A hopeless romantic who writes to live. @supercorpdanbeau - Tumblr Blog

picture this, me and you emily prentiss x f!reader

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, friends-with-benefits to lovers, r is emily's best friend, getting together, meeting the team, kissing, no use of yn, some pet names

warnings: cme-typical mentions of murder (very brief), a random past case in which r is kidnapped (also brief)

summary: emily calls you for help on a case, you can't deny her.

word count: 5.5k

request: from @midnightprentiss -> Hiii!! Honestly you can change this however you want, but one where the bau has to have someone come in (maybe from Interpol?) that actually ends up being Emily’s closest friend/girlfriend (whichever) and the team discovers a new side to her?

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a/n: oof my longest one yet!! I LOVED THIS REQUEST. it took me so long because i kept adding to it and i had the best time writing it. i hope you enjoy it as much as i did. tysm for sending it <33 also i dont actually know what interpol does so sorry for any inconsistencies

When Emily calls, you think it’s just for your monthly get together. Ever since she left Interpol, you've tried to keep up with seeing each other every once in a while. After four years, you’ve been pretty successful, considering both of your demanding jobs and tight schedules. You couldn't have been more wrong, though.

An Unsub, of course. With records of being in London, Portugal and even Russia. Now, in the United States, being profiled by Emily's team. You know it's hard for them to get around the international red tape, even if they're FBI, and your resources can be useful in a time like this. It's exactly what Emily says over the phone, arguing that you owe her a favor after she saved your life back in 2016. If you think about it too long, it's insane for how much time you've known her, since she was running a team in London and having conference calls with you across an ocean.

For three years, you never met in person. Until you did, and you were less prepared than you thought. Emily was fancier than you expected, an air of European royalness to her even though you always knew she was American, her hair always perfectly straightened and suits expensively tailored. Meeting once or twice in the same piece of land, it was really a no-brainer that you'd fall into bed together — she was your type, you were hers, and working so far away from each other meant that it couldn't mean anything. It didn't mean anything.

No matter that she saved your life after an especially hard case on London soil, your arms bound by the man you had been looking for for almost a week. You spent hours in an abandoned factory, not knowing when or if you were being set free, and having to deal with the smell of the decaying bodies the Unsub hadn't yet managed to get rid of. After almost a day, Emily arrived with her team in tow, working skillfully and precisely when the guy held a gun to your head, evidently leaving you in debt with her for the rest of your life. You know, of course, that even if you do her this favor, you'll never be able to pay back what she did for you, which is just fine.

Nevertheless, you accept. Not because it's been too long since she managed to get out of the office to have dinner, and not because you miss spending hours in a bar just drinking and catching up. You accept because she's your best friend, still, after all this time, and she needs your help — it'll take more than some annoying lust to drive you away.

It's not always that you can’t resist her. Sometimes, you even manage to have a regular dinner with her, as a friend, and go home sober. It's unfulfilling, but it's the reality, and you really should be getting yourself back out there instead of pining for a woman who has no time for or even interest in a relationship.

Fine, you accept, saying you'll be there the next day. Hopefully, this one is a quick case, with just some simple consulting, so you can promptly drive back home to wallow, then continue hiding from the world in the Interpol office.

Emily looks up at the knock on her office door. Her face lights up when she sees you, and she immediately stands, walking around her desk and gesturing for you to come in.

“Hi,” she says, pulling you into a hug. “I'm so glad you're here.”

You hum, “if I didn't know better I'd say you're trying to flatter me.”

Emily pulls back, still smiling. She looks good, you notice. Her clothes are still perfectly tailored, her hair softly curled, the lightest strands catching the light in a way that never fails to leave you breathless — it's gotten lighter since you last saw her, even silkier.

“I'm happy to see you, is that so hard to believe?”

You shrug playfully, “I figured you only wanted my contacts.”

She rolls her eyes, pulls you to sit beside her on the couch. “The team is so excited to see you, I should warn you.”

Frowning surprisedly, you wring your hands together. “Why?”

“They love knowing anything about my personal life,” she says, shrugging. “Especially my life in London.”

“They think they're your only friends,” you conclude, amused. Emily's always been private, but you're glad it seems she’s still comfortable opening up to you.

She tilts her head in agreement, “Garcia actually shrieked when I said you'd be here in person.”

Ah, yes, the technical analyst. You know all about her team, her family. You've watched as she slowly started to feel comfortable around them again after going back. You've listened as she complained about how much easier it was to lead a team when it didn't feel like every person on it had a piece of her heart when going into the field. You've seen how much she's grown into her role, especially after being promoted to Section Chief.

Emily stands, grabbing case files from her desk. “Come on, then, let us brief you.”

In the conference room, everyone is already there. You recognize them from the pictures Emily's shown you, and it seems like every pair of eyes focuses on you as you both enter.

Garcia gasps, “you didn't say she was so pretty!”

Emily's eyes widen, a barely there flush coating her cheeks. It's cute to see her embarrassed, especially in this situation as she's supposed to be leading the group. Ignoring her friend's comment, she introduces you properly to everyone, repeating names and specialties, then mentioning you're up for leading your own team at Interpol soon. It's your turn to be embarrassed, giving her a glare as she just smiles smugly, yet there's more than that on her face, a hint of pride that she can't conceal.

Soon enough, she gestures to a chair next to her and starts briefing the team, and you, on the case. There's nothing really unique about the guy, which you know is usually worse, because there's no specific MO to track him with. All you have currently is some DNA in multiple crime scenes, yet no data to compare it to, he doesn't exist in the system as more than a serial number.

Not being a profiler, you keep quiet in the beginning, but you understand all the language after so many years of knowing Emily. They discuss possibilities, causes, consequences, and it's so thorough your head's spinning by the end of it. Which is the perfect moment for Emily to ask for your input, of course.

Shaking your head to clear it, you present the three case files to them. One of them is thicker, regarding the murder in London, your old base office. Russia's case is pretty vague, a random victim, no family, no clear connections, but there was a hair left on the crime scene, one that's been extensively processed all these years later. Portugal, the first case, is not as sparse, which Emily is glad for, due to the first case always telling them the most about the UnSub's thinking process. Garcia says she'll digitize them quickly, and moves to her lair to do just that.

Emily separates the team, giving orders and assigning partners, keeping you with her — you weren't expecting anything different; it's always been seamless, the way you work together. Everyone swiftly moves to their own tasks, leaving the both of you alone in the conference room. She turns, offering a reassuring little grin.

“Don't be intimidated, they're not as scary as they seem,” she says, collecting her tablet and strewn papers. You do the same with your stuff, aware now that you're moving to her office soon.

“I'm not intimidated, just-” And you're not, really. From how much Emily's told you over the years, you feel like you already know them. The thing is, they don't know you. “They know nothing about me, I don't want them to feel like I'm intruding.”

Emily scoffs, “you're not, I asked you to come.”

You nod as you both start towards her office, your pace matching hers with ease — it's easy to fall back in sync. “Consciously, I'm not. But you're a tight unit, Em.”

She shrugs, “don't ‘Em’ me in the office.” Her voice is playful as she holds the door open for you, a small smirk on her face that tells you she's not actually upset.

“Sorry, Chief. Won't happen again,” you say back slyly, dropping your bag on her couch. Sitting across her desk, you pick up one of the FBI issued tablets to check their latest notes on the case. Noticing she still hasn't sat down, you turn back to look at her, realizing she's still standing by the now closed door, silently watching. “Let's get started, Boss?”

Emily rolls her eyes, shaking herself out of whatever thought grabbed her attention for too long. “Don't push it.”

You grin at her. At least there'll be this to keep you from falling too deep into this gruesome case.

Hours pass before anyone manages to get a lead. And even then, only Tara and Rossi find a valid one. As they follow up on it, Garcia invites you to check some stuff out with her, since your international insight might be of great help as she processes data.

Her office isn't what you're expecting. Emily had always said she was eccentric, the sunshine in between all the darkness of their jobs, but you see now that it's reflected on her surroundings. You can't help but find it sweet, all the trinkets and figurines placed all over her so called lair, and though it's sort of dark — clearly no one's bothered to add LED lamps to the ceiling light —, it's surprisingly comfortable and cozy.

“I couldn't really get into your database, and I didn't want to try too hard and cause problems,” Penelope explains, pulling a second rolling chair for you.

“Yeah, it's pretty tightly secured,” you say, typing your code into the appropriate box. It's not even the mostly secured area of Interpol's database, considering that for those you'd need at least two agents of high clearance to allow it, but it'll be enough for what you need. After all, you're pretty sure this guy is not on any major international list, he’s just a low level criminal who's happened to hit more than one country. “Here's what we have on him.”

“Huh,” she says, sitting down and immediately typing faster than you've ever seen anyone do it. “It's not much.”

You sigh, “I know. Honestly, everything I brought could've been sent remotely.”

“Well, Peaches clearly values your insight, she wouldn't have brought you in if she didn’t think it was necessary.”

Smiling gratefully at her — and her nickname for Emily —, you take a sip of your now lukewarm coffee, making a face at the taste.

“So…” Penelope starts again, still typing in that superhuman speed, “what was she like in London?”

You chuckle, thankful Emily warned you about possible interrogations. “We only talked over skype for the first couple of years. I saw her in person when Interpol asked me to spend a year at the London office, later.”

“But you've known her since 2012, right?”

It’s funny how high Garcia's voice gets when she's clearly fishing for information. “2013, actually. She's told me all about you guys.”

“Really?!” She turns, surprise and delight all over her face. “I went to visit a couple of times but we never talked about work, you can guess why.”

“I understand,” you nod. “She used to like London, but she was so happy to be coming back. And I ended up coming back too less than a year later, so I couldn't even miss her properly.”

Penelope, honest to God, beams at the glimpse into Emily's life that you've given her. You continue talking for a bit, as you analyze some surveillance pictures from different case files, and you try to toe the line between sharing and not telling too much of what Emily would rather keep to herself.

“Oh, and what about, uh.. what's his name… Mike? No! Mark!” She asks, giving up on whatever it was she was looking at, her face curious yet dejected at finding no new information.

Frowning, you try to remember who she's talking about. It's been so long since Emily's dated anyone seriously that it slips your mind, but you think you remember the year they were together, or was it longer than that? For most of it you weren't even in England, and during it you're guessing Emily didn't talk about it much. Although, you remember when it ended, Emily felt guilty about not being that heartbroken over having to end it before going back to DC.

“I guess she didn't talk about it much.” You shrug, aware this is definitely a topic Emily wouldn't want you discussing, even if you don't remember a lot of it.

Penelope smiles, “that's Peaches, I guess- Oh! I think I got something.”

The day is way too long — it drags on, seemingly endless. By the end of it, the progress you've made isn't that exciting, and Emily decides to send everyone home to catch some sleep before trying again the next morning.

Everyone's still lingering in the main bullpen when she comes out of the office with her work bag and jacket on. You'd been talking with Luke as he gathered his stuff, yet when she arrives you turn towards her like a sunflower seeking the light, unconsciously and immediately.

“Why don't you stay with me tonight? My apartment is closer than yours,” she murmurs for your ears only. You quickly nod in agreement, but your eyes stray to her teammates around the bullpen.

You're guessing they're surprised at the rare sight of Emily even considering leaving the office before nine p.m., and it feels like everyone's stopped what they were doing to catch a glimpse of this new development. She doesn't seem to notice, or at least doesn't say anything, only gesturing to the door and saying her car is parked on the ground floor.

Since she doesn't acknowledge the shift in the room, you don't either. You let yourself be guided by the hand on your lower back and her confident strides towards the right way.

Emily drives you over expertly. The streets aren't crowded, less than they'd be at rush hour, so you make good time. Her apartment, when you arrive, is more decorated than the last time you were here. It hasn’t been long, but there's a new picture frame on the bookshelf, some pillows on the couch you don't recognize. Her lived in mess is familiar, though, the way she leaves her shoes by the door, just as she does at your place, the bag she throws on the couch to deal with the next day.

Although you spend more time at your place, since Emily usually likes to get away and not think about Quantico, you don't feel unsettled in her apartment. She moves to the kitchen without acknowledging it, in search of a bottle of white, you're sure, and you move to the living room, comfortable in her space. Taking off your jacket, unloading your bag, everything is done swiftly, like you would if you were at home. Emily comes back with a chilled bottle and two glasses, placing them on the coffee table.

She only speaks after filling both glasses and settling back onto the cushions.

“You okay to come back tomorrow or have we scared you away forever?” Emily asks before a sip, playful, but her eyes are honestly concerned.

You wave her off, “you have a great team, Em.”

She shrugs, “we've been working together for a long time.”

“That's not why,” you argue. “They're a reflection of you.”

Emily makes a face, drinking more wine.

“It's true. They trust you implicitly. You should've seen the way Alvez talked about you.”

“We didn't really make any progress,” she changes the subject, always uncomfortable with compliments. “You might have to come a few more times.”

This time, you shrug, “I love an excuse to skip my own work.”

She smiles, like she does when she's finally relaxing. “Are you hungry? I could whip up some pasta.”

Nodding, you stand up with your glass in hand, “let me help you. Knowing you, who knows what could happen, I don't want to have to call the fire squad.”

Emily rolls her eyes, drains her glass, “okay, that was one time!”

The next day, you're all hoping for a break. With no more bodies, it's a thin line between being thankful for it and worried that the case might go cold. You arrive with Emily earlier than everyone, and settle on her couch to work, going over the first case files in hope of finding something new. When Emily's team starts to arrive, she's in a meeting with the higher ups, so you're alone in her office.

Garcia knocks, popping her head through the ajar door, looking for Emily, probably.

“Hi!” She exclaims excitedly when she sees you. You greet her back warmly, having quickly warmed up to her bubbly personality. “Where's Peaches?”

“Some nine a.m. meeting.” Penelope frowns. “It's not about our current case, but I don't know any more about it.”

“Oh, okay, then.” She nods, pouting softly, you assume unconsciously. “We were going to gather some thoughts in the conference room, want to come? You can update her later.”

You agree, going with her to see the rest of the team. It's not a proper gathering, of course, the boss isn't there. It's more of a discussion of what's been found up until now, with the hopes that if you work your thoughts together, you might reach some new conclusion. It seems they've made good progress with the profile, so you ask someone to type it up ‘cause you won't remember every detail, and you won't want to give Emily any incorrect information.

Emily arrives some time later, tense about her meeting, tight-lipped and with a permanent frown between her eyebrows. If she wasn't the chief, you would've offered ten minutes in a supply closet to relieve her stress, for old times sake, of course. But you don't, all too aware of her position and what it entails, even higher than the one she had at Interpol.

She sits next to you, her back straight and jaw set. It's a worrying look, if you're being honest. You haven't been this close to witness her work stress in years, mostly hearing about it over drinks or through the phone after the entire ordeal has passed. The atmosphere in the room is different, everyone wants to give her good news you don't yet have, just to avoid increasing her bad mood.

You stand up, quickly excusing yourself to make her some tea. Since you're not on the team, you don't feel like you need to explain yourself when leaving a room, so you don't, walking towards the break room in large steps.

It doesn't take more than ten minutes, and when you come back, Rossi is exposing some thoughts that you heard about earlier, something about organizing a stake out near one of the dumpsites. You can see in her eyes that Emily isn't too fond of the idea.

You place the mug on the table, right in front of her, and squeeze her shoulder briefly, feeling how she deflates when the scent of the leaves hit her nose. She sighs almost imperceptibly, but you notice, you always do. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Garcia and JJ communicate silently, their eyes going over Emily and to each other quickly. You don't know what's being said, or gestured, yet you hope it has something to do with not adding to Emily's stress.

Later, you're back on Emily's office couch, this time with a tablet on your lap as you look at even more surveillance photos. Emily is behind her desk, juggling her time between bureaucratic paperwork, long work calls and actually working on the active case. It's the third cup of coffee you've watched go cold on the mahogany table, as she usually fills it for a pick-me-up and forgets about it in the chaos of her tasks. It's when you lower your eyes to the tablet screen that you see it, something that might actually be useful.

Emily's shoulders visibly lower when you show it to her. They're not completely relaxed, but at least it's something that you’re glad to see. Even if she knows it'll take long to track whoever it is in the picture, she's thankful to have even a glimpse of a lead, ever since the trail Tara and Dave were searching went cold.

Penelope's skills are put to good use as the rest of you do other tasks that Emily's assigned. It seems that she's perked up since the new intel, and the wrinkle between her eyebrows appears to have softened slightly. From the corner of the room, leaning back onto a table to stay out of the way, you let yourself watch and enjoy the manner in which Emily commands a room. It's natural, second nature, the way she splits her attention between every teammate, the way she points and tells each one what to do as they look at her for guidance. You always knew she was hot, you always knew you were attracted to her, but seeing her in action is different, much different than it was at Interpol. There, she was still unsure of her place, still coming into what was essentially a position offered to her by a friend. Here, she completely fills the role that she earned, it really looks like it was made for her.

Once everyone is busy, she gestures for you to follow her back into her office. There, she heavily drops onto the leather couch, laying her head back for a breather.

“Sorry, I just needed a second,” she says with her eyes closed, taking a deep breath. While she does so, you join her on the cushions, sitting closer than one might deem necessary, yet you think is just perfect.

“No need to apologize,” you murmur to her, also laying your head on the back of the couch with a sigh.

Emily opens her eyes, tilting her head to look at the side of your face, “I wanted to thank you.”

Frowning, you turn to look at her as well, “I was just doing my job.”

She shakes her head as best as she can in her current position, “not for that- Well, for that, too. But…” Emily grabs one of your hands with both of hers, the warmth between her palms immediately engulfing yours and making you feel safe. The way she touches has always been intentional, she never does anything she doesn't mean, and this time she makes sure you feel it. “For coming here to help and for what you've done for me throughout this case. I know it's only been two days but you've really kept me sane.”

You smile at her, your free hand moving at its own accord to place a fallen piece of her hair back behind her ear. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

Emily rolls her eyes, but she's smiling, too. “I missed working with you.”

“Me too,” you agree without a second thought. No matter the circumstances, it's been good to do it again, and to be able to take care of her throughout it, again. “You could've done it without me,” you finally mention the thing that you've both been avoiding. Of course, you helped, and, of course, having some of Interpol's data has been helpful, but you both know the reason she called. And you both know the reason you came.

“Well,” she shrugs, “I didn't want to.”

For a moment, you just look at her. Her face has been popping up in your thoughts for years, right after waking up, before going to bed, when someone spoke french in the office, when someone passed by with a warm pastry, the scent of it reminding you of a cafe in London you used to go to when you needed to get away from work. She's been a constant in your life for a decade, someone who, despite the horrors of the job, and the moving away and back for it, has always been the one you knew would still be there.

For all this time, you've never put a label on it. She's dated people, you have too, but you always knew something about her was different. Everyone could see it, your friends back in London who wouldn't believe you when you said she was just a friend, your best friend. Or her team at Interpol who would raise eyebrows when you visited her office in the middle of the day. Emily has never been just anything, she's always been all of it.

You open your mouth, not even sure what you're about to say, but a knock on the door interrupts you. JJ appears, her eyebrow raised but deciding not to comment on your position, or the way you both sat up quickly at the disturbance.

“Garcia's got him.”

You don't go with them for the takedown, choosing to stay back with Garcia instead. Field work hasn't been your favorite for a while, and here you even have the excuse of not being FBI.

Right before they leave, you help tighten Emily’s kevlar, then she offers you a smile and a squeeze of your hand. You and Garcia stay in her lair, keeping the communication line open in case they need anything.

You know it'll take a while. Considering the time it’ll take to drive there, plus organizing and discussing the best strategy, not even considering delays in actually picking up the UnSub, it’ll be over two hours, minimum. Yet your heart feels like it’ll beat out of your chest at any minute.

You should be used to this, the anxiety that comes with sending a team for a take down and having to wait to hear any news. But this time is different. This time, it’s Emily and you're not there, it’s Emily and you haven’t even had the chance to come clean to her about your feelings. It’s Emily and the way she looked at you before leaving makes you really, really want to bring her back right now.

Sharing m&m’s with Garcia, you're both apprehensive and choosing not to talk about it. You can’t imagine how it is for her, having to stay here every time without knowing what’s happening out there, aware that a single phone call could change everything for better or worse.

You fidget with one of Penelope’s little dolls, a troll with bright pink hair that stays near one of her many screens. You can feel her eyes on you, big and bright and full of worry. Hoping she'll just come out and say whatever it is, you look up at her with raised eyebrows.

She twists her mouth, considering. You can't help but find it cute. “Is there something between you and Peaches?”

You huff out a laugh, amused above all, finding it funny that someone else has asked that same question, this time after you've come to terms with it. “We're just friends.” Shaking your head, you correct yourself, “she's my best friend.”

“I won't claim to know her better than you do,” she starts carefully, her face open and kind, something you're realizing is pretty much her default. “But she's different with you. Lighter, I don't know…”

Shrugging, you look back at the little troll in your hands, “she makes it easy. We've always had a lot in common.”

“I love her like a sister,” Penelope says. You believe her, you've seen it with your own two eyes throughout the years. The way Penelope wouldn't let Emily fade away, in DC or in London, as her boss or just as her friend. “And I know you've kept it private, I honestly thought she was blowing us off when we asked her to come out for drinks and she said she had dinner with a friend from Interpol.”

You chuckle despite yourself. Emily's always kept you separate from her life in the FBI, but it's never been out of shame or uncomfortableness. She wanted to keep you far away from the darkness that's always plagued her work in the BAU, she felt happy, carefree, when she was with you, and she never wanted to taint that.

“But I understand it now,” Garcia continues. “You two talk without words, and she smiles much more when you're around. You wouldn't believe how moody she's been this past month.”

Biting your lip, you try to think of an answer to that. You guess there's not much you can say, there isn't anything to tell. You are friends. And no matter what you think or feel, this unresolved thing between you will have to wait. You've pushed it away for so long, what's one more day?

Before you can open your mouth, the phone rings. Penelope answers it with superhuman speed, and it makes you even more anxious that you can't hear anything that's being said due to her having an earpiece on. Her face pales, you straighten on your chair, abandoning the troll on the table without realizing. Grabbing her arm, you wait for the call to be done, yet she takes her sweet time, leaving your frustration to increase with every second that passes.

Finally, she ends the call and blows out a breath. Turning to you, she simply says, “Emily's been shot.”

Okay, maybe you broke a few traffic laws on the way to the hospital, but no judge would convict you, you're sure. Penelope complains the whole way over, her hand tight on the grab handle, reminding you that she said that Emily was just fine, that you were rushing for no reason and that you'd both be dead before you even managed to get to the hospital.

Truth be told, you hadn't really absorbed anything she said after she gave you the news, you only stood up and ran to grab the keys to Emily's car, Penelope walking as fast as she could behind you in her platform heels.

Inside, you're directed to the ER. Penelope stays outside with Luke, and a nurse says Emily is well taken care of. Rossi meets you on the doorway, waving you over warmly and telling you not to worry, that she's been annoying every doctor and nurse on the floor ever since she got here. Your hands unclench slightly, but you'll only feel okay when you see her in front of you, alive and well.

Opening the curtain, Rossi gestures to Emily and leaves swiftly. The two of you are as alone as you can be in the middle of the Emergency Room, and you cross the space between you in quick strides to get to her. Sitting on the bed, still in her clothes from before, the slick back ponytail she always does before take downs, there Emily is, her left arm wrapped in a stark white bandage.

When she finally turns to you, she sighs, already knowing what you're about to say. “I'm fine!’ She argues. Well, you knew she was gonna say that, too.

“Clearly,” you say, your voice not as steady as you wished it were, pointing at the gauze on her arm. “You got shot.”

“Barely,” she makes a face. You want to strangle, or kiss her. "It was a graze."

“You could've died.” You frown, feeling as your chin trembles and desperately wanting it to stop.

Emily notices, of course she does. Her face softens, her good arm reaches for you as you come closer and she wraps it around you. You hide your face in her neck, breathing her in to keep yourself from crying. “Hey, at least it was me this time,” she jokes, causing you to lift your head up with a glare.

“Don't joke, Emily.”

She presses her lips together apologetically, “I'm sorry, honey.”

You shake your head, still mad at her. For what? You're not really sure. For getting shot. For letting you believe even for a second that you'd have to go on without her. For joking. For not letting you tell her how you really feel after all this time.

“Come on, I'm okay. I'm right here,” she says softly, looking at you with those eyes. Fuck, you love her eyes.

Grabbing both of her cheeks, you press your lips to hers forcefully. It's nothing you haven't done before, but, this time, it's different. It's everything you've wanted and more. Feeling as she reciprocates, you loosen your hold of her face, only caressing her skin with your thumb. She's slightly sweaty from the field, her hair still up, her shirt stained with blood, yet she still tastes like Emily, your Emily.

Pulling back, you don't go far. “Don't do that again,” you say assuredly.

“I'll try not to,” she replies quickly, her voice breathless and still a little stunned. “Do that again, please?” Emily asks, oh so sweetly.

And who are you to say no to that?

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