Written by Mydnyte Houre.
Romance/Friendship.
Emily Prentiss closed the microwave door and set two steaming mugs of milk on the counter. She pulled two bright pink plastic spoons from the drawer and placed one in each mug before pouring out two generous measures of cocoa mix. Hissing softly as the hot porcelain pressed against her hands, she picked the mugs up and carried them into her living room. She shook her hands to relieve the burning sensation in her palms as she set the mugs down on the small coffee table, earning a questioning look from Hotch. "Hot," she explained with a sheepish smile.
Hotch wrapped his hands around her right wrist and lifted her hand to his lips. He blew gently onto the palm of her hand for a few seconds before pressing a soft kiss to her fingertips. Looking straight into her warm brown eyes, he did the same with her other hand.
Emily blushed. "Thanks," she murmured. They had been officially dating for a little more than two months, but sometimes she still wasn't used to seeing Hotch so tender with anyone other than Jack. He kept his stoic personality intact at the office for propriety's sake, and she tried to do the same. The whole team knew, of course—the double-edged sword of working with behavioural analysts—but Hotch and Emily both agreed that staying in Strauss' good graces was safer for all concerned. The Section Chief had almost bitten their heads off when they told her they were dating, and it was only with considerable convincing that she agreed to overlook it. Their personal lives outside the office, however, were fair game for any romantic impulses, a fact that Emily was still adjusting to.
And Emily and Hotch had learned to take advantage of the free time they had for romance. Her actual birthday had come while they were away on a case, but Hotch had called from the jet and made reservations at the Old Ebbitt Grill, her favourite seafood restaurant in Washington. That Friday night, he had arrived at her apartment looking appropriately debonair and whisked her off for a wonderful dinner. After dinner, he had worried that Emily would suggest going clubbing or some other similarly terrifying social activity, but she had insisted that she wanted to curl up on the couch with him and watch "the birthday movie". He was more than pleased to agree.
Noticing that they had been sitting in silence for some time, Emily rubbed her thumb over his and said, "Drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold."
Hotch obediently picked up his mug, turning it around to see the photo that adorned it. A small girl with dark brown hair that curled just under her ears sat perched on the shoulders of a tall man. The girl's eyes were trained on the camera, but the man was looking up at the girl with a gaze that spoke of unconditional love. Hotch's lips curled into a smile.
"It's my favourite photo of Dad and me," Emily offered by way of explanation. She tucked her legs underneath her body for warmth and stirred the contents of her own mug. "Mother used to hate it when he carried me like that. Have you ever noticed that it's only men who carry children on their shoulders?" She took a cautious sip and felt the heat of the drink spread from her throat to the rest of her body. "I think it's because women feel they worked too hard for nine months to bring that child into the world, and damned if they're going to make it any easier for the child to get hurt."
Hotch chuckled and sipped from his mug. "You were a very cute child."
"I know, I know, what happened to me?" Emily laughed.
"Nonsense. I think you're still cute."
"I try very hard, you know."
"You often succeed."
Emily went back to stirring her hot chocolate, and Hotch did the same. For the first time, he noticed the garishly coloured plastic spoons. "Em, you know I love your quirky kitchenware—"
"They had to be plastic!" she said indignantly. "If I use metal spoons, they get too hot."
"Oh, of course." He winked.
She swatted him lightly on the shoulder. "Stop distracting me, Aaron. You're not getting out of watching this movie. It's a birthday tradition."
Hotch stared at the DVD menu on the television screen with a mixture of apprehension and amusement. "Em, this looks like a Christmas movie."
"Love Actually is a Christmas movie," she replied evenly, hitting Play on the remote control. "But it's also really sweet and romantic, and I watch it every year for my birthday because it's my favourite non-Woody Allen movie. Fantastic as they are, his movies don't always manage to renew my faith in love." Emily smiled at him. "This movie does." She snuggled up against Hotch, her mug between her hands. He slid his arm across the couch and rubbed her back for a few moments before tucking his hand securely around her shoulder. She settled her head into the crook of his neck, and he kissed the top of her hair.
"Then we'll watch it," he said with a soft smile. "But only because it's your birthday."
"Please," she scoffed, grinning, "you big softie. You'd do anything for me, and you know it."
He winked. "Don't tell the team."
Emily felt herself relax as the familiar opening scene played out on the screen. She slowly drank her hot chocolate and sank further against Hotch's firm body. She treasured these moments when they could forget the office and all that it signified—the killers, the rapists, the blood and torture and loss—and feel like they were safe. She didn't have to hear him call her "Prentiss", which he only did at home when he was upset with her; they didn't have to maintain a coolly professional distance; they were a man and a woman in love like any other couple.
Hotch took a big gulp of his hot chocolate and ran his fingers through Emily's hair. "This was actually a really great idea. A movie and hot chocolate, I mean. Perfect for a cold night like this."
She smiled up at him. "You know what makes it even better?" she asked slyly. "A shot of peppermint schnapps."
"Are you trying to 'schnapp' me, Emily Prentiss?" His dark eyes twinkled. "I hope you're not trying to take advantage of me."
"Not at all, sir," she laughed, tilting her head upwards to kiss the edge of his jaw. "I would never."
"Right." He ruffled her hair fondly.
They turned back to the movie, but soon Emily interrupted, "I always felt bad for Alan Rickman's secretary. Being in love with her married boss." She blinked and clapped a hand over her mouth. Hotch spat a mouthful of cocoa back into his mug and threw his head back, laughing uproariously. Emily managed to reach over and pause the movie before she dissolved into laughter as well. She leaned against Hotch's shoulder for support as his own body shook hysterically. After a few minutes, as their breathing slowly returned to normal, she pressed a hand to her chest and exhaled slowly. Hotch gently wiped the tears that had leaked from the corners of her eyes.
"Well," Emily finally managed to say, "I guess I know why I always felt sorry for the secretary."
Hotch sighed and leaned against the back of the couch. "You are not comparing me to any character played by Alan Rickman. I know you're not."
Giggling, she protested, "But Alan Rickman has such a sexy voice! And such good hair."
"No," Hotch asserted as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "no, he doesn't."
"He was awesome in Dogma," Emily argued. She stirred her hot chocolate and took a sip. "Besides," she added, brushing her fingers affectionately through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, "you know how much I love your hair. More than any other man's."
He pretended to consider this before acquiescing, "I suppose I can forgive you." He kissed her lips, meaning for it to be brief and chaste, but she pressed at the back of his neck insistently. He gave in as he always did, letting her slide her tongue across his bottom lip before teasing it with his own.
"Mmm… Aaron…" The moan came from Emily, but it was one of interruption rather than pleasure. Her phone was buzzing softly on the kitchen counter.
"Answer it later," he murmured against her lips.
"It's just a text, Aaron. It won't take a minute."
He fisted a hand in her hair and said, "If it was important, they'd have called instead of texting." He trailed his other hand down her side, reveling in the feel of the soft cotton t-shirt she wore. He idly fingered the edge of her jeans and groaned when her phone buzzed again. Emily pulled away and stood, grabbing her cell phone from the counter. Hotch came up behind her, resting a hand on her hip, and nuzzled at the bare skin between her shoulder and her neck.
"Why does he always do this?" Emily rolled her eyes and hit 'Reply'.
"Who?" Hotch had not seen the text.
"Morgan," Emily answered, her thumbs flying over the keypad. "He's drunk-texting me again."
Hotch rested his chin on her shoulder. "Em, don't tell me what escapades my agents are up to on a Friday night. Especially not Derek Morgan. I don't need any more nightmares." Emily snorted, and he added, "What does he want?"
"He wants to know, and I quote, 'what dirty deeds are going down with the boss man'." She wrinkled her nose and kept typing. Of all their colleagues, Morgan had gotten the most mileage out of teasing them for their relationship. Under the influence of a few drinks (which various beautiful women had likely bought for him), his jokes had no filter.
Hotch grinned and resumed kissing her neck, gently tonguing the sensitive spot just below her ear. "And what did you tell him?"
Emily pressed 'Send' and snapped the phone shut. She turned in his arms and pressed her chest against his suggestively. "That our activities are strictly classified."
"Good girl." He bent to capture her lips with his again, but she stopped him and smiled.
"Come on, Aaron," she said, "we need to finish the movie."
He led the way back to the couch and hit 'Play'. Emily smiled at him and settled back into his arms.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hotch ran his fingers through Emily's tangled hair as the movie credits began to roll across the screen. She had managed to stretch her entire body out on the couch over the course of the movie, and now lay with her head snuggled on his lap. She yawned and wrapped her arms around his waist, twisting her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. Hotch tried to sit up, but Emily groaned and tightened her hold on the back of his shirt.
"Am I not allowed to get up?" he asked, one eyebrow lifting in amusement.
She shook her head emphatically and mumbled something into his lap.
"Come again?"
"Too comfy."
Hotch chuckled and relaxed back against the couch. "We can't just sit here the rest of the night," he pointed out logically. "Besides, I think we've invaded Chuck's territory."
A dissatisfied mewl from the depths of the cushions on the window seat confirmed this. Emily's cat poked his silver and black striped head and threw the couple a disapproving look.
"Nonsense," Emily replied. "Chuck Palahniuk loves the bay window. He's perfectly happy there." She shivered as Hotch began to idly trace his fingers up and down her back. "And I'm perfectly happy here."
He smiled and leaned forward to stop the movie. A peaceful silence fell over the room. They were content in each others' arms, a soft glow pervading the room from the brightly lit skyline of Washington, D.C. through the large bay window.
"Tell me a joke," Emily finally said. When Hotch didn't reply, she carefully rolled over so that she was looking up at him from his lap. He stared down at her, his brow furrowed even more than usual. "It's my birthday," she insisted. "I want to hear some real Aaron Hotchner humour. Like… what's the difference between Tiger Woods and Santa Claus?"
He rolled his eyes, but she could see the ghost of a smile. "I know that one," he told her.
"What do you call a line of rabbits moving backwards?"
"That one, too. Why are you telling me these jokes? I thought you wanted one from me."
"I'm determined to find one that you haven't heard." Emily exhaled in frustration and licked her lips. Suddenly, her dark eyes were alight. "Knock, knock!" she said, sounding excited.
Hotch sighed and answered, "Who's there?"
"Aaron." She grinned wickedly.
"…Aaron who?"
She let out a giggle, clearly pleased with herself. "Aaron the side of caution!"
Hotch slid a hand over his face and groaned. "Pun. Bad pun." From his cozy corner by the window, Chuck let out a low meow.
Emily pretended to look hurt. She sat up and swiveled on the couch so that her legs stretched across Hotch's lap. He rested a hand on her upper thigh and swiftly kissed her, and she tried to ignore the thread of warmth that his touch sent to the juncture between her legs. Pulling away, she resumed looking offended and archly said, "Well, I thought it was amusing."
He snorted. "On your planet."
"Yeah, Earth." She swatted his arm playfully before snuggling against his shoulder. "I realize you're from Mars, Aaron."
With a perfectly straight face, he replied, "Pluto, actually."
She stared up at him quizzically, looking for all the world like a curious puppy.
"Indeed," Hotch continued seriously, giving her thigh a gentle squeeze. "Scorpios are associated with Pluto."
Emily gave a little squeal of laughter, and he kissed her cheek. She gave a contented sigh and settled her head back on his shoulder, her eyes sliding shut. Hotch ran his fingers lightly over her thigh. As he felt her breathing start to slow, he pressed a feather-light kiss to the tip of her nose. "Em," he whispered. She furrowed her brow and sighed. "Em," he repeated, "hon, you can't go to sleep yet."
"Says who?"
Hotch trailed his lips down to hers. "Says the man who still hasn't given you your birthday present."
Emily's brown eyes popped open. "Well," she said, yawning, "when you put it that way, I suppose I could stay awake for a few more minutes."
He grinned and gently moved her legs off his lap before standing up. He made his way over to the coat rack and pulled a small package from his jacket pocket. Emily giggled and reached her arms towards him like a little girl, so he carefully tossed the package across the room. Hotch sat on the edge of the couch beside her, nervously tapping his fingers against his knee. He couldn't help thinking of Jack as he watched Emily pull apart the ribbons and tear away the paper with ravenous glee.
"Breakfast of Champions!" she squealed, freeing the book from its wrappings. "Oh, Aaron, thank you!"
"You don't already have this one, do you?" Hotch asked, his eyes sliding across her collection of Kurt Vonnegut novels on the shelf.
"I don't, which is weird since it's one of my favourites." Emily ran a finger across the book's smooth green cover. "It's perfect, Aaron." She pressed a kiss to his lips.
"Have a look at the title page," he suggested with a smile.
She obliged and flipped the book open. "He signed it?" Her eyes flew from the faded blue signature to Hotch's face, and then back to the signature. "He signed it!"
Hotch's smile grew wider. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. "I have a friend who deals in science fiction novels. I asked him to find it for me."
"Aaron, this is…" Emily shook her head and smiled. "It's wonderful. And so thoughtful. I love it." She kissed him more passionately this time, sliding her hand down his chest as her tongue met his. Hotch gently pulled the book from her hands and set it down on the table as he leaned back against the arm of the couch, Emily's body moving over his. He let his hands slide under the edge of her shirt and tease idly at the clasp of her bra. His lips burned a trail down her jaw to reach the soft, pale expanse of her neck. She giggled and put her mouth next to his ear. "Does this mean I'm getting birthday sex?"
Hotch nipped playfully at her neck. "Greedy," he muttered against her skin.
Emily giggled again. She pulled away slightly, her cheeks flushed, and rested her forehead against his. "I love you so much, Aaron," she whispered. "And you've given me the best birthday I've had in years. Thank you."
"I love you, too, Em," he murmured back, locking his eyes onto hers. "Don't ever forget that."
"I won't." With a satisfied sigh, she let her head fall against his warm chest.
Hotch combed his fingers through her thick brown hair. "Happy birthday, Em."
Romance/Friendship.
Emily Prentiss closed the microwave door and set two steaming mugs of milk on the counter. She pulled two bright pink plastic spoons from the drawer and placed one in each mug before pouring out two generous measures of cocoa mix. Hissing softly as the hot porcelain pressed against her hands, she picked the mugs up and carried them into her living room. She shook her hands to relieve the burning sensation in her palms as she set the mugs down on the small coffee table, earning a questioning look from Hotch. "Hot," she explained with a sheepish smile.
Hotch wrapped his hands around her right wrist and lifted her hand to his lips. He blew gently onto the palm of her hand for a few seconds before pressing a soft kiss to her fingertips. Looking straight into her warm brown eyes, he did the same with her other hand.
Emily blushed. "Thanks," she murmured. They had been officially dating for a little more than two months, but sometimes she still wasn't used to seeing Hotch so tender with anyone other than Jack. He kept his stoic personality intact at the office for propriety's sake, and she tried to do the same. The whole team knew, of course—the double-edged sword of working with behavioural analysts—but Hotch and Emily both agreed that staying in Strauss' good graces was safer for all concerned. The Section Chief had almost bitten their heads off when they told her they were dating, and it was only with considerable convincing that she agreed to overlook it. Their personal lives outside the office, however, were fair game for any romantic impulses, a fact that Emily was still adjusting to.
And Emily and Hotch had learned to take advantage of the free time they had for romance. Her actual birthday had come while they were away on a case, but Hotch had called from the jet and made reservations at the Old Ebbitt Grill, her favourite seafood restaurant in Washington. That Friday night, he had arrived at her apartment looking appropriately debonair and whisked her off for a wonderful dinner. After dinner, he had worried that Emily would suggest going clubbing or some other similarly terrifying social activity, but she had insisted that she wanted to curl up on the couch with him and watch "the birthday movie". He was more than pleased to agree.
Noticing that they had been sitting in silence for some time, Emily rubbed her thumb over his and said, "Drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold."
Hotch obediently picked up his mug, turning it around to see the photo that adorned it. A small girl with dark brown hair that curled just under her ears sat perched on the shoulders of a tall man. The girl's eyes were trained on the camera, but the man was looking up at the girl with a gaze that spoke of unconditional love. Hotch's lips curled into a smile.
"It's my favourite photo of Dad and me," Emily offered by way of explanation. She tucked her legs underneath her body for warmth and stirred the contents of her own mug. "Mother used to hate it when he carried me like that. Have you ever noticed that it's only men who carry children on their shoulders?" She took a cautious sip and felt the heat of the drink spread from her throat to the rest of her body. "I think it's because women feel they worked too hard for nine months to bring that child into the world, and damned if they're going to make it any easier for the child to get hurt."
Hotch chuckled and sipped from his mug. "You were a very cute child."
"I know, I know, what happened to me?" Emily laughed.
"Nonsense. I think you're still cute."
"I try very hard, you know."
"You often succeed."
Emily went back to stirring her hot chocolate, and Hotch did the same. For the first time, he noticed the garishly coloured plastic spoons. "Em, you know I love your quirky kitchenware—"
"They had to be plastic!" she said indignantly. "If I use metal spoons, they get too hot."
"Oh, of course." He winked.
She swatted him lightly on the shoulder. "Stop distracting me, Aaron. You're not getting out of watching this movie. It's a birthday tradition."
Hotch stared at the DVD menu on the television screen with a mixture of apprehension and amusement. "Em, this looks like a Christmas movie."
"Love Actually is a Christmas movie," she replied evenly, hitting Play on the remote control. "But it's also really sweet and romantic, and I watch it every year for my birthday because it's my favourite non-Woody Allen movie. Fantastic as they are, his movies don't always manage to renew my faith in love." Emily smiled at him. "This movie does." She snuggled up against Hotch, her mug between her hands. He slid his arm across the couch and rubbed her back for a few moments before tucking his hand securely around her shoulder. She settled her head into the crook of his neck, and he kissed the top of her hair.
"Then we'll watch it," he said with a soft smile. "But only because it's your birthday."
"Please," she scoffed, grinning, "you big softie. You'd do anything for me, and you know it."
He winked. "Don't tell the team."
Emily felt herself relax as the familiar opening scene played out on the screen. She slowly drank her hot chocolate and sank further against Hotch's firm body. She treasured these moments when they could forget the office and all that it signified—the killers, the rapists, the blood and torture and loss—and feel like they were safe. She didn't have to hear him call her "Prentiss", which he only did at home when he was upset with her; they didn't have to maintain a coolly professional distance; they were a man and a woman in love like any other couple.
Hotch took a big gulp of his hot chocolate and ran his fingers through Emily's hair. "This was actually a really great idea. A movie and hot chocolate, I mean. Perfect for a cold night like this."
She smiled up at him. "You know what makes it even better?" she asked slyly. "A shot of peppermint schnapps."
"Are you trying to 'schnapp' me, Emily Prentiss?" His dark eyes twinkled. "I hope you're not trying to take advantage of me."
"Not at all, sir," she laughed, tilting her head upwards to kiss the edge of his jaw. "I would never."
"Right." He ruffled her hair fondly.
They turned back to the movie, but soon Emily interrupted, "I always felt bad for Alan Rickman's secretary. Being in love with her married boss." She blinked and clapped a hand over her mouth. Hotch spat a mouthful of cocoa back into his mug and threw his head back, laughing uproariously. Emily managed to reach over and pause the movie before she dissolved into laughter as well. She leaned against Hotch's shoulder for support as his own body shook hysterically. After a few minutes, as their breathing slowly returned to normal, she pressed a hand to her chest and exhaled slowly. Hotch gently wiped the tears that had leaked from the corners of her eyes.
"Well," Emily finally managed to say, "I guess I know why I always felt sorry for the secretary."
Hotch sighed and leaned against the back of the couch. "You are not comparing me to any character played by Alan Rickman. I know you're not."
Giggling, she protested, "But Alan Rickman has such a sexy voice! And such good hair."
"No," Hotch asserted as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "no, he doesn't."
"He was awesome in Dogma," Emily argued. She stirred her hot chocolate and took a sip. "Besides," she added, brushing her fingers affectionately through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, "you know how much I love your hair. More than any other man's."
He pretended to consider this before acquiescing, "I suppose I can forgive you." He kissed her lips, meaning for it to be brief and chaste, but she pressed at the back of his neck insistently. He gave in as he always did, letting her slide her tongue across his bottom lip before teasing it with his own.
"Mmm… Aaron…" The moan came from Emily, but it was one of interruption rather than pleasure. Her phone was buzzing softly on the kitchen counter.
"Answer it later," he murmured against her lips.
"It's just a text, Aaron. It won't take a minute."
He fisted a hand in her hair and said, "If it was important, they'd have called instead of texting." He trailed his other hand down her side, reveling in the feel of the soft cotton t-shirt she wore. He idly fingered the edge of her jeans and groaned when her phone buzzed again. Emily pulled away and stood, grabbing her cell phone from the counter. Hotch came up behind her, resting a hand on her hip, and nuzzled at the bare skin between her shoulder and her neck.
"Why does he always do this?" Emily rolled her eyes and hit 'Reply'.
"Who?" Hotch had not seen the text.
"Morgan," Emily answered, her thumbs flying over the keypad. "He's drunk-texting me again."
Hotch rested his chin on her shoulder. "Em, don't tell me what escapades my agents are up to on a Friday night. Especially not Derek Morgan. I don't need any more nightmares." Emily snorted, and he added, "What does he want?"
"He wants to know, and I quote, 'what dirty deeds are going down with the boss man'." She wrinkled her nose and kept typing. Of all their colleagues, Morgan had gotten the most mileage out of teasing them for their relationship. Under the influence of a few drinks (which various beautiful women had likely bought for him), his jokes had no filter.
Hotch grinned and resumed kissing her neck, gently tonguing the sensitive spot just below her ear. "And what did you tell him?"
Emily pressed 'Send' and snapped the phone shut. She turned in his arms and pressed her chest against his suggestively. "That our activities are strictly classified."
"Good girl." He bent to capture her lips with his again, but she stopped him and smiled.
"Come on, Aaron," she said, "we need to finish the movie."
He led the way back to the couch and hit 'Play'. Emily smiled at him and settled back into his arms.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hotch ran his fingers through Emily's tangled hair as the movie credits began to roll across the screen. She had managed to stretch her entire body out on the couch over the course of the movie, and now lay with her head snuggled on his lap. She yawned and wrapped her arms around his waist, twisting her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. Hotch tried to sit up, but Emily groaned and tightened her hold on the back of his shirt.
"Am I not allowed to get up?" he asked, one eyebrow lifting in amusement.
She shook her head emphatically and mumbled something into his lap.
"Come again?"
"Too comfy."
Hotch chuckled and relaxed back against the couch. "We can't just sit here the rest of the night," he pointed out logically. "Besides, I think we've invaded Chuck's territory."
A dissatisfied mewl from the depths of the cushions on the window seat confirmed this. Emily's cat poked his silver and black striped head and threw the couple a disapproving look.
"Nonsense," Emily replied. "Chuck Palahniuk loves the bay window. He's perfectly happy there." She shivered as Hotch began to idly trace his fingers up and down her back. "And I'm perfectly happy here."
He smiled and leaned forward to stop the movie. A peaceful silence fell over the room. They were content in each others' arms, a soft glow pervading the room from the brightly lit skyline of Washington, D.C. through the large bay window.
"Tell me a joke," Emily finally said. When Hotch didn't reply, she carefully rolled over so that she was looking up at him from his lap. He stared down at her, his brow furrowed even more than usual. "It's my birthday," she insisted. "I want to hear some real Aaron Hotchner humour. Like… what's the difference between Tiger Woods and Santa Claus?"
He rolled his eyes, but she could see the ghost of a smile. "I know that one," he told her.
"What do you call a line of rabbits moving backwards?"
"That one, too. Why are you telling me these jokes? I thought you wanted one from me."
"I'm determined to find one that you haven't heard." Emily exhaled in frustration and licked her lips. Suddenly, her dark eyes were alight. "Knock, knock!" she said, sounding excited.
Hotch sighed and answered, "Who's there?"
"Aaron." She grinned wickedly.
"…Aaron who?"
She let out a giggle, clearly pleased with herself. "Aaron the side of caution!"
Hotch slid a hand over his face and groaned. "Pun. Bad pun." From his cozy corner by the window, Chuck let out a low meow.
Emily pretended to look hurt. She sat up and swiveled on the couch so that her legs stretched across Hotch's lap. He rested a hand on her upper thigh and swiftly kissed her, and she tried to ignore the thread of warmth that his touch sent to the juncture between her legs. Pulling away, she resumed looking offended and archly said, "Well, I thought it was amusing."
He snorted. "On your planet."
"Yeah, Earth." She swatted his arm playfully before snuggling against his shoulder. "I realize you're from Mars, Aaron."
With a perfectly straight face, he replied, "Pluto, actually."
She stared up at him quizzically, looking for all the world like a curious puppy.
"Indeed," Hotch continued seriously, giving her thigh a gentle squeeze. "Scorpios are associated with Pluto."
Emily gave a little squeal of laughter, and he kissed her cheek. She gave a contented sigh and settled her head back on his shoulder, her eyes sliding shut. Hotch ran his fingers lightly over her thigh. As he felt her breathing start to slow, he pressed a feather-light kiss to the tip of her nose. "Em," he whispered. She furrowed her brow and sighed. "Em," he repeated, "hon, you can't go to sleep yet."
"Says who?"
Hotch trailed his lips down to hers. "Says the man who still hasn't given you your birthday present."
Emily's brown eyes popped open. "Well," she said, yawning, "when you put it that way, I suppose I could stay awake for a few more minutes."
He grinned and gently moved her legs off his lap before standing up. He made his way over to the coat rack and pulled a small package from his jacket pocket. Emily giggled and reached her arms towards him like a little girl, so he carefully tossed the package across the room. Hotch sat on the edge of the couch beside her, nervously tapping his fingers against his knee. He couldn't help thinking of Jack as he watched Emily pull apart the ribbons and tear away the paper with ravenous glee.
"Breakfast of Champions!" she squealed, freeing the book from its wrappings. "Oh, Aaron, thank you!"
"You don't already have this one, do you?" Hotch asked, his eyes sliding across her collection of Kurt Vonnegut novels on the shelf.
"I don't, which is weird since it's one of my favourites." Emily ran a finger across the book's smooth green cover. "It's perfect, Aaron." She pressed a kiss to his lips.
"Have a look at the title page," he suggested with a smile.
She obliged and flipped the book open. "He signed it?" Her eyes flew from the faded blue signature to Hotch's face, and then back to the signature. "He signed it!"
Hotch's smile grew wider. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. "I have a friend who deals in science fiction novels. I asked him to find it for me."
"Aaron, this is…" Emily shook her head and smiled. "It's wonderful. And so thoughtful. I love it." She kissed him more passionately this time, sliding her hand down his chest as her tongue met his. Hotch gently pulled the book from her hands and set it down on the table as he leaned back against the arm of the couch, Emily's body moving over his. He let his hands slide under the edge of her shirt and tease idly at the clasp of her bra. His lips burned a trail down her jaw to reach the soft, pale expanse of her neck. She giggled and put her mouth next to his ear. "Does this mean I'm getting birthday sex?"
Hotch nipped playfully at her neck. "Greedy," he muttered against her skin.
Emily giggled again. She pulled away slightly, her cheeks flushed, and rested her forehead against his. "I love you so much, Aaron," she whispered. "And you've given me the best birthday I've had in years. Thank you."
"I love you, too, Em," he murmured back, locking his eyes onto hers. "Don't ever forget that."
"I won't." With a satisfied sigh, she let her head fall against his warm chest.
Hotch combed his fingers through her thick brown hair. "Happy birthday, Em."
