.

But that definition had begun to feel like a lie.

And lies . . . even ones told with the very best of intentions . . . had a way of ruining good things. Actually, by Emily's estimation, a lie had never done anything EXCEPT ruin, a good thing. And for a moment she considered asking Hotch the question that was on her mind.

Had things changed?

But then as they walked into the living room . . . and she almost tripped over a lamp cord . . . she realized that with her brain slightly marinated, perhaps it would be best if she just let the whole thing slide for now. Whatever they were doing, it was what it was.

A new label wasn't going to change what was happening between them.

And with that point in mind, to leave it alone for now . . . or at least leave it alone until a night when she was stone cold sober . . . when they got to the couch and Hotch reached down to pick up the remote, Emily tried to shake off all of her 'deep thoughts.'

Once again, she was thinking too much.

And at the moment thinking too much, was serving no purpose beyond adding another dash of angst to an otherwise, (little crying fest upstairs notwithstanding), happy evening.

So when Hotch started flipping channels, she slipped out from under his arm to go over and turn off the overhead light, leaving just the small lamp in the corner throwing a soft glow across the room. Mood lighting.

Sort of.

But then when she was walking back across the room, Emily noticed that Hotch's expression had changed.

His eyes had just lit up at whatever he'd found on the television.

So her gaze shifted to the entertainment center, to see that The Asphalt Jungle was just about to start on TCM. The host was talking about the history of it.

Hotch's eyes dropped down to hers, and seeing the hopeful twinkle there, a soft smile touched her lips.

It was so rare to see him get excited about anything. And seeing that excitement on his face . . . especially over something so simple and ordinary . . . made that little flutter come back again. Or perhaps she was just having a heart attack.

Eh, either way.

"Good pick," she said with a wink and a little squeeze of his fingers.

And it was a good pick, because she too liked old film noire. But mostly she just liked that the movie made him happy. That alone was reason enough for it to win her approval as their viewing choice for the evening.

It didn't hurt that he rewarded her agreement, with a quick kiss and a pat on the bottom.

And after he'd put the remote back down on the coffee table, and lay down onto the couch, she moved over to climb on top of him. And with her head resting on his bare chest, and his left hand rubbing a light circle on her back, while the right one rested possessively on her ass, they settled in to pretend that this was part of the arrangement too.

So many lies, so little time.

It wasn't until after the opening credits had finished, that Emily realized snuggling up with a man just to watch TV, was an activity that she hadn't engaged in, in over two years. Since back when she was with Sully.

Her last really serious relationship.

Interesting.

Emily's musings about things that may or may not have been important, were interrupted by Hotch suddenly kissing her temple.

Her eyes crinkled.

"What was that for?" She whispered while lifting her head.

"That," he murmured back, his eyes locked onto hers, "was for deciding to let dinner digest before we went back upstairs. This is really nice," he gave her a soft smile, "thank you."

Though he would have expected at least a slight twinge of melancholy about what they were doing . . . after all, he and Haley had spent more nights than he'd ever be able to count, curled up watching TV . . . he felt nothing like that. Perhaps it was because those nights with Haley, though they were too many too count, they were also too long ago.

Coming up on two years now.

Not that things had already deteriorated so badly back then . . . back when Jack was a new addition . . . but with a newborn, finding time to be alone together had obviously become more difficult. That point was true for all new parents, but given his work hours, and his travel, that's when the intimacy of their relationship had really begun to suffer.

Of course that was what he had come to see in retrospect. At the time he hadn't consciously realized that anything was going wrong.

So yes, he was . . . again, in retrospect . . . a complete idiot.

But then as time went on, and his marriage had unraveled to the extent that even HE couldn't miss the signs that their relationship was on life support, snuggling had been taken off the table all together. It was hard to snuggle up together on the couch, when most nights your 'snuggle partner' . . . aka, your 'loving' wife . . . made a point to be in bed, faking sleep, before you even got home.

So by his memories of fairly recent happy times, all Hotch could say for sure was that cuddling up and watching TV, had been an activity that he and Haley had last enjoyed back when she was pregnant. And that might have been exactly why lying there with Emily in this same way, wasn't making him feel sad. It was because the memories that he was connecting to, were happy ones.

The days spent waiting for Jack to join his life.

And actually . . . another thought came to Hotch while he absentmindedly tangled his fingers in his Emily's hair . . . nowadays, his primary snuggle partner was Jack.

When he picked up his boy on the weekends, they always watched at least one full length movie before bed, or before a nap. And Hotch chose that activity specifically to work in more bonding time. He wanted his son to be sleepy and climb into his lap. And then Hotch could feel his warm little body, and smell his little boy smell, and hold his chubby little fingers . . . and all of that darkness in him, would be washed away.

Jack was filled with light. And those moments with him, were now his best days.

Forward and back.

So if lying with Emily this way . . . so innocently . . . could, in some abstract way, also help to fill that same 'Jack gap' in his life, then obviously this experience was going to make him happy too.

It was another way forward into the light.

And that realization was enough to keep him perfectly content through to the end of the movie. But as the end credits began to roll, Emily began to place soft little kisses on his chest, and thoughts of simple contentment were replaced by other (more adult) interests.

Because apparently Emily was ready to go swimming again.

And as she kissed and nibbled her way along his collarbone, he felt the first stirrings down below. And then she sucked his nipple into her mouth, and "stirrings" was no longer the word for what was happening.

Their 'sexual intermission' had now officially come to a close!

Emily grinned against Hotch's chest as she felt the erection beginning to form beneath her. And after one more lick of his chest . . . he really did taste good . . . she shifted herself up and back to straddle his thighs. Her nails scraped lightly along his chest.

That hardening shaft was tantalizingly close to her center.

And then Hotch's hands slid up and around to her ass. And as he held her tightly in place . . . he levered his hips up and pressed into her. Hard.

With her thong still long forgotten out in the hallway, the thin cotton of his boxers was no impediment to the intimacy of that touch.

Her eyes fell shut.

Slowly, she worked back and forth against that bulge, feeling it get harder as she got wetter. Her hips were starting to work a rhythmic grind against his pelvis.

It was a not at all dry hump.

One that felt oh so good! Which was why she let it go on longer than she should have. Because when she opened her eyes again, she saw Hotch's pupils were almost black with desire. One hand had begun to fumble with her belt . . . he had the first knot undone . . . the other hand was about to slip into the gap of her robe. And once he got his fingers in there, there would be no stopping again.

They wouldn't be able to.

"Let's go upstairs this time," she whispered with a little smile, her fingers catching his before they could disappear into her warmth, "after that workout by the door, I'm afraid you might pull a muscle contorting down here again."

Regardless of the (amazingly) good shape that they were both in, they were also both . . . technically . . . pushing middle age. That was an age when their bodies, regardless of how toned or muscular, didn't quite bounce back from strenuous activities as quickly as they might have when they were both much younger.

And given that she had a nice big, soft, bed designed, in LARGE part, for strenuous activities such as the ones that they had planned, they should really use it for that intended purpose.

It would save them both from any potentially embarrassing injuries.

Hotch's fingers were caught in Emily's loose grasp just as he was about to touch that wonderful valley. Though that was a frustration, he suddenly processed her choice of words, and he felt a little stab of hurt.

"Are you saying that I'm old?" He asked with a frown.

Though she could tell that he was trying to make the question sound neutral, Emily could also clearly hear a trace of hurt beneath Hotch's words. It was also visible in the turn of his mouth.

Her expression softened in sympathy.

"No, Aaron," she murmured, still holding his hand while leaning forward to place a butterfly kiss over his eye, "not at all. What I'm saying," she pressed another soft kiss to his other brow, "is that I now feel very proprietary about your physical parts, and I want to be sure that all of my favorites among them," she kissed him again, "stay in top working order."

She leaned back to give him a soft smile.

"And although I've never actually tried it," her nose wrinkled, "I just don't think that this couch would be very comfortable for sex. At least not the cushiony part here." Then she shrugged. "Now if we were standing up, and you were going to take me from behind, of course that would be a different story. The couch is the perfect height for that."

Momentary indignation at her perceived slight now TOTALLY forgotten, Hotch's brow shot up in barely contained shock.

"You want me to bend you over the back of the couch?!"

To his slight embarrassment, he noticed that his voice shot up a half an octave at the end of the question. It wasn't very 'manly'.

But she really had taken him by surprise.

Given Emily's own 'alpha' tendencies . . . she certainly could take control of a room when she wanted to . . . he would not have thought that she'd be into that position.

Not at ALL!

So this was news! Really, REALLY interesting . . . and intriguing . . . news!

"Yes," Emily leaned in to press a kiss to Hotch's lips, "I absolutely do want you to do that." Then she leaned back again with a little smile, "But not tonight. The wall was enough extracurricular." She reached up to brush her fingers through his hair. "That's why I think we can have more fun upstairs in a nice bed."

Though she wasn't in the habit of allowing herself to be bent over and screwed from behind, it wasn't that she didn't enjoy it. In fact it was quite the opposite. When the person was just right, and the height differential was just right, and the motion was just right, the physical pleasure was . . . she bit her lip . . . exquisite.

So the problem . . . and it wasn't at all a little one . . . was that she rarely had enough established 'emotional' trust with her partners, to even consider allowing that activity to be put on the table. Even though she was fairly liberal when it came to playing what could amount to 'sexual twister,' her own control issues generally precluded anything being proposed (or agreed to) that she couldn't shut down immediately if she started to get uncomfortable.

And she was not above a swift right hook if it came down to that.

Fortunately it had never (thank God) come down to that. The last man that she'd had to kick out of her bed was Agent Brooks with his creepy assed serial killer foreplay. But the point was, any position that she'd previously allowed herself to be put into, she had known that she could have retaken control of the situation if things had somehow gone off the rails.

But for a man to take her from behind . . . once she was pinned . . . she'd be helpless to do anything but let it go to the end.

Which was . . . admittedly . . . part of the allure.

But also the reason that on those rare occasions she HAD allowed it, that it had been in an established (trusted) relationship. To date, that tally of partners came up to three.

Sully was the last one.

But she and Hotch, though new to conjoining physical parts, had a LONG established emotional relationship. Her trust in him was also unique in its totality. Even far and above what she'd held for Sully.

They had never worked together in the field.

And knowing just where Hotch would be hitting her with each hard . . . she leaned forward to bite down on his lip . . . penetrating, thrust, had merits that could not be denied. And . . . she started dry humping him again . . . would not be denied.

They'd just do it next time.

That's when she suddenly realized that by chewing on Hotch's lip, while wriggling on his erection . . . she'd gotten kind of worked up there for a minute at the visuals . . . she might have been sending a bit of a 'mixed' signal to him about stopping the downstairs activities.

Oops.

And just as she felt his fingertips brushing against her pubic hair . . . she bounced backwards off his lap, and well out of reach.

His jaw dropped.

"What the HELL, Emily?!" Hotch sputtered in disbelief at her now sitting on the far cushion of the couch, "you're kind of sending me mixed signals here!"

"I know, Hotch," she responded with a contrite pout, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tease. But if those fingers got to where they wanted to go, then we both know what would have happened next."

"Um, intercourse would have actually BEGUN by now?" Hotch asked with a bitter scowl as he pushed himself up to a sitting position.

His erection was now poking out of his shorts.

First she licks his nipple and rides him like a freaking hobby horse, and THEN she puts the brakes on him fingering her! THEN she tells him that she wants to be FUCKED from behind, right before she starts devouring his mouth and grinding him into a genuinely PAINFUL erection! But when he FINALLY makes a solid move after the most explicit, "GO! GO! GO!" signals he'd ever received, she leaps off of him like she's a virgin riding bareback at the prison rodeo!?

SERIOUSLY, he had forgotten how mystically INSANE a woman's thought processes could BE!

"Yes," Emily agreed with a nod, ignoring Hotch's cranky tone to swing her legs around and down to the carpet, "exactly. Intercourse would have begun. And then, just like I said before, we'd end up contorting all over the place rather than simply going upstairs to enjoy my nice big soft bed with the nice clean super comfy soft sheets, that I put on specifically," she turned to give him a little smile, "for your visit tonight."

"So," she reached down and gave a hearty tug on his package, "up and at 'em mister. Wipe off that frowny face. I want to go play with my new toy here," she stroked her thumb over the sensitive tip poking out of the plaid material, "because I've got a list of fun stuff I want to do with it, and we've barely crossed two items off the list."

Though his teeth were now clenched at Emily's continued caress . . . the woman's ability to drive him to the sexual nuthouse was becoming UNSURPASSED! . . . Hotch tried to keep his composure by pretending that nothing was amiss.

"There's a list?" He squeaked. "An actual written down," her hand fell away and he was able to suck in a full breath again, "uh, list of things to," he exhaled, "do?"

Thank GOD she'd taken her hand away! Christ! The woman could throw him off his game like nobody else he'd ever met!

"Yep," Emily nodded, "it's in the locked drawer next to my bed. Just some stuff I've been thinking about, stuff that I haven't done in a long time. Some of it is stuff," she continued with a smirk, while tugging on his arm to get him off the couch, "that I noticed last week you were REALLY good at, and I wanted you to be really good at again."

Oral was a big one. Hotch was like 'Win a Major Award' good at that! But it wasn't just that he went down . . . though not all men did . . . it was his own special 'technique' that had her damn near climbing off the walls.

The last time she hadn't been able to walk when he was done.

Although Emily was clearly trying to get him off the couch, Hotch stayed where he was. Partly because his lower half was still tingling from her touch . . . he wanted to give things a moment to settle down or activities would go entirely too fast once they got upstairs . . . but also, because he was thinking. His brain was ticking back through his memories of their previous sexual encounters.

There had been five.

Well, six, if he counted what had happened before they got into the shower that last morning in Connecticut. And given that he'd had Emily spastically screaming . . . while comparing him to a god, thank you very much . . . and he'd eventually needed to carry her into the bathroom because she was so physically spent, he was thinking that one did indeed "count."

So it was probably an item on her list of activities that she'd like to repeat.

He'd like to repeat that one himself. Because he too had a list of his favorite activities, and that one was most definitely on his list. And unfortunately . . . before Emily had quite literally climbed into his lap last week . . . his list had been getting more than a little dusty.

There were things on there that he hadn't done in a very LONG time!

But given his year of involuntary celibacy . . . aka his ONLY partner dropkicking him to the curb without so much as a verbal goodbye, let alone a final pity fuck . . . sexual frustration had become a regular part of his life.

But no longer.

With Emily and her, 'what the hell, let's give it a go' enthusiasm to every sexual request he'd made of her so far, he'd realized that not only did he now have a 'regular' partner again, but also one who was open minded.

And flexible.

And flexibility had been key to more than a few of the moves that they'd tried out the week before. And thinking back to Emily's reaction . . . verbal and otherwise . . . to some of those moves, his lip quirked up.

His gaze shifted up to hers.

"Pinwheel on the list?"

She smirked.

"And G-Force." Then her expression softened, and she gave him a shy smile, "but I really liked that belly thing too. I'd like to work that one in regularly, if you don't mind."

The first two moves had felt amazing, but that last one, with him cradling her close and pressing little butterfly kisses along her abdomen, it was more that it made her feel happy.

It wasn't sex . . . it was making love.

And there was a difference.

Hotch's eyebrow inched up as he climbed off the couch.

"Mind?" He asked with an incredulous eye roll when he came up in front of her. "You think that I might MIND having sex with you? Like it was a chore? Under what circumstances exactly," he continued with a wrinkled brow, while backing her towards the stairs, "do you envision that ludicrous scenario happening, Emily?"

Apparently she wasn't familiar with how the male brain . . . or any other body part . . . worked. Sex was not a chore . . . it was a life goal. And any hetero man who had EVER seen the woman in front of him naked, would agree, anything that she wanted him to do to her, ANYTHING, was going to get a HUGE thumbs up!

And now seeing Emily's eyes start to twinkle as her mouth began to quiver, he gave her another good natured eye roll. His earlier sexual frustration now forgotten, he leaned down to give her a soft kiss.

"Ridiculous woman," he murmured against her lips. And when she started to giggle, his eyes crinkled as he pulled back and tucked her to his chest.

After a tight squeeze and another kiss . . . this one to the temple . . . he surprised her with an unexpected hoist off the ground.

After all of this sexual position talk, his lower half was now getting VERY anxious to get down to business! And although he was quite sure that Emily's lower half was just as anxious, apparently she hadn't anticipated him potentially throwing her over his shoulder.

Because finding herself pitched upside down . . . with her arms dangling and her butt in the air . . . resulted in an actual yelp of surprise from her. The sound was so high pitched . . . and girly . . . that he nearly laughed out loud.

Yet another . . . wonderful . . . incarnation of the Bad Ass, Supervisory Special Agent, Emily Prentiss.

"Hey!" She squealed with a smack to his butt, "I didn't order a taxi! I wasn't done yet my vertical snuggling!"

"Sorry, no more snuggling," he responded seriously . . . though his lips were twitching out of her sight, "I have chores to do."

"Ah, I see," she half laughed half snorted, "you have chores! And does this hoist mean that I am not allowed to walk upstairs on chore night?! Because this is the second time tonight that you've carried me to the bedroom."

It was cute . . . and actually kind of sweet . . . but definitely unexpected.

"No," Hotch shook his head as he started up the stairs, "no walking. I've got plans, and you need to save your strength."

And with that he gave her bottom a light tap while continuing up to her bedroom.

Emily's continuous giggling was the musical accompaniment all along the way.

A/N 2: Yes, chores are up next, plus more of that bonding and cuddly crap that keeps getting in the way of all the sex ;)

If you read Second Chances, you'll notice some allusions to activities from their first night together in that world. As always with these things, that was intentional. String theory, exact same people, one thing changes, different universes spin off :)

And if you were wondering about creepy Agent Brooks, a reminder that is also a tale from the larger Girl'verse. You can brush up on the details over in "Making Spirits Bright."

My goal is to get ALL of the ongoing reposts/new stories, updated this week. It is a lofty goal! So let's cross our fingers that things will go according to plan.

Thanks all, and thanks again for the continued feedback. It is ALWAYS appreciated, and it also helps to keep me focused on what stories people are enjoying. I can't always 'post to order' but I do my best, if my brain cooperates :)