Author's Note: This is the companion to Chiroho's hilarious A Hard Day at Work. You really have to read his version first because mine is the supplement. And I'm not just saying that, there's a whole KEY segment of his story I just gloss over in recap so if you haven't read his yet, run away now and come back in six minutes :)

Done? Okay, good. Now Chiroho has dubbed this little series the 'Being Aaron Hotchner, Being Emily Prentiss' collection. But please remember, these our HIS stories, I'm just Supporting Player Girl. I made sure my channeling of Emily met with his approval before I put this up. It did. And hopefully it will meet with yours as well because I kind of had some big shoes to fill with his Hotch piece. So for your (hopeful) reading pleasure, the red sweater story told totally from Emily's POV.


Prompt Challenge #13

Show: Friends

Title Challenge: The One with the Red Sweater


Being Aaron Hotchner and Being Emily Prentiss – Story 2

Breaking Aaron Hotchner

Today is the day. Today is the day. Today is the day.

I repeat the mantra in my head as I'm lying in bed staring up at the ceiling. Yes, I know I need to get up but the psych-up is very important. Because this is going to be a big day.

Today is the day that I'm going to break that cool exterior of his.

Today I'm going to break Aaron Hotchner.

The man oozes sex, OOZES it, and yet he tries to pretend like he's all above basic emotional or physical needs.

And for awhile I almost fell for it. I'd resigned myself to nothing ever happening between us. But now I know that's all crap. NOW I know that's all an act. Because I, Emily Elizabeth Prentiss, have found Hotch's kryptonite.

Boobs.

BOOBS! Who would have thunk it? But two weeks ago I wore a new shirt to work. I didn't realize it was so low cut until I was at the coffee shop and my barista . . . wait, is it baristo, when it's a guy? What if it's a transgendered person? . . . eh, never mind, off topic . . . anyway CHIP, asked me if I wanted whip cream on my 'grande lowfat gingerbread breasts.' Of course he'd then immediately turned bright red, stuttered and broke out in a new rash of pimples, but he had at least brought a point to my attention.

The girls were on display.

But it was too late to go home and change so I figured I walk around with a few folders in front of my chest and I could get through the day without looking like Barberella.

So I get to work and the folder trick is working well. Nobody (and by nobody I mean Morgan) has made a Baywatch joke so I figure I'm good. Except I don't think to do the folder thing around Hotch because he's, well, Hotch.

But then I caught HIM checking out my tits! And not once . . . not twice . . . but THREE times!

Each time he thought he looked away quickly enough, but I saw him. And let me just say, three years I've worked with the man, not ONCE have I ever had to say "eyes up" to Aaron Hotchner.

Reid, yes.

Dave, yes.

Morgan, HELL yes!

But not Hotch. Not Mr. Super Human Self Control. Well, Mr. Super Human Self Control is going down today.

So to speak.

Or maybe not . . . I shrug slightly as I push back the blankets and climb out of bed . . . we'll see how the day goes.

But first . . . I pad over to my closet . . . what to wear? I need something eye catching but not slutty. This is work after all. I can't show up dressed like a skank.

Or that girl down in Ballistics.

Honestly, who wears a push up bra to the FBI Academy? Her tits were practically touching her chin!

All right . . . again off topic Emily, off topic . . . stay focused.

I'm trying to stay focused but as I'm rifling through my closet I'm seeing nothing.

Well, nothing good anyway.

Okay what the . . . when the hell did I buy a leopard print tank top? WHERE did I think I was going to wear that?

That goes on the floor. Along with the acid washed jean jacket . . . I tell myself it was the style and then I tell myself that still doesn't make it right.

Dear God . . . my eyes widen . . . the flannel shirt.

I'd totally forgotten I had this. For a split second I debate keeping it. Not for any sentimental value . . . there is NO sentiment here . . . it's just as I finger the material I realize it's nice and soft. And probably warm. Though I haven't worn it in almost a decade . . . and I just wore it the one VERY long weekend . . . it seems like it might come in handy some day.

Then I decide the memories associated outweigh any practical usage. After all it was bought for that disastrous camping trip with Darren back in 1999.

The one where I discovered he was sleeping with my now EX best friend.

And then after that devastating revelation, he and I were stuck together in a flooded Yellowstone National Park for two additional days during which time I ran down the list of people that knew we'd gone away for the weekend, and whether any of them would pass that information along to the authorities if Darren just didn't come home.

Okay, yeah . . . I drop the shirt on the carpet . . . clearly NOT a good memory.

I continue scowling at the ridiculous items I've collected over the years. Why I never clean my closet out I do not know. Well, perhaps because I wear like five outfits and that's it.

Things go into the wash, they come out of the wash, I put them on again.

NOBODY needs or wears half of the things in their wardrobe. So . . . though this really isn't the time . . . I start throwing more items on the floor . . . cringing the whole time as I imagine the look on the Goodwill lady's face.

She's going to think I have terrible taste.

Once I get all the crap out of the closet, I run my eyes over what's left.

And then I see it.

The one.

The one that's going to break him.

I slide it off the hangar and grin . . . oh yeah, he's mine.

//////

Jesus flipping Christ!

I shove my way out from between the gaggle of men crowding around me on the elevator, and then stumble into the corridor.

I'll be amazed if none of those letches get off on their own floors with broken noses.

In my haste to get to the office and break the man I've wanted for going on eight months now, I had forgotten that Hotch was not the only man on the planet that liked breasts.

Rather short sighted yes, but I was a girl on a mission. But every step of the way in, starting with my doorman (who smacked himself in the face with the door) continuing through Baristo(a) Chip turning a shade of red so bright I honestly thought I should call an ambulance for him . . . I've been dealing with the baser instincts of the male species.

Hmph . . . I huff to myself . . . like a woman would ever go so nuts staring at a guy's crotch.

And besides, it's really creepy getting that much attention from strange men. God, all I'm trying to do is emotionally manipulate the one totally hot, sexy guy I have a thing for! Is that so wrong?!

Oh right . . . I push the glass doors open . . . it is wrong. But he brought it on himself. If he'd just displayed the qualities of a Ross . . . no . . . of a Morg . . . no . . . well, if he'd just displayed some NORMAL male interest in the opposite sex then I wouldn't have been reduced to what I'd been reduced to today.

Really . . . I drop my bag on my desk and continue up the stairs with his coffee . . . I think that when this is all over he's going to owe me some sort of compensatory damages for all the leering I'm going to have to put up with today.

Just before I step through his open door I discreetly pop the button on my jacket, take a deep breath . . . better to push the girls out . . . and saunter on in announcing in my best sing song voice.

"Morning, Hotch. Picked you up some coffee on the way in."

I can see his eyes slowly travel up my legs . . . I pat myself on the back for going with the skirt . . . before they snap to my face and he gives me one of those adorable little smiles.

"Thanks Emily."

And then I see his gaze drop down to the intended target before they seem to get stuck there for a second. He honest to God swallows. I can see his Adam's apple move.

This was going to be much easier than I thought.

I can barely restrain my amusement as I ask, "everything okay, Hotch?" then I gave him a little smile, "you seem a little flushed."

Then he does the Hotch version of a squeak as he says, "I'm fine."

Hotch squeaking isn't like other people's. To the untrained ear there was nothing there. But it was easily perceptible to me because he had the words out of his mouth before I'd finished my sentence.

He's uncomfortable. And Hotch is NEVER uncomfortable. This is a moment I need to exploit for my own personal gain. But unfortunately before I can tease him any further, JJ pops up behind us to announce the briefing.

Damn it.

But my irritation immediately fades as I hear that nearly imperceptible waver in his voice again as he tells our media liaison to pass the word that we're starting in ten minutes. I almost chuckle.

He's gone flying past uncomfortable straight to flat out rattled. Which is exactly what I need.

Still though, I take pity on him as I pull the girls back and tuck them beneath the jacket again.

The poor guy should be allowed to regroup before round two. But still, as I look at him there still so outwardly calm and collected, I can't resist one more dig.

"Are you sure you're feeling well, Aaron?" I purr in my huskiest voice.

It's really a good thing JJ stepped out already or she totally would be calling me on this right now.

At his ultra serious nod that he was fine and thanking me again for the coffee, I smirk.

'Buckle up honey, the day's just getting started.'

////////

Crap on a cracker where the hell is he?!

I've been sitting here with Tweedledum and Tweedledee, aka Agents Copperfield and Lehrer from Counter Terrorism, for the better part of twenty minutes now. I'd been shooing men away . . . and by shooing I mean threatening physical body harm . . . for the better part of the day. But when these two chuckleheads showed up it was right after I'd gotten a call from the Wicked Witch's secretary that Hotch was on his way back. Yes, I bribed Nancy to call me. But I'm working a well oiled machine here and Elphaba had completely loused up my big plans.

How am I supposed to taunt/tantalize him with the my totally hot bod (if I do say so myself) if he isn't here to see me?! Though the fact that he was practically drooling in the briefing was a good sign, I totally lost my momentum.

Hence the need for the props . . . Deedle and Dum.

Hotch is an alpha. Alphas are territorial. And given how he was looking at me this morning, these two chuckleheads are going to elicit a response.

And oooh! Oooh! Here he comes!

When Hotch is directly in my line of sight I quickly feign interest in what Tweedledee is saying. As my target walks up I can see the jaw twitch.

Alpha male is in the building. I repeat alpha male is in the building!

I prime the pump, "Hotch, do you remember Agents Copperfield and Lehrer from Counter Terrorism?"

Then he breaks out my second favorite glare as he inquires coldly, "captured all the terrorists on the FBI's Most Wanted List yet, Agents?"

Now the last time Hotch used this glare was at Dave's summer cookout. Kevin dropped a plate of potato salad in Hotch's lap and then in his panic to clean it up actually put his hands on Hotch's dick!

The glare was used in conjunction with the crunching of three of Kevin's right fingers.

Kevin was so horrified/in such intense physical pain that he THREW UP in Dave's rose bushes!

It was awesome!

And essentially the glare has the same effect this time . . . though sans vomiting . . . as Dee and Dum flee like their asses are on fire.

My eyes snap back to Hotch's . . . God the man is so HOT when he's jealous! Seriously I could throw him down on my desk right now.

Okay, breathe Em, breathe. Nice and slow. You're supposed to be getting HIM worked up, not you.

With a few more of the shallow breaths, I manage to half ass get my libido back under control. But good Christ this better work or I'm going to seriously have to consider making a man out of Chip tonight.

As my props hit the glass doors I pout at Hotch. Now I do this because well, tick tock goes the clock.

It's almost five, that pain in the ass Strauss ended up ruining my big extended plan for the day, and I'm thinking I need to escalate if I don't want to have to call this puppy a draw and start fresh tomorrow.

Honest to Christ I don't know if I have it in me to play this game again tomorrow. These heels hurt like a bitch!

Now I have never before pouted at my boss. Probably never will again. Well, certainly not in the bullpen anyway, but at this moment in time, it seems like my best move. And I can see from the slight widening of his eyes that I have definitely . . . once again . . . caught him off guard. So I quickly take advantage and let the girls back out to play.

I've tried to keep them under wraps today, but the damn jacket is almost as form fitting as the sweater. It's just that the jacket is black and the sweater is red. So the color of the sweater draws the eye and then it basically stays there.

Again, the intention was only to get Hotch's eyes to stay there, NOT every hetero male on the floor!

Christ even Reid's been . . . whoa . . . Hotch's dig just took care of that for me. Good. Because I was down to shooting elastics at Spencer's forehead. The last time I did it he jerked to the side and I nearly took out his eye.

Yes, I want him to stop looking at my chest, BUT, I don't actually want to blind the kid. The punishment would be rather excessive for the crime.

Oh, and Hotch also just slammed Derek on the hangover. Excellent.

See, this is why Hotch and I are a perfect couple, because every time Morgan went to make a crack about my outfit, I made a crack about his bloodshot eyes.

That shut him down like last call . . . yes, I used that line too.

Suddenly Hotch shoots me a look before he leans down and whispers in my ear, "my office - ten minutes. You'd better be ready."

Oh . . . crap.

My breath catches, my heart skips a beat and my stomach flips. Honestly, I'm surprised I don't slide out of the chair and hit the floor.

I TOTALLY just lost control of the situation here!

Does he actually want to do it in his office!? Doesn't he know that I just talk a big game?! I can't have SEX in the OFFICE! I'm not that girl!

THAT girl works in Ballistics!

Shit! What the hell am I supposed to do now?

/////

By the time I go up to his office nine minutes and fifty two seconds later, I've worked myself into a nice little state. I've put all this effort into breaking down his perfect self control and it seems that I have been successful. I've worked him into such a state that he wants me like NOW! What, like he can't even wait until we get to the car! Not that I'm the kind of girl that has sex in the car either . . . okay there was that one time in . . . off topic Emily, the point is, GOOD GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE?!

When I step through the door, my nerves are completely shot and I honest to God have no idea what I'm going to do. This is all I've wanted since the Spring . . . him . . . but I honestly don't know if I have the balls to go through with it here. But what if I shut it down and I lose my window?

Crap.

And then I look up at him and he smiles. It's a full smile with both dimples and suddenly another emotion fills me. Not the lust I had earlier but a wave of genuine warmth and affection. And I remember that I don't just want him to be mine because he's the hottest thing since sliced bread. There are a whole host of other reasons that I want him in my bed. And those other reasons momentarily push aside my fear and I feel the blush climb my cheeks.

"Come in, Emily. Please shut the door," he says softly.

My eyes shift back to the bullpen for a moment.

It's put up or shut up time Emily, what are you going to do?

I make my decision and quietly click the door shut. Then I square my shoulders and turn to face him again.

All day I've been flirting, trying to keep this fun and superficial and now's the time to really tell him what I want. But when I open my mouth the only thing that comes out is, "um . . ."

Oh dear God! Emily you speak SIX languages and the best you can come up with right now is 'umm!'

But before I can say anything else Hotch is taking off his jacket, loosening his tie and walking up to me as he asks, "so, should we do this on the couch, or on my desk?"

My eyes pop out, "SIR!?"

HOLY SHIT! He wasn't screwing around! We were totally going to do it in his office!

Before I've even fully processed the implications here, he's in my space, unbuttoning my jacket as he whispers, "it's a simple question, Emily. Do you have a preference?"

Okay, the voice is doing things to my body that I really never expected . . . or previously wanted . . . to have done to my body while I was in the office. And then he's slipping his hand under my jacket, his fingers are gliding over my waist and slowly up my side.

And then those warm digits are caressing the outer curve of my breast and . . . my breath catches . . . oh dear GOD he's KILLING me!

My eyes close as I moan, "couch."

Then I hear him say in that same sexy voice, "okay," and I'm bracing myself for him to rip my clothes off . . . preferably with his teeth . . . when suddenly the magic fingers are gone and I hear.

"You take these, and I'll take the others."

The sexy voice is gone, it's all business Hotch back again.

What the . . .?!

My eyes pop open to see him with case files in his hand and I yell indignantly, "WHAT?!"

Is he fucking kidding me?!

Then to my astonishment he drops down on the couch as he says nonchalantly, "I figure that if we do this together, it will be that much faster. And as you obviously don't have a lot of paperwork at the moment, I assumed you had plenty of time to help me out."

PAPERWORK!! HE CALLED ME UP HERE TO DO PAPERWORK!!!

But he totally just felt me up! You don't get to feel a girl up and then tell her to do PAPERWORK! That's just . . . wrong!

And to tell him just how wrong that is, I shoot him the nastiest glare I have. I know it's not as good as the ones in his arsenal, but I once scared the crap out of Morgan with it so I know it's not completely ineffectual. But Hotch is obviously immune because he just shrugs at me, and that's the last straw.

"Why you low down, son of a BITCH!"

Oops. Yeah, there was a little more vitriol on that utterance than I was expecting. For a second I feel a twinge of guilt, but then I remember that he totally deserved it.

Though from the look Hotch is shooting me, apparently he disagrees.

"Need I remind you Agent Prentiss of section V subsection 3.2 of the FBI code of conduct? Insulting a superior will result in disciplinary action. Now sit down, please."

Did he actually just quote code of conduct to me?! The man was just feeling up my tits and he's quoting code of conduct to ME?!

Feeling a newfound source of anger to tap into, the glare takes on a new wattage.

But he again barely glances at me and I realize he's immune to that one too.

Crap.

Finally I just huff in resignation and drop down next to him on the couch.

Paperwork . . . I pick up one of the files . . . I thought I was coming up here to get laid and I'm doing flipping paperwork.

My thoughts are interrupted by Hotch's quiet voice saying my name. But I'm still distracted by my internal grumblings as I turn to him and mumble, "hmmm?"

And then suddenly his lips are covering mine and a second later his tongue's in my mouth and those magic fingers are once again caressing the curve of my breast. But this time his thumb is rubbing slow circles around my nipple and after about thirty seconds of these three moves in tandem, I'm fairly sure this is about as much pleasure as I've ever experienced with all my clothes on.

And when he reluctantly pulls away two minutes and twelve seconds later, both of us panting, my bones are practically jelly. I slump back against the couch, my eyes barely open as I whisper, "wow."

I KNEW he'd be good at this! The blisters from these heels were definitely worth it!

And then he flashes me those adorable dimples again as he says, "we'll continue this later. Your place, or mine?"

My hand flaps as I give him a little smile, "I don't care, so long as you do that again."

He flashes a wolfish grin, "oh believe me, Emily. There are better things than that in store for you this evening," and then his hand, the one with those magic fingers, is sliding up my thigh and I can't stop the shudder that goes through my body.

"You're a bad, bad man, Aaron Hotchner," I whisper as my hand covers his.

He laughs as he pats my leg, "you're the one who started this. Don't blame me if it ended up somewhere you didn't expect." Then he pulls his hand back and turns his attention to the stack of case files on the table in front of us. He's quiet for a second before he adds, "one last thing though," and I pull myself up with a little smile.

"Yes?"

"Don't ever wear that sweater to work again, unless you really do want to choose between this couch and my desk."

I laugh, and then I realize from the look he's giving me that he's not kidding and I laugh even harder as I lean over to kiss his cheek. When I pull back I wipe the lipstick away as I wink at him, "understood," I jerk my chin towards the paperwork in front of him, "now pass me a stack of those babies so we can get the hell out of here."

///////

It took us another two hours but we did eventually clear up every scrap of paper of that table. Hotch convinced me that if we finished all of them then we could sleep in tomorrow morning. I started to pout and then he squeezed my knee and promised that there would actually be very little sleeping during the sleeping in portion of the morning.

To that I suppressed another moan before I leaned past him to grab another file off the stack.

And now we're on our way to the elevator, and I know that the only thing that's keeping Hotch's hands off my ass right now are the video cameras. As it is his hand is VERY low on my back, his fingers digging possessively into my waist. I pretend to be rummaging into my bag so that nobody . . . as in the security guys on the other end of those monitors (just about everyone on the floor is gone) . . . will notice I'm actually leaning against Hotch's side.

Two plus hours locked in that little office together and . . . though I can't speak for Hotch . . . I'm about ready to burst.

I might actually become a sex in the car girl.

Just as we step into the elevator Hotch whispers something dirty in my ear and I start to giggle. Which is the exact moment we both hear a voice from a distance but coming up fast.

"Agent Prentiss! Agent Prentiss, would you like to get a drink tonight!?"

Both of our heads snap up to see Agent Lehrer sprinting towards the elevator. I hear something approximating a growl come low out of Hotch's throat just before his hand pops out and hits the door close button.

Just as Agent Lehrer hit the open space.

There's an audible crunch and then an "OH MY NOSE!" heard from the other side of the doors just after they slam shut.

My eyebrow rises in astonishment as I turn to Hotch and say in disbelief, "you busted his nose for asking me out for a DRINK!?"

To which he huffs indignantly, "I never laid a hand on him," then his hand slides back around my waist again as he pulls me against his front and whispers, "he's the jackass who couldn't maneuver an open doorway."

Feeling what was now pressing against my front, I bite back my third moan of the night as I whisper back, "you're right," I rub against him, "he is a jackass." Then I slid my hands around Hotch's waist as I press my lips against his ear, "and I think I've decided my place is closer by seven tenths of a mile."

I punctuate my last word with another grind against his waist. To which Hotch responds with . . . not a Hotch squeak . . . but an honest to God squeak, squeak.

I grin.

'Oh yeah, we were definitely sleeping in tomorrow.'


A/N 2: Chiroho's comments back on my initial draft said it might be kind of funny if I added this to my 'busted nose' series so I added the last segment on for him :) Poor Tweedledee never saw it coming.

This was fun because I did have to write a 'new' Emily. I tried to tailor my style here to Chiroho's style in the Hotch piece so they would flow well together. Hopefully I was successful, but please let me know if you liked it. And if you haven't already dropped him a line, please do so for Chiroho as well. After all, this is HIS story :)

Lastly, this one is actually dedicated to Chiroho because I've had kind of a crappy week (hence the lack of my usual writing production) and he's been very good to me. I even got my own story and pajama collection! If you aren't familiar with "siennawear" you can read about it over in the next story in this series, "Victoria's Secret or Harry David?" also on Chiroho's site. Thanks for everything hon :)

And I will be doing a companion to the Victoria's Secret story as well. It'll be up before Christmas. I'm now officially on vacation, (though I do have some work to do from home tomorrow) and should be able to get not only get caught up, but hopefully get a little ahead, over the next two weeks. I also will get caught up on my review correspondence because I know I owe probably about twenty people a note. Sorry, did I mention I didn't have a very good week? But again, thank you for all the feedback, please know it's always much appreciated even if the sometimes lengthy delay in my response might seem a little rude. There are just never enough hours in the day :)

I will be back here before Christmas so I won't wish you a happy holiday, but for everyone traveling this week, have a safe trip :)