Oh my goodness, I am SO sorry it has taken me this long to update! Life has been crazy and I have been concentrating on finishing my other fic. So I am extremely sorry to all of you who are still following this fic.

I do promise to update this more regularly from now on. In the meantime, here's something very short just to tide you over till the next update. And please note that there are SERIOUSLY suggestive sexual comments in this chapter. Do not read if you are easily offended. I had a lot of fun writing this though, so there's probably something wrong with me! LOL.

Enjoy!

Morgan threw his keys onto the coffee table and dumped his overnight bag in front of the fireplace. The team had the next three days off and in a rare moment of agreement, had decided to all chip in and rent a five bedroom house which was right on Bethany Beach. He had left D.C. early so that he could have the pick of the rooms. And if he got the only double room, well then, too bad for Hotch and Emily. You snooze, you lose, was his motto. Well, one of them anyway.

After checking out the view of the beach from the mammoth glass doors that opened out onto the terrace, he headed down the corridor to find the kitchen. No one was going to arrive for at least another hour and he could do with a cold one before he staked his claim on the best room upstairs. He has just reached out to push open the double doors into what he assumed was the kitchen when a familiar male voice stopped him cold.

"Not so fast." His unit chief sounded harried, pressured. "Slower."

"Like this?" Emily's voice was seductive.

"That's good. Yeah, much better."

"I think I'm starting to get the hang of it."

"Whoa, whoa, too fast on the downstroke. Slower."

Morgan froze when a sound he could only describe as wet friction filled the silence. Surely they weren't…

"Wait." Hotch.

Morgan grimaced. Now what?

"We need more lubrication."

Shit, thought Morgan. It was like he had stepped into the Twilight Zone – porno edition.

"Won't it be too slippery?" Emily sounded breathless, almost excited.

"Slippery's good. Oh yeah, that's really going good now."

Silence. More friction. More talk of lubrication.

Morgan knew he should move, but his feet seemed paralysed. This was way too much for him to deal with. He really should just leave. As it was, he was going to need years of therapy to deal with this traumatic experience. He took a step backwards.

"Wait." Hotch's voice stopped him in his tracks.

Morgan heard footsteps in the kitchen. Hell, surely things couldn't get any worse.

"Here, try my sausage," said Hotch.

Yep, apparently it could. What the fuck, Hotch? Seriously man, that was just wrong. Who even says things like that?

"Oh my God." Emily moaned in ecstasy. "That tastes soooooo good. More."

"Easy." Hotch sounded amused. "It's big."

Emily chortled. "And hard."

"You think that's hard? I'll show you hard."

"Oooh, you're a dirty, dirty boy," teased Emily.

"Maybe I need to be punished." Now it was Hotch's turn to sound suggestive. "Did you bring the leather crop?"

"I sure did. And before you ask, yes, I brought the anal beads that you like."

Morgan choked on an inward breath and started coughing till his eyes watered. The next thing he knew, his team mates were standing in the doorway, laughing uproariously at him. They were also fully dressed. Hotch even had an apron on. Neither one looked like they had been engaging in any kind of sexual acts. Embarrassed at being caught out, he blurted out, "What the fuck, guys? What were you doing in there?"

"Making sausages," announced Emily. "We thought it would be great to have some homemade ones for the barbeque later." She raised her eyebrows. "What did you think we were doing?"

"I thought you were making sausages," said Morgan quickly.

"You did not," she retorted. "Come on, what did you really think we were doing?"

"Making sausages! Or some shit," he added, feeling stupid, but determined not to show it.

Emily grinned, slipping her arm around Hotch's waist and leaning into him. "You thought I was giving Hotch a hand job, didn't you?"

"I did not!" said Morgan indignantly. It was exactly what he thought.

"Well, if you didn't, you were standing there an awful long time listening to us make sausages. Wasn't he, babe?"

"Two minutes at least," agreed Hotch. "If that's what you thought, you could at least have given us some privacy."

Morgan glared at his unit chief, who was obviously struggling to keep a straight face. "All right! All right! You got me, okay? It was hilarious, pulling one over on me. Not. When did you know I outside?"

Hotch walked over to the stove and took a frying pan off the heat. "Oh, about mid-way through. We heard you shuffling around out there."

A wave of relief swept through Morgan. "So, you were putting it on for me, then."

Emily laughed out loud. "Of course we were, you idiot," she said affectionately. "What, you think Hotch likes to be whipped?"

"No, I don't suppose he does," agreed Morgan, stepping into the kitchen. He watched as his supervisor walked to the other end of the kitchen to wash his hands. "The anal beads were overkill, though. I mean, seriously. I can't even imagine Hotch doing anything more adventurous than missionary."

Emily bit her lip, eyes sparkling. "Actually, the anal beads part was true." Her voice lowered. "He comes like a freight train when we use them. So I only pull them out – " she paused, giving him a suggestive wink, "on special occasions. You know, like weekend beach getaways." She grinned. "Hope you packed your ear plugs."

Disclaimer: I did get the idea from an episode of Jamie Oliver's Fight Club, so I can't claim all the credit. Don't forget to leave a review if you can! There should be some more of the whole team next chapter. We gotta keep teasing Morgan, right?