Disclaimer: Not mine.
Spoiler: Set in Season 7
Thanks to TigerLily888 for her help with this story and to Lily Moonlight for always motivating me. You guys are awesome! And thanks to Hazmatt for pointing out that wedding-rings are worn on the left hand in America. – Unlike in Germany (my Country) where the wedding ring is placed on the right hand.
Summary: While on an undercover job, Hotch and Emily try to deceive an UNSUB, but at the end, will their feelings for each other be exposed?
"Nothing is more common on earth than to deceive and be deceived." Johann G. Seume
Hotch's hands clench into fists to keep them from shaking and the wedding ring on his left hand digs into his flesh. This is probably the most dangerous situation he'd ever been in. Alone with a barely dressed Emily Prentiss in an expensive hotel room. Her hips swaying, Emily slowly walks towards him. The wooden frame of the king sized bed brushes against his calves. Good to know he wouldn't fall deep if his knees finally give in. He gulps. She looks fantastic. He will probably fantasize about this moment, will dream about it. A dark purple bra cups her breasts, matching the lace panties she wears. Her legs are covered in stockings. He reaches behind him. The sheet feels soft against his fingertips. Silk. He expects her skin to feel the same.
She stops in front of him. Her scar has faded to pale, raised lines. He hates the memories of her pain they bring up, but they don't take away from her beauty. The sun is illuminating her. It's not even three o'clock. He's a business man meeting a a call girl at his lunch break. And how delicious she looks. Good enough to eat. Her slim legs, her hips, her breasts. He wants to eat her up. But that's not really on the menu, he reminds himself. He forces his wandering eyes to return to her face. They are almost eye to eye thanks to the purple high heels she's in. If he leans forward, he would be able to kiss her. He wants to kiss her, he wants to touch her, he wants to– Rossi. He should think about Rossi. About the fact that Rossi and Reid are both watching him and Emily over the camera the UNSUB had installed in the room, hidden in a small air stack. They are only putting on a show for the UNSUB to lure him out. Strictly professional.
Emily's smile is shaky when she places both her hands on his shoulders.
He gulps again. "I'm sorry." They can still say whatever they want. The camera doesn't have audio. He's not sure, if that is making it more or less awkward for him. The situation must be awkward for her too. "I know you'd preferred to do this with Morgan," he says, "but–"
"But he doesn't suit the expectations of our UNSUB," she completes his sentence. "I know."
"I'm sorry." He means it. Part of him means it. The other parts of him want to stop apologizing and start kissing her.
She shakes her head slightly. Her hands wander to his tie. He inhales deeply as she starts to take it off.
Her lips are deep red, she sucks in her bottom lips. His heart skips a beat. He wants to suck at her bottom lip. He wants to find out if her skin is softer than the silken sheets. He wants to have her on those silken sheets, him above her, kissing her, touching her, undressing her. His fingernails painfully dig into his palms. Rossi and Reid are watching them, he reminds himself. It's not real. Never mind how much he wants it to be.
She's so beautiful. Emily takes the now loose ends of his tie in both her hands and pulls him towards her. She smells like oranges. Inhaling her scent, he presses his lips together so he doesn't press them against her skin.
He focuses his gaze on the closed door, her breath is hot against his ear. She's so hot.
"If we're going to make the UNSUB believe you're a married man about to cheat on his wife with a hooker," she whispers, "you need to start touching me."
Then her mouth closes around his earlobe and he almost jumps. Her laughter makes his heart skip a beat.
"I'm not going to bite you, Hotch." She laughs again. "Kinky stuff costs extra."
"Funny," he says. Except that it's not. Before they started, he had placed money next to his cell on the nightstand to his left. Five hundred dollars. A fair price to feel her lips on his skin. And she had put two condoms on the dollar bills. One is purple, the other one is green. Not that it matters anyhow.
She backs off and he immediately misses her touch. Her left hand lets go of his tie. She tugs at it with her right one and lets it fall to the ground.
She raises an eyebrow, smirking, challenging him.
The most dangerous situation he'd ever be in… His hands reach for her elbows. Her skin is as soft as he'd imagined.
Still smirking, she shakes her head. "My arms? Really? A practically naked woman asks you to touch her and you go for her arms?"
"I'm sorry." The third time he apologizes to her. He should stop. He doesn't know what else to say.
"Try imagining that I'm a blonde."
"W-" He clears his throat from all the words he holds back. You're so sexy, Emily. Let me kiss you, Emily. I want to sleep with you, Emily. "What?"
"Try to imagine I'm somebody you'd be attracted to. It helps."
"It does?" He's hard now. Missing attraction isn't his problem.
"Always helped me with…" She bites her lip.
He frowns. "With Doyle?"
"Yes." She stares at his collar.
He wishes that she would look at him again. "I'm sorry," he says. The fourth time now. This is getting ridiculous.
She meets his gaze. "It's not your fault."
She pushes his jacket off his shoulders, down his arms. He lets go of her elbows and his jacket lands on the floor next to his tie. His hands fall to his sides. They feel numb. Maybe because in his mind they are so busy running over her thighs, her hips, cupping her breasts, her mound. He wants to touch her everywhere. Her chest is flushed, she's breathing heavily. He wants to make her scream, make her come.
When she pushes him backwards, he lands on his ass. He has to support himself with his arms so he doesn't collapse. After he straightens himself up, she sits down on his knees, straddling him.
He's glad he isn't wearing his tie, because breathing just became a lot harder.
This time he puts his hands on her hips, his thumbs dig into her skin to stop her from moving closer. He's proud of himself. He never expected that he would have such willpower. It takes all of his strength not to pull her into his lap and grind his hips against hers. He longs to kiss her. He closes his eyes and inhales. But she is only playing the part of a hooker, this isn't real and Rossi is watching them, so his erection would have to sort itself out. Rossi is watching him. Rossi and Reid are sitting in another hotel room and watch them. This is just one big theatrical show. Unfortunately it doesn't feel like it.
When he opens his eyes, she frowns. "What?" she asks.
He blushes. "I…" He can't tell her that she turns him on so much he can barely keep himself from throwing her on that bed and fucking her. "I'm reacting."
Her gaze drops to his lap "I can see that."
The bulge in his pants is obvious. Damn it. "That must make you uncomfortable. I'm sorry."
She cups his face with both hands, forces him to look at her. "It's okay. You're a man, it's normal." Her voice is raspy, but her eyes are gentle.
"I'm thinking about Rossi–"
Her eyes widen. "What?"
"But it's not working, I can't stop –"
"It's okay." Her face lights up. "I'm flattered." She laughs. She's so beautiful, so kind and smart. Her hands glide from his shoulders and fumble at the topmost button of his shirt. It comes undone and she brushes her fingers against newly laid open skin of his chest. If she'd continue, she would see his scars.
When she reaches for the next button, his left hand stops her.
"Please…" He is begging, he's aware of that. He's just not sure for what. For her to stop, for her to continue, for her to move closer. He wants to kiss her. He wants to fuck her. He wants to take her home afterwards. And that's the problem. This is feeling all too real and somebody will get hurt. Probably him.
"Maybe we should stop. Maybe it's not working," he says. Maybe the killer isn't even watching, maybe they're doing all of it in vain. Maybe he's risking his relationship to her for nothing. He could lose his job for what he wants to do with her. He has never been so unprofessional in his whole career.
Her fingers move under his palm. "All the victims were killed while they had sex."
Sex. Sex with Emily. Purple and green, he thinks. God, he wants that. To slip under the covers with her, his hands on her, her groin over his cock. He would open a condom, sure. They just won't be needing it. They will be pretending. And he will embarrass himself by coming in his boxers. "You want to go that far?"
"You want to stop?"
He wants to stop pretending. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."
She moves her hips against his. Groaning, he shuts his eyes. His arms fly around her, the skin of her back is smooth underneath his palms. Her hands connect behind his nape, her fingers brush through the soft hair there.
"I'm fine," she whispers. Her breath is hot against his throat. Then her lips press against the skin right above his collar.
"Emily." He barely recognizes his voice. Raspy, low. He tilts his head and buries his face in her hair. Orange and cinnamon. She smells so good.
She peppers kisses along his jugular vein up to his jaw, his hands roam over her shoulder blades. His fingers trip over the fastener of her bra. He wants to open it. A flick of his fingers and he could– But Rossi and Reid are watching. This isn't real. So he moves on.
Her lower back is soft, his fingertips graze the hem of her panties. The fabric is cooler than her skin. He wants to slip his hands underneath it, feel her ass in his hands. Another thing he won't do, because she doesn't really mean it when she moves her hips against his. She doesn't mean it when she pulls his shirt out of his pants. She doesn't mean any of it. This isn't about him. This is about eight dead people stabbed to death by their UNSUB while having sex. This is about work.
But then she attacks his ear again and he bucks up against her, grabs her ass, holds her to him. She groans. She's aroused, he can smell her. Spicy, sweet. He wants to taste her.
She presses her breasts against his chest, he can feel her nipples through the fabric of her bra. He wants to take them into his mouth. He wants to fuck her. He wants– Too much. This is too much.
"Stop," he whispers. They need to stop, or he will forget. He will forget that they are on a case, that Rossi and Reid are watching them. He will forget that she is just pretending to want him.
When she pulls back, they are both panting. Her hands embrace his face, she leans her forehead against his. Moving his hands from her ass to her lower back, he tries to collect himself.
"Let's recap the profile," he says between breaths.
"I need…" … to cool down. He inhales. She's still pressed against his cock. He exhales. "… to refocus." He gulps. "So, we're looking for a male, in his forties."
"Physically fit, appearance is average. He can behave normally." She licks her lips.
Gosh, she's killing him. "He's controlled, smart…"
"Someone who works in a job he's overqualified for. Probably a staff member."
"Good… That's good." He feels calmer now. His hands wander upwards to her shoulder blades.
She giggles and he catches her gaze.
"What?" he asks frowning.
"That's the strangest pillow talk I've ever had."
He smirks and her fingers trace the lines on his face. This is nice. He's still hard, he still wants her, but this feels nice. He loves the tenderness in her eyes. He loves her. He knows, ever since he got the call from Morgan that Emily was in the hospital because of Doyle. Sometimes you only recognize these strings of connection to another person when somebody pulls at them. Doyle pulled at them pretty hard.
Then Emily shifts in his lap. A moan escapes him and she licks her lips again. He stares at her mouth. Slowly, she tilts her head. Her breath smells minty. She moves closer, his eyes fall shut and he feels her nearness warm his face. Just a millimeter, just a second and – His cell starts ringing. His eyes fly open.
Turning his head to the nightstand, he sees a familiar face on his cell screen.
"It's Rossi," he says. He should let go of her and reach for the cell, he's aware of that, but his body has a mind of its own. She feels way too good to let go of.
"Okay." She sighs.
His hands sink to the dip of her waist, when she leans aside to reach for his cell. Her pelvis moves against his. The friction is killing him.
She returns into her previous position and gives him his still ringing cell. In comparison to his smartphone, her skin which he's still touching with his left hand, feels so much better. He has to clear his throat, before he answers, "Yes?"
"Traffic police caught our UNSUB five minutes ago," Rossi says.
"Oh." Hotch's eyes widen and Emily raises a brow.
"Peter Harbor, one of the in-house cable guys," Rossi continues. "One of his stop lights was broken. Traffic police stopped him and found the murder weapon in his truck."
"Okay. Thanks, Rossi."
The older man chuckles. "Good show, by the way. You had Reid blushing like a school girl."
Good show… That is all that it was, right? Hotch clears his throat again. "We'll see you guys later."
Rossi chuckles again. "Just take your time."
Hotch hangs up.
She looks at him, her face open and questioning. As soon as he tells her, she will be gone, he knows that. Her weight on his lap, her warmth against his body, her nearness. He's going to miss it. He's going to miss the kiss they won't have. He swallows hard.
"They caught the UNSUB," he says. "We can stop."
"Oh." Emily takes her hands of him. "Okay."
When she gets off his lap his arms fall to his sides. She sits down beside him. He doesn't dare to look at her. Regrets fill him. He regrets that he now knows how her skin feels. He regrets not kissing her. He regrets every second in this room. Because this isn't real and he needs it to be. She's just a few inches away and he already misses her. He misses what they will never have.
"So…" Her voice cuts into his thoughts. "I think, we should talk."
Of course she's right. They need to talk. He doesn't want to, but she's right. "Okay," he says.
"Okay." She stands up and he clenches his fists to keep himself from grabbing her. She walks away from the bed.
"What are you doing?" He wants to follow her, he wants to pull her back to him. He's still hard.
"Ending the show." Her ass is swinging with each of her steps. She stops in front of the wall to his right and takes the camera out of its hiding place. A second later he hears her ripping out its power cables.
They are alone.
A/N: This was the first half of my first EVER M-rated story! Not that I'm insecure or nervous or anything, but– Who am I kidding? I'm as nervous and insecure as possible! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it, so if you have the time, write a review, help an author calm down. :)