Author's Note: Heads up, this one is once again, NSFW. Very much so :)

TV Bonus #43 – It's Your Birthday Baby

Show: Route 66

Title Challenge: A Gift – For A Warrior

The Change In The Game

Hotch ended up staying over both Wednesday and Thursday night. And then again he was back on Sunday. On Sunday they ordered a couple of pizzas . . . well, four, Emily wanted leftovers . . . and watched their planned Cary Grant marathon from her fairly expansive classic movie collection. And in between the movies, and the pizza, and the lounging around doing absolutely nothing at all, they had sex.

Some really fabulous sex.

They obviously didn't hit (or even attempt) the full eighteen hours, but Emily felt that they definitely made excellent use of the time allowed. They tried out a couple of new things . . . one that felt fantastic but Hotch vetoed trying again unless Emily got herself a helmet (she'd fallen off the bed) . . . and then 'practiced' a bit more with some moves that were fast becoming old favorites. All in all, when Emily finally curled up in Hotch's arms for the last time that night, she fell asleep a very happy girl.

A tired one . . . with a small black and blue on her shoulder from the falling off the bed thing . . . but very happy all the same.

And then the next day, Monday, was Hotch's birthday. And Emily wanted to start his day off on the right foot, so she surprised him with an extra early morning wake up. It was only a little after five, and her method of waking him up was to place butterfly kisses over his brow until his eyes slowly opened. Then she grinned and whispered happy birthday, and told him that his first present of the day was going to be a quickie before work. When his lip quirked up to give her a sleepy smile, she smirked and slid down under the covers.

It was the perfect day to again go for the whole enchilada.

So she spent the next ten minutes moving up and down his shaft while also giving some rhythmic "digital" attention to that little spot that drove him wild. And the way his breath was catching and his fingers were clenching the sheets, she knew that he was definitely enjoying himself. But she also remembered her promise to go slow on the fellatio. So once his hips began to move, she knew that it was time to change positions.

With one final, wanton, lick, she came back up to her knees. And seeing him trying to get his breath under control . . . even having sex, Hotch liked to project the cool and collected thing . . . she shot him a saucy grin.

"My turn."

And she shimmied forward, pressing her hands against his chest before she slowly dropped down onto his full, wet, length.

His hands immediately came up to slide around her waist.

"Mmmm," she moaned at the sensation of his warmth now filling her, "that is sooo good."

Then she closed her eyes for a moment before she bit down hard on her lip. She could have just stayed there for another minute . . . she loved that feeling when they were first joined . . . but then she felt Hotch's thumb working a soft caress, low on her hip.

Her lids popped up again, and she looked down at him with a little smile.

"Okay," she purred, "you're the birthday boy, and I know you like the classics. So do you want to be top or bottom? Or," she grinned, "Would you like to try something special to start the day? Maybe me doing cartwheels across the bedroom?"

Hotch's lips twitched as his hands slowly slid up to trace the outer curve of Emily's breasts.

"Perhaps we'll do cartwheels some other day," he responded as his thumbs stroked over her already taut nipples, "you should stay where you are for now." He winked, "I'm enjoying today's show."

Although ordinarily he preferred to 'run' the show, these last weeks with Emily had loosened him up a bit on that front. He still hadn't reached the point where he could let her stay on top for the entire run, but he was pretty sure that day would be coming eventually. Emily was quite talented, really, and there were definitely perks to be had in letting her be on top.

His eyes crinkled as her breasts began to bounce in his face.

Yeah . . . he leaned up to lick the tip of her little pink nipple . . . like that.

Bouncing breasts was a major perk.

And some minutes later, being able to watch her face when she hit her first orgasm of the day, that was a pretty good one too. At that point his own peak was still building at an exquisitely slow pace, but he could see . . . and feel . . . that even as Emily was coming down, she was already raring to go for another one.

God love her . . . his hands slid down to cup her beautiful ass . . . she was always ready for another one. But he also knew that she might not have the energy to keep things going long enough to have the multiples that he wanted her to have.

So he flipped them over.

Then, with her still writhing up against him, he moved his hand down between their bodies, and slowly rubbed his thumb over her clit. A few minutes later he had her panting again.

And sometime after that . . . with her arms wrapped his neck, and her legs wrapped around his waist . . . they finally came together. And after they had caught their lost breath . . . she kissed him. It was sweet, and gentle . . . even a little bit romantic. And his affection for her in that moment where he nuzzled her throat, and whispered her name, was deeper than it ever had been before.

It was definitely the perfect way to start his birthday.

Even better, was that Emily had specifically woken him up early enough so that they'd be able to work in a quickie nap after the quickie sex. And just as he'd needed no encouragement for the sex, he needed no encouragement on the sleep front either.

They didn't even bother to disentangle. Really the only movement at all was him sliding over to the other side of the bed.

Dry spot.

And with Emily still curled around him like a spider monkey, with her breath soft on his shoulder, Hotch yanked the blankets up from the floor, reset the alarm, and wrapped his arm around her waist.

They woke an hour later still wrapped up together.

And when she sent him out the door forty minutes later, Hotch still had a smile tugging on his lips, and a little twinkle in his eye.

He was hoping nobody at work would notice.

/*/*/*/

In honor of Hotch's previous, 'missed breakfast' story, Emily stopped at Dunkin on the way in to work to pick up a black coffee and a cinnamon raisin bagel with extra cream cheese on the side. Though he had . . . by design . . . beaten her into the office, she still wanted it to be a surprise. So she waited until he stepped out to the copy machine, to slip the little bag onto his blotter.

And when Hotch walked past her desk a few minutes later on his way back up to his office, she kept her head down while proclaiming loudly.

"Happy birthday, sir!"

As far as the bullpen was concerned, that was 'officially' the first interaction they'd had that day. And out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pause for a moment in his journey up the little staircase. His response was slightly more subdued.

"Thank you, Prentiss."

When she looked up at him with a smirk, she could see that he'd turned to look down at her, and that the little twinkle had returned to his eyes. Then his lips twitched for a moment.

Once he got that under control, he turned, continued up the stairs, and disappeared into his office. And though he said nothing then to her about the treat she'd left, that was most likely because the boys arrived just as he closed his door.

But a little later they went in for the morning briefing, and when she sat down across the table from him . . . it was on their 'day afters' that they made their most concerted efforts to keep a physical distance at work . . . he mouthed a discreet 'thank you.' And when he saw that nobody was looking, he shot her a wink and a half a dimple.

It was silly, but she had to put her head down to cover the blush that immediately climbed her cheeks.

It was just impossible to keep from getting flustered when 'off duty Aaron' . . . her now regular, supremely affectionate, bedmate . . . suddenly made an appearance (though it was always a fleeting one) in the middle of a work day. Whether it was a dimple for a shared memory, or a private wink across the bullpen, or maybe his fingertips gliding across her arm or back when they stepped through a door, every little touch, every little look, it caused that tingle low in her stomach. That reminder that she mattered to someone.

That she mattered to him.

And that was becoming enough to make her days.

/*/*/*/

At lunch, Emily, JJ and Garcia, went out and bought Hotch a small cake from the bakery in the center of town. Then they trapped him in the conference room, and while the team sang him a slightly wobbled, off key, happy birthday, Emily pounced.

From behind her back, she whipped out a little blue cone shaped paper hat. Before he could pull any defensive moves . . . like knocking it out of her hand . . . she'd plopped it down onto his head, snapping the string under his chin with an audible pop.

And even though she knew from the howls of laughter from the team . . . and the look of horror Hotch shot her when it happened . . . that she was going to pay for it later, it didn't matter. It was worth it. He was adorable.

For the ten seconds that it actually stayed on his head.

But that was nine seconds longer than she thought she was going to get out of it, so who was complaining? Her mouth quivered as he spun it across the conference room table.

Certainly not her.

/*/*/*/*/

That night . . . extra late, Haley had let her ex take Jack out for dinner and birthday cupcakes . . . when Hotch knocked on her front door, Emily met him wearing nothing but strategically placed swirls of canned whipped cream.

She just thanked God he wasn't a diabetic.

That was another coupling that began by the door. His ready bag immediately went flying in one direction . . . his clothes went flying in all the others. And while he was sucking whipped cream off her nipples, she was using more of the melting cream . . . which was rubbing off of her and all over him . . . as a lube to begin pumping him in her hand. And once she'd gotten him to the point where he was too distracted with her activities to keep up with his own, she dropped down to her knees and took a lick of her own sweet treat.

To her surprise, he let her go on considerably longer than they had that morning. She wasn't sure if it was because he was really trying to loosen up and let go, or maybe it was just because it was his birthday and he thought, "fuck it, I'll take the blowjob!" but either way, he had his fingers in her hair, and he was groaning and swearing as she sucked and licked every inch of him.

When she took one of his balls in her mouth, she thought he was going to come right there.

But then she licked her way back out, pressing her tongue down hard along every erogenous zone she could reach. After that she started deep throating him again. The pre-cum had started to trickle onto her tongue.

That's when he started thrusting.

Over and over, gasping and panting, as she took him in as far as she could. Her thumb was back and pressing a slow circle around his sweet spot. And she knew from the sounds he was making . . . and the way he was moving against her . . . that he had reached some state of bliss. It went on long enough that she really thought he was going to let her keep going all the way to the end.

And she was ready to lick him clean if he did.

But then suddenly his whole body stiffened up. He made a noise . . . it was almost feral . . . and her eyes snapped up to his.

What she saw made her own hips buck with desire.

His pupils were nearly black, and even as his juice was tricking onto her tongue, he was reaching for her.

"Up," he growled.

Her mouth opened . . . and he pulled out. Then her hands were sliding up his sticky thighs and hips, her body rubbing against his as she licked her way up his chest.

He tasted so good . . . every part of him.

Then his hands were under her ass, he was hoisting her off the ground . . . and she knew that he was heading for the wall.

But then she hissed in his ear.

"No, I want to do the back of the couch. Like I told you."

She knew that was all he would need.

Though he said nothing, he immediately changed direction. Carrying her over and down into the living room. And before she could blink, her feet were back on the ground. Then he turned her around, pushed her forward . . . and bent her over. There were still no words, but his breath was hot and ragged on her neck.

At that point she wasn't sure if he was capable of full sentences.

Then he had one hand on her hip and the other, his fingers slipped up and into her, sliding that lubricant along her entire length, front to back. It was a slow caress . . . one that caused a shiver down her spine.

When he tweaked her clit, she sucked in a breath. Her ass bounced up, her hands braced.

"Do it." She hissed.

He kissed her neck.

"Hold on tight," he murmured with a lick of her skin.

That caused a shiver too.

A second later his hand fell away . . . and then she could feel him pushing up against her entrance. His dick was hot and throbbing. And at first he was going slowly . . . he always let her adjust . . . but suddenly he slammed into her.

The only sound was his grunt, and the slap of skin on skin.

She lost that breath . . . he knocked it clean out of her. And knowing that they had a hell of a ride ahead, her fingers were scrambling for purchase, grasping desperately at the couch cushion.

"Again," she moaned, even as she felt him pulling back, his hands now steady on both hips, pinning her between him and the couch. It was just like she told him that she wanted it.

Then he started pounding away.

Over and over . . . and over again. Every thrust was hard and fast. The friction as he moved within her was unbelievable. They were both moaning and panting. The pleasure was slowly building . . . it was getting more and more difficult for her to take a breath.

And then it began to happen.

A fantastic round of particularly rough sex, started to become what she'd dreamed it would be.

Perfect.

That's when she hit the first peak . . . and she screamed. And not just a sex scream, but an honest to God, somebody's going to call the cops, scream. He responded by shifting the angle ever so slightly. And then she screamed again.

And again.

And again.

It was all the oxygen she had, and he took it. And still he continued to move, never breaking the rhythm even as the sweat began pouring off them. One of his hands clamped onto her breast, the other slid between her legs.

It was the most possessive of holds.

And every move he made, every place he touched her, it was all just like she'd imagined it would be. With every hit now, he was POUNDING straight into her G spot! The pleasure was so intense . . . and all consuming . . . she truly thought she was going to pass out. This was one time that he was doing all of the work. She felt like a rag doll in his arms.

And his grunts had turned to something more animalistic as he continued to slam into her.

Then his teeth were scraping her shoulder, and the one hand down below was working her clit, and the other was focused solely on her breast. His touch was much rougher than usual. Pinching her nipple and then flicking it with his index finger. But she had no complaints.

It was driving her crazy.

Then he sucked her earlobe into his mouth. He was now hitting every erogenous zone she had . . . and she was coming over and over. It was multiples like she'd never had before.

Never DREAMED of before!

Her whole body was shaking uncontrollably. She couldn't catch her breath. It was like she was exploding out from her center. There was white light filling her mind, her heart . . . her toes. There were tears running down her face. There was spittle on her chin.

She'd lost all control.

She'd never felt anything as amazing . . . or all consuming . . . in her life.

She could have stayed there with him forever.

She wanted to.

But those moments never could last. The human race would never get anything done if they did. And some minutes later . . . or maybe it was an hour later, she had lost all concept of time . . . he gave one last, violent, thrust. And with his desperate moan of, "my GOD," filling her soul, she felt his body freeze for just a moment.

But she wasn't ready for it to be over.

"Just a couple more," she pleaded, her fingers grasping for the ones that had dropped down from her breast and were now pressed against her stomach. The wave was continuing to rock her core.

She couldn't have stopped then if she'd tried.

"PLEASE," she cried as she pushed back, grinding as she locked down on him, "please just a couple more!"

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he groaned as he started the last slow, final, thrusts, "we've definitely got a couple more!"

That incredible vibration in her womb was killing him. But then finally his eyes rolled back . . . and with one last expletive . . . he came.

Hard,

But that's when her hips started to jerk. Again. And again.

It was almost like she was milking him dry.

Finally she fell forward with a "JESUS CHRIST!" And then she was jello in his arms.

His palm pressed into her heat, holding on tight.

And there they were, weak kneed, gasping, hearts racing . . . and sticky.

Very sticky.

Emily was now slumped over the cushions that she was most DEFINITELY going to have to wash. Hotch was still wrapped around her, his heart pounding into her back as he clutched her body to his. He had one hand splayed possessively across her stomach, the other (much more possessively) still cupping her between her legs.

They were still joined together.

He hadn't loosened his hold on any part of her. In fact he'd actually just licked her neck. She'd never felt more 'owned' in her life. Like she had signed away pieces of herself. Handed them over to him for safe keeping.

She was wondering now if he would ever give them back.

Then he nuzzled her neck, and pressed a gentle kiss to her sweaty skin.

"Thank you," he gasped, "thank you so much."

She was too tired to speak again. Too tired to move really. But one of her hands came up to slide over the one still cupping her down below. She squeezed her fingers over his, feeling her warm sticky juice on his hand, just as she could feel his on her inner thighs. The exchange.

The oneness of it all.

"Happy birthday," she whispered, her palm pressing hard into the one covering her little nest, "now let's go to bed."

/*/*/*/

They slept for a little over two hours and then Emily had to slip out to go pee.

But some miracle, she got up without waking Hotch. But once she stood up, she had to bite down on her fist to keep from groaning out loud.

She was so sore she could barely move.

But somehow she hobbled into the bathroom and got the door shut. After she peed . . . another wince, there was a burning there that she knew was not good . . . she immediately took her high dose cranberry pill.

It was her second one that day.

For the last few weeks she'd been taking them regularly in an attempt to ward off any UTIs that might come about from having as much (rigorous) sex as she was now having. It wasn't a silver bullet, but, knock wood . . . she chewed up the tart little square . . . they were working so far.

And while she was already up and in the bathroom, she figured it was as good a time as any to clean up. They had both been such a mess when they'd come upstairs, that they'd seriously considered taking a shower then. But that idea was vetoed when they ended up just collapsing on the bed.

They were both too God damn exhausted to do anything else.

So now Emily was covered in the usual male female sexual fluids . . . plus sweat and a little bit of blood on her shoulder where Hotch had bit her into her when he came . . . and there were also the sticky remnants of the whipped cream.

And a lot of saliva.

Hotch had licked pretty much every part of her.

It was dirty sex by every possible definition, but she didn't feel dirty. It was more like they'd crossed another barrier. That had been a primal exchange. Something deeper than just sex. More instinctual.

Raw.

And raw was about what she was feeling.

And that really wasn't so much a figurative term. Everything was tender, even her jaw was sore from fellatio that had gone on MUCH longer than their previous encounters. And as good a shape as she was in generally, there were muscles now aching . . . all over her body . . . that she had forgotten could even hurt! Even the tops of her thighs were pink from scraping against the couch.

She still didn't regret a thing.

But she also knew that sexual activity of ANY kind, was going to be out of the question for at least a week. And she also knew that they couldn't have that kind of sex more than once a month, or she'd be in the hospital.

Or the morgue.

It was a few minutes after Emily had (gingerly) climbed into a hot shower, that she heard a knock on the door.

"Sorry," Hotch's husky voice echoed in the small space, "but do you mind if I go to the bathroom?"

"No," she yelled back, her eyes closed as the water continued to sluice the sticky fluids from her body, "but please don't flush or I'll end up as a lobster."

"Understood," he called back.

And then she tuned things out. Though she really didn't mind Hotch using the bathroom while she was in there, she felt no need to listen.

A moment later though she heard the toilet lid clatter. And then a second after that, Hotch was poking his head around the corner of the shower curtain.

She looked over at him with a little pout.

"My girl parts hurt."

His face immediately twisted in pain and sympathy.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was I too . . .?"

And she cut him off.

"No," she shook her head, "not at all. It was wonderful. Truly. It was exactly what I wanted. It's just," she gave him a small . . . slightly pained . . . smile, the water dripping down her face. "I will need some time to recuperate. Probably like a week."

Hotch bit his lip, his eyes tracking slowly . . . and worriedly . . . from Emily's pinched brow, down along her body until they'd reached her freshly painted toes. They were a glossy pink.

It was his favorite shade.

Emily had let him pick it out yesterday before she redid her fingers and toes. She's said she wanted to "pretty up" for his birthday.

His eyes snapped back up to hers.

"Let me help." He gave her a sad smile, the water splattering lightly onto his face as he leaned in, "I broke you. I'll take care of you," he reached out to catch her fingers, "Okay?"

Her eyes crinkled.

"Okay," she squeezed his hand, "if you want to help, I will absolutely let you." She bit back a groan. "I can seriously hardly move right now."

At that, he immediately climbed into the shower, and pulled her into a hug.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "we'll be more careful next time, I promise." And then he kissed her forehead, put a hand on her hip, and reached over to pick up the shower gel.

After he'd lathered up her facecloth, he gently washed her body clean, being extra careful as he moved between her legs.

Still though . . . even with his light touch . . . she winced as the soap stung the slightly abraded tissue. Unfortunately her reaction didn't escape Hotch's attention. Because he immediately froze and then whispered again that he was so sorry. After that he pressed a kiss to her thigh.

For a moment she really thought he was going to cry.

But then . . . just as she reached down to run her fingers through his wet hair . . . he blinked and shook his head. Before she could say anything, he picked up the shampoo and came back to his feet.

Then he washed her hair.

And while her conditioner set . . . he even checked the directions to time it, God love him . . . he gave himself a quick scrub down. She was just standing there letting the spray continue to run over her sore muscles.

And she would have been happy to stay there a bit longer, but then the water started to get lukewarm.

Yuck.

So Hotch quickly rinsed out her hair and turned off the faucet. Then he stepped out to the bathmat before he leaned back in to help her out of the shower.

Ordinarily she could have done that part herself of course, but given the soreness in her lower body, her reflexes weren't quite so cat'like as usual. And she really didn't want to add 'cracked skull climbing out of the tub' to her list of ailments that evening.

Once she was clear of the slippery porcelain, Hotch made her stand still on the rug while he gently dried her body with her favorite big fluffy green towel.

His touch was so light, that even the parts of her that were tender, could barely register the sensation of the terrycloth moving. And after that he wrapped up her hair with a fresh towel, and gave her three Motrin from the medicine cabinet. The Motrin she swallowed with the glass of water he got her from the faucet.

He even combed out her hair.

He was being so sweet and attentive that she seriously wanted to cry.

And once she was warm, dry, and medicated, he scooped her up, and carried her back to bed. He'd already stripped it and put on clean sheets.

She realized that he must have done that when he first woke up.

After he'd placed her down onto the middle of the soft cotton, he went over and pulled a pair of clean boxers and two t-shirts from the little stack of his laundry that she'd placed on the corner of her dresser.

Mostly they were just a few underthings that he'd forgotten . . . or she'd borrowed . . . in his various visits.

One t-shirt he brought back to slip over her head, the other he slipped over his own. Then he pulled on the boxers, while asking her if she wanted any underwear . . . she didn't, not yet, she was hoping the chafed areas would heal more quickly without it . . . so he climbed back into bed.

Then he cuddled her close, and wrapped her up tight.

It only took a few minutes before Hotch noticed Emily had passed out in his arms. But he stayed awake, staring at her darkened television for at least another twenty minutes. He knew that things were changing.

But he didn't quite know what that meant.

Finally he realized that he wasn't going to come to any revelations that night. So he bit back a sigh, kissed Emily's temple . . . and closed his eyes.

Sometimes it was best to just let it go.

/*/*/*/

When Emily woke up again, it was because her stomach was growling. And although she tried to get up without waking Hotch, the moment she moved to roll away from him, his hand fell to her back.

"Are you all right?"

Though his voice was husky with sleep, the worry was still clear in his tone. She turned to see him already sitting up and rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. She gave him a little smile.

"Yeah, actually I feel much better than I did earlier. The shower and the pills, and the resting, that all helped. Still sore, but mostly now I'm just hungry."

"Okay," he stifled a yawn, "if you're sure." Then he pushed back the blankets.

"Let's go find something to eat."

/*/*/*/

Hotch kept a tight . . . and again, sweetly protective . . . arm around Emily's waist as they walked down the stairs. And with neither of them in the mood to cook anything, rather than mixing up any mac & cheese (her recent, post coitus, midnight snack of choice) they just took the leftovers from Sunday's cold pizza out of the fridge . . . this had been her plan all along for the 'extra' pizza . . . and settled in on the couch with the TV on low. There was an old Robert Redford movie on the screen, but Emily wasn't paying it that much attention.

She didn't think Hotch was either.

Mostly they were just eating. The pizza was rinsed down with two bottles each of Sam Adams Summer Ale. It was from the small case that Emily had picked up for them over the weekend. It was good, but it wasn't her favorite kind. His either. She'd only bought the beer because Hotch had mentioned one day last week that he wanted to try it. And she was discovering lately that if he wanted something . . . if there was something out there in the world that might make him happy . . . that it meant something to her to see that he got it.

Even if it was just a bottle of beer.

And on this night Emily watched Hotch scarf down more food than she'd ever seen him eat in one sitting. And when they were done eating and she was closing the empty box, from beside her, she heard him clear his throat.

"Emily."

She turned to see him staring at her . . . his eyes were watering. Her own widened in alarm.

"Oh, Aaron," she exclaimed worriedly while reaching out to touch his cheek, "what's wrong?!"

"Thank you for my bagel," he whispered back, "and my cake, and that stupid hat, and wearing whipped cream at the door, and for the quickie this morning, and the best sex I think I've ever had in one night. So basically thank you for giving me a really great day from beginning to end." His voice crackled, "I haven't had a really great day, in a very long time."

His days were Jack were good, but today was different. It had been years, literally, since anyone had devoted so much attention to him with the SOLE purpose of just trying to make him happy. And Emily had made him deliriously happy!

That was a gift he didn't know how he would repay.

He just wished that she hadn't received any 'battle wounds' in the process. But he was at least going to make that one up to her.

He just needed to figure out how.

"Oh hon," Emily's own eyes started to burn as she twisted around, moving to crawl into Hotch's lap.

"You don't have to thank me," she continued on in a whisper while wrapping her arms around his torso, and burying her nose in his chest. "I liked doing all of those things for you." She took a breath. "It makes me sad to see you sad, and you've been sad for a long time. So I wanted to do what I could to give you a good day. And I know our job sucks, and your life still isn't where you want it to be, but I think if you let me in a little more, let me help you with more of the bad stuff, I think you could have more good days."

She tipped her head back to give him a little smile.

"But we can only have a great day once a month or I'm going to have to go on disability."

Despite his guilt over how she was feeling, Hotch couldn't help but huff at her joke. Then he gave her a watery smile.

"You're a really good person Emily. Actually," he continued softly . . . though a bit hesitantly, "you've become my favorite person. Well," his eyes crinkled slightly as he brushed her hair back, "favorite grown person."

Of course Jack was his favorite person overall. Haley had once held equal footing, but he doubted that his son's winning slot was now never going to be relinquished.

Feeling her cheeks burning, Emily's eyes dropped down.

"Thank you," she murmured back with a trace of embarrassment, "that's very sweet to say."

Though these last few weeks things had clearly, and irrevocably, shifted things between her and Hotch, it was still a little unusual to hear him sharing his thoughts so honestly . . . and openly . . . with her. It made her heart hurt.

But in a good way.

"No," Hotch reached out to put his finger under Emily's chin. Then he tipped her head back, catching her eyes. "Not sweet," he continued softly, "truth. And I don't know what little turns of fate ended up dropping you back into my life when you did, but," he kissed her forehead before tucking her in closer, "I'm grateful for however it happened. This, being with you," his voice started to thicken again, "it's the best thing in my life right now."

Sympathetic tears immediately sprung to Emily's eyes. Then she tipped her head back to give him a watery smile.

"Ditto," she whispered, "ditto on all counts."

And then they stared at each other for a moment. Though neither of them had made any real 'declaration,' it did feel like there had been a shift that night in their relationship. Whatever it was before, it seemed to be just a little bit more than that now. Everything seemed bit more important. A bit more serious.

Perhaps even a bit more committed.

The last thought scared Emily a little. The idea that maybe she was becoming too invested there . . . or more to the point MORE invested . . . than Hotch was.

And if that was the case, then she was definitely going to get hurt.

But then she heard him sniffle and take a deep shuddering breath. That was just as he pulled her in closer and kissed the top of her head.

And she realized then that her fears were entirely off base.

Just the fact that Aaron Hotchner . . . the biggest badass on every block around . . . was now sharing his actual FEELINGS with her, demonstrated how far things had come for them. How much he trusted her, not only in the field now, but with his real self too.

That trust was an unbelievable gift.

One that she knew was not given lightly, especially for someone like him. Someone who had been completely devastated by the last person that he had trusted with his heart. And even if she only had temporary custody, as Hotch kissed her temple and a tear slipped down her cheek, Emily swore to herself that would take much better care of it than Haley ever had.

She'd be damned if she hurt him.

So with a soft sigh, she snuggled in closer and wiped the stray tear off her cheek. They sat there for a little while longer, her waiting for his breathing to even out, him waiting for well, she didn't know. But she was happy to sit there with him all the same. But then he sighed.

"I guess we have to get up and go back to bed now, huh?"

And she murmured back a weary, "yeah, I guess we do."

Though she really was feeling better than she had when she'd first woken up, she still wasn't feeling all that great. And the thought of getting up and climbing the stairs, REALLY wasn't very appealing. But staying curled up nice and warm and still in Hotch's arms, that was ticking off all the good boxes.

And she had a feeling that he had already figured that one out.

Because the next thing that he whispered into her ear was, "don't worry, I'll carry you upstairs."

His voice was still husky. But then he sniffed and a slight bit of humor came into his words.

"And I promise that this time I won't throw you upside down over my shoulder. We'll put a moratorium on the vertical flip for at least the next week."

The hard part really was going to be not fussing over her at work. Though he thought it unlikely that her discomfort would be as bad tomorrow as it was tonight . . . at least he hoped it wasn't . . . he knew that if he saw her wincing or popping Motrin, or basically doing anything to indicate that she wasn't feeling completely up to par, it was going to be difficult to not swoop in and see what he could do to make it better.

Again, he broke her, so he felt responsible for taking care of her.

And then feeling her smother a giggle in the curve of his throat, he was also again reminded of the intangible benefits of this relationship. It wasn't all about the sex. There were feelings that Emily engendered that made him feel whole again. Useful again.

Happy again.

And then there were the other feelings, the ones that he could feel were growing, but he wasn't quite ready to categorize or label them.

There were a lot of those tonight. He was tucking them to the side.

He'd deal with them later.

"Thanks," Emily huffed with a light pat to Hotch's chest, "you're a quite the gentleman." Then her gaze shifted over to the mess on the coffee table.

Beer bottles, crumpled napkins and an empty pizza box with a couple of crusts inside.

Not a lot of cleanup required . . . basically just trash and recycling . . . but she didn't feel like dealing with any of it right then. It was almost two, and she was again getting tired, ridiculously so. Or perhaps not so ridiculous given the workout that they'd had that night. Either way . . . she cuddled in closer, moving her arms up and around Hotch's neck . . . it was time to get this show on the road.

"Ready when you are, James."

The words were whispered into his ear. And Hotch chuckled softly as he clicked the TV off. Then she closed her eyes as he lifted her up and to his chest. The only thing she could hear besides Hotch's footsteps, was the sound of his heart beating.

A steady thump.

It was in her ear as they crossed the living room, and went up the stairs. And it stayed with her when they were curling up in bed a few minutes later. She counted the beats like someone else would count sheep. And she was just drifting off when she heard him murmur.

"You know I think I'll come over tomorrow night. I'll make you dinner and then I can give you a massage before bed."

Her eyes crinkled slightly and she tipped her head back to give him a sleepy smile.

"Can't wait."

A/N 2: And there we go. That's our most NSFW chapter yet! And actually this will be the end of the NSFW stuff for a while. A) Em's got that whole 'do not enter' sign up right now, and b) I've got a shift in plot coming up shortly, and c) lastly, I hate to get repetitive. And if you've ever had to write smuttiness, you can appreciate it can become a bit challenging trying to keep it fresh/not cringeworthy. So, I think for freshness purposes, we'll step back a little to more narrative than 'live' for the 'sexy times.'

Otherwise, obviously just a general tug forward on the relationship level. She keeps kicking down his little walls. Given that even in the main Girl'verse they were already starting to get much more affectionate and attached in this timeframe, clearly here, with all of these other factors happening, that's going to escalate things between them. They are coupling up whether it's intended or not. Which will lead to some issues, because we'll soon be borrowing a thread from canon. When Hotch got blown up in NY. And if you recall, prior to the blowing up, there was the whole 'is he flirting with that Kate chick' thing. That's going to be way more awkward a question for Emily given their current relationship. Angst ahoy!

As always, thanks everybody for all the reading and the nice notes telling me that you're doing all the reading :)