Author's Note: The last portion of their evening. The title will make sense by the end.

The Lady Gunslinger and the Widowed Farmer

Emily's eyes crinkled as she looked at Hotch's reflection in the bathroom mirror, naked, digging into his shaving kit for his toothbrush.

God, he's so damn CUTE!

Yes, that was the thought of a fifteen year old girl, but it didn't change the basic truth of the situation. He really was quite adorable. That was a point of fact Emily had tried to consciously push out of her mind for the past few years.

Since she'd come to work with him.

Prior to that turn of events . . . she began to comb out her wet hair as she stood next to him now brushing his teeth . . . he was just a lingering memory from her youth.

One that got away.

And he was still technically, 'away' from her, but he was also, again, standing in her bathroom naked. So yeah . . . there was that. But he, they, weren't naked at the moment for the same reason that they'd been naked for the majority of the evening.

Now it was because they were fresh out of the shower.

And although it had been a joint shower, it had also been a sex free one. Now anybody who had ever seen a naked, wet and soapy, Hotch, might have questioned how it was possible for her to refrain from intercourse when intercourse could have so easily been had. And under any other circumstances, Emily would have been thrilled to engage in some shower wall coitus.

But not tonight.

Even though they'd gotten in a solid two hour nap . . . it was now a little after twelve-thirty . . . they were both still pretty physically wiped after their two, highly aerobic, encounters earlier in the night. But that was totally understandable. It had been a long work week, and they weren't spring chickens.

But also . . . on her part . . . after the second round of activities, Emily had woken up feeling a little sore and achy down below. But again, given how intensive their encounters had been, those sensations were totally understandable. And after subtly downing two low dose Motrin while Hotch was mixing them up a box of mac and cheese for a midnight snack, she had felt much better. Basically back to normal really.

But she still didn't want to push her luck.

Her body was telling her enough was enough for tonight, which meant that her vagina was now a penis free zone. That said she was hoping not to have to explicitly share that development with Hotch . . . she was sure that he would worry he'd been too rough . . . but fortunately with the dark circles she could see under his eyes, she sincerely doubted that he would be proposing anything more physically stimulating before bed than a good night kiss.

And sure enough, after he'd rinsed his mouth . . . as she caught his eyes in the mirror . . . she saw him give her a faint smile in the reflection. Then he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"Thanks for a good night," he murmured against her skin. Then he straightened up, and went back to refilling his shaving kit.

It was clear that he considered the sexual intercourse portion of the evening to be over.

Good. That meant they were both on the same page even if the matter hadn't been explicitly discussed. So with that potential awkwardness avoided, Emily gave her hair a super quick blow dry.

Just enough to take the 'sopping' portion, out of the wet.

And after that . . . while Hotch was taking care of his contacts . . . she went about tidying up the still steamy bathroom.

Straightening their towels and picking up the bathmats.

When she turned back from tossing the washcloths in the hamper, she saw Hotch wiping down the vanity and polishing the faucet. Her eyes crinkled.

"You're a good houseguest," she said with a smile as she walked back across the room. He huffed in amusement . . . though his tone was slightly bitter when he spoke.

"Yeah, you might have heard that I've had a lot of practice sharing a bathroom."

Then he closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, "that was uh . . . sorry."

His head dropped down just as she walked up behind him.

"It's fine, Aaron," she whispered while wrapping her arms around his chest and leaning her cheek on his back, "it's just fine."

It was the first time that he'd made a direct reference to his married life, and it was clear that he wasn't far enough removed yet from the divorce to speak about it in the abstract.

There was anger there.

But in his position, she'd still be pretty God damn angry too. He'd lost his son.

That was a hurt that was going to stay.

So as she felt the continued tension in his body, she just turned him around in her arms. Then she placed her head on his chest and let out a soft, breathy, sigh.

"We should change the sheets before we go back to bed." She murmured, "I have clean ones in the hall closet."

Given she was quite sure he didn't wish to have a heart to heart on the topic of his failed marriage, it seemed that just moving on to something else, would be the best approach to handle his mood.

And when she felt his hands come up to rest on her bare hips, she was sure that had been the right approach.

"I'll do it," he whispered with a little kiss to her temple, "you find some clothes. You're starting to get goosebumps."

When she tipped her head back, he stared down at her for a moment, his expression inscrutable. Finally something shifted in his eyes, and Emily saw something else there. Something warm and gentle.

It made her heart flutter.

"Thank you," he whispered. And when her eyes crinkled and she murmured back, "no problem" he leaned down, his breath mingling with hers as he pressed their foreheads together.

Then he closed his eyes . . . she did the same.

For a moment they stood there, and though they were still naked . . . and their bodies were pressed together . . . there was really nothing sexual about it. Emily just felt . . . happy.

Content.

And then he let her go.

"I'm going to go find those sheets," he said with a little pat to her arm. And as he walked out the open door, she felt an odd emptiness fill her. Like something had just been taken away.

But she wasn't quite sure what it was.

So she stood there for a second longer, trying to figure out just exactly what her problem was. And then the AC came on, and she suddenly jumped.

Her whole body had broken out in gooseflesh.

Okay, she thought while scampering out the door, maybe Hotch was right about the clothes. And though she hated to ruin the 'fun/sexy' illusion for the evening, she knew that the teeny tiny teddy wasn't going to cut it in the warmth department.

Also though . . . her gaze caught on it crumpled at the end of the bed . . . it had some fluid on it. It certainly hadn't bothered her earlier, but now that they were both nice and clean . . . and the bed was going to be nice and clean . . . she really didn't want to put it back on again.

So she picked it up off the sheets and turned to whip it into the bathroom.

She just missed the hamper.

Then with a shrug she started over to her dresser to find something to wear that would warm her up a bit, but wouldn't totally ruin the whole 'sexy clandestine' element to their little arrangement.

Just before Emily opened her lingerie drawer . . . she was thinking she had a cute little cotton shift that would work . . . something else snagged her attention.

Hotch's work clothes.

The ones he'd worn that day were stacked in a neatly folded pile next to his ready bag. So she went over and picked up his dress shirt. It was pale blue, and when she picked it up . . . and held it to her face . . . she could smell his aftershave, and that masculine smell that was his alone.

It made her smile.

So she slipped first one arm in . . . and then the other, feeling the soft cotton clinging to her curves as she pulled the edges of the material together. The act felt strangely intimate, and Emily again found herself turning her head to take in his lingering scent. Again, her lips curved.

She was getting that same sensation she'd had in the bathroom.

And she had just begun to button the shirt up, when Hotch walked back into the bedroom. He was wearing a clean pair of boxers . . . he must have pulled them before he went out into the hall . . . and carrying a clean set of sheets. They were her blue ones.

She had a feeling that he liked the color blue.

When Hotch saw her standing there, Emily saw him stop short, his head tipping slightly to the side. It was like he was sizing up the situation, trying to figure out what was happening.

Given that the situation was fairly self-explanatory, his reaction made her a little nervous.

"Is it okay?" She asked with a little furrow in her brow, suddenly worried that maybe he would be upset that she'd taken his shirt without asking. Which perhaps, in retrospect, she should have asked first, but it hadn't occurred to her before. After everything that she'd let the man do to her that night . . . not to mention the week before . . . borrowing his clothes for bed, had seemed like a non-issue.

And he must have agreed, because suddenly he smiled . . . and all of her worries were gone.

"Yeah," Hotch responded while shooting her two dimples, "it's very okay."

Then he set about making the bed. And if Emily noticed that there was a little twinkle in his eye every time he looked over at her, she chose not to comment. She just hid her own smile while trying to focus her attention on the tiny buttons.

Hotch had finished with the top sheet, around the same time she finished rolling up his sleeves. And then she went over to help him with the blankets.

And for Hotch's benefit, Emily made sure that her breasts were very much on display while she did so.

She'd stopped buttoning up, one button above her navel.

"So, Prentiss," Hotch asked with a smirk while straightening out the clean pillows at the top of the bed, "was demonstrating for me just how good your breasts looked falling out of my dress shirt, one of the items on your sex/seduction list? Because if it wasn't, it absolutely should have been."

Just like at the door downstairs, she looked like the typical male fantasy. This time though, that was with her hair damp and straight, and all of her makeup washed off. But there was an innate beauty and sex appeal there that couldn't be denied. And if he wasn't so God damn tired, he'd have happily ripped those buttons off, and stripped her naked again.

But he was too tired.

Though he'd definitely be copping a feel once they got back into bed.

"Oh!" Emily's head popped up in surprise, the folded edge of the top blanket falling from her fingers, "the list! I almost forgot about the list!"

Then she dropped down on the mattress, and leaned over to get into the nightstand.

"We should definitely have checked out the list tonight," she continued while punching in the drawer code. "I put some good stuff on there."

As she started digging into the drawer to get her little notebook out from the back, Emily felt the mattress dip slightly, and then Hotch's arm was wrapping around her waist.

His head poked over her shoulder.

"A locked bedside drawer," he murmured from behind her, as both his eyebrow . . . and level of interest in the contents of said drawer . . . inched up when he saw a box of condoms under Emily's wrist. "So what else is in there besides the list?"

He tipped his head around to see her face, his lips twitching.

"Anything good?"

Though he wasn't actually into sex toys himself . . . as far as Hotch was concerned no mechanized equipment was ever going to surpass his enjoyment of the "hands on" approach . . . he was rather curious what it was that Emily Prentiss was keeping in what was, apparently, her sex drawer. Just because he wasn't into toys, didn't mean that he wasn't into Emily.

And Hotch was definitely very interested in finding out exactly what made Emily tick.

Emily's eyes crinkled slightly at Hotch's question. Then she stopped digging for the notebook to pull the drawer open wide instead.

Better for his perusal.

"You can look," she patted the hand resting on her stomach, "but don't get too excited. There's nothing weird in there. I'm a simple girl."

Though she wouldn't ordinarily let ANYONE dig into her private drawer . . . hence the lock . . . given her innate emotional trust of Hotch . . . and the fact that the man had tongued her to orgasm three times in the last week, and she'd yanked down his boxers and deep throated him when he walked in her front door . . . she figured that as far as 'sexual boundaries' went, they were down to about zilch.

And so when he moved to sit beside her, and then reached in to let his fingers curl around the little bag that contained her vibrator, she thought nothing of it. She just watched as he pulled it out, and his brow furrowed. Then he took the hand that had been resting on her stomach, and raised it up to touch the ribbed edging of the pink plastic, with the tip of his finger.

"Does it work?"

"What?" Emily asked with a wrinkled brow. "You mean like, does it do the job?"

He nodded.

"Yeah," he turned to look at her, his face slightly scrunched up, "does it feel the same? Because this," he touched the ribbing again, "doesn't feel the same. So I'm just curious. I mean," he waved his free hand around slightly, "if you don't mind me asking."

Though he had of course seen vibrators before . . . there was little in the sexual realm that hadn't come across in his work . . . he'd never actually handled one.

At least one that wasn't in a sealed evidence bag.

And if Haley had had one, she'd kept it well hidden from him. Though he did allow . . . though it was a bit of a shot to his male ego . . . that even before things unraveled, with him traveling half the month, she might very well have felt the need to invest in a 'secondary release.'

Which was perhaps why he was somewhat fascinated to see one of them up close.

"Well," Emily smiled at Hotch's clear bewilderment at the single woman's backup friend, "it certainly can't do what you can do, not even close, but yeah," she shrugged, "if a girl isn't lucky enough to have a Hotch available, it gets the basic job done. You know," she reached over and pushed the button to turn it on, "you stimulate A," it started to vibrate in his hand, "you get reaction B."

Hotch's brow inched up as he stared down at the vibrating pink plastic for a second, again wondering at its adequacy . . . his equipment didn't do anything like THAT(!) . . . before nodding slowly.

"Got it." Then he pressed what he now knew was the on/off button, before turning to give Emily a soft smile.

"Thanks for answering my incredibly personal question."

Emily grinned.

"Yeah well, thanks for being a way better fuck than that little piece of plastic."

When Hotch burst out laughing, Emily reached over to take the vibrator out of his hand. And as she was tucking it back into the bag, she saw him eyeing the rest of the contents in her drawer.

There was nothing else in there that she really thought was going to catch his attention . . . condoms, mints, some lube, not even the fancy flavored kind . . . but then she saw him reach out to pick up her tattered romance novel.

And seeing it then through his eyes . . . how dog eared it was, with the silly pictures on the cover . . . she felt an unexpected stirring of embarrassment.

"Don't make fun," she said softly, while watching him turn it over in his hands, "I know it's kind of silly, but I like it."

Hotch's brow darkened slightly as he turned to look at Emily in surprise.

"I would never make fun of any of this," he whispered seriously, his eyes locked onto hers, "this is your private drawer. Your private business. I feel honored that would you let me see what's in it." Then he reached over to put his hand on her knee. He squeezed it.

"I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?"

The concern was clear in his tone.

"No." Emily shook her head firmly, "no, not all. I wouldn't have opened the drawer if I didn't want you to see what was in it. I just, um," she swallowed then, just as her eyes fell away from his, "I'm not used to being with someone like you. I mean," her face started to get a little warm and she waved her hand slightly, "I'm not used to being with someone that I trust, the way that I trust you."

Her gaze snapped back to his.

"I wouldn't ordinarily let anybody see this stuff. That's why it's locked up. And for a second," her attention shifted back to the novel, "looking at the book the way you must see it, how old it is, and the dumb 'bodice ripping' cliché on the cover, I just got a little nervous." Her voice dropped, "like maybe, even though it's you, and I know in my head that you wouldn't, that you still might tease me about it."

Funny how she had no qualms about sharing every inch of her body with this man, but the idea of sharing her book . . . something that sexually stimulated her mind . . . suddenly she felt incredibly exposed.

That was a psychological insight that she'd ponder at a later date.

Seeing Emily sitting there in his oversized shirt, her hands in loose fists while she bit her lip, Hotch felt an unexpected wave of protectiveness wash over him.

She looked so small and vulnerable.

And that's when he knew that she wasn't just afraid that he would tease her. She was afraid that he would judge her.

That he would hurt her.

And he had a feeling that she had been hurt many times before. So his expression softened as he reached over to touch her cheek. Then he turned her head so she was looking at him.

Her brow was pinched.

"I would never tease," he whispered while leaning over to give her a peck on the lips, "I promise."

When he pulled back . . . seeing the worry in her eyes had begun to fade right before she squeezed his fingers . . . Hotch's lips curved in a faint smile. It wasn't until she reciprocated, that he looked back down at the old novel.

"So now that that's settled, now I am curious, why this book? And why this book for the last . . ." he flipped open the front cover to see the date. "Fourteen years! Wow." He turned to look at her, "have you really had this book for fourteen years?"

Those must be some sex scenes!

"Yeah," Emily smiled, "I bought it new way back when. And as to why this book, I don't know." She shrugged. "It's good smut."

Hotch's eyes narrowed.

"That's all? Because I have to imagine that there's a whole billion dollar cottage industry out there of good romance novel smut," his gaze dropped back down to the book in question. "So why . . ."

And then he stopped, his attention caught on a passage from the back description . . . and his lip quirked up.

"It's a lady gunslinger!" His excitement was clear when looked back over to Emily, "that's why you like it." His eyes tracked over the full description on the book jacket. "She's the hero," he grinned, "and the male protagonist, is the damsel. So to speak. Quote, 'the widowed farmer raising a daughter on his own, while trying to fight off the evil land grabbers', end quote."

After that Hotch flipped open the inside cover, and after he'd read the first paragraph, he looked back at Emily.

"May I read it?"

Emily's eyes popped.

"You want to read my trashy romance novel?" She asked in surprise, "seriously?"

He nodded.

"Yeah, I do." Then he rolled his eyes, "but not on the jet or anything, just when I'm here. I'm curious."

She stared at him.

"About what?"

"You." Then he gave her a little smile. "And also about how Sara 'Quick Silver' Parsons, saves the day with her pearl handled, nickel plated, Colt 45."

Emily laughed.

"Okay," she gave a good natured shrug, "if you want to read it, it's okay with me. Oh," she pointed to the book, "and there's some good stuff in there. Especially on page one eighty-seven, there are a few things that we can try when you get there."

Seeing Hotch's eyes light up as he scrambled to flip ahead, she started to laugh again.

He was too funny.

And minute later when she heard him mutter a, "whoa," she grinned.

"If we do try it, you know you'll have to let me stay on top. And also you'll have to wear a black cowboy hat during."

When his wide eyes snapped over to hers, she shrugged, a little twinkle now forming in her own eyes. "You know, to make it authentic for the scene."

Given she'd been reading that sex scene for almost two decades, and she was now getting a real live partner to act it out, there was no reason not to do it right!

Hotch stared at Emily for a second, his jaw twitching as he considered the implications of playing the LITERAL "damsel" in what seemed to be her favorite sex fantasy scene. And make no mistake, based on what he had just skimped over in the plotline, 'Sara' was clearly the sexual dominant for the whole encounter.

He'd be handing over a lot of control.

And yes, that was something that he knew he needed to work on anyway, but he didn't know if he was ready yet to let Emily run things to the end.

What if he started to get antsy, and ruined it by taking over?

Well okay . . . he gave a mental eye roll . . . it was unlikely that he was going to 'ruin' it. It was still sex with Emily, so it was going to be a good time no matter what, but he didn't want to "ruin" her decade old fantasy.

That would be jerky thing to do.

So he knew that he needed to give it a little more thought.

And after taking a breath, his eyes dropped back down to the open book. He re-read the key acts in the three page scene . . . then read them again . . . and then he looked back over to Emily.

"All right, deal. You stay on top and I promise I'll do my level best to suppress my," he rolled his eyes slightly, "baser instincts."

Emily frowned.

"But I don't want you to suppress your baser instincts," she countered, "your baser instincts are why I've had more orgasms in the last week, than I've had in the previous six months combined." Then she gave him a little smile as she tapped the book.

"How about, if we can get through to the part where they break the chair, that we'll consider it a success? And then from there, we go with whatever we're in the mood to do?"

It would still be an effort for him to get that far, but NOTHING like the effort that would be required for him to get through the last part.

Sara had Ben spread eagle on the floor! Hotch would NEVER be able to get through that!

Hotch's eyes crinkled (and he breathed a sigh of relief) at Emily's proposed compromise.

"Okay," he nodded, "sounds good." Then he looked back to the book and ran his finger down the page. "But if I'm doing the hat for the whole thing, you have to get one of these things." He started reading, "a burgundy silk and taffeta corset."

Though he wasn't generally (ever) much for role playing, the hat was nothing. And he certainly wasn't going to miss an opportunity to get Emily into a red silk corset.

Her breasts would look FABULOUS!

Emily leaned over, reading the description of the old fashioned undergarment, and then picturing the intricacies involved in cinching it up.

"Okay, I'll google it tomorrow to see where I can get one. But you're going to have to help me get into it." She tipped her head onto his shoulder while continuing more softly. "Otherwise, it's not going to be so much sexy as just, droopy."

Hearing a bit of the 'less self-assured' Emily making an appearance, Hotch's brow wrinkled. Then he dropped the book back into the drawer, so he could turn and scoop her up and over into his lap.

Dips in self-esteem were not allowed on his watch.

"After seeing you in this shirt," he murmured while cuddling her close. "I find it hard to believe that it is possible for you to not be sexy even in a flannel housecoat three sizes too big. But," he bit down a sigh while rubbing her back, "just so we're clear, you have my assurance that from this point forward in time, regardless of the nature of our relationship, I will absolutely assist you with getting into, and out of, any underwear, of any kind, from any decade, in any century."

Emily chuckled as she slipped her arms around Hotch's chest and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Thanks," she whispered while nuzzling the curve of his neck, "you're a pal."

"Yeah, well," his eyes crinkled slightly, "I do what I can."

And what he'd done just then, was even out her mood. And now he was wondering just how often she had those little dips. And he was also wondering whether anyone else ever bothered to pick her back up again.

Or did they just wear on her soul?

The thought was worrisome, and it stayed on Hotch's mind while they sat quietly quiet for a moment. He was rubbing his thumb along the smooth skin of Emily's thigh . . . and then another thought came to him, and his eyes popped open wide.

"Oh," he patted her shoulder, "we forgot your list. We were supposed to update it."

"Yeah," Emily snuggled in closer, her fingers dancing across his chest, "but we can do it tomorrow."

No list was worth breaking off a cuddle as good as this one.

Hotch's eyebrow inched up in surprise, his eyes were locked onto a speck on the carpet.

"You want me to come back tomorrow?" He asked slowly.

Huh. On offer to come over two days in a row. This was very interesting.

And unexpected.

Originally their deal was only supposed to be twice a week. And two days in row would . . . in theory . . . indicate a desire for them to get together more than twice a week.

"What?" Emily frowned as she lifted her head, her brow was clearly furrowed in confusion when their eyes caught. "Do you not want to come back tomorrow?"

"No!" Hotch's voice inched up an octave in his haste to make it clear just how much he would like to see Emily again. "I mean," he cleared his throat while waving one of his hands around, "yes, I absolutely would love to see you tomorrow night. But tomorrow's Friday. I have Jack," His nose wrinkled slightly, "remember?"

If only he could sneak Emily in after his boy went to bed. But that was too risky. If Jack woke up in the middle of the night . . . a not uncommon occurrence given that it was a new apartment . . . Hotch would never be able to explain her presence to him.

"Oh," Emily bit her lip, "right. I totally lost track of the days. Um," her jaw twisted once, "well, what about Sunday then?"

It had taken WAY too long to get him over this week. Six freaking days! And each new day that passed, brought the possibility of them having to go wheels up on another case.

Which was why she was more than willing to up their anti from their original 'twice a week.' She just wanted to cram in as many 'get togethers' that they could, while they could. Because really, sex of the kind that they were having, was the kind that you wanted to have as often as possible! And it was most definitely the kind of sex that you rearranged other . . . more mundane . . . elements of your life to have.

Like laundry.

Ordinarily she did laundry on Sunday. But clearly there would be no contest between washing her delicates, and having sex with Hotch.

Hotch nodded enthusiastically to Emily's Sunday proposal.

"Yeah, Sunday works. Actually Sunday always works. I usually drop Jack back off around one, so if you wanted," he shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, though in that moment he was feeling anything but, "we could maybe make that a regular all day thing."

Emily's face lit up.

"All day!" she sputtered excitedly, her fingertips pressing into his shoulder, "every week?! God, that would give us like eighteen HOURS together!"

This was AWESOME! Yeah, Laundry Day was totally Sex Day now!

Hotch's lips twitched.

"Though I appreciate your faith in my stamina Emily," he shifted back with a groan to pull his legs onto the bed, "I'm fairly positive that eighteen hours of sex would kill me." Then he continued while moving their bodies up another few inches, "you'd probably have to finish up on your own around hour six."

Emily started to giggle as she pushed Hotch onto his back.

"Goofball," she chuckled while moving around so she was straddling his chest, "I'm not saying that we'd have eighteen STRAIGHT hours of sex. I'm just saying that if we paced ourselves, and worked in some good nap times so that neither of us collapse into a big pile of goo, we could definitely," her lip quirked up, "start off the week with a bang."

"A bang, huh," Hotch waggled his eyebrows, "sounds like fun."

Never let it be said that Emily did not have some FABULOUS ideas! And a weekly, day long, sexathon, was probably her best one yet.

He might actually need to carbo load the day before just to get through it.

"Yeah, I thought you'd like that," Emily responded with a faint smirk, "I might even let you pick the pizza toppings on our takeout."

Hotch's lip quirked up.

"Now, now," he huffed, his fingertips gliding along her calves, "let's not move too fast."

Seeing the grin spread across Emily's face, Hotch winked. Then they stared at each other for a moment, and though he was simply enjoying her physical proximity, suddenly he took conscious note of her position . . . half- naked, straddling his chest . . . and what that position had led to on each previous occasion that she'd climbed on top of him.

Sex.

Hot, sweaty, hours long, sex. And though having that hot, sweaty, hours long sex with Emily was presently his favorite (adult) past time . . . Jack was still his favorite pastime period . . . Hotch knew that there was no way in HELL, that he had another round in him right then!

Not without an IV first.

So he preempted any move she might be ready to make with an "I'd love to Emily, really, but," his nose wrinkled, "I think I might be tapped out for tonight."

If three times a night became their standard, he was going to drop ten pounds . . . or drop dead. Though, thinking about it, if he had to pick any way to go, that would obviously be it.

Seeing the exhaustion rimming Hotch's eyes, even as his lips pursed with regret, a soft smile touched Emily's mouth. The living embodiment of 'the spirit was willing, even if the body was weak.'

But that's not what she was looking for anyway.

Again, she was a bit tapped out herself.

"I wasn't trying to 'seduce' you, Agent Hotchner," she murmured with a squeeze of his fingers before dropping her hands to his chest, "I just wanted to talk for a little bit, and I figured that this here was," she gently patted his chest, "as good a place as any to catch up."

"Oh," Hotch's expression immediately perked up as he realized that he wasn't going to be expected to put on a command performance that night.

Thank Christ.

Then he reassessed the gaps in the dress shirt Emily was wearing, and noting all of the lovely lady parts on a 'peek-a-boo' display for his perusal.

"Okay," his gaze drifted up and along her body, admiring the visible curves that he was now so intimately acquainted with, "well then can I just say for future reference, you can definitely drop down on me whenever you'd like. So now what," his eyes snapped up to hers as he crossed his arms behind his head, "did you want to talk about?"

Emily smiled.

"You."

His eyes widened in surprise.

"Me?"

"Yeah," She leaned forward to give him a kiss. "You," she murmured against his lips, "your day." Then she sat back a bit. "Earlier when you were on the phone," her eyes crinkled slightly, "I got sleepy because I liked listening to your voice. But then later when we were watching the movie, I was thinking about what it was that you were talking about before I fell asleep. And I thought that it might be good for you to tell me about it."

Seeing Hotch's brow wrinkle slightly just before responding in a confused tone, "but I did tell you about it. The home invasions," Emily realized that she wasn't expressing herself correctly.

"No," she tried to clarify with a shake of her head, "sorry, I didn't necessarily mean all of the details of the case, but just your day. Tell me about your day. Besides the actual consult tonight, what did you do?"

Hotch blinked.

"Well," he frowned, "uh, I did a lot of things. What did you want to know?"

Honestly, nobody had asked him about his day and actually MEANT it, since he and Haley were still sharing a bed. And given that when she'd asked, he had always lied through his teeth and said that things had gone "fine" even when he'd spent the day looking at the remains of dismembered children, he honestly didn't know how to answer Emily's question.

"Anything," she shrugged, "just tell me anything."

It was curious that he was so thrown by such a simple question. But then she thought about it for a second, and figured that the reason he was looking so bewildered, was because it had been so long since he had somebody in his life that had cared to ask him about his day. That realization gave her a little ache in her chest.

That ache was for him.

"Um, uh, uh," Hotch sputtered for a second before suddenly blurting out. "I had a bagel for breakfast!"

Emily's mouth quivered.

Again, adorable.

"Okay," she bit down her amusement while tapping her fingertips on his chest, "and what kind of bagel did you have?"

If this is where they needed to start, then this was where they would start.

"Uh," Hotch's gaze shifted for a second while he thought back, "poppy seed." Then he scowled slightly, "they got stuck in my teeth but it was the only one they had left." The scowl morphed to a sigh, "I had wanted the cinnamon raisin but some woman in front of me got a dozen to go and wiped out the whole tray of them."

Okay . . . Hotch winced . . . that was a completely random and ridiculous story to share. And for a second he started to feel a little embarrassed to have carried on about something so idiotically trivial, but then he saw Emily's brow knit together.

"Wow, what a bitch!"

And hearing her righteous support of his bagel drama of all things, he actually felt a little spot of warmth in his chest. She really did care about his little bagel drama . . . she cared about his day.

It had been a long time since he'd had anyone who did.

So when she asked him to tell her something else, he found it easier to find something to say. He told her about his run-in with the Forensics chief, that his team had denied losing a blood vial from a case out in St. Clair. That their chief was claiming that the BAU admin had never dropped it off, and that her copy of the evidence transfer had a false initial on it.

That the Forensics tech in question said she'd never signed it.

For that one Emily hit the roof.

As she ranted and raved at their arrogance, she mentioned that the same tech who was denying receipt of the vial, had been being accused of a sloppy RNA report for a child abduction case she'd handled a few years back. Hotch's eyes widened in shock.

He'd never heard anything about that allegation.

He asked Emily to tell him more.

And so as she began to tell him the story . . . she'd gone to the Academy with one of the investigating agents . . . he brought his arms down, and his hands rested again on her calves.

Though he was feeling oddly connected with Emily in that moment, it was also a little strange being with someone in such an intimate way, who actually understood his work. She wasn't Haley. She wasn't a civilian of any kind. She was part of his world

And it was her world too.

And with this new level of intimacy and trust that had come about from the sexual developments in their relationship, Hotch realized then, that perhaps there was more he could achieve from this arrangement, than simple sexual release.

Which would have been sufficient by itself.

But maybe Emily could be someone that he could talk to. A sounding board for the petty grievances and bullshit of the day.

The stressors he could never bitch about with Dave.

Dave of course being the only other adult human in his life, with whom he ever discussed issues of a 'non-work' nature. But something like the bagel incident . . . he internally winced . . . Christ, he'd sooner slam his hand in a car door than EVER tell Dave Rossi about his disappointment in not getting his desired FLAVOR of breakfast food! Dave would be busting his balls for a week.

But Emily wouldn't.

And so when she shifted to lie down on his chest, he wrapped his arms around her body, and pulled up the blankets. And then in the quiet that only be found in the early hours of the morning, he told her about something else too silly to discuss with Dave.

His light bulb problem.

One of the overhead fluorescents in his office had started to buzz a week ago, but because it hadn't completely burned out yet, Maintenance said that it had to stay.

The buzzing was driving him, literally, INSANE! He'd started talking to himself when the door was shut.

At that, Emily snuggled in closer and kissed neck. Then she murmured that one of the janitors owed her a favor. And that she was sure that he'd replace the bulb immediately, no questions asked.

She'd have it done the next day.

Hotch smiled and kissed the top of her head.

"Thanks," he whispered. And then he was silent for a second before he slid his hand down and patted her butt.

"But now," he gave her a light pinch, "you know that you have to tell me what this favor was that was SO big, that you now have an FBI janitor in your hip pocket."

Emily started to giggle . . . the vibration tickled his collar bone. Then she lifted her head.

"Okay, but you have to promise not to tell anyone at work," she put two fingers up as her lips twitched, "and I want scout's honor on that."

Seeing Hotch about to open his mouth, Emily raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, uh, I know damn well that you were Boy Scout Aaron Hotchner! There's no way in hell that a man with a pants crease that could cut a Ginsu knife, didn't spend at least a few years out in the woods playing with his rocks and rubbing his stick."

Hotch rolled his eyes.

"Okay," he huffed indignantly, "first of all, I was six. And I wasn't out there 'rubbing my stick' and 'playing with my rocks,' I was MAKING fire! And second," he bit back a sigh while pulling out one hand from under the blankets to hold up the appropriate digits.

"Fine, scout's honor." Then he huffed, "but if you're fixing felonies for the janitorial staff, please tell me that they're at least ones under our direct jurisdiction."

Emily laughed again as she once more put her head down on his shoulder.

"It was nothing like that," she continued with a soft chuckle, "I helped him out of a jam last month." She cleared her throat, "let's just say that this particular janitor's sexual proclivities are a bit outside of 'standard' societal norms."

Hotch's brow knitted together.

"What kind of sexual proclivities are we talking about?" He asked suspiciously.

"He's a plushophiliac," Emily responded flatly.

Hotch's mouth opened . . . and then closed.

"A plushophiliac," he repeated in the same tone.

"Yep," Emily responded with a pop of the P, "he's a big old plushy. And also a member of the furry community. His costume of choice is a giant rooster."

Hotch snorted at the imagery. Then he started to laugh.

"No Freudian significance there!"

"I know, right," Emily chuckled, "the guy likes to dress up as a giant cock! Which you know," she shrugged slightly, "whatever, if that's what he's into and there are people out there who don't mind having sex with Foghorn Leghorn, more power to him."

As long as nobody was hurting or exploiting anybody else, Emily basically took a 'live and let live' approach to other people's sexual kinks. Everybody had a reason that their buttons got pushed one way or another.

Though admittedly that giant cock thing was pretty God damn hilarious.

"Okay," Hotch choked down his laughter, his fingertips now tapping a light rhythm on Emily's back, "so if he's into the plush and furry scenes, which is not at all illegal, how did this janitor come to owe you this gigantic, light bulb exchanging worthy, favor? Oh," his brow wrinkled, "and how exactly did you come to find out about the giant rooster thing? Because that does not seem like something that's going to come up while he's emptying your recycling bin."

Emily tipped her head back.

"Will told me."

Hotch's eyes popped.

"Will? As in JJ's Will?! Is he also . . . I mean do they . . .? You know what? Forget it, I don't want to know."

GOD! Now he just couldn't get these images about JJ's sex life out of his head! Was that how they made the BABY!?

"No, no!" Emily winced and waved her hand, "God! Nothing like that! Nothing at all to do with them personally, or JJ at all. Last month, Vice did a raid on a sex party in Georgetown. They weren't there for the orgy, that was, of course legal. They were there because somebody dropped a dime that there were prostitutes, and also a dealer onsite in that apartment. That's how Will and his partner ended up there. But there was no dealer. He confirmed, and I read the reports. No prostitutes, no dealers. Nobody was high, or even intoxicated. Apparently it was a 'vegan, straight edge' plush/furry crowd."

Emily's nose wrinkled slightly as a thought occurred to her.

"Though how exactly you can be a sexually active furry vegan. I mean really, if you don't eat . . ."

Hotch cut in before Emily could finish her sentence.

"Thank you, Prentiss," he cleared his throat, "but I don't need a graphic visual there on the blow by blow activities at the vegan, plushophiliac, furry, orgy."

"Oh," she blinked, "right. So anyway, Will is at this raid, the janitor somehow recognizes him from the week before when he came in to pick up JJ, and starts pleading for him to help him out. Because you know," Emily's nose wrinkled, "the Bureau would definitely frown on any employees being picked up in a sex raid. Even if he is just a janitor and not an agent. Also, somebody, probably the same person who had called the cops, had called the Post. There were reporters out in front of the house. So even though there was nothing illegal about the party, getting his picture in the paper, in a giant ROOSTER costume, Christ, they'd have canned his ass just for the bad publicity alone."

Hotch nodded.

"True. And although perhaps this gentleman might wish to find his entertainment in a less conspicuous part of the city, any raids in Georgetown are going to make the front page, I agree, he should not have lost his job over his attendance at a private party."

Then Hotch's brow wrinkled.

"But how exactly did you get involved? I'd think if anything, with Will's connection, JJ would have been the one pulled into it."

Emily huffed.

"Geography. I lived five minutes away. Will called, explained the situation, and asked if I would be willing to do the guy a favor, and pick him up. I said what the hell, send him out the back door and I'll pick him up on the next block." Emily smiled.

"And that is how I met Jimmy the Janitor who promised me his first born child as thanks for saving his ass. Which makes me believe that he will be happy to change your unchangeable light bulb in exchange for being allowed to keep his future progeny."

Hotch stared up at Emily for a moment, his brow narrowing.

"Good call," he responded drily, "because you know the Bureau also frowns upon trafficking in human babies, Agent Prentiss."

"Yeah well," Emily shrugged, "when it's a giant rooster mating with a petite grizzly bear I'm not really sure you could call them 'human' babies."

Hotch's nose wrinkled.

"A grizzly?"

"Yeah," Emily nodded, "her name was Mona. Jimmy's girlfriend. I had to stick her head in the trunk," she shrugged, "so to speak."

Hotch closed his eyes.

"Okay," he shook his head, "we really need to move on to another topic of discussion. Because having too many of these images in my head, is not going to bode well for our future sexual encounters."

Yeah, the last thing he needed when he was trying to get an erection, was the image of a ROOSTER doing it with a GRIZZLY BEAR!

"Oh yeah," Emily's nose wrinkled, "you're probably right about that. So okay," she took a breath and cuddled in closer, "moving on. Did you know that Derek lost a bet with Dave, and now he has to take Reid out on a double date this weekend?"

"No," Hotch started to chuckle, "I missed that one." Then his eyes crinkled in amusement as he rubbed his hand down Emily's back.

"Tell me everything."

And that's how they spent the next hour. Trading stories and gossip, and Hotch laughing more in that one conversation, than he probably had in the last month combined. He was having a really good time.

And they weren't even naked.

And then when Emily started to yawn, he kissed her temple and whispered that was enough for now.

They could talk more on Sunday.

So Emily mumbled a sleepy, "k," then pushed herself up slightly to reach over and get the remote from the nightstand. She handed it to Hotch, and as he turned on the TV, she used his chest to lever herself up even further.

After she'd turned off the bedside lamp, she shifted over to cuddle up at his side.

Better to see the TV.

"Something black and white," she murmured, watching him flip through the channels, "I don't care what. I just don't want bright colors."

"Black and white," Hotch repeated softly, "okay." Then he checked the time, and remembered something from the guide when he was looking for a show to watch earlier in the night.

He punched in the channel number from memory, before his gaze slid down to Emily at his side.

"S'okay?"

"Yeah," her eyes crinkled while she patted his stomach, "perfect."

The Twilight Zone.

It had seemed like an Emily type show. And Hotch was pleased to see that his profiling on this topic had proven to be correct. And as he leaned over to place the remote back on the nightstand, he couldn't help but notice that Emily . . . who a moment before was yawning with exhaustion . . . was now biting her lip. Her eyes were wide with interest as she watched the activity on the screen.

His lip quirked up.

This woman's relative adorableness when she was excited about something that most people would find completely abstract, was fast becoming his favorite (new) aspect of her personality. It was a piece of her that she had mostly kept hidden at work. But now she shared it with him.

She was sharing a lot with him.

And that was making him feel pretty special. And so he settled back on the pillows, and she settled in at his side. She was still wearing his shirt. And he was enjoying that outfit almost as much as he had the little white nightgown.

Speaking of . . .

He slipped his arm around her shoulders, asking if maybe the white nightgown could be put in the regular playtime rotation.

It was definitely a fan favorite.

But then she pressed her breasts into side while explaining that she had all manner of slinky, sexy, lacy items that she wanted to model for him, and did he really want to limit playtime to just one outfit.

He did not.

Though he did ask if maybe she could still wear the white one again sometime . . . it now had sentimental value. That's when she pushed herself up, a soft smile touching her lips as she leaned down to give him a kiss. Then she promised to wear it again.

But she'd leave it for another special day.

And as she dropped back down to his side, her attention back on the show, his attention began to wander.

He was now thinking about the coming Sunday afternoon.

When he knocked on her door, now he knew that there would be something new . . . something in lace or silk . . . that would barely be covering that beautiful body of hers.

He could hardly wait to see what she'd be falling out of next.

Hmm . . . his gaze momentarily dropped down to the blankets . . . so that was yet another thing to look forward to in his life. Not just the sex, but the greeting at the door. It was an unfamiliar emotion for him.

Sexual anticipation.

Of course back when he was a newlywed, sexual anticipation had been a regular part of his life.

And then that part of his life had faded.

Marriage became, well, marriage. Sex became routine. Not boring, or bad, just . . . normal. It wasn't until the very end when it became non-existent. But even before the separation, it had been a LONG time since his wife had surprised him with a sexy outfit. Again, it was marriage.

By year ten, surprises like that were long gone.

And now his marriage was long gone too. Being reminded of that point caused a dip in his mood. Because for the last year, the only bright spot in his life, was the time when he got to see his son.

And actually in the early days of the separation . . . when Jack had first been ripped away from him, and all Hotch could focus on was how to get his family back together again . . . those hours that he'd spent with his boy, knowing that there was a clock ticking the whole time, they had been more painful than he could bear. You can only love your son for this long, that's it. Then your time is up. You have to give him back.

His mother said so.

Bitch.

Feeling his residual anger and bitterness rising up . . . and knowing that it served zero purpose in his life as it was now . . . Hotch tried to push it down again. To focus in on the reality. And the reality was that things really were better than they had been. Now he and Jack had a routine. And they had good days together. But it still wasn't what he wanted.

He wanted his child back.

But . . . Hotch took a slow breath, his gaze shifting back up to television . . . that wasn't happening. The situation was what it was. And on some level he had begun to accept that the divorce, though he had fought it to the bitter end, probably had been for the best. Because that chasm that had slowly formed . . . and then had completely divided . . . him from his wife, it had been an absolute. That distance that had crept in between them, there was no fix for that.

Because by the time he'd realized that distance was there . . . the fixes were already beyond them. That was the truth that had taken him so long to accept.

His marriage had begun to fall apart many years ago.

And he was probably on the road when it had happened.

And that realization . . . that he could live that lie for so long, and not see it for the charade that it was . . . terrified him. Which was why, though he couldn't deny his deepening affection for Emily . . . in every respect, he really had had a wonderful evening with her . . . things between them couldn't be more than what they were in that moment. It was going to be some time before he was in any position, emotionally or psychologically, to offer her more than his body. And that was no reflection on her.

Quite the opposite actually.

Because Emily was a great person. Funny, smart, sweet . . . kind. For the right man . . . he brushed his fingers through her hair . . . she absolutely would be the perfect woman. But he wasn't the right man.

He was a mess.

A mess that was completely incapable of building a meaningful relationship with anyone right now. If he tried to, well . . . his jaw twitched . . . he knew that he would just end up causing her pain in the end. But this . . . he tipped his head down next to hers . . . this he could do. Just sex, television . . . cuddling. No promises. No commitments.

Nobody got hurt.

Eventually of course he would have to move on to more than that. Move on to building a new life.

Perhaps even find a new woman to share it with.

That last one was a daunting proposition. But one that he knew he didn't have to think about now. This arrangement with Emily, though it was temporary . . . it was also open-ended. Provided everything stayed status quo, and nobody found out what was going on, they could do this for some time.

For months definitely.

Regardless though . . . he bit down a sigh . . . for however long this lasted, however long she allowed him into her bed, Emily was giving him hope for the future. After tonight, and realizing just how truly happy he'd been to see her waiting for him at the door, he was positive now that what they were doing was right. This time with Emily, it would make him better. Because no longer was he just standing alone wallowing in his bitterness about the divorce, and drowning himself in the work. That wasn't healthy for him. And it wasn't healthy for Jack.

His son deserved better.

And Hotch had been trying, truly, but he hadn't known how to move forward.

Now he did.

Because now he had something else in his life besides that darkness. He had something good. Something that was making him happy . . . Emily. And that's all everyone wanted, really, just someone to keep them company.

A hand to hold in the dark.

And as he looked down in the blue glow of the television to see Emily's fingers curled around his, Hotch knew that at least he had that much. He kissed her temple.

And that was his place to start.

A/N 2: And their evening has ended. You can see they did make some bonding progress on the non-sexual front. There was a bit of mirroring here from how things moved forward in Second Chances. Though overall I think it was a very different night, and a very different relationship.

If you're wondering, no, that romance novel does not exist. Though now I do kind of want to write it :)

Next we'll be picking up with them on Sunday. Thanks everybody!