Rude Awakenings

Disclaimer: I have a total of $60.28 in my piggy bank so I won't this show anytime soon.

Pairing: Hotch/Prentiss, HP.

Genre: Friendship, Humour and Romance.

Rating: Mature (for safety!) due to language and somewhat explicit sexual content and safety.

Summary: Emily briefly experiences the line between want and have blurring. Kinda PWP.

Author's Note: This was actually supposed to be written and posted after updating "Disenchantment" as well as writing and posting two other one-shots. But whatever! I hope that you all enjoy this shameful attempt at borderline inappropriateness ;).

"Water, water, everywhere and nor any drop to drink."

Rime of the Ancient Mariner

~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Emily Prentiss is having watery thoughts.

Blurry and wet, causing shivers to run up and down her spine being a nuisance but nonetheless refreshing. The SSA can feel the water pelt down on her, sink through the skin; drowning her from the inside out. Dear God, the intensity. Downpour causes her skin to turn rosy red, of course that is with the assistance of hungry, addictive kisses on damp, nude flesh; so did that mean the shuddering she is experiencing due to the liquid splashing her skin or the firm, warm lips of her lover? It doesn't matter, especially not when she is practically spastic and falling to her knees from the sheer pleasure of it all.

Emily makes a sound and her body moves along with it; bursting with unfiltered desire like a dam that is about to break under pressure. She can just feel the total gratification flooding through out her whole body, from where the water first makes physical contact, which is when it's showering her head and dripping all the way down to her curled toes. Her body is blistering and not just because of the water is so hot that it could scold, but instead because of an insufferable, taunting, bastard who is nipping at her collarbone and grazing her flushed flesh with his teeth and clean shave. Something deep in the pit of her stomach as well as in her core is bubbling, boiling, and burning with yearning.

Oh and to feel so dirty during a process traditionally seen as hygienic.

Cleansed is probably the last word that Emily would use to describe the feeling of heavy rain streaking down her exposed skin. Emily doesn't think that "sanitary" would ever be the proper description for what she is experiencing despite the fact that her partner has spent an incredible amount of time coating her in a thin film of soap. Holy Mother Mary of Jesus Christ! He is using his hands. Those hands. The ones that are so prone to touch and mould and tease like some magical things sent to drive her wild. She hates those hands—well hate is a strong word—besides she doesn't really hate them, she just hates what they do to her and how little she can do to say "no" when they come in to play.

Shower sex is definitely in the top five of best places and situations for sex, right up there with on the other top four: hood of the car sex, at the foot of the bed sex, while the elevator is running sex, and for all the neighbours to see and/or hear sex; but of course that is in no particular order. Maybe the magnificence of it all has something to do with the slick sensation of water assaulting skin or everything to do with the fact that it is vertical, passionate, and makes the air just as thick and foggy as ones mind. And then, with big, fat drops shedding between them and slipping down his and her entangled body Emily isn't quite sure anything could possibly compare.

"Oh, Hotch!" The first thing that flies out her mouth will due, followed shortly by; "oh Aaron!"

It comes out so unexpectedly and ear splitting as she registers his rapid throbbing and a mind-blowing, back bending, stars in the eyes kiss.

"So wet."

His breath tickles her ear and she is seriously considering if she'll end up climaxing instantly.

"Nooo," her demand is quivering but her movements are quick and dominating. "Don't stop!"

Then there is the commencing of a new wetness, something so larger than life and mental fireworks inducing that Emily isn't sure whether she will be able to recover any time soon. She heaves a few harsh gasps, gripping harder, unable to even scream as the pounding inside of her strengthens significantly.

"Aa-a-a-roooon H-aaa-aah-tch-neeeer!"

Despite the boldness—and resonance—of her wailing, Emily has convinced herself that the incessant hammering of water on the shower stall walls as silenced her.

"Pr-r-r-ennn-tiiiis!" Hotch follows her, thrusting and thunderous, on the edge and rather impatient about it. "Ehhh-em-miiii-leeee!"

A few extended moments later, coming down from the high, she loosens her legs and releases all that built up tension between her and Hotch. From behind hooded eyes, Emily smiles up at the man holding her in his arms, weighing the pros and cons of taking this back to the bedroom when she is saved from her thoughts by his mouth on the nape of her neck.

"You got me drenched." Hotch jokingly complains into her neck, kissing up to her ear where he nibbles the lobe as well as the delicate shell. Emily, obviously, is in no position to complain.

"Bastard," the beautiful brunette cusses as she rakes her hand through Hotch's hair. "You're hogging all the hot water."

Smirking, like the smug S-O-B that he is, Hotch opts to ravish her further by mounting her between his hips and the shower stall wall. Above her is the showerhead, which is currently drip-drip-dripping steaming hot water on her scalp, setting her nerves on fire. She squeezes her eyes shut, reopens them and readjusts to the vision of Aaron Hotchner doing well past-wonderful things to her ear. And yet the dripping persists.

Drip, drip, drip—drop!—drip, drip, drip.

"Mmm-ily." Hotch moans her name as he kisses down her cheek and across her collarbone. "You feel fantastic."

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drippty, drippty, drippty. Drop!

Why the fuck wouldn't it stop?

"Aarrrron," Emily murmurs responsively whilst she dangles between flustered and aroused. "More."

Just about anything to get her mind off of that damn dripping.

A ribbon of kisses streak down the valley of her cleavage, his hands cupping her breasts, which were still lathered in foamy, white soap. Then, just as the contact of his fingertips playing over her skin and his lips kissing her nipples—effectively stealing her attention—Emily must have knocked the shower lever with her ass again because the steady stream of sizzling water was abruptly replaced by a spray of arctic cold water.

"Emiiiily," she hears her name but it is muffled. "Emily, ooh Emily. Emily!"

Her brilliant response?

"Fuuuuuck!"

"Fuuuuuck!"

The jet suffers from a bout of turbulence whilst her body is mid-spasm and it takes an amazing amount of will power on Emily's part to contain her surprise. Emily can feel the top of her scalp being somewhat wet and matted as well as her shirt clinging too tightly to her breasts and abdomen, perpetuating a second skin kind of style. Why the hell—of all days—did she opt to wear this lovely yellow short sleeve shirt beneath a crinkly white button down blouse? Oh yeah, she remembered now, because when she had been getting dressed earlier in the morning, she hadn't thought that she was going to get doused by her completely immature friend / colleague.

"Do you want a close up of the barrel of my gun?" Emily asks her friend and colleague, although her scathing tone of voice made it clear that she wasn't really expecting an answer.

"Hey, you're the one who wasn't waking up," Morgan defends with his palms face out and covering his chest as to signal that he's trying to protect himself, with good reason to as well.

Waking up?

Oh, yeah.

Oh shit!

It had only been a dream!

Oh of course it was! Emily reprimands herself mentally as she deals with the brutal reality splashing her in the face like ice water. Literally.

"You were really out of it, Em." JJ, forever the wonderful friend, comments from where she is sitting across the jet. Quickly, Emily realizes she is going to have come up with a lie and fast.

Shivering, Emily states that she is "fine" and that she's "kind of a restless sleeper" which is the best kind of lie because it is half the truth. But skilled as she may be at the art of deception, Emily can see that she will have to work harder to convince the men of team. It is obvious to everyone on the jet that Rossi and Reid are attempting to quell their laughter whilst Morgan is teetering between amused and afraid; apparently Hotch and JJ are the only two who are legitimately concerned for Emily or at least what she will do to Morgan. One would think that a well trained and experienced SSA wouldn't be so reckless or even down right stupid. It seems that the team has underestimated Derek Morgan's will to live.

"You dumped a bottle of water on my head!" The damp and shaking SSA accuses, her already raven hair even darker from the wetness and her cheeks rosy due to a combination of sudden moisture that had awakened her as well as her hidden humiliation of fantasizing her boss. "Why didn't you just shake me awake or something? You know, anything a little more considerate of my wardrobe?"

Waving a hand over her breasts and abdomen, Emily showcased the sunny yellow shirt clinging to her chest, her bra seemingly absorbing the damning liquid, whilst a thin yet bold streak ran down her taut abdomen ending just above her belt. It will be easy to cover it up, to button up her blouse and to wait for the water stain to simply fade away but that isn't the point, plus there is going to be the annoyance of wearing a drying bra that awkwardly molded to her skin instead of just holding it in place like it was supposed to. A couple beads of water trickle from her temple down to her nose and Emily instantly despises the almost well concealed amused looks on her friends' faces; every last one of them. Fuck life and fuck wet dreams, mostly because neither seem to be going to well for Emily at the moment.

"We tried to wake you," Rossi points out, coming to defense of the SSA that Emily is currently planning the brutal and accidental death of. "But you were probably one of those kids who literally had to be dragged out of bed in the morning."

From what Emily can remember she had always been an early riser, often awake on the weekends before either of her parents however she had always been a stubborn sleeper, never wanting to inch out of bed until her internal clock told her to haul her ass out of bed. She can recall only a handful of weekday mornings from her adolescence that was spent grasping the bedposts while her mother threatened things that didn't really seem to matter to Emily's internal clock; concert tickets being shredded, having to attend boring political functions, not being allowed out that Friday night with her friends, or having to eat seafood for dinner. Pretty much any awful thing that would kick Emily out of bed in the morning, except those had never worked out as well as when Elizabeth Prentiss called in her husband whose idea of a wakeup call was a pitcher of water on the head. Reminiscing it now, Emily doesn't think that there was anything that got her out of bed faster than the threat of being splashed with a liter of icy water first thing in the morning. "It isn't cruel," her father had pointed out since he never actually did it, "only a motivational tactic."

Get your head in the game, Prentiss! Her mind shouts, attempting to get her back on track. You're pissed with Morgan for dumping water all over you, you're pissed with the team for totally siding with him, you're pissed with yourself for even having those thoughts, and you're pissed with Hotch for making you have them!

Not that it had been Hotch's fault that the Gods had dipped into his gene pool and he looked like he ought to be on display in some art gala rather than inspecting crime scenes and leading round table discussions about serial murders. No, Emily couldn't blame Hotch anymore than she could blame herself for being physically attracted to tall, dark, and drop dead sexy. It would it be down-right illogical and yet that did nothing to improve her mood.

"Why was it even necessary?" Emily changes up her tactics, altering her mood from one of annoyance to one of faux-defeat. "What was wrong?"

Had she been speaking aloud or rather gasping, groaning and gritting out his name while on the edge of ecstasy? Had her body been wild; wiggling, writhing, wrenched as she peaked in both her fantasy as well as her reality. Had it been obvious to the naked eye that her skin had become flushed, her eyes had screwed themselves shut, that her lips had parted just enough to exhale her excitement? And God forbid any of that is the truth because Emily doesn't think that she could ever face her team again, let alone their fearless team leader.

"You seemed rather upset, Emily." Reid comments, sounding more bookish and concerned now that his delight in tormenting Emily has subsided. "Because from the looks of it you were having a pretty bad dream."

Sighing, Emily explained again that she had been "fine" and that there were definitely better ways to wake someone, just for future reference. Morgan, appropriately, smirks at the comment obviously made on his behalf. Falling back into her seat beside Rossi, opposite Morgan, and diagonally across from Hotch, Emily closes her eyes briefly and practices taking calming breaths and counting to ten in every language she can. She knows that the team will see this as a comfort technique, which will only feed their wrongful assumption that Emily suffered through a nightmare, but at the moment it hardly matters. All that matters to Emily right now is ignoring the current pertness of her nipples, something that she plans on blaming the water for, and the all important task of not letting the team know that her dream had been far from terrifying, if anything she wanted a repeat performance. Without an audience, of course.

When she lets her eyelids flutter open, assessing the situation for any more dangers-water bottles and nosy friends-Emily can hear Reid prattling off statistics about nightmares, dreams, and sleep in general. Maybe this was more fair a punishment for Morgan, making him listen to Reid verbalize Wikipedia, that is. Not that Emily is truly upset with her friend like she figures the team and Morgan thinks she is, Hell she isn't even bothered about being soaked really, although she really wishes that she could have avoided that part. It was the fact that she had been caught picturing her boss doing so many seductive yet shameful things to her body, her mind, her soul; something so unorthodox for Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner who likely hadn't had a wild night since before his marriage. Not that Emily would know; oh but how she'd love to.

As plane is preparing to land, the team collects the case files and their own possessions while Morgan apologizes-teasingly but at least he tries-and, now much more relaxed than before, Emily forgives him with a punch in the arm and a threatening grasping of her gun. Morgan quickly hurries to JJ side to be updated on the case whilst Reid looks confused by Emily and Derek's interaction. Tucking away the book he had been reading on the way there, Rossi departs the plane before Emily and Hotch have the chance to.

"Are you certain that you're okay, Prentiss?"

How is it that he can sound so sweetly concerned and then end it with "Prentiss", putting that barrier between them again?

"Yes, Hotch," Emily sighs almost sounding exhausted. "I don't even remember what I was dreaming about."

Go-bag in hand, Hotch gestures for Emily to exit the plane before him and as they head towards the rest of the team, Hotch makes and off-handed comment in an all too knowing voice that it's difficult for Emily to believe he isn't a mind-reader.

"You can always take a shower when we get to the hotel, you know."

Yeah, a shower. Emily thinks, blown away. Just what I need.

Author's Note: This shouldn't have taken so long to write but this is what happens when, you know, life happens :/. Life being exams, volunteering, planning summer vacation, and babysitting :P. Nonetheless I've managed to write and wrap up this one-shot that I've had my mind on for quite some time now so please tell me what you think of it :D. Next on the docket is completing the thirteenth chapter of "Disenchantment".