Written by celticgina.
Emily thinking about a certain person.:)
As she stared out the window of the jet, Emily Prentiss was not focusing on the stars or the twinkling lights of civilizations that rushed past below. She was tying to think of a word. Considering her considerable linguistic skills, it was unusual that one would elude her. But this subject matter was not easily defined. She knew if she turned her head, she would see him. But every aspect of his face was already burned into her being. Her head came up slightly as she figured it out.
Dangerous.
Aaron Hotchner was dangerous. He was a danger to the careful calm she had constructed around her life. She had taught herself to be a sea of warm calm on a team that was so tightly bound, and if she were to be honest, tightly wound. The average person would only see Hotch as dangerous if he were on the wrong end of his gun, badge and controlled fury. That wasn’t Emily’s problem.
He was a danger to her heart. It was ridiculous, really. She wasn’t some 15 year old girl to have her head turned by a gorgeous teacher. She was a grown woman. This kind of silly crush should be tucked into her memories of adolescence. The only difference between her and that 15 year old girl was that she was better at controlling her reactions and impulses.
Analyze this Emily. Break it down, and figure it out. Her inner adult reasoned with the 15 year old inside. If she could figure out what about him was causing this reaction, maybe she could quash it all.
Was it his voice? Yes, that must be it. That deep, husky voice always sent a slight shiver skittering across her nerves. On the very few occasions he had actually called her by her first name, she would imagine him whispering it into her ear. If she were alone in her bed, she would imagine how it would sound being groaned in passion. He called others by their first names, but only rarely did he call her Emily. She should be grateful, she supposed. If he did it too often, her imagination would send that very lonely libido into overdrive.
She could imagine his eyes as he said her name at those moments. Wait, his eyes. That’s what was dangerous. Those oh so dark and mysterious eyes. Their intensity drew her in every time. When her imagination allowed, she would wonder what they would be like focusing on her and her pleasure alone. It was enough to make both the 15 year old and the woman a little heated at her core. He looked so directly at you and almost into your soul. But then, something funny would strike him on the odd occasion and they would twinkle with just a tiny raise of an eyebrow. His eyes alone would invite you to share the joke, even if no one else got it. Rarely, the smile would travel from there all the way down to, oh my God that smile.
Well, that was it. He had a killer smile. She almost sighed in relief. She had solved the mystery. Hotch was a handsome man, for sure, but his face was always so austere and grave. There was very little to laugh at in their line of work to be sure, but he kept himself in strict control. It was probably why when he did smile, it was such a revelation. No man who kept that tight a rein on his face, who looked so stern, should have been blessed with that smile and oh oh, those dimples. It was the last thing anyone would expect out of him. Deep, dimples that flashed and took years off him. It was almost a cruel joke by God to have blessed a face that rarely smiled with those disarming adorable dimples. She realized the strength. Oh wait, that physique.
Emily knew most women would prefer the clearly sculpted and often displayed muscles of Derek Morgan. He was like a statue in the beauty of his frame. But somehow, she always saw him as a work of art instead of an object of lust. Now that long lean, tightly corded frame on Hotch. He swathed it in oh so appropriate suits. But when he would put a vest over a carefully tailored shirt, you got a sense of what lay beneath. Even in those tense moments when strapping on a vest was a tangible acknowledgement of what could happen, she would always sneak a peak and wonder about how it would feel to unstrap and unbutton him later. She would run her hands…oh the hands. She almost forgot.
They were strong, with long fingers, she was just sure would be able to reduce her to a puddle in no time. Just thinking about that made her need to shift in her seat. She knew her face was flushed from allowing her imagination to run rampant like that.
“Are you alright? You are very flushed; do you need a drink of water?” The voice that had been haunting her broke into her reverie. Oh great, she thought, now what do I tell him. She was saved by his voice again.
“I know this was a difficult case and sometimes thinking back on the danger can be upsetting. But remember, we are all highly trained to deal with danger.”
Those eyes were boring into her as he spoke. She could feel herself responding to it all. Danger? You have no idea, Aaron Hotchner, you have no idea.
Emily thinking about a certain person.:)
As she stared out the window of the jet, Emily Prentiss was not focusing on the stars or the twinkling lights of civilizations that rushed past below. She was tying to think of a word. Considering her considerable linguistic skills, it was unusual that one would elude her. But this subject matter was not easily defined. She knew if she turned her head, she would see him. But every aspect of his face was already burned into her being. Her head came up slightly as she figured it out.
Dangerous.
Aaron Hotchner was dangerous. He was a danger to the careful calm she had constructed around her life. She had taught herself to be a sea of warm calm on a team that was so tightly bound, and if she were to be honest, tightly wound. The average person would only see Hotch as dangerous if he were on the wrong end of his gun, badge and controlled fury. That wasn’t Emily’s problem.
He was a danger to her heart. It was ridiculous, really. She wasn’t some 15 year old girl to have her head turned by a gorgeous teacher. She was a grown woman. This kind of silly crush should be tucked into her memories of adolescence. The only difference between her and that 15 year old girl was that she was better at controlling her reactions and impulses.
Analyze this Emily. Break it down, and figure it out. Her inner adult reasoned with the 15 year old inside. If she could figure out what about him was causing this reaction, maybe she could quash it all.
Was it his voice? Yes, that must be it. That deep, husky voice always sent a slight shiver skittering across her nerves. On the very few occasions he had actually called her by her first name, she would imagine him whispering it into her ear. If she were alone in her bed, she would imagine how it would sound being groaned in passion. He called others by their first names, but only rarely did he call her Emily. She should be grateful, she supposed. If he did it too often, her imagination would send that very lonely libido into overdrive.
She could imagine his eyes as he said her name at those moments. Wait, his eyes. That’s what was dangerous. Those oh so dark and mysterious eyes. Their intensity drew her in every time. When her imagination allowed, she would wonder what they would be like focusing on her and her pleasure alone. It was enough to make both the 15 year old and the woman a little heated at her core. He looked so directly at you and almost into your soul. But then, something funny would strike him on the odd occasion and they would twinkle with just a tiny raise of an eyebrow. His eyes alone would invite you to share the joke, even if no one else got it. Rarely, the smile would travel from there all the way down to, oh my God that smile.
Well, that was it. He had a killer smile. She almost sighed in relief. She had solved the mystery. Hotch was a handsome man, for sure, but his face was always so austere and grave. There was very little to laugh at in their line of work to be sure, but he kept himself in strict control. It was probably why when he did smile, it was such a revelation. No man who kept that tight a rein on his face, who looked so stern, should have been blessed with that smile and oh oh, those dimples. It was the last thing anyone would expect out of him. Deep, dimples that flashed and took years off him. It was almost a cruel joke by God to have blessed a face that rarely smiled with those disarming adorable dimples. She realized the strength. Oh wait, that physique.
Emily knew most women would prefer the clearly sculpted and often displayed muscles of Derek Morgan. He was like a statue in the beauty of his frame. But somehow, she always saw him as a work of art instead of an object of lust. Now that long lean, tightly corded frame on Hotch. He swathed it in oh so appropriate suits. But when he would put a vest over a carefully tailored shirt, you got a sense of what lay beneath. Even in those tense moments when strapping on a vest was a tangible acknowledgement of what could happen, she would always sneak a peak and wonder about how it would feel to unstrap and unbutton him later. She would run her hands…oh the hands. She almost forgot.
They were strong, with long fingers, she was just sure would be able to reduce her to a puddle in no time. Just thinking about that made her need to shift in her seat. She knew her face was flushed from allowing her imagination to run rampant like that.
“Are you alright? You are very flushed; do you need a drink of water?” The voice that had been haunting her broke into her reverie. Oh great, she thought, now what do I tell him. She was saved by his voice again.
“I know this was a difficult case and sometimes thinking back on the danger can be upsetting. But remember, we are all highly trained to deal with danger.”
Those eyes were boring into her as he spoke. She could feel herself responding to it all. Danger? You have no idea, Aaron Hotchner, you have no idea.
