Hotch and Emily are undercover not long after Emily is back with the BAU. Will this be the thing that finally makes them talk about their could-have-been past? Story for Sussiray! Rated for sexiness and later chapters.
This is a story for SussiRay, who gave me the prompt 'undercover'. If you haven't read her stuff, you're really missing out!
Warning – 18 and over only please. Sexual content. Light cursing.
It's just a job, it's just a job, it's just a job.
Those were the words Emily Prentiss kept repeating to herself in the dressing room, trying not to grimace at her reflection as she applied heavy black eyeliner underneath each eye before topping it off with dark blue eye shadow and fire engine red lipstick. She slid her hand beneath the nearly see-through red corset, perking up each breast until she was sure they would spill out of the ridiculously tight garment. She pulled at a dark curl, trying to loosen it so it matched the rest around her head, her lips pursing in disapproval when it didn't do what she wanted.
"Damn," she muttered, fussing with the one curl until it finally submitted to her persistent pulling.
Emily gave her reflection a pleased smile, but it quickly faded when she looked at the rest of her outfit – a tight black miniskirt, a pair of black fishnet stockings, and five-inch stilettos to finish off the look. She applied a small amount of gloss over her lipstick, pressing her lips together and then using a napkin to wipe off the excess. Yanking at the skirt, she got it to where it wasn't cutting into her hips, and finally decided she should probably go wait her turn backstage. One of the girls was waiting for her outside the room, her eyes glassy and her nose red, but she was still with it enough to give Emily an easy smile before grabbing her wrist and dragging her into a dimly lit area. Nerves took over as she silently greeted the three other women, small smiles being passed between them.
"Quite the crowd tonight," one said quietly, peeking out through a black curtain. "Come have a look, Tina."
It took Emily a moment to realize that the blonde was talking to her. "Oh, sure."
"Probably nothing compared to your last gig, huh?" she asked, her voice friendly but her eyes clearly jealous.
Emily shrugged, not really knowing how to respond. Instead, she slipped past the shorter woman, tilting her head to look out into the dark club. There were a few dozen people, small groups at tables, others at the bar or lurking in a dark corner. One of them is our UNSUB, she thought, a small shudder running down her spine.
"Nervous, sweetheart?" the glassy-eyed one slurred. "S'okay, don't worry. You're smokin', baby; they'll love you even if you ain't so good."
"Thanks," Emily muttered, still scanning the club, starting with the backmost corner, trying to commit every face to memory.
She saved the best for last, the face that instantly quelled her nerves, yet made her heart flutter at the same time. A small wave of irritation floated through her, but she ignored it, knowing that there was no point. Ever since she had come back to the team, they had treated her differently. It had been six months since Ian Doyle had been murdered, but only two since Emily had been back on the team. Half the time she felt overprotected, like there was never a second of the day someone wasn't right behind her. The other half of the time, she felt as if they resented her, like they could barely even stand looking at her. She didn't blame them for how they acted, not even a little. She didn't complain or whine, never asked them to leave her alone or to just talk to her how they used to.
And then came the assignment she swore Hotch took just to spite her.
He had called her into his office a week ago, asking her to close the door and have a seat. He'd explained that there were five people murdered within a six day period, and the only way that they'd be able to intervene quickly was to have an agent undercover. He'd used the excuse that all the other teams with females were on cases or on hiatus, leaving it up to Emily. She'd argued that Seaver was a female, but Hotch had just shook his head and said it was dark haired women he was preying upon. As much as she wanted to ask why Seaver couldn't wear a wig, she kept her mouth shut and nodded, waiting for him to give further instructions.
Hotch had told her that because the local PD hadn't been able to catch him, no matter how many stakeouts they had attempted, the BAU was to step in immediately. Even through the nitty and gritty parts of the assignment, Hotch never showed emotion, his face not giving away how he had truly felt while explaining in detail how it was going to be played out. That was what bothered her the most. She tried to stay just as emotionless, but she couldn't hide her shock when he explained exactly how they were going to grab his attention. He had given Emily three days to learn a routine, to be trained in an art that she had never imagined herself doing.
Loud music filled her eardrums, pulling her out of her memories, and she stepped away from the curtain as if burned. The blonde snickered and flipped her hair, sweeping past Emily without apologizing when they knocked shoulders. She didn't watch the other girls on stage, knowing her nervous stomach wouldn't be able to handle it if she thought too much about what she was actually planning to do. One of the girls tried to make small talk while she waited her turn, but Emily didn't have much to say. Taking her lack of response as rudeness, the girl finally pursed her lips and just walked away to talk to the one who was stumbling about a few feet away.
It seemed like each girl took hours and hours, but once the last girl disappeared behind the curtain, time sped up to an extreme. It felt like only seconds before the girl came back, sweaty and panting, her arm over her naked breasts. She grabbed a white robe that was hanging near the curtain, giving Emily a friendly wink before sauntering off, covering up as she made her way back down the hall toward the dressing room. Emily thought about following her. Her palms began to sweat, her stomach rolling and she instantly regretted the club sandwich she had eaten for dinner. But she didn't have time to think about that.
"Show time," she muttered sardonically, taking one last deep breath before the first beat of the familiar song rang out through the club. Plastering on a sultry grin, she pushed through the curtain, letting her mind go blank in order to focus on nothing but the music.
Aaron Hotchner watched as girl after girl came on stage, some slow seductive song blaring out of the speakers for them to dance to. The first two didn't do anything for him, one too blonde and fake looking, the other stumbling around like she'd snorted one too many lines and taken down a few too many shots before wobbling out onto the stage. The third was a little better, but he'd never been attracted to girls with pink hair. By the fourth dancer, he had given up hope on even enjoying the show. Sure, her breasts were good-sized and her body was curvy, but for some reason he wasn't even a little turned on while she took all but her garters and heels off. Maybe a slight twitch, a very low jolt now and again when she'd slide up and down the pole, but it wasn't enough to get him hard.
But then she slinked onto the stage. He could only compare her movements to that of a cat, fluid and graceful. She looked as though she were walking on air, her heels not even making that annoying clicking sound as the second and third dancers had. He drank her in, starting with her hair and burning a trail all the way down to her toes. He suddenly found his dress pants extremely tight in the crotch. Hotch shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable, but it was useless. He was rock hard just from a quick onceover, and she hadn't even started her routine.
"I'm doomed," he muttered to himself, trying but failing to tear his eyes away from her hips, which had begun swaying in time with the music.
He watched with keen interest as Emily smoothed her hands over her hair, sensually running them over her breasts that were bursting from her top. His breathing was labored as her fingers teased the hem of her corset, allowing the audience to see just a sliver of her pale hipbones and flat stomach. A man whistled from the table next to his, and Hotch had a sudden urge to reach over and slug the man who had obviously drank too much, but he reminded himself why they were there. He focused back on Emily just in time to watch her sliding her hands up and down her fishnet-covered thighs, the bottom of her skirt rising dangerously close to areas of her body Hotch had only fantasized about.
"Gentlemen," a deep male voice sounded over the music while Emily leaned against the metal pole in the middle of the stage, grinding her ass against it before dropping down into a crouching position only to quickly slide back up, "this is Teasin' Tina, our new lap dance girl!"
Hoots, hollers, and applause deafened the club, and Hotch watched in disgust as men began waving large bills in the air, a clear invitation. Emily turned, her back to the crowd, her hands wrapping around the pole. They all watched with open mouths as Emily hiked one leg up, hooking it around the pole and doing a full spin, landing back where she had started before grinding up and down on it. Hotch had never been more jealous of an inanimate object in his life, and he wasn't alone in that. Men started calling to her, openly begging to 'break her in', as one man shouted.
"Only one lucky man will have this lovely lady tonight," continued the voice over the speakers. "Tina, pick your man!"
Emily shot a look over her shoulder that had Hotch gasping for breath, the sheer seductiveness of her gaze as she scanned the crowd almost enough to have him lose his composure and bombard her while she was on the stage. Apparently, another had the same idea but was too drunk to stay inactive. Before Hotch had a chance to even stand, a bouncer had the man who was fast approaching the stage by the arm, dragging him in the direction of the door. He saw a slight flicker of uncertainty cross Emily's features but as soon as he had registered it, it was gone.
Even though he knew how it was supposed to go, he became nervous as Emily slowly walked to the side of the stage and down the stairs. She was convincing to say the least, using just the tips of her red-painted nails to stroke a few random men's faces before moving onto the next. Finally, she reached Hotch in the center of the room, seated in one of the many black velvet cushioned armchairs. She purred loud enough for the men around them to hear, and Hotch nearly choked. She circled him like prey, her hand trailing along the back of his shoulders before she decided to go onto the next part of her routine.
Their eyes locked and tension filled the space between them, making the club feel suddenly small and stifling. He raised an eyebrow after a moment of her just staring at him, and she pursed her lips, seeing the challenge clear in his eyes. She put her hands on his shoulders, using them to balance herself as she put her knees to either side of him. The room disappeared the second she straddled him, sitting as high on her knees as she could, letting the least amount of her body touch his.
"Jesus," he breathed as she threw her head back and pressed her breasts against his face, just as they had planned.
"Enjoying the show?" she asked with a slight chuckle, surprised but happy to watch her usually composed boss gradually losing his self-control.
Hotch licked his lips after the supple flesh of her breasts skimmed his face a few times, not able to even remember his name, let alone what the next step in their plan was. Her hands searched his chest, her nails skimming along his white dress shirt, trying to silently tell him what was supposed to happen next. She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt his large hands start at her ankles before slowly working up her calves to her knees, pausing for a moment before going back the way he came. Emily groaned in frustration, but decided to get even instead. She leaned back further, her breasts only centimeters away from his face.
"I don't think you're supposed to touch," she said purposefully loud as his hands roamed her legs, finally cresting over her knees and flying up her thighs, coming to rest on her hips.
"I don't give a damn," he grumbled, his fingers digging in, his face burying into the soft flesh of her cleavage, his mouth open and his tongue curious.
"A-Aaron," she stuttered, the name sounding foreign to her, but she was ultimately pleased that she had remembered they had agreed to use his first name.
He didn't reply, his lips too busy drawing in her skin. He had a sudden urge to mark her pale skin, to show everyone in the club that she was his and no one else's. His teeth sunk in hard enough to leave a mark and he sucked on a large piece of her breast, determined. Her fingers yanked at his hair, pulling it but not enough to tell him he needed to stop, so he didn't. She sat lower on him, their groins only inches apart. She could feel the heat pooling between her legs and she needed to know he was feeling the same, that it wasn't just an act to him.
Closing the little space between them, she sank down onto his lap, her breath catching in her throat when she felt him hard against her. Her sex throbbed and she experimentally rolled her hips. She smirked when he groaned, his mouth falling open, releasing the skin he had been so intent on. He dug his fingers in roughly, groaning in frustration when she continued to rock back and forth against him, her delectable breasts bouncing up and down. His hips rose slightly, wanting to feel her closer, and he groaned lowly when she moaned, throwing her head back further and rolling her hips. Just when he thought he may lose it altogether, she suddenly leaned forward, her torso pressing into his, her hair falling into his face as she put her cheek against his, her lips right by his ear.
"Is that a Glock in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" she asked with a low chuckle.
"Both," he gasped out when she began moving against him faster.
His eyes shot open when he felt her movements halt, but she quickly regained composure and restarted her routine, a stiffness replacing her previous fluidity. Before he had a chance to ask her what was wrong, she scooted out of his lap and stood before him. He gave her a questioning look but she just stared lustfully at him, but he knew it was only a halfhearted look. She turned so her back was facing him and he admired the curves of her torso to her perfectly plump ass, which was peeking out from beneath her tight black miniskirt. He watched in disbelief as Emily widened her stance and backed up until her legs were either side of his. She bent at the knees, slowly lowering herself until she was once again seated in his lap, her ass grinding against him, her hands reaching back to pull him closer.
"What are you doing?" he asked gruffly, not sure what to do.
"Livening up the show a little, Aaron," she said shortly, waiting until he put his face into her neck before reaching for his hands.
Hotch whimpered as she placed his hands on her legs, guiding them to rub up and down her thighs, coming close to the apex of them with every pass. He felt his wrists twitch with anticipation, his fingertips tingling, wanting nothing more than to shove his hands beneath her skirt and feel every piece of her, to see if she was as wet as he was hard. Just as he was about take control of their hands, she moved them, barely allowing him to feel the flatness of her stomach before she boldly placed them on her breasts, curling her fingers against his hand, forcing him to squeeze. A low sound left her throat and she moved against him faster, letting her head fall back to rest on his shoulder, his breath hot and moist on her neck.
Emily tried to ignore the feel of his toned body against hers, to block out any and all feelings that were just begging to be explored. The simple joke that they had shared had jarred her back to reality, cruelly reminding her that he was in fact undercover with her, nothing more. One part of her mind screamed there was more, it was a proven fact, but she ignored it, wanting nothing other than the whole thing to be over with. She closed her eyes and listened to the music, disregarding Hotch's hands, which were doing things to her breasts that should have been outlawed in at least thirty states.
Thankfully there was only a few agonizing seconds left of the song, and she sprang from his lap the moment it was over, not even bothering to look back over her shoulder at him as she hurried to the back, not even going through the curtain for a robe. Emily practically ran to the dressing room once she knew the crowd couldn't see her, not even noticing the uproar of applause and shouts of the room she had just left. The other girls were already gone when she reached her destination, for which she was happy about. She fumed, roughly slamming down random makeup items as she wiggled out of her clothes, replacing them with a sexy black tank top and a pair of cut off shorts, not paying attention to how she was putting them on.
After she had left, Hotch sat there for a good five minutes without moving, more confused and turned on than he could ever remember being. It had been a hard reality check when he'd heard other people in the room, having forgotten about them only seconds after Emily had begun her lap dance. He got up from his chair, fully intending on going to talk to Emily, but then remembered why they were there in the first place. Not knowing what else to do, he went to the bathroom, ignoring the many jealous looks of the men he was passing. He sighed loudly once he entered the empty men's room, knowing he was going to have to sit down and have a serious talk with Emily, but he just didn't know how to. He turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face, trying his best to erase the images of her grinding against him. He grabbed a paper towel, slowly drying his hands, when all of a sudden a string of loud voices was blaring in his left ear:
"He's going after Emily!"
"I got him!"
"HE'S GOT A GUN!"
A/N – Thank you for reading! Please take just a moment out to review; I really love knowing what you think!