Hotchniss Challange: Sad/Whump OTP

6. "Please hold me."

I know how I skipped one... bite me

When the door rattles letting the house's occupants know someone is trying to get in, he doesn't even look up. He knows what lock picking sounds like, this noise is what a frazzled Emily Prentiss sounds like. 

The door flies open, the knob hitting the coat rack and as a result dropping his coat off of it's extended limbs, she comes in cussing. Mumbling under her breath about a needing a new key, his stupid ass coat, and shoes that are too tight she slouches to the living room.

When he doesn't look up from the book he's balanced on his stomach she stands pouting and soaking wet until he peers at her over top of his glasses. Lifting an eyebrow in half interest he asks," can I help you, Ms. Prentiss?"

She grumbles something he can't hear and peels her soaked blouse off of her body. Without warning, she separates his legs with her foot and climbs on to the couch. Half standing she positions her body so that she can pull her pants off. "It's actually-" she stops to struggle with her pants," Hotchner now, thank you very much."

Ignoring her last comment, he watches her puff of annoyance as she tosses her pants to the side. "Stripping at the door would have been easier," he doesn't look at her, instead he flips to the next page. 

She rolls her eyes and eyes his stretched out body. For a moment she thinks about the opposite of cuddling him on the couch. He's a man, he's easily excitable and after a day off she can only imagine the kinky sex he could think up but then he quirks an eyebrow at her. Obviously, he saw her eyeballing his crotch. She just sighs and lays herself along his body.

Her head comes to stomach, the spine of his book resting now against her scalp as she tangles her feet around his long legs. She pushes her left arm between the space between the cushion and the actual couch. "Wait," she lifts her head, he grunts as his book falls from his hands. It takes him a moment but he gets his book and finds his spot again. "Where's Jack?"

He squints at his book," uh... birthday party. Jess took him. He didn't want me to take him, I have to pick him up tomorrow morning." 

"Oh," Emily lays back down, shaking her head at her spacy mind. God, she needs some sleep. "Please hold me," she runs her hand up her arm, suddenly colder. "It's cold."

He rolls his eyes and blindly reaches for the blanket that they keep thrown over the back of the couch. He tugs it off and pushes it to her. 

She grunts, unpleased because he's characteristically nonplussed and calm. Sometimes she really wishes she married a sappier man but she knows she'll just have to love him when he's high. He's so clingy when he's high.

She settles back on his chest, he still isn't' paying her any attention. 

"Emily," he says her name like he does to Jack when the little boy is... well when Jack too is doing something annoying to get his attention.

She withdrawals the hand that she had half tucked into the waist of his pants. She's not looking to have sex, she isn't going to say no when she gets him all bothered, but sex isn't what she wants. 

He sighs, more of an agitated puff than anything else. "Do you want to go back to the bedroom?"

She seats up, smiling mischievously. "Will you let me play with your hair?"

He sighs again, a deep breathe that comes from years of dealing with her antics," last time you told me that I made your arm fall asleep and I had to give you a foot rub while watching Footloose."

She gets off the couch, her feet tangling in the blanket and almost sending her to her ass on the floor. He doesn't move to help, he knows better. Catching her has ended him at the wrong end of so many pointy elbows and black eyes.

Once her feet are back under her, she stands and smiles," come on. First one there gets to pick the movie!" 

Sometimes it really feels like he married a child. 

"Uh-huh."

By the time he gets to the bed, he's limping. Laying on the couch has pulled at muscles that he'd rather forget he's injured over the years. When she sees him, lips drawn to hide his discomfort, and his slight dependency on his left side, she frowns.

"You okay?" She's tugging one of his shirts on over her head, covering plump breast. They're no longer at a point where she wears sexy clothes all the time but he can still appreciate the sight of her in a beige bra. Said bra is currently laying on his pillow where she stripped it off. 

She's a handful. 

"Just old." He smiles at her, she's taught him the oddest form of humor. Self-deprecating humor. He's not very good at it but he's learned that if you just blame everything on your age it lightens the mood. He's still not sure why it doesn't make sense to him.

She frowns back at him," hardly." 

She seats on her side of the bed, pulls the sheets back and pats beside her to invite him in. 

He shuffles over, not thinking twice about tugging his shirt off as he gets closer. He tosses it on the floor and climbs over her. She snags his hips and they hover dangerously close before she gently kisses his lips and snakes her arms around his neck. He gives in and lets her pull him down. 

He positions his body so that most of his body is on his right side but still covering her just enough that she doesn't puff about it. Before he knows it her fingers are working out the tangles of his short hair. 

"You're not wearing lotion," one of her hands runs down his back, stopping over the scars that are spaced out along his back. Some are old shrapnel wound, others are bullet wounds, and one is from a knife. 

She's right though. 

"We only have that perfume lotion that you wear." He mumbles it into her stomach but she's so used to his mumbling, grumbling, and shuffling that she doesn't have to even think about what it is that he's saying. 

She makes a face but just rolls her eye instead of arguing with him. "Still, you should. I'll get you some unperfumed lotion next time out."

"Mmhmm."

She shakes her head, returning her hands to his hair. He really is a handful. An emotionally driven man who runs into buildings as it burns to the ground. Who has a stunt in his heart because he thinks he can't show emotion. 

Looking down at the expanse of black hair she smiles.

"Aaron," she taps his head," you're snoring."

He moves on her chest, audibly shutting his mouth and sniffles," was not."

Yeah, a mess.

Sorry it's been forever but I'm back... Um... I've got this crazy idea for a book. I need someone to bounce it off of though. It's sitting in a google doc, twelve pages worth of Hotchniss fluff if anyone would like to help me make it better...

-SH