Chapter Text
Nothing that happened that evening had been premeditated. After their conversation and their appointment set for first thing the following Monday, Aaron came back to see her as she was about to leave the party. She would have liked to enjoy these last moments with her friends, who had been like a second family to her – or even a first family, since her mother hadn't really been up to the task – during all those years; but she had so much to do in preparation for her departure that she couldn't possibly linger. The giant had intercepted her before she slipped away and offered to walk her back. There had been talk of discussing things more calmly, without any pressure, without prying ears, and without the risk of being interrupted either. She agreed.
They had barely exchanged two words during the journey, but their gaze had alternately fallen on their cockpit neighbor. They were both intelligent: he understood her intentions, and she knew he wasn't fooled. Hotch's goal had surely been to find reasons to make her stay. He had failed. He had failed before even opening his mouth because her decision had been made; she had taken all the necessary steps and given her word. And in any case, she couldn't see herself enduring this situation any longer, as it caused her so much suffering. She had gritted her teeth as much as she could, but it had become too hard for her. More than this presence, it was her own failure that was now unbearable.
But she had agreed to his proposal to discuss it. To share one last moment with him, as she had experienced so many times before. After his divorce, but also after his assault and after Haley's death. She sometimes felt like she had spent more time in the giant's living room than in her own apartment. Her forced exile to France seemed to spell the end of their friendship. At least, that was what she was thinking. Her personal feelings were what they were, but she was aware that the possibility of reciprocity had disappeared forever. Even more so with the appearance of this Beth, whom everyone found adorable and perfect for him. She hated her even before she saw her face or knew her name. And it hadn't gotten any better when she found out what she looked like. Her resentment was matched only by her despair.
However, she had been wrong on every count. All of this had been nothing but a masquerade. A disillusioned attempt to distract him from the reality he could not bring to life. Because, like her, he thought it was a bad idea for the balance of the group. Because, like her, he remembered that it was forbidden. Because, like her, he imagined he was the only one experiencing such emotions. Beth was beautiful, funny, cheerful, cultured, and Jack liked her very much; but she wasn't “her.” She wasn't the one who made his heart beat. She wasn't the one who brightened his days. She wasn't the one who enlivened his nights. She wasn’t Emily.
Aaron had sworn to himself that he would not be like his father. Not to be an abusive, violent, and unfaithful partner like Stanley Hotchner had been to his mother. He promised himself he would not be the absent and indifferent father that this man had been to him. By force of circumstance, he had countered fate for this second oath. It still had a few flaws, but the chances of his son hating him in a few years were diminishing. For the first one, on the other hand, he had failed. The moment his subordinate's lips touched his, his urges overpowered all forms of reasoning.
Why did she do that? She couldn’t tell. But she did it. She had followed her instinct, which had prompted her to stand on tiptoe and press her mouth against his. She had expected him to reject her, to remind her that he was in a relationship and, incidentally, her boss. At least for two days again. Instead, he had prolonged her kiss and gradually led her to lean against the wall facing the front door.
With their eyes closed, their brains overwhelmed by all these new sensations, their hands naturally ventured onto the body they desired so much. First chastely, caressing that face, running their fingers through that hair, lightly touching those arms and shoulders. Then, when, pressed tightly together in this unexpected embrace, their desire became apparent, their actions were directed toward a single goal: to give free rein to the flame that had been consuming them from within for what seemed like an eternity. They did not consult each other, did not speak, they simply acted, guided by this same passion for each other.
They undressed on their way to the bedroom, leaving behind all those pieces of fabric that were weighing them down. He might have had a moment of hesitation when he realized that he would be openly displaying his mutilated chest to this woman whom he found incomparably beautiful, but his doubts were instantly dispelled because he knew, deep down, that his scars would neither shock nor disgust her. And in doing so, she reacted exactly as expected. She kissed those marks as she did to the rest of his skin and did not make the slightest grimace.
She could have rejected him when she caught that he was going to see the damage caused by Doyle, which he had been unable to prevent. She didn’t, serene. He was not the kind of man to base his choice on his lovers' physical appearance; it took much more than that to arouse his interest. And she exactly ticked that box. He caressed her scars as he did to the rest of her body. Thus, anything that could have stopped them in this madness – in this betrayal – was ineffective. And when, lying on top of her, he slipped between her thighs, they both knew that nothing would stop them that night.
He pushed as far as he could into her intimacy, sliding into that warm, moist cave that gently enveloped him. He sighed, overwhelmed by nervous information intended to make him lose his footing. She encouraged him to move. He obeyed, slowly and meticulously at first, then with passion and energy as they were overcome by the pleasure coursing through their veins. Her legs wrapped around his hips, which were deliciously pounding her pubis, she clung to his sweat-glistening shoulders until she dug her nails into his already stitched skin. She moaned, urged him on, whimpered, roared, and then came like never before. She trembled beneath him; her eyes rolled back, her breath short. He pressed himself roughly against her and, with a liberating groan, spilled his seed into the hollow of her belly.
They reluctantly broke away shortly afterwards. They should have realized the magnitude of their mistake at that moment, apologized profusely, and he could have disappeared from that place, gathered up his clothes, and gone home, ashamed. Instead, he lingered. They remained entwined in those soiled sheets, mouth to mouth, skin to skin. They continued to explore the contours of this anatomy, which they had only been able to guess at until then. So much so that Aaron was soon ready to take her again. A prospect that did not fail to excite Emily.
She rolled him onto his back, straddled his chest, and impaled herself on this spear that seemed to have been fashioned just for her. Sparks crackled in her chest as soon as she began to sway. Her thoughts turned into an indistinct fog when he placed his large hands on her thighs. She lost all sense of decency when orgasm loomed assuredly on the horizon. She rode him expertly until his defenses broke down and he spilled himself generously inside her. An abdication that caused her to lay down her arms in turn. Her muscles twitched for two heartbeats, then the soufflé collapsed.
She came back and lay down beside him, and their eyes met. There were no negative feelings in what they read in each other. They were happy, relieved, proud, and ready to do it all over again. They were in love, it was undeniable. They didn't say a word; there was no need. Their smile spoke for themselves. Their irises shining brightly, too. Their lips pressed together again, their tongues intertwined once more, their fingers began to wander again; they were not satisfied. They merged a third time with all the strength they had left. He knew there would be no fourth. Not this night nor never. She was leaving, and he had to return to the one he was supposed to love. It was the last of the last. The last stand. They poured all the tenderness they had for this being they had no right to desire into it. And once again, the pleasure was there.
Flooded with endorphins, she listened in a half-sleep to the shower water running, washing away and carrying off all traces of their misdeed. She reacted weakly to the kiss he placed on her forehead. Finally, she heard the front door slam shut before sinking into unconsciousness. The next day, what she did had not been decided in advance either. It was only when she grabbed her pill pack and froze without thinking that she began to reason. She couldn't say how long it had lasted, but the fact was that she had put the object back in its place, intact.