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A Fine Line

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Chapter One

"What the hell was that?" Emily closed the door to Hotch's office behind her as quietly as she could, struggling to keep a lid on the rage that was tearing through her veins. Nobody in the bullpen needed to hear this discussion.

He barely glanced up, raising one eyebrow as he did so, in the way that way that was oh so Hotch, and only served to stoke the flames of her anger. "I don't know what you're talking about," He answered, shortly, "And please keep your voice down."

Affronted by his dismissive nature, but not surprised by it, Emily had to take a moment to maintain her composure, her professionalism. Compartmentalize, Emily. She was still holding the door handle, she realised, twisting the cool metal, as though it would keep her grounded, keep her calm.

Letting it go, Emily walked further into the room. She folded her arms across her chest, clenched her fists beneath them, and tried again.

"At the round table. You dismissed what I said about our Unsub being-"

"Part of a team. Yes, I did." He said, dark eyes meeting her own briefly, before he once again returned to his file, "Because there's no basis for your hypothesis."

"No basis?" Emily repeated, voice rising once again, "So you think this Unsub breaks in, kills these couples, cleans up and leaves messages in blood, scrawled across the walls, all within a half hour, and he does this all by himself?"

"You pulled it out of thin air, Prentiss. There had been no mention of a team up to this point-"

"That doesn't mean I'm wrong!" She countered.

"It doesn't mean you're right, either, and I'm not going to start this case off with a hunch - until there is more evidence, there's nothing to support your theory. You're reaching."

"And you're a misogynist," Emily yelled, stepping forwards and slamming her palms down onto his desk. "Dammit, Hotch, admit it; if one of the guys had come up with that idea, you wouldn't have dismissed it from them, would you? If Reid had suggested it, you'd have taken it on board, no question. You wouldn't have called Morgan or Rossi out in front of the whole team like that and embarassed them, the way you just did to me. I mean, what am I even doing here, if you don't trust my skills or my opinions?"

Hotch had to force his eyes to remain on hers, but he was intensely aware of the way her shirt fell, when she leaned over his desk that way. Intensely aware of how her chest was rapidly rising and falling, her breathing coming faster because of her anger. Suddenly, the thought of angering her further was rather appealing. Maybe I am a misogynist...

His resolve faltered, his eyes flitting down, just for an instant, taking in the view. God, he hated when she wore those low cut tops. Especially the red one she was wearing today. As well as her teasing worked to get Unsubs to talk, it apparently worked even better on her supervising Agent.

Giving up on his file entirely, Hotch dropped his pen and fixed Emily with a stare that burned. She almost flinched, but caught herself first. She wasn't going to be bullied by him, not this time. This time, she was going to stand up for herself and her skills as a profiler. There was a beat of silence. Hotch seemed to be calculating how to respond to her. Emily was torn between speaking her mind and waiting to hear what he was about to say. Then she saw his eyes flicker. Just for a second, but it was long enough. Instantly, her body betrayed her threefold, in response to his lustful gaze. Her breath hitched in her throat, warmth spread across her chest and up her neck, and her nipples hardened, straining against her shirt.

Hotch didn't miss that, either.

The silence had gone on for too long. The room had grown hot, the air between them thick with tension and anticipation, each wondering what the other would do next.

Emily knew she could turn around and leave, (in fact, that was exactly what she knew she should do) and that neither of them would ever acknowledge that this conversation had ever happened. They would go back to Hotch and Prentiss, back to sniping at each other across the round table and avoiding each other's eyes over dinner with the team. Back to missed glances on the jet and tensing up each time they accidentally brushed elbows or legs at a conference table.

Hotch knew this, too. He was almost willing her to leave. Mostly because the effort it took to keep his eyes from devouring her was almost too much for him, and the messages were starting to travel to different areas of his body. One in particular. But she wasn't leaving. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, Hotch watched as she straightened up. He couldn't help it, then, he was mesmerised by the shape of her nipples through that shirt. He wondered what they would taste like, and immediately reprimanded himself for the thought as his slacks grew ever so slightly tighter.

Emily was moving. Something had taken over her. A kind of calm confidence. His eyes were darker than she had ever seen them, and when they lingered on her chest, Emily knew she couldn't have walked out if she wanted to. And she didn't.

"Prentiss," He warned, as she neared him. Even as he spoke, though, he was pushing his chair away from the desk and turning it towards her. It was as though they were magnets; the pull of attraction too strong for either of them to fight. Emily was standing right in front of him, now, and it was impossible for him to look away from the magnificent shape of her breasts through her shirt, so close to his face, nipples straining, begging to be touched, pleading to be sucked.

The warning only spurred her on; there was something intensely hot about him using her professional name while he stared at her chest so unabashedly. Like he wanted to tear the shirt from her body. She wouldn't have complained, either. Not so long as he put those lips, which did so much talking and reprimanding and shit-talking, to some good use, for once. She stepped closer to him, could feel his breath warm her skin through her shirt. She wanted him to touch her, but his hands remained on the arms of the chair. He was waiting for permission.

She gave him all the permission he needed when she sank down onto his lap, straddling him, and lay her arms over his shoulders.

"Hotch," She purred, his eyes now level with her own. His lips were pressed into a thin line, as though he didn't trust himself to speak. "Are you going to help me with this?" She glanced down. His gaze didn't follow hers. He was looking at her face.

He had always known Emily was beautiful. Since she was eighteen years old, and he worked for her mother, the pale, dark haired girl had featured in his fantasies. For a long time, they were her only defining features. In recent years, her brown eyes pierced him, dared him to do unspeakable things. And now she had a voice, one he heard every day. A voice he ached to hear twist around his name in a helpless cry of passion.

His eyes, those steely eyes she knew so well were unreadable. All of the profiling skills in the world couldn't have told her what Hotch was thinking, but the growing pressure beneath her black trousers did exactly that.

Emily rolled her hips.

That broke his trance. Hotch moved so fast she flinched, rocking her hips back once again. His hands were at her waist now, holding her tightly. His eyes closed, only for a moment, as he enjoyed the feeling of her there. Emily dropped her head against his shoulder, hips slowly gyrating on his lap.

"Hotch," This time, it was almost a moan. Her hot breath on his neck and the desperate way she said his name was too much for him; what little self-control he had left vanished as the blood flow from his brain was redirected south. His eyes flashed open, taking in the sight of the beautiful woman on his lap, grinding down on him. He realised, as she rolled her hips over his aching, still-clothed manhood, that he hadn't even kissed her yet.

He tasted exactly like she had imagined he would. Like coffee, with a hint of mint in there somewhere. He didn't wait around to be asked, this time, his tongue pushing it's way authoritatively into her mouth. She accepted the kiss willingly, hands moving back to tangle in his dark hair. His own hands were moving from her waist to her back, pulling her closer to him, pressing her against him, feeling her nipples brush his chest. His hips bucked, involuntarily, and she moaned into his mouth.

"Emily," He growled, breaking the kiss for air. The way he said her name, her first name, made her weak. Made her dizzy. Made her forget where she was.

"Hotch, fuck me," She breathed into his mouth. His hands clenched, gripping her so tightly it was almost painful. He kissed his way down her neck, sucking her pulse point, marking her. Taking ownership.

They sprung apart at the knock on the door. Emily didn't turn around, afraid her lipstick would be smudged. Hotch turned his chair back towards the desk, hiding the obvious, bulging tent in his trousers.

"The car is downstairs to take us to the jet," JJ said, taking in the scene with curious eyes. Emily didn't turn; was she upset? JJ watched as her friend raised a hand to her face. Curiosity and concern creased her brow, but she didn't want to ask in front of Hotch.

"Thanks, JJ, we'll be right out." Hotch said, hoping she couldn't hear the way his breathing came quickly, the growl that hadn't quiet left his voice. His dick was still straining, painfully, in his slacks. He wanted to kick JJ out of his office, lock the door and do exactly what Emily had just asked him to do. Hearing it replay in his mind, Hotch knew he was in trouble.

JJ left, telling them the rest of the team would meet them downstairs.

More silence. The moment had passed, incredible as it had been, and was replaced now by the awkward aftermath. Each of them were replaying Emily's request in their minds. She was disgusted, he was impressed, and hard as a rock.

"Emily," Hotch began, but she cut him off.

"I'll see you on the jet," Emily made a beeline for the door before he could stop her, wondering how he was ever going to take her seriously after she had practically begged him to fuck her, in his office. After he had humiliated her. Ashamed as she was of her own actions, though, she couldn't deny the warmth and pressure between her legs, and how nice it would have been to have Hotch between them to relieve it.