"I don't want to fu-," Emily murmured into Spencer's messy light brown hair when he began kissing her neck and shoulders, before catching herself. "I mean, I don't want to make love."

He reacted immediately, trying to blink away the puppy-dog expression of hurt shadowing his face. "I understand," he managed to utter as he started to withdraw the arm draped around Emily's shoulders, shifting his body to move toward the opposite side of the bed.

"No, you don't," she insisted, deftly grabbing his tanned arm and wrapping her fingers around it to place it back where it had been resting. Her eyes reflected a kind of genuine, loving thoughtfulness that Spencer was fairly sure he hadn't ever seen in her before, except when she was working a case at the BAU. Scanning through his memories of her face during the brief time they'd been together, he remembered seeing lust - he remembered seeing a lot of lust - and he remembered seeing infatuation and he even remembered seeing love, but not like this. No, definitely not like this.

"I'm so turned on right now, Spencer," Emily admitted, her eyes leaving his for a moment as she reached down to cover herself with his light blue blanket, "but I want to talk before we ... before we do anything else. If we do anything else. We need to talk before ..."

She allowed her sentence to trail off, raising her gaze to glance at him uncomfortably. "I know I love you. And I - I want to believe that you feel the same way about me. But if I had been sent to Afghanistan? I would have called you the very second I came back." She breathed out a ragged sigh. "Spencer, if we're going to be together ... If you want to be together ... I need it to be something more than 'you and me'. I need it to be 'us'."

"I already told you why I didn't contact you after I returned from Afghanistan," Spencer reminded her gently. "But honestly? It was more than just that. When we were in Paris, a lot of the time ... Well, a lot of the time it didn't feel like I thought love should feel."

It was Emily's turn to flinch now. "Ouch," she mumbled, biting down hard on her lower lip.

"What I mean is," he struggled to explain, "a lot of the time, it felt compulsive. It felt addictive. Remember when I told you, 'Let me be your OxyContin'?"

Despite herself, an involuntary grin appeared on Emily's face. "Of course I remember. It was on the plane after we'd flushed all of those pills. The first time we were ... together."

"But see ... The thing is, there were times in Paris when I did feel like I'd become your OxyContin. When I felt like you were ... using me ... or using sex with me ... as a substitute for drugs. I mean, weren't you? Regardless of how you felt about me, weren't you? At least some of the time? Weren't you?"

Emily suddenly froze, still as a statue, as the words she'd heard at that Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous meeting floated back to her like dandelion fragments in the wind.

Finally, after a prolonged, uncertain silence, she spoke. "You're partially right," she admitted, chewing on one of her cuticles. "But not about using you as a substitute for drugs. I guess, at the time, I wanted to be ... to be your substitute for drugs. Because I didn't think you'd love me any other way. Even though you said you felt closer to me before we started having sex, even though you told me your feelings for me had nothing to do with sex, that they went beyond sex, I didn't believe it. I didn't know how to believe it, because ... because I didn't know how it was possible for anyone to love me unless ... unless ..."

The tears came without warning, and she covered her face with both hands to conceal them. "I really fucked up, didn't I?" she half-sobbed. "I took something that could have been so incredible and I ... I ruined it. Just like I always do. Just like I always have."

Spencer began to stroke her hair soothingly and, in a soft, reassuring voice, murmured, "You didn't ruin anything, Emily. You fixed it."

Hopefully, warily, she lowered her hands to look at him. "I did?"

"And it's not even Friday night," he joked, smiling at her with such love that she couldn't help but return it, tears dripping anew from her eyes, because this was such a different feeling, such a different experience, such a different conversation, than anything she'd ever had or known in the past.

"But Spencer ... If you really felt that way, then why didn't you sit me down and talk to me about it before you kissed me in the hallway? Why did you let it reach the point of almost having sex if you thought I was using it - if you thought I was using you - as some kind of substitute for drugs?" she blurted out, confused.

He exhaled deeply. "I ... I don't know. I've spent the last month obsessing over what I'd say to you when I finally saw you, but when I opened the door and found you standing there in that hallway ... I'd just been trying to, um, trying to pleasure myself and I - I couldn't finish. Like every other time. So there you were, and I - I couldn't think rationally. And when my brain finally caught up with, um, with the rest of me, I was afraid you'd think I was rejecting you if I stopped."

Emily nodded slowly, processing his answer, before she spoke again. "What do you want from me, Spencer? What do you want from us? And, most of all, what do you want for us?"

Her directness took him by surprise, which was her intention. She didn't want him to have time to contemplate the question and come up with a rehearsed answer, an answer that came from his brain rather than from his heart.

"I ... I ..." Spencer stuttered. "I ... want to be with you. The you I fell in love with when I held you close after the explosion at that compound. The you that took my hands in yours on the plane later and assured me that it wasn't my fault Cyrus had beaten you, that you had made a choice and that you'd make it again. The you I see here in front of me now, without all of the drugs and the insecurities and the attempts to use sex as a way to manipulate me into loving you." His eyes were shining as he gave a voice to the words that had been circulating throughout his consciousness for the past three months, words he never thought he'd have a chance to say out loud.

"And congratulations on your three months of sobriety, by the way" he added, lightly kissing her on the cheek.

Emily jerked abruptly, startled by the seemingly-electric touch of his lips - and by the fact that he knew today was her 90 day anniversary.

"Well, you told me when I answered the door, but I've been counting, too," Spencer said, grinning boyishly.

"But how did you know I didn't ... how did you know I wouldn't ..." she sputtered incoherently.

"Because I know you, Emily Prentiss," he whispered, raising his torso slightly off the bed so he could place his mouth against hers. "Because I trust you. Because I ... because I love you. Because I love you so much I had to believe that you'd choose me. That you'd choose a life with me over ... over the life you had in Paris."

"I do," Emily declared emphatically, closing her eyes blissfully as Spencer interrupted each sentence with a kiss. "I do choose you. I've already decided to take a position I was offered. With Homeland Security. Resign from the BAU. So we can be together."

At that, Spencer pulled away, visibly shocked. "Really?" he asked, disbelief creeping into his voice. "Are you ... but you love working there ..."

Emily shook her head ruefully. "No, Spencer. I used to love working there. Before Ian Doyle resurfaced. Before they sent me away to Paris. I've had offers from Interpol, which I've declined, but when something opened up at the DC branch of Homeland Security, it just ... Well, it just made sense. It just makes sense." She took her free hand and rubbed it across his stomach, back and forth and back and forth, kissing him with sudden, unexpected intensity. "Like how we make sense," she exhaled, carefully watching the reaction on his face.

When Spencer looked into her dark dilated pupils and felt his cock twitch and harden to the point that, if not for the confines of his boxer shorts, it would have brushed against her hand, he groaned in ecstasy. Three months without an orgasm, aside from the times he'd woken up with his underwear and the bedsheets soaked after a wet dream about her, something that hadn't happened to him since he was a young teenager. Three months without it. Three months without Emily.

She climbed on top of him, deftly using the headboard as leverage for her hands, and slowly - oh, god, ever so slowly - moved against him, arching her back like a cat to stimulate her clit as she continued her dry-humping. She was close ... she was closer ... she was about to ...

Feel Spencer's strong arms grasping her waist as he gently but firmly guided her off of him, onto the pillow where she'd previously been resting.

A flash of wounded rejection crossed her face for a moment before she panted, "I'm sorry. It's OK. If you don't - don't want to. It's OK."

"No, I want to," he insisted, blushing in advance at the confession he was about to make. "But over the past three months, I've had these dreams ... and I wake up to a huge mess ... and all the dreams were about the time I watched you. .. watched you touch yourself. The time you said it was 'just you being you'. Except, in the dreams, I was ... I was the one touching you like that. So can I? Can I touch you like that?"

Emily wriggled out of her panties and spread her legs before Spencer could even finish his last sentence. "The only thing is ... what if I can't anymore?" she wondered aloud, biting down on her lip in concern. "What if I can't ... let go anymore?"

"I won't love you any less, Emily. I won't want you any less," he replied, stroking her cheek. "Don't you remember Paris? Don't you remember how many times we had to try before I was ready? If you need time, we have all the time in the world. And I want you to be ready when it happens. I don't want to force you there if you're not. If you say the safe word - do you still remember it? - I'll stop. No questions asked."

"I remember the safe word," she acknowledged, not wanting to utter it out loud, lest she poison the moment by ruminating about how she'd decided earlier to disappear from work unannounced, purposefully leaving her cell phone downstairs in her parked car so Hotch couldn't reach her.

And then those thoughts faded away as Spencer placed his finger on her clit, rubbing in quick, even circles, but she was so wet by now that he couldn't keep a steady rhythm.

"Wait a minute," he said, leaning down between her legs to lick and suck the excess fluid away, swallowing several times, relishing that exquisite, tangy taste he'd missed so much, barely even hearing Emily's sharp intake of breath as she squirmed against him. Moments later, when he was finished, Spencer kissed her, their tongues intertwining so she could taste herself there, and pressed his groin into her side so she could feel his impossible hardness, so she could feel the warmth of the sticky pre-come staining his boxer shorts.

It took all of his resolve not to beg her to please let him put it inside of her or even ask her just to place her hand there, to offer him the quick, sweet release his body craved. Instead, he shifted away and placed his finger back on her clit, stroking it at the same rapid, furious pace he'd once watched her use on herself.

"Mmmmhhhh ... ohhhhhhh ... mmmmmhhhh," Emily moaned incoherently, lifting her hips erratically to meet the pressure of Spencer's finger against her. She tried to force her eyes to stay open but she couldn't: it felt so fucking amazing, like Spencer's finger was engaged in a winning chess match against her body, while she rode that feeling closer and closer and he increased his speed almost intuitively ... It was ... she was ...

"I'm coming!" she cried out before her body exploded beneath her, shuddering as wave upon wave of pleasure flowed through her, bringing her to a place outside of herself where there was no sound, no vision, save for the image of Spencer's face, brow furrowed in concentration, as his finger pounded against her clit.

And then, ears ringing and eyes blurring, she returned to herself, pushing Spencer's hand away when the sensation became too much. "Oh my God," she gasped, her jet-black hair splayed across the pillow underneath her head as the ceiling came into focus. "Oh my God."

Her eyes stung with tears as Spencer leaned forward to kiss her. "Thank you," she managed to utter. "Thank you."

"No, thank you," he responded, caressing her shoulder.

"Wait, you're thanking me? For what?" Emily asked, confused.

"For trusting me."

"Oh, Spencer ..." she sighed lovingly, kissing his collarbone and his cheeks and his mouth. Kissing and kissing and kissing his mouth.

"I want to be inside of you," he growled in response, maneuvering himself so he was on top of her, sliding against her slick wetness. The pressure in his cock, the need for release, was by now almost unbearable.

Emily froze, clenching her legs together to prevent him from entering her. "I'm not on birth control anymore," she uttered aloud, for the first time remembering something that she'd taken for granted since she was sixteen years old.

"That's OK," Spencer murmured into her neck.

"No, Spencer ... Wait. No. No, it's not OK. Even if you pull out, there's a chance I could get pregnant. And I won't - I can't - go through another abortion. Especially not if it's ... if it's yours." Her eyes filled with tears, both at the memory and at the possibility. "Do you have any condoms? Because then we don't have to -"

"That's not what I meant," he interrupted. "I meant ... I'm happy you're not on birth control anymore. I'm happy because ..."

It was then that the implication behind his words hit her like a ton of bricks. "Baby geniuses?" Emily asked incredulously.

Spencer nodded, his face lighting up. "I've thought about this a lot over the last three months and I really want to try. Do you ... do you want to try, too?" When she didn't answer immediately, he added, defeated, "I can go buy some condoms now. Or we can get the morning-after pill."

"No," she said, shaking her head and smiling shyly at him. "Let's try. I want to try."

"Really?"

"Really."

He climbed on top of her, kissing her lips as he slowly eased himself inside of her, eyes rolling back in his head and short moans of pleasure escaping his lungs at the very moment he felt her tight wetness gripping him. Spencer knew instantly that this - that he - wasn't going to last very long.

"Let yourself go," Emily encouraged him, her fingers pressing against his lower back as he fought against the overwhelming need to come, as he continued slowly thrusting his cock in and out of her. "Let yourself go and fuck me like you really want to."

"But I - I -" he gulped, her words sending a small shudder throughout his body, "but I -"

"Do it, Spencer," she demanded, squeezing her inner muscles against him. "Fuck me. Fuck me hard. I want you to."

So, with her explicit permission, he did. Rammed himself into her so deep he could feel that spongy area inside of her pressing against the base of his cock and, fueled by the memory of the time when her hot liquid gushed all over him, he leaned his head back and howled as the first throb of his long-delayed orgasm roared through him: bursts of seemingly endless spurts of come firing through and out of his body again and again and again and again until there wasn't any left and yet he was still coming, six or seven or maybe even eight dry pulses until his cock finally softened and he collapsed on top of her with an incoherent "unnnnnhhhhhh" of absolute ecstasy.

Emily kissed his neck and his shoulders, whispering soft "mmmmmmm"s into his ear while her fingertips stroked his back. "I'm going to be masturbating to that for a long time," she half-giggled.

Still, Spencer couldn't help but feel disappointed in himself, like he'd let her - and himself - down. After all, they'd been together enough times by now that he should have been able to control himself, should have been able to wait for her pleasure, should have lasted so much longer than the mere thirty to forty-five seconds it took before his massive release. Morgan's oft-repeated term about "blowing your load" seemed to take on an entirely new meaning in this context.

But Emily's breathy excitement invaded his self-conscious ruminations. "It was like ... like I could feel how desperately you wanted it. How desperately you needed it. And then you were hitting that spot and it felt so good and oh, god, Spencer, after the first throb, when your hot come was just ... just filling me ... so much come ... and you were having these multiple orgasms, coming even when you had nothing left to shoot into me ... You have no idea how much it turned me on ... how much it turns me on ..."

The insecurities plaguing him only moments earlier began to dissipate. After all, he was not the same Spencer Reid of three months ago or even a year ago, not the same twenty-nine year old virgin she'd slept with in Paris, and he was certainly not the same pathetically love-sick boy so intimidated by the seemingly-unobtainable Emily Prentiss that it took overhearing her confession to Garcia in the men's locker room at the BAU to provide him with the courage to act on his attraction. No, he knew her now - knew her inside and out - and the lessons he'd learned from her had remained with him.

With renewed confidence, Spencer sat up between Emily's knees, adeptly pulling her into a half-sitting position, and inserted two fingers inside of her, rubbing slowly against that soft, spongy area directly above her pubic bone until he felt it begin to expand and toughen underneath his fingertips.

"Ohhhhhh shit ..." Emily breathed out, clamping her inner walls so there was barely any room to move. He switched tactics: pummeling the area with the rat-a-tat-tat rhythm of a machine gun, watching her face eagerly as she swallowed hard and closed her eyes, spreading her legs wider, until his hand was covered with one brief squirt of hot liquid. The noises escaping her throat were incoherent and yet - why does she still fight against fully letting herself go? - another minute passed by until she couldn't take it anymore, until the prolonged pleasure became too much, until she gave into it, crying out "yes! oh, god, yes!" only moments before the warm, wet gush of fluid poured out from inside of her, soaking Spencer's hand and his wrist and the bedsheets below.

When he felt the area begin to deflate like an emptied water balloon, he gently stroked it several times in that same "come here" motion he'd seemed to have perfected, prompting several additional, erratic squirts, and when Emily's legs began to tremble, signaling that her orgasm was over, he withdrew his fingers and placed them in his mouth, savoring her sweet, tangy taste.

Spencer glanced down at his lover and noticed the tears streaming down her face. At first, he reacted with alarm, hoping he hadn't pushed her too far, hoping she wasn't reliving the first time she'd experienced this - the time Ian Doyle had raped and humiliated her - but then he remembered her explanation of how G-spot orgasms were different than clitoral orgasms: how they were deeper, stronger, more emotionally intense. So he carefully crawled to his side of the bed, slid the blanket up to conceal his seemingly-inappropriate erection, and pulled Emily close to him, wrapping his arm around her waist while her head rested on his chest, right above his accelerated heartbeat. He kissed her forehead and petted her hair and waited anxiously for her to break the silence.

"You know what I love?" she eventually sniffled, linking the arm she'd draped over his chest in between his shoulder and the pillow underneath him.

"What do you love?" Spencer replied softly, quietly.

"How safe I feel when I'm with you. How ... how it's like I've spent my whole life running away from my past, and, when I'm with you, I just ... I just don't need to run anymore. I don't even need to look behind me." Emily raised her head, her dark eyes bright and serious. "The only place I need to look is right in front of me. Right here with me."

"I feel the same way," Spencer told her, shaking his light brown hair out of his eyes. "Do you remember, in the beginning, how scared I was? Even to let you touch me?"

She nodded.

"I'm not scared anymore. I want to spend the rest of my life with you." The words left his lips without the slightest hesitation. "Do you want to spend the rest of your life with me, too? Will you marry me, Emily Prentiss?"

Her jaw dropped. "Are you joking?"

Spencer shook his head firmly. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

Emily laughed, gleeful, and planted kisses all over both of his cheeks before responding, "Yes! Oh, Spencer ... Yes!"

She climbed on top of him, straddling him, and placed her mouth against his, kissing him ferociously. Their tongues met and, Spencer realized, the impact of those kisses hadn't diminished with time. It was still like the first time, every time.

His hands were cupping her breasts as they started to move together, and when Emily tossed her head back to let out an exhilarated moan, he began to lick circles around one of her nipples, finally taking it into his mouth and sucking on it, holding it gently between his teeth and pulling before releasing it and switching his attention to her other breast. "I wish I had more than one mouth," he sighed, flicking her hardened nipple with his tongue.

"I think you do perfectly well with just one," Emily replied, her eyes gleaming. She managed to squirm out of his embrace and toss the blanket covering Spencer's abdomen on the floor, revealing his visible arousal. Wordlessly, she gripped him in her right hand and slowly stroked him up and down, while her other hand carefully caressed his balls and traced the ever-prominent vein on the underside of his cock and her tongue snaked around his tip, occasionally darting inside of it. Her efforts were rewarded by small, almost anguished cries and the taste of his copious pre-come mixed in with her saliva.

Emily paused and inched her body upward, her wet, slick folds only centimeters away from his hard prick. "Tell me ... Tell me that you want to fuck your wife," she moaned.

"I want to fuck my wife," Spencer repeated, sighing in pleasure as she slowly lowered herself down onto him.

One of her fingers was on her clit, rubbing circles at full speed, as she thrust herself against him. "Again," Emily choked out. "Say it again."

"I was at work all day," Spencer improvised, "and all I could think about was coming home to fuck you. To fuck my wife."

"Y-yes," she gasped.

This was so different than any of their earlier role-plays. Emily had never permitted him, much less invited him, to be the dominant one. "Were you wet for me all day? Did you make yourself wait for your husband like I asked you to?"

"I did," she groaned, her finger moving even more rapidly against her clit. "I made myself wait for ... for my husband ... Ohhhh, god ... I waited all day for my husband to finally get home and fuck me ..."

Emily was so close. Spencer knew the signs by now and, on the brink of coming himself, barely managed to murmur, "My wife ... Come for me, my beautiful, beautiful wife ... "

His words triggered her orgasm, her inner walls clenching and releasing against him as her eyes rolled up to the ceiling, the sensation prompting his own release and, as he spilled himself into her again and again, Emily came a second time, shuddering almost painfully while she cried out, "Oh, god, my Spencer ... my husband ..."

After collapsing next to him and smothering him with kisses, Emily met Spencer's eyes and asked, without a trace of doubt in her voice, "So when are we going to have the wedding?"

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Three months later, at Rossi's house, the entire team gathered to celebrate the union of two of their own. Emily's mother, to her chagrin, had opted not to join them, her last words to her daughter a sneering, "Well, I hope you realize what you're doing in giving up a promising career path for some guy who will probably end up leaving you." Spencer had spent days consoling her, and yet as Emily surveyed the small crowd gathered in Rossi's backyard, she still felt a small sting of pain knowing that her own mother wasn't there to celebrate with her on this crucial day.

But one guest's attendance took them both by surprise: Diana Reid. She'd managed to convince the hospital to fly her out to DC with one of her aides so she could witness her son's nuptials. Emily approached her with trepidation, cordially thanking her for taking the time to be there with them.

Diana glowered at her aide and, in a stage-whisper, remarked, "I just wish they hadn't sent me with this fascist. No appreciation for culture. Unlike you, Emily, isn't that right?"

"Yes, ma'am," she responded.

"Now listen to me," Diana said sternly, placing one hand on Emily's abdomen. "I want you to make sure she doesn't end up like those pigs they have me surrounded with in that prison. It's never too early to begin with the classics. I'd start with Camus or Voltaire myself. You can even start reading to her now."

Shocked, Emily inadvertently stepped away. She and Spencer had decided not to reveal the pregnancy to anyone yet, since Emily was barely showing, and it was certainly too early for the doctors to determine the baby's gender. "How ... how did you know? And how do you know it's going to be a 'she'?" she asked incredulously.

Diana merely winked at her, visibly pleased by Emily's surprised reaction. "I've said it before: a mother knows. You'll find that out soon enough."

The wedding itself progressed like a dream: rings exchanged as the couple repeated their vows after the pastor, gorging themselves on Rossi's home-cooked buffet, and dancing to the song "I Will Always Love You" before the rest joined in, each team member offering sincere congratulations and well-wishes for the future.

And after the gifts had been collected and the guests thanked, Spencer and Emily drove to their new home in the suburbs and made love as husband and wife, with no role-playing required.

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Eight months later, Emily held her beautiful baby girl in her arms as Spencer looked on adoringly.

They named her in honor of how they'd first come together as a couple, in memory of all the 'fix-it's that had transpired, and in celebration of leaving their old lives behind so they could embark upon this new one together.

They named her Paris.