Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds. Obviously.
A/N: I have another HP ongoing fic, but for some reason, I just love torturing myself. This one though won't be very long...(I say that every time, so don't believe me) anyway, Complicated Times will be updated...sometime this week I hope. I'm not entirely positive since I have some tests and stuff this week but I'm trying to update at (the very) least, once every two weeks.
It started out quite simple. But then again, doesn't almost everything? A small gesture of affection – just a tiny semblance to show understanding and it'd went from there. It'd been so very simple, just a touch on the arm and now Emily Prentiss had her bare back pressed to a cold wall while hot breath came in puffs against her neck. The contrast made her moan, the feel of his lips assaulting her skin making her own breath become labored or maybe that was due to the man holding her in place. She wasn't sure.
She knew she shouldn't feel turned on at just the thought of what was happening but the moment their mouths had met, she'd felt a fire light in her veins and a pleasurable pulse resonate between her thighs. It'd been awhile since she'd had a man and this one, doing delicious things to her body, was her boss which gave it that forbidden thrill while simultaneously making her question why she'd let him rid her of her shirt and bra in the first place. Better yet, why was she so comfortable with being partially naked while Hotch was assaulting her skin with not-so-gentle nips? His mouth was on her bare flesh, tongue poking out to lavish each tender spot he bit just a little too roughly and she was urging him closer, practically begging for more. She wanted more.
None of it mattered. What started out as simple had become complicated in the best of ways and she wasn't even sure she'd care when it came time for him to leave. When it ended, when he put his clothes back on and left her room – she didn't know if she'd even be capable of thought by that point.
Her fingers tightened in his dark hair as his swept their way down her body to tug at the waistband of her pants. She helped all she could, wiggling her hips when he unfastened them and pushed them down. She had no idea why this was happening but when his tongue flicked over her collarbone, her brain powered off. No longer comprehending that they shouldn't be doing what they were doing or that it'd only end in disaster, she let herself go. For once, she gave in to the urges tugging at her heart and body, she gave in to the fingers dipping into her panties and let her nails dig into his shoulders when he stroked over her moist folds.
God. He felt good. So good that she thrust her hips into his hand with no shame in her actions. No shame over whom she was letting touch her so intimately. Shame had walked out the door the second her bra and his shirt had hit the floor. It'd be back, no doubt, but for the time being she felt nothing more than hunger, need, desire, want. So many words to describe the way she felt and yet she didn't say anything, she remained quiet.
Words would startle them both back into reality, make them realize that what they were doing was wrong and she didn't want that. Neither did he judging by the way he kept his lips busy, traveling the valley between her breasts before sucking a hardened nipple into his mouth. Her back arched, the sensation of his warm, wet tongue against her sensitive skin paired with the digit he'd slipped inside her was overwhelming. She wanted to scream, make him stop teasing and just get on with it but she couldn't because as soon as she opened her mouth and spoke, it would be over. She bit her lip to keep from demanding he go faster, but her pleading still came across in the form of whimpers and moans, grasping hands that were tugging at him, gripping his shoulders. She could feel his muscles working, and it only caused another rush of warmth to settle low in her core.
His hand moved faster between her legs and she slackened against the wall as the coil in the pit of her stomach wound tighter and tighter. She wanted him, all of him, and she wanted to tell him but she couldn't speak. It was unreal that Hotch, Aaron Hotchner, her boss had his fingers moving in and out of her and his mouth attached to her breast. She couldn't even remember the details of how they'd made it to this point. Everything was too fuzzy, clouded with the arousal and she didn't care.
A half gasp, half moan bubbled up from her lungs and her nails scraped down his back to accompany the sound when he curled his fingers. He grunted from the feel, bit down on her tender flesh and rubbed his thumb over her clit roughly - making her see stars. Later, she'd freak out. She'd worry herself sick over what was happening and why. She'd pick apart the emotions that she'd been feeling towards the dark haired man who was bringing her ungodly amounts of pleasure and she'd make excuses for why things got out of hand but she wouldn't do a thing while he had her so close. She could feel it, feel her orgasm, it was right there. He had her on the edge, panting, moving against his hand with her head thrown back and lips parted on harsh breaths.
She felt herself shatter, the coil between her thighs unraveling in rapid succession the second he grabbed her thigh to lift her leg. Her body tensed in pleasure, muscles locking as her mouth closed to stifle her moan but it didn't work, it was still audible. Her walls tightened around his fingers, her teeth bit into her lip and sank deeper with each wave that washed over her. He didn't stop, he didn't cease his movements, the hungry mouth assaulting her breasts nor the fingers still buried deep. His hand was still making her hips jerk and she could only whimper with each thrust. He was letting her ride it out but she didn't want to, she just wanted more.
With her eyes clamped shut, she slumped forward and was caught by his chest. He peppered kisses along her cheek and brushed her hair out of her face. It was then that he drew his hand back from her most intimate of places and rested it on her hip. With her chest heaving, she thought he was being almost sweet but then she remembered who, exactly, had just brought her to a shuddering orgasm with nothing more than talented touch. This was bad, it was worse than bad. He was her boss and still she didn't move to stop him when he pushed his pants and boxers down. She wanted him too much.
There was no doubt in her mind that they'd both regret what was about to happen, she knew just by the way he wouldn't meet her gaze and she knew she should say something, keep them both from making the mistake but she couldn't. She tried but her voice wouldn't come and the words remained lodged in her throat. She felt herself flush when his gaze lingered a little too long on various parts of her body and though it was wrong, she couldn't tear her eyes away from his very prominent erection. She'd never considered a naked man to be beautiful but he was.
So wrong. They both knew it, so why wasn't either of them making an effort to halt things before it got too far out of hand? Emily didn't know but she didn't much care. A man she'd come to admire, trust wholeheartedly, and perhaps love just a tiny bit was stepping closer and she felt him press hot and hard against her stomach.
When gazes met, she felt her heart drop and reality crashed around them. His eyes were filled with so much sorrow and pain, she just wanted to take it all away but he made it hard. He never let her in, he never let anyone in but she was about to let him use her body to release his emotions, his anger, his pain, and even if it wasn't special to him, it would be to her. Emily knew she had to decide if she was really going to go through with it or if she was going to end things before it went passed the point of fixing.
"H-Hotch..." Light, rough fingers brushed along her jaw, his thumb stroking over her bottom lip and the beginnings of a dimple appeared on his cheek but it was saddened by the look in his dark eyes.
"Shh, don't. Please don't talk." The word 'please' startled her. She never expected to hear it sound so desperate when coming from the man she looked up to. He was always so strong, brave with his facial features and calm with words but with his body so close, so naked, and his eyes shining, she could see that he needed to be reminded that he was human.
He didn't want her talking because he didn't want to stop. She could see that too and she knew the feeling. But one question was torturing her to the point of regretting the sexual acts they'd already engaged in – the first kiss, the second, the desperate tugging of clothes, the feel of his hands on her skin. Would they be able to work together after this?
Her heart was pounding, slamming against her ribcage, her eyes glued to his. She wanted to tell him that they shouldn't but what was the point when he already knew? It was in his gaze, his sad dark eyes that were hooded with arousal told her that he knew exactly what thoughts were running through her head. But he wasn't stepping away, both were fully bare of clothing and he just looked so different than the Hotch she was used to seeing. He looked broken, more than he'd ever let on after Hailey died or maybe that was part of what he was showing her now. She wasn't sure; she just knew that she wanted to help. She wanted that look to go away and without another word, she leaned in and let her mouth meld against his.
He'd kissed her. He'd made the move but she was the one doing the kissing this time. It was her who let her tongue brush against his bottom lip, her who initiated that it was okay by the wandering of her hands. His skin was hot beneath her fingertips, his muscles flexed with each stroke and when she let her palms settle on his chest it was clear to both of them that they weren't stopping.
The kiss became less soft, more lust filled with teeth nipping and tongues dueling consistently, Emily pulled Hotch closer and wrapped her legs around his waist when he hoisted her up. Part of her noted that there was a bed not even six feet away and longed for it but she knew this wasn't about romance. It wasn't about seduction or love, or any emotion that would call for something slower, softer. It was raw, sad, a little angry and when she felt his tip brush against her entrance, she willed her thoughts away.
He was her boss, he was Hotch and she was Emily, there was nothing loving between them. The bed wasn't an option or he would've already made his way over to it. He was a gentleman and that was part of the reason she let him thrust into her, fill her, moan against her mouth as their hips met as one. He was Hotch and she cared about him – maybe loved him – and she wanted to help him. Even though sex was probably the wrong way to do it.
Her body clenched around him, mouths separated, and she waited. She waited for movement, for the feel of him pulling out of her but he just kept his nose against hers, kept his eyes closed. It was verging on uncomfortable, she hadn't had a man between her thighs in awhile and he wasn't exactly what she'd consider small but she didn't say anything. It was obvious that he needed the pause, his muscles were way too tense, his hands were gripping her so tightly that she figured bruises were already forming along her hip and back and his breaths were forced.
Emily waited but a small sound of discomfort escaped her lungs the moment he started to move his hips. It caught her off guard and took a few seconds for her to catch the rhythm but once she did, her tiny gasp of protest became soft sounds of mounting pleasure. He felt good, he felt strong and weak at the same time, his thrusts were timed, steady, hard but his lips were soft, sporadic against her jaw, and trembling. She couldn't get the wires in her brain to connect long enough to concentrate on anything but the feel of him inside of her no matter how badly she wanted to analyze his behavior.
Her body was still humming from her first orgasm and the second was building, bubbling, growing, becoming more and more apparent. She'd wanted to help him and she could barely even move. He was calling the shots, she was just along for the ride. Her fingers were embedded into him, practically pinching his back with each push of his body into hers and she wouldn't be surprised if she drew blood. He didn't seem to mind, he didn't seem to even notice. It was like he didn't notice anything.
His thrusts came faster, harder, and she knew he wasn't going to last. The straining in his muscles, the harsh breaths and the way he was slowly losing control of his movements gave it away. She wasn't that close. He was going to be done long before her and it became clear to her that that was the reason he'd pleasured her first. It wasn't because he'd wanted to – although maybe he had, she didn't know – it was because he was a gentleman.
Unwilling to go along with the plan, she let her left hand move from his back to slip between their bodies. She'd been inactive for long enough and knew exactly how she could make it a little more pleasurable for him while doing herself a favor in the process. A breathy whisper fell from her tongue, his name, when he caressed her breast and her own fingers found their destination.
Their thrusts were rough, wild, and she rubbed over her clit to further stimulate them both. This was her way of helping. He'd initiated that he needed intimate contact and she was giving it to him. He didn't bat her hand away, try to do it himself, he let her touch herself, let her continue as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and index finger. She cried out, couldn't hold it in any longer, and with each deep stroke came a grunt from the man moving between her thighs. He was about to topple over the edge, she could feel it and she rubbed faster, making her walls clench around him. The fluttering was too much for him, she knew it would be and when his hips jerked – slamming into her – she felt him give in, felt his warmth fill her and his body slacken but she kept touching herself until her own muscles tightened, till her vision went blurry in a haze of ecstasy.
Neither moved, sweat slicked bodies began to cool while tangled together and Emily kept her legs wrapped around Hotch's waist. Seconds ticked by, then minutes, and she just held him. If it wasn't for the feel of his breath on her neck and the heavy rise and fall of his shoulder, she'd swear he was dead. He was so still, so quiet, and she was terrified of what happened now. The fear in her chest swelled with each minute and by the time that five had passed, she was shaking.
She'd known it would happen, she'd known and still she hadn't stopped him. A few more seconds ticked by and the unbearable silence just became too much for her. On one hand, she wanted to stay wrapped up in him, filled by him and on the other she wanted to pretend it'd never happened at all.
"I-I uh," Words weren't easy for her to find, she stumbled and it proved that there was no way she'd be able to actually face him and only think of him as her boss after this. When he pulled away, letting her legs fall to find steady ground, and finally opened his eyes, the sadness and pain were gone but replaced by something worse. Hatred was burning there, but she could see that it wasn't directed at her but himself. In her attempt to help him, she'd made things worse.
It hadn't been her intentions but then again, those had been rather selfish. Everything was complicated. There was no yes or no answer to anything. It wasn't black or white. They were both fully surrounded and submerged in a lake of nothing but gray.
"I have to go." He rushed, tugging on clothes, not even bothering to button his shirt all the way or put his jacket back on and Emily stood there, naked, a little confused. She expected this but not quite to the extent of him rushing out the door before she could even speak. He was to the door before she could even step away from the wall and she really thought he was just going to leave but he didn't.
His hand met the handle, then stalled and he looked over his shoulder. There were only a couple of times that Emily had seen Hotch show his emotions and the way he let his eyes trail over her was literally heartbreaking. A lump formed in her throat, making it tight and hard to breathe.
"I'm sorry Prentiss. That never should have happened." They'd known it going in, they'd known it while they were getting it on against the wall and yet it hurt to hear. Swallowing roughly, she nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. Now she was embarrassed at being seen. "But it did and neither of us tried to stop it."
"Hotch, I didn't mean-"
"I'll see you in the morning." And he was gone. She was standing there, feeling cold and alone, and her hair was sticking to her face due to the sweat they'd worked up. She could smell him on her skin and knew a shower would be best but her energy was depleted, she had nothing left and without even tugging on anything more than a shirt, she fell into bed and let sleep overtake her exhausted body. The case was going to emotionally kill them all. It started off simple, both the case and the thing with Hotch, but by this point it was anything but. What happened now?
a/n: Um, yeah, I don't really know where this idea came from. It just appeared out of nowhere and this will probably be one of those stories where we'll see some backstory in the next chapter. This is pretty much a prologue.