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He was touching her. Aaron had so many other things he should be focusing on, the scent of the room in this husked out building, the feeling of the cold beer between his fingers, the taste of the pretzel salt on his tongue, the sound of his team laughing and enjoying the like-minded company. But his senses had been whittled down to one. He could only see him touching her.
It was ludicrous, she had almost died today, a gun in her face and the man that saved her was touching her. His hand was casual on her forearm as they sat atop a table and talked across the room, but his skin was on fire with the sight of it. It pulsed through him like a wave, rolling and raising with the tide, heating a flush below his collar as he watched her smile flash.
He held no claim over her, he knew that. This thing they had was nothing, not yet, just three times they had crossed the line of co-workers.
He was drunk the first time he kissed her. It had been a bare few weeks since Hayley had died, the scrapes and scratches on his face just healed to pink skin. He was sad and lonely and Jack was with Jessica and he drank a few too many scotches and called her.
“You once said I wasn’t alone” He had said when she answered, overcorrecting himself to hide the slur. She caught it. He had heard the rustling in the background, a jostle of keys and shoes being dropped as he talked to her, rambled about nothing in particular, let the looseness of his consciousness flow over his teeth.
He didn’t piece it together with the soft knock on his door, but he opened it and there she was. Phone still held to her ear, wearing leggings and a soft sweatshirt. She had been asleep, evidenced by the wildness of her hair, knotted in a bun, but she was here.
She had hung up the phone and folded him into an embrace, lightly placing the drink on a table out of reach as she manoeuvred him to the couch, sat with him with her hand warm around his and let him talk. He talked until his throat was hoarse and scratching, her gaze gentle as she listened to him.
“Y’know, she thought we were fucking?” he said, remembering another argument, somewhere in the post leaving, pre-divorce state of their relationship.
“Really?” Emily had responded her eyebrow raising.
“Yep. I left to come get you for that case and she thought I left to go get between your legs” He said, nodding.
That had made her laugh and the sound was beautiful, loud enough to fill his chest with warmth, feel it spread to his extremities as he watched her chest shake.
“You're not my type” He continued, “I like blondes” He nodded, feeling the heaviness of his head, the exhaustion finally catching up to him.
“You say that like you’re my type Hotchner – come on, let's get you to bed” She had replied, the smile still on her face as she hauled him to his feet, following him up the stairs with a painkiller and a bottle of water.
She had encouraged him to change, brush his teeth and go to sleep. When he emerged minty fresh and dressed more comfortably he found her perched on his bed, waiting.
“I’m staying,” She said before he could ask or argue, drawing back the covers and slipping beneath them, leaving him space to join her. As he slid into the cool sheets he wondered, briefly, why it was so easy to show her this. Why grief and vulnerability did not feel like he was ripping himself open in front of her, why it seemed so right.
He tested his theory in the dark, half asleep and still fuzzy. Sliding his hand to find hers she did not flinch away from him, did not pull back from his embrace but welcomed it, matching his movements with hands that slipped around his waist, found a silvered edge of an old scar and stroked it with her thumb.
It was impulsive to kiss her that first time, hidden away like a secret beneath the sheets. He couldn’t see her but he found her lips with instinct; his hand on her waist as they faced each other in the dark. She did not pull away, but responded, tentative and hesitant as his fingers tightened lightly on her skin.
It had been he that pulled away, feeling a twinge of loss as her lips left his, as her hand was scraped across his abdomen as he rolled onto his back.
“Sorry” He had mumbled “Drunken accident”
She had huffed a laugh and nodded, the scratch of her hair on his pillow a lullaby as he fell asleep, heavy and deep in the way drunk made him.
She had cooked breakfast for him in the morning, brought him toast and coffee as he woke with a dry tongue and a headache, painfully sober. He avoided her eyes as she sat on his bed, eating her own toast, drinking her own coffee.
“Morning,” She said, her voice light and soft as he winced.
“Yeah, that’ll happen, come on, eat,” She said, encouraging him to drink, eat.
“I am sorry” He had managed after the dry toast had caused his stomach to stop rolling.
“What for? I said you’re not alone, and I meant it” She shrugged, putting his empty mug on the bedside table “What time is Jack coming back?”
“Not till this afternoon,” He said. And in response she had climbed over him, slipping back between his sheets, encouraging him to join her. A hazy nap took them through mid-morning, shifting closer as her hand crawled beneath his shirt, to his waist, his back, his shoulders, the heat of her palm warmer than his skin.
When he woke properly she was curled into him, small against the length of his body and his arms were wrapped around her, he was holding her hands between his. As she turned her head to his and smiled he tested the theory again, brushing her lips with his.
“I thought I wasn’t your type” She said, smiling against his mouth, bleeding the joy into him.
He laughed; the spell broken as he turned away.
“Testing a theory” He said, feeling it escape the room like a breeze, tension dissipated. “Not yet" he had thought to himself as he let it settle beneath his skin.
The second time, months had passed and Emily was drunk. A team night out where Derek and Emily had somehow bet each other shots of liquor left her with blurry eyes and no balance.
She had teetered into him in the bar, his arm automatic around her waist as she laughed, teasing him for his southern charm. He took her home, gentlemanly and polite as she giggled wildly, her eyes shining. She had taunted and mocked him as she balanced on the sidewalk, the smile splitting her face in two as she filled the night air with her laughter.
He saw her to the door of her apartment building and said goodnight. She had turned and wound her arms around his neck, standing a step above him as she brought her mouth to his. It was instinct to allow his hands to drift to her waist, hold her against him as she dragged her fingers through his hair, bit his bottom lip.
When she broke the kiss, she smiled at him.
“Sorry. Drunken accident" and she had flounced upstairs with a wink and another laugh.
The third time was in his office, both of them sober. It had been days ago, just before Cooper had called Aaron for help. They had argued, her hissing at his stoicism as he denied her theory. He knew she found it infuriating that he would not engage with the rawness of her anger. She knew she was being insubordinate. It had escalated, both of them stubborn and fierce in their defence. The team had slipped from the round table room, quiet as they watched the storm brewing, accustomed to their blow-outs.
She had called him an asshole under her breath. He had called her into his office, one of their many chats about workplace professionalism.
Somehow, they were against the door. His leg wedged between hers as she gasped into his mouth, tugged at his hair, encouraging.
He had lifted her from the ground, pressing her harder into the door as she ground herself into his erection, almost painfully hard. The moans she let out were sinful as she dug her fingers harder into his skin, bit at his ear, tightened her thighs around him. His fingers were digging hard enough into her thighs to leave bruises, his teeth scraping her neck.
Anderson had knocked on his door and he almost dropped her. She had turned away, hiding the flush of her lips as Anderson handed over files, explained their significance.
Aaron did not know why the thought of her with someone else made his skin itch, or what to do with the sensation once it settled under his collar.
So instead he stood across the room and watched as Mick Rawson leaned close to her, whispered in her ear as he tucked a strand of hair away. He watched as she broke into a wide grin, a laugh as she slapped his chest away, took another sip of beer.
“How long have you been screwing the suit?" Mick asked in a whisper, leaning in and away from the team standing so close by.
His accent made her laugh, the shove on his chest a little harder than she intended as she shook her head.
“What?” she scoffed “I’m not" but she still felt herself squirm, a throb deep in her belly as she remembered the wedge of his hips between her thighs.
“If looks could kill I’d be in pieces on the floor Darlin" he said, inclining his head ever so slightly towards Aaron, standing in conversation on the other side of the room. “Watch"
He placed his hand lightly on her upper thigh. From the periphery of her vision, Emily saw it, the way his knuckles whitened on the beer he was holding, the jump in his jaw that only showed when he was irritated.
“He’s jealous” mick whispered to her, making her laugh again. She felt lightheaded, slightly giddy as she watched Aaron flick his eyes to her, once, twice.
“You’re wrong" she said.
“Have I been wrong yet love?” he laughed, giving her thigh a light squeeze. Emily rolled her eyes and changed the subject, pressing Mick to admit he was British Special Forces, hoping the beer would loosen his tongue.
They got louder, the music, the conversation, the laughter started to echo around the hulled out building, bouncing off the walls and amplifying like a heartbeat. It was loud enough to raise their voices, jovial and bright as they talked about anything but cases, shared stories with their brethren, such rarely enjoyed company.
The accent pissed him off. It was threaded with mischief as he talked and joked and teased. Aaron watched as Mick Rawson smiled and laughed and drank with his team. It started as a simmer, each time he brushed past her, threw a grin at her, twisted the cap off her drink. It rolled to a boil when he casually threw his arm around her shoulder, and she did not brush him off.
He felt as though his cheek would bleed from the bite of his teeth when he watched him lean into her again, whisper in her ear nearly close enough to touch her skin.
“I’m never wrong” Mick whispered to her, his arm heavy on her shoulder as she felt his lips curl into a smile. In response, Emily pressed a kiss into his cheek, a chaste smile against his skin as she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, sensed the rolling boil in Aaron’s skin as he watched her.
Aaron left for fresh air seconds later, standing outside in the cool clean air, loosening his tie lightly as he rhythmically clenched his fist, tried to force the pulse in his throat to lessen. He heard her before she spoke. The click of her boots against concrete, followed by the perfume he always associated with her presence. He turned to see her, standing with a hand looped casually on her belt, her posture relaxed and smile ghosting across her lips.
“I’m headed out” She said, her voice steady as she watched him.
He managed to grunt an affirmation, his brain giving him a torturous image of her wrapped in sheets, naked and flushed as Mick Rawson slammed into her from behind, his gaze triumphant. He felt his jaw twitch. For a moment he saw the same flash of triumph in Emily’s eyes.
Their teeth clicked together when they collided, messy and close to violence as they grabbed at each other, twisted fabric in clenched fists as they filled the empty air with heavy gasps and soft cries. She tugged at his hair, feeling him suck air between his teeth, squeeze her skin beneath her clothing.
Aaron was sure he was going to crash the car. Her hand was on his inner thigh, dangerously close to him as she licked his neck, nipped his ear, pressed soft kisses to his jaw. His hand was on her leg, reflexively squeezing with each scrape of her teeth, feeling the throb in his groin each time her breath hitched.
His room was at the end of the hall, away from the others, and this was Aaron’s only coherent thought as he dragged her through the door, the slam of it drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. She was pushing him backwards, forcing him towards the bed. She remembered to take off their holsters and for this he was grateful, having forgotten he was carrying a weapon.
When Aaron slipped his hand beneath her shirt she thought his palm was warm enough to brand her. A handprint splayed across her ribcage as he pushed her backwards, her legs hitting the bed. When he tugged at her shirt she lifted her arms, allowing him to slip it over her head, throwing it somewhere in the room.
Every inch of exposed skin he touched, his lips across her collarbone as his hands curved her waist. His hands were undoing her belt and pants as she felt the flick of his tongue in the hollow of her throat. She lifted her hips from the bedspread as he continued to undress her, her shoes and socks and pants making a messy pile somewhere else in the room.
His mouth found her hipbone and Emily felt her breath stutter, the heat between her legs a contrast to the air-conditioned room. He was still wearing his suit, the fabric nudged her thighs open as he covered her mouth with his, swiping her bottom lip with his tongue, hands roaming her back.
She did not feel him unclasp her bra, only his mouth on her shoulder as the straps fell free, before being discarded completely. She could feel the firm muscle of his thigh between her legs and she ground against it, desperate for friction as he let his hand cup her breast, a lick against her collarbone.
The whimper she let out when he pinched her nipple was devastating. Her skin was soft and smooth under his fingers, and he could feel dampness through his suit pants as she bucked lightly against his leg. He was so hard it was painful, his mind screaming at him to bury himself to the hilt inside her, fuck her until she cried.
But he wanted to taste every inch of her skin, watch every muscle twist under his touch, hear every cry and gasp and moan. So he forced himself to be patient, pin her hips beneath him as he bit against her breast, licked and sucked her nipples between his teeth until they were stiff and aching until her whimpers had turned to soft cries, her hands had found his hair, guided his head to the places she liked best.
He spread her legs with his shoulders, her underwear, soaked through was the only barrier that separated him. He pressed his face into the fabric, inhaling her as she whined again, forced her hips into his face.
When he finally took off her underwear Emily was half-mad with anticipation. He had kissed her skin so torturously slow, dragged his lips to skip across her stomach in a way that made her throb, and seemed indifferent to her pleas.
“Aaron, please, I need…” She breathed, her chest heaving as he stilled, staring at her, transfixed by the shimmering between her legs. She did not finish her sentence when he swiped his tongue across her, a low moan in his throat as he tasted her.
She was heaven, the taste of her, the feel of her fingers tightening against his scalp as her hips rose off the bed. The sound of his name in her throat, the way she pleaded him, breathless and halting was overwhelming, a firework in his mind.
When he flicked his tongue against her clit she cried out, loud and keening. The vision of his dark hair between her thighs was electric, serving only to add to the experience of him expertly licking her folds. He seemed to want to devour her, his mouth hungry against her as his prior methodical approach was discarded, in favour of chasing her cries.
She heard him groan against her skin, vibrating her legs when she tugged at his hair, his fingers digging tighter into her thighs, holding her still. The pleas and begging fell from her lips unwarranted as he chased each drop of liquid from her, digging his tongue deeper to the source, frenzied and wanting.
When she came it was with a scream, she bit her lip to try and muffle it, but it escaped from her like steam, hissing out of her pores. She dragged him away from her, sensitive and swollen and tasted herself on his tongue.
“Get your fucking suit off” She breathed, hitching at the syllables as she tried to steady herself, her fingers trembling at the knot of his tie.
He obeyed her, haste left him in only his underwear, straining under the weight of his arousal. When she swiped her finger across the dampened spot of precum he clenched his fist, but when she brought it to her lips, wrapped her tongue around his taste he could not stop himself.
“Fuck” He breathed, watching as she sampled him. “you’re beautiful”
The smile took his breath away, the way her hair stuck to her forehead, her skin luminous with a light sheen, her eyes framed by lashes impossibly long. Air filled his lungs again when she slipped his underwear from his hips, took him fully in her mouth.
He tasted clean, salty like the ocean as she flicked her tongue across the pearls of precum. She felt his hips jerk, automatic as he stuttered a thrust into her mouth. He was thicker than she was expecting, fantasies had not done him justice as she wrapped her hand around his length, subtly measuring him as she felt the silk of his skin.
Her hair was in his fist, he needed her to slow down, but was aching for her to quicken her pace. He focused on the friction of her hair between his fingers, tried to ignore the roll and clench of his stomach as she fluttered her tongue against him. When she pulled her mouth off him, lazy pumps with her fist kept him close to the edge.
He kissed her, leaning over as he slipped from her grasp, encouraging her to shift across the cheap hotel bedspread, let her thighs fall open for him. He hovered above her, unwilling to collapse his weight on top of her. But she wrapped her legs around him, pulled him closer, chest to chest.
As he split her open Emily saw stars. Slow and gentle he buried himself in her, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as he let out a shaky breath. She could feel his hand on her thigh, the other seeking her hand, lacing their fingers together as he rocked slowly against her, deliberately grinding his pelvis into her, scraping against her clit.
When she moved to meet his thrusts, her free hand tugging again at his hair he obliged her, withdrawing almost all the way before he sped up. Her lips were at the shell of his ear and he could hear each gasp of breath as he bottomed out inside her. He bit into her shoulder to hear her cry out, the sound encouraging as he gripped her hand tighter, angled her thigh higher, changed the angle to hear her moans change.
“Aaron, fuck, I’m,… f-fuck” She gasped.
He felt her cum around him, shuddering, clenching and scorching him as she twisted beneath him, her hips holding him tight inside her. He held her steady as he resumed a brutal pace, fast and slick as he chased his own high, her begging still echoing in his ears, encouragement as she writhed beneath him.
When he came her name fell from his lips like a prayer. His vision blurred as he stiffened, deep inside her as she locked a leg behind his back, held him closer.
The room was bright as his senses came back into focus. He could taste the salt on her skin, the lick of sweat on her neck still touching his lips. Her ragged breathing in his ear was an anchor to reality as the hazy fog lifted from his vision. He could smell the sweetness of their coupling in the room, rolling over them like a humid blanket, cocooning them.
Somehow they shifted, curling into one another, hands trailing over raised veins, finding bumps in the other's skin, exploring.
“Drunken accident?” Emily asked finally. Aaron let out a hoarse laugh, heaving her onto his chest, still slightly limp from their coupling.
“No” He said, pressing his lips to her forehead. “Not an accident, I was jealous.”
“Oh Jesus Christ” Emily said, burying her face in his chest.
“What?” He asked.
“That cocky fuck was right. That’s what he was whispering to me all night”.
“You’re joking”.
“No, God, please let us never have a case with them again, he will be unbearable”.
“Like he wasn’t already” Aaron murmured, wrapping his arms tighter around her shoulders.
She kissed him, her lips swollen and soft as she ran her fingers up his ribs. They lay in silence, Aaron planting soft kisses across her eyelids and cheeks as he breathed her in.
“Is this a one-time thing?” he asked, listening to her breathing as it slowed, hoping he caught her before she fell asleep.
“Not a chance.” She mumbled.
He smiled against her skin, feeling her pulse beat against him as she fell asleep. Before he succumbed to sleep, comforted by her weight, the softness of her curled against him, tangling her limbs with his as though they were unbreakable knots, linked together.
As Aaron succumbed to the exhaustion seeping beneath his skin he let her overwhelm his senses. He was touching her, her hair smelt like flowers, he could hear her soft breath, watch as her chest rose and fell in rhythm with his.
And the air tasted like promise.