Author's Note: They're rolling up on the weekend again, so that means Jack's Back. And this one is very light and fluffy.

Early January: Friday Night

Anemones

Hotch's fingers slowly inched up the side of Emily's Montgomery County Sheriff's Department T-Shirt.

Well, actually . . . his brain automatically corrected . . . it was his T-Shirt. It had been a gift from Chief Ramsey after the sniper case. Not that that little piece of trivia mattered. It only mattered to the extent that the T-Shirt was simply one of the two obstacles . . . Emily's bra being the other . . . that was preventing him from reaching his intended goal that early evening.

Emily's breasts.

So his digits continued along their surreptitious journey northward, slowly sliding around the curves of Emily's right side.

And then Emily murmured from her position in front of him on the couch.

"Hotch, are you trying to cop a feel?"

His nose wrinkled . . . red light.

Damn.

"I was," he answered with a sigh of defeat as his hand dropped down to Emily's stomach, "but if you have to ask, then perhaps I wasn't doing it correctly."

Feeling Emily's laughter vibrate through the front of his chest, Hotch's eyes then crinkled slightly.

Exasperation forgotten.

"No, honey," Emily chuckled as Hotch gave her a brief squeeze, "you were doing it correctly."

There was little that the man couldn't do correctly, especially when it came to those fingers of his. And as a reward for his (industrious) efforts at feeling her up so early in the evening, she twisted slightly, turning to give Hotch a long . . . wet . . . 'thank you for being you' kiss. And then with a happy sigh, she settled back against his chest again. A moment later, when she felt those magical fingers begin their slide back up her side once again she realized . . . in retrospect . . . that slipping Hotch the tongue had probably given him a 'mixed signal' about her plans for the evening. So she was forced to give the fingers a playful slap.

"Hey," he grumbled in her ear, "what's the deal here?"

A SECOND flag on the play? After THAT kiss? Come on!

"I'm sorry, Aaron," Emily tried to hide her amusement at his disappointment, "but we can't. Not now."

Then she tipped her head.

"Your son is asleep not three FEET away from us, which was rather the point of my first inquiry about your intentions. Why in God's name are you trying to start things up now? You know, when your son's in the room?!"

Had he lost his mind?!

As Emily turned to look at Jack, Hotch's gaze followed immediately after. Then his lip quirked up slightly as he looked down at his son sleeping soundly on the hardwood floor.

His little mini-me with Hayley's chin and . . . God help him . . . her Uncle Ned's ears.

But hopefully he'd grow into those.

And at present the little man was curled up in his new SpongeBob comforter. It was the comforter bought specifically, during their LENGTHY Target trip, to be kept in Jack's room at Emily's condo. And that's where it had been until it was dragged downstairs after dinner.

Jack had mentioned said new comforter every time Hotch had spoken to him that week.

It was clear that he was in love with it.

So much so that he'd curled himself up and fallen asleep in his little cocoon barely fifteen minutes into their Friday night viewing of Finding Nemo, Jack's favorite movie.

But to Hotch's amazement, given Emily's extensive knowledge of Jack's Saturday morning cartoons, his girlfriend had somehow never seen Nemo before. How this was possible he didn't know, but she hadn't, and she'd of course gotten completely sucked into the movie from frame one.

This was evidenced by the sad, "oh," and squeezing of his hand when Nemo's mother died in the opening scene.

So even after it became obvious that the littlest member of the viewing audience had passed out, Emily had insisted on continuing with the film . . . another forty minutes now . . . rather than moving on to engage in more 'adult' Friday night activities.

Now never let it be said that Hotch didn't enjoy a good Pixar flick as much as the next gun toting federal agent with a preschooler . . . not that he was about to advertise that fact around the office . . . but he had already seen this particular Pixar flick all the way through at least twenty-seven times.

Seriously, they'd worn out the first disk.

So the suspense over whether or not Nemo would make it back to the anemone had worn off for Hotch approximately twenty-six viewings ago. Hence his efforts at trying to find some other way to occupy his time this cold, rainy, Friday evening.

Again, the activities he was looking to engage in were a bit more 'adult.'

But unfortunately Emily was not (as of yet) on board with this plan. Though he had to admit 'The Jack Card' was a nice countermove on her part, Hotch wasn't ready to accept defeat just yet. There was no reason they had to wait until they went to bed to have fun.

That was just a defeatist's attitude!

"Sweetheart," Hotch began his logical counter argument, "the operative word is SLEEPING. Of course I wasn't suggesting that we practice making Jack a baby brother, I was just thinking that we could engage in a little," he ran his hands boldly up the front of her shirt, stopping to gently squeeze at what he felt was a strategic location, "affectionate nuzzling."

Finally . . . he nodded in triumph as his hands settled up camp . . . got some nipple action!

"Affectionate nuzzling?" Emily snorted as she, this time, simply resorted to a manual removal of Hotch's hands from her boobs.

Two seconds and he'd already started playing with them!

"I know just how 'affectionate' your nuzzling is mister."

And then . . . still holding his hands tightly in hers . . . Emily turned to shoot Hotch an amused look over her shoulder.

"And Jack could wake up at any minute! He's FOUR! Do you really think that you're ready to explain how Miss Emily's bra ended up on the back of the couch?!"

Just then . . . as if on cue . . . Emily heard the little man in question begin to stir. And as she turned her head she saw a small fist come out from under the quilt to rub the fluttering lids on the sweet little face. And seeing that he was now . . . clearly . . . awake, Emily shared a guilty look with Hotch.

They hadn't been talking as quietly as they should have been.

This was entirely their fault.

Jack slowly pushed himself to himself to his feet. And then, with the corner of his SpongeBob comforter clutched tightly in his fist, he called over to the two of them on the couch.

"Daddy?" he yawned, "Miss Emily? Can I lay down with you?"

His words were soft and sleepy and Emily felt another little tick tock in her biological clock as she immediately patted her lap.

"Of course baby," she offered Jack a soft smile as she put her hand out and wiggled her fingers, "come on. Daddy and I are sorry we woke you up. Do you want to finish watching Nemo now?"

Given that Jack had passed out so quickly, even though he'd been sleeping for a while, it was really only a little after seven.

And his bedtime wasn't for another hour.

"Uh huh," Jack nodded as he walked over and climbed up onto Emily's lap. Then he turned towards the TV before laying his head on her breast and wrapping his little arms around her mid-section.

The comforter was hanging down to the floor.

As Emily started rubbing circles on Jack's back, Hotch couldn't stop the smile sliding across his face as he looked down at his two favorite people, both now piled on top of him. Both safe and sound.

For a little while.

And he made a mental note to add this couch lying arrangement to their regular weekend activities.

Then he mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it before.

When Emily leaned back, she tipped her head against his chest again. And when he saw her attention drift back to the film, Hotch's left hand curled around hers, and then his right hand came down to rest on the back of his son's head.

Okay . . . he thought as he also turned back to the talking clownfish . . . apparently there was something to be said for Friday nights with an all Pixar lineup. So next week . . . he mentally flipped through his animated movie line-up . . . if they got home early enough, they'd watch Monsters' Inc. It wasn't one that Jack asked for very often, okay, Jack never asked for it, but still they'd worn out the first disk.

Hotch's lip quirked up as he thought back on the antics of Mike Wazowski.

That one was his favorite.

A/N 2: Again, light and fluffy. Next time around will get a bit heavier again.