December 10, 2013

It doesn't start until late.

She's over at Hotch's place – Jessica's taken Jack – and it is, she knows, their first date. It is so low key should would be worried about a type of intimacy she isn't ready for, but this is Hotch and she knows better. Plus, it's sweet, she thinks. She's glad, honestly. There's no pressure on him to meet a reservation and it feels so much more comfortable without the extra eyes around them.

They'd made dinner together, side-by-side, laughing and easy. Even dinner, they'd sat side-by-side again rather than across the table, stealing off each other's plates, even though they have the same meal. She's not self-conscious and there is a huge part of the night that doesn't feel any different. She is strangely glad for it. They'd even don dishes together. If the relationship he seems to want so badly is going to be this easy, she can't see a reason to say no.

But she's getting extremely ahead of herself.

He's kicked her out of the kitchen while he gets coffee and dessert and that's when she sees it out the window.

It's snowing.

He finds her at the window, already breathless. "Emily?"

"It's snowing," she says breathlessly. "It's been snowing."

And that's the truth. She estimates it's a couple of feet while they'd been eating and cooking. She's surprised, honestly, because she usually has a nose for these things. She's always had a nose for snow. She thinks it's entirely possible that's she's been more than a little distracted.

She hears the quiet sound of a mug by her hand, then the heat of his fingers against the bottom of her spine. He's been touching her all evening, no boundaries. Right now, she needs it. She's getting entirely too emotional. It's just, she loves the first snow.

"It's beautiful," he agrees softly.

This time there's no Jack to stop their moment and Hotch gets his fingers under her chin to turn her head. She turns with the touch and meets his mouth willingly. She feels the shiver driving up her spine and leans into the kiss. Eventually though, the shivers and excitement about the snow overtakes the excitement of him.

"Come on," she says, still unable to resist the urge to lick her lips to catch the lingering taste of him. "Let's go."

"What?"

But she's already slipping out of his embrace, and heading towards the front door. She's got her coat half way on before she turns back to see the confusion on his face. She laughs, eyes bright. "Get your coat, Aaron."

His given name feels foreign on her tongue, but she feels a shiver drill down her spine. There's an intimate pleasure in his given name, one that makes her breathless.

"Outside?"

"Yes, outside," she says on a laugh. "It's snowing."

"And you like the snow."

She rolls her eyes but holds out a hand. "Want to see why?"

He doesn't make quick work of his coat or boots but he doesn't argue either. He even reaches for her hand as they leave and she almost skips down the stairs in her excitement for the snow and the feeling of his fingers between his. But she stops absolutely dead the minute she steps out of the building's front door.

It's the hush she likes. There's something absolutely magical about the first snow, especially at night. She steps out, tentative and almost nervous. She also doesn't like disturbing it. The snow is still falling softly, not a blizzard but drifting in thick, wet flakes. Her shoes crunch in the snow. There are no footprints beside hers but it's not exactly a high-traffic building. He'd picked it especially for the abundance of elderly couples and their historically and stereotypically nosy dispositions.

"See?" she whispers, her fingers slipping from his so she can pull her mittens from her pockets. She slides them on, her grin wide enough to make her cheeks hurt. "It's so beautiful."

Except when she turns back, he's not looking at the snow and her cheeks flush. That heated intense gaze is fixed on her, she can see it from the couple of steps she's taken away from him. They're on a date, she knows, but it doesn't take away from the breathtaking way he's looking at her. Her. How many years had she waited for this, hoped for it, and now it's here and she cannot believe it's real.

He comes for her like a predator, but she most definitely isn't running. In fact, she all but collapses into him as his arm wraps around her waist. The other delves into hair she'd very carefully curled for the evening. His mouth is hot and hard, demanding and he holds her tight. Not that she's exactly running for the hills. Her mittened hands come up to his cheeks, cupping his face.

As if she needs another reason to love the first snow.