ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ʜᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ

“7-Adam-100, responding,” Tim says over the radio.

His voice makes you smile, the feelings you spent years burying rising to the surface at the thought of him. In all the time you’ve been cops together, you’ve become close. You spend time together, talk about everything, and make each other feel understood. Maybe that’s why three months ago you both decided to stop burying those feelings. Since then, you’ve been on two far-apart dates. Tim said it could be a “trial run” with no hard feelings if things didn’t work out, but you hold out hope that it could be more. That it could be real.

“Suspicious person reported at Azizi Armory on Wilshire,” dispatch alerts. “Numerous callers indicate suspect is a male, approximately 6-feet, wearing dark clothing and a hat.”

You reply, attaching yourself to the call before you hit the lights in the shop. With only a block to travel, you place backup on standby now just in case something goes wrong.

Approaching the weapons store from the back, you turn off the lights and look around the area. You don’t see anyone, so you remove your seatbelt and hold your radio in your hand as you open the shop door. The plan is to walk around the parking lot to check whether or not the suspicious man is still lingering in the area.

The moment your boots hit the asphalt, your plan changes. The body cam on your chest falls to the ground as your boots scramble for purchase, everything going dark as something makes it hard to breathe.

Unknown to you, a man in dark clothing slinks out of the shadows, practiced and sure in his movements as he slips a damp pillowcase over your head and pushes you into the trunk of an inconspicuous sedan.

“Bradford,” Wade calls over the radio, using a private channel. “You heard from your girl recently?”

Tim’s brows draw together as he thinks. You responded to a call on Wilshire Boulevard, but that was nearly ten minutes ago.

“No, sir,” Tim answers. “She didn’t check in with dispatch?”

“No. She’s not responding to her radio and the shop’s GPS shows it’s still at the armory.”

“I’m on my way,” Tim promises.

He uses both lights and sirens, speeding through traffic to get to you. Hoping that you’re inside talking to the owner with your radio turned down, he clings to the idea that everything is fine. Yet, he prepares himself for the worst.

Tim knows he’s in a bad spot when he parks behind your shop. He’s angry that he didn’t realize you needed help, scared that something terrible has happened, and desperate to see you, touch you, know that you’re okay. Tim jogs toward your shop, slowing when he sees your body cam underneath it, seemingly kicked toward the driver’s side tire.

“Wade,” Tim radios, unsure what to say next.

“I’m sending backup now,” Wade replies. “Bradford, if you need to take a step back, you can.”

“Not an option.”

He goes inside, talks to the owner – who never even knew you arrived – and looks around. The dash cameras in the shop are still working, but the store’s security cameras all face the road and not the end of the building you approached from. Tim would have done it exactly the same as you had. Maybe if he’d been here too, you’d be right beside him.

“Hey,” Lucy greets, opening the store’s door. “Where do you want me?”

Tim nods to the owner, then leads Lucy outside to your shop.

“Tim, you need to take a breath,” she murmurs. “She needs our help, but she’ll also need you to be okay. Don’t rush into this.”

“She does need our help,” Tim snaps. “Which means she needs someone willing to do whatever it takes to find her. I’m not backing down from this, Chen.”

“Actually, you are,” Angela interrupts, stepping out of her unmarked car. “Grey gave us the case.”

“Lopez,” Tim begins, his eyes dark as he steps away from your shop.

“I’m not asking you to stop trying to find her,” Angela tells him softly. “But I need room to work this the way I need to. Grey has the dash cam footage and is working on recovering her body cam feed, so I want you to dissect it. Find out everything you can that may help me.”

“You don’t have a rookie that can do this?”

“I do. But I trust you to do it more. You know these cases, but more importantly, you know her.”

Tim’s jaw is tight as he nods. He slams the door of his shop, exhaling heavily as he backs out of the parking lot. There are cops as far as he can see, but he’s being sent away. It won’t stop him from being the one to find you. He and Angela both know that.

There’s blood on your watch, but you can see the minute hand. It’s been over an hour. You’ve been in this chair for sixty minutes, away from your shop for longer than that. As stiffness turns to pain, you breathe out a steady breath, keeping your eyes down as shadows move in the room you’re trapped in. Not that you could get up and walk out even if you wanted to.

“You ready to talk now?”

The voice makes you flinch. He steps into view again, a thick folder in his hand as he straddles the chair sitting before you.

“The People of California v. Navarro,” he reads from the first page. “I never understood the versus. What did my brother do to the people of California?” He slams his hand on the metal table holding his weapons of choosing. “Steve Navarro never hurt nobody! And you’re going to tell me why the police think he did!”

The name Steve Navarro is vaguely familiar. Speaking will only make this situation worse, though, so you remain quiet, staring at your bloody watch.

“You don’t want to talk? That’s fine.”

He pulls his left leg over the chair with some difficulty, then bends at his waist. His breath is warm against your cheek, the smell of his gum working to wake you up. When he pulls your arm forward with one hand and reaches toward the table with the other, you know it will hurt.

Your strength is giving out; holding on gets harder with each labored breath. If it’s up to you to survive this, you won’t. While a truth you don’t want to hear, it is a fact. You can’t get through this, but you know someone who can get you through it. Closing your eyes, you think of Tim Bradford. Of his strength, his resilience, the smiles he sends you when you’re having a rough day or when he thinks no one is looking. Tim is your everything. Right now, he’s your greatest strength, so you cling to the idea of him with everything you have left before the man above you brings the edge of a screwdriver down against your wrist.

Tim slams his hand down on the keyboard, sending rookies scattering away from the desk he’s claimed. None of the cameras in your shop caught anything useful, and your body cam was disabled before it was removed from your chest. Whoever kidnapped you knew what they were doing, was well aware of what they were up against; they knew how you’d approach, what to do to ensure you didn’t leave a trace. But no criminal is infallible. They have reasons, they get angry, they mess up. Only, Tim doesn’t have the time to wait for that.

“Anything new?” he asks when Nyla returns to her desk.

“Patrol found the white sedan abandoned at a gas station a mile from the armory,” she answers. “Going through it now for DNA evidence.”

“No blood?”

“No blood.” Nyla softens as she asks, “How are you?”

“How do you think I am, Harper?” Tim asks as he stands. “How would you be if it was Lopez? Or James?”

Nyla raises a brow at his addition of James. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” she wonders. “Maybe that Lopez took you off this case for more reason than your volatile attitude? Like maybe you’re dating her?”

Tim bites his bottom lip as his fingers curl into painfully tight fists. “I wish I could say yes,” he admits lowly. “But I didn’t take the chance I was given and now I may never get another one.”

“We’re going to find her,” Nyla promises. “She’s strong.”

Tim shakes his head as he steps back from the desk. “You’re not supposed to make promises you can’t keep, Detective.”

Your abductor is getting tired of inflicting pain only for you to remain quiet. Thinking of Tim has gotten you this far, and as numbness begins to settle into your mind, your welcome the imaginary embrace of the man you love.

Before you sink into the quiet darkness, the cold tip of a blade comes to rest on your lips. You blink your eyes open only to regret it. The man is face-to-face with you, smiling as he moves the filleting knife against your mouth.

Navarro, you realize then. He looks like Steven Navarro. You weren’t on the case, but you saw the trial and knew one of the cops that aided in arresting Navarro. The other thing you remember is that Steven had a brother. A fiercely protective and easily angered brother that your fellow cops hated to deal with. He was a suspect himself at first but had a limp that made it seem impossible that he committed the violent crimes being investigated. Oli Navarro. At least now your abductor has a name.

His smile shifts as he removes the blade from your skin. “Maybe,” he begins slowly. “We should do something to open that pretty mouth.”

You clamp your jaw, but after hours of fighting just to stay conscious and quiet, he easily overpowers you. He forces your mouth open and doesn’t flinch when you bite the fingers he buries between your molars. With your mouth pried open, he settles the blade in the corner of your lips, opposite from his fingers.

He pulls the blade toward your ear, cutting through the flesh of your cheek. The pain is blinding, white hot as your vision blurs and your heart pounds in your chest. You don’t scream or cry, just stare at the wall behind Oli. He goes over the mark he made twice more, then smears the blood he spilled across you like some kind of ritual. He gathers your blood in his hands, then shows you your radio, the one thing in this room that could save you. When he moves the blade to the opposite side of your mouth, the blood loss mercifully pulls you under. Your consciousness fades as you think of Tim once more.

The sun is setting over Los Angeles, but the Mid-Wilshire police station is wide awake. It’s been hours with no new leads, no shocking discoveries. Lucy and Tim have looked through your recent cases to no avail, and Tim is only getting more angry and more scared.

“Tim, you need to eat,” Lucy reminds him.

“And she needs to get home,” Tim argues, shaking his head. “Until we’re all here, I’m not leaving.”

“I’m not asking you to leave. But you can’t look out for her if you’re not taking care of yourself.”

“I can’t look out for her at all!” he exclaims, turning toward her quickly. “I signed off on her riding alone, I didn’t check in when she went quiet after the call, and I didn’t make her see that I care about her. Whatever happens to her is on me, so taking care of myself is no longer a priority, Lucy!”

Lucy steps back, whispering an apology.

“Bradford,” Wade calls, standing in the doorway of his office. “A word?”

“I bet I can guess what it is,” Tim replies hastily. “Just let me do my job.”

“Our best detectives are on this. Now get in here before I send you home.”

“Uh, that’s probably not a good idea,” Lucy interjects.

Tim shoves his chair under the desk to obey Wade’s order. “It’s an empty threat,” he mumbles. “It won’t work for long.”

You wake far faster than you faded. Jerking forward, you look around to locate Oli. Blinking against the light in your eyes, you realize that you’re no longer restrained. Nor are you in the windowless room from before. A dark alley surrounds you. Spreading your hands to push upright, your fingers brush against plastic. Your radio. It’s covered in your blood, but you yank it off the ground without hesitation.

With your back pressed to a brick wall, you ignore the pain radiating throughout your entire body and your shaking hands. When the channel dial is in place, you take a deep breath.

“Tim?” you ask, struggling to hold the button. With a finger and your opposite thumb forcing it in, you call, “Sergeant Bradford? I’m in the- the- the alley where Steve Navarro was arrested.”

Your finger slips in the blood, disconnecting you from your lifeline. Fresh blood runs down your jaw and the pain becomes overbearing. This time, you welcome the darkness, clutching your radio like it’s Tim’s hand.

Tim is in Wade office when his radio crackles. Your voice is soft when you say his name, and before Tim can reply, you’re talking again.

“We’re on the way,” Tim promises as he and Wade run out of the station. You don’t reply, so Tim begs, “Hey, talk to me. Which end of the alley?”

“Get an R/A,” Wade instructs.

Tim nods, then uses the radio in the shop to alert dispatch, hoping to hear your voice again. They reach the alley before you respond, and Wade beats Tim to your side.

“No,” Wade says, pushing Tim back before he can see you.

The ambulance arrives as Tim fights to get around Grey.

“Let me see her,” he demands, pushing Wade’s arms away from his chest.

“Bradford, look at me,” Wade replies.

When Tim stops fighting long enough to meet Wade’s eyes, he looks terrified.

“We’re going to follow them to the hospital, but we can’t compromise this scene. He was here.”

“How do you know? Let me- please,” Tim breathes out.

“Sergeants,” an EMT calls. “Could we get an escort?”

“Go,” Wade tells Tim. “I’ll wait for Harper and Lopez.”

Tim needs to see you, needs to know you’re alright. But now is his chance to play a role in helping you, so he escorts the ambulance to the hospital.

When you wake again you’re in the hospital, a sterile white room surrounding you as machines beep beside you. There’s an IV in your arm, bandages on your face, and a splint on your wrist.

Although you anticipate the sharp wave of pain that should accompany regaining consciousness, everything is numb. It’s a sensation that goes deeper than your scrapes and bruises. You’ll never be the same person, may never recognize yourself in the mirror again. You’re numb down to the very core of who you are, because Oli Navarro ripped that away from you. Part of you wants to cry, to scream and let the emotions out. The other part remembers that it won’t change anything. So, you blink at the blank wall in front of you, feeling nothing and everything simultaneously.

“Hi, officer,” a nurse greets as she steps inside. “Glad to see you awake.”

You hum, unsure if you share the sentiment.

“I need to check your vitals, hon. That okay with you?”

Nodding, you remain still as she presses a cool stethoscope to your chest and ribs, flashes a light in your eyes, and holds her finger to the pulse point beneath your jaw for a minute.

“Looks good,” she informs you as she writes numbers in your chart. “There’s someone here to see you, do you want me to give you a few minutes first?”

“I…” Your voice is quiet as you reply, “I don’t want to see anyone.”

Frowning, she nods. “That’s okay,” she promises. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”

“Thanks.”

Picking at the warm blanket over your legs, you try to think of something to do, anything to distract yourself from what happened. Hurried footsteps in the hall draw your attention, but you don’t turn toward the door as someone steps into your room. You can tell by the pause in the doorway that it’s not a medical professional. Which means it can only be…

“Tim,” you greet softly, turning your face away from him.

The bandages are covering the wounds on your face, but it doesn’t hide the nervousness, the fear and awareness that you’ll never be rid of the scars.

“Hey,” Tim replies, stepping inside. “The, uh, the nurse told me you didn’t want to see anyone.” He pauses, swallowing nervously as he shifts on his feet. He needs to see you, but he won’t force you into anything you don’t want. Since he stepped into that alley, he’s been desperate to be in your space again. “If you want me to go, I will,” he offers. “But I needed to know you’re really okay. And I wanted you to know that I’m here – we all are – if you need anything.”

Rather than replying, you look at his shadow.

“Do you want me to go?” he asks.

You shake your head, which is enough for Tim. He takes another step inside, then sinks into the chair by the door.

“Do you need anything? I can go by your house or-”

“No,” you whisper. “I- I don’t want to be alone.”

“You won’t be,” Tim promises, shifting the chair closer to you.

Two knocks on the door interrupt you, and Tim stands as the doctor enters. Less accommodating of your feelings and more focused on your health, the doctor walks to the far side of the bed to see you.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, smiling. “Scale of 1-10.”

“Pain’s a two,” you answer.

“Good. We’ve got you on a mild, nonaddictive pain medication. Just a strong NSAID,” he informs you. “Are you wanting a full report now or would you prefer to wait until morning?”

“What time is it?” you wonder.

He glances at his watch – pristine, you notice, not covered in blood like yours was – and answers, “3:15 a.m.”

“Full report,” you request. “It’s already morning.”

“Very well.”

 The doctor glances toward Tim, undoubtedly considering HIPAA rules and what he can say.

“Tim can stay,” you say.

With a nod, the doctor opens your chart. “You have a broken wrist, deep abrasions to your legs and abdomen, bruising on approximately 75% of your body, and severe facial trauma. The treatment-”

“Glasgow smile,” you interrupt.

The doctor’s smile falls. He nods solemnly and affirms, “Yes, that’s correct. It’s a deep cut from the mouth corners to your ears. The facial trauma can take up to eighteen months for full recovery. We’ve sutured the cuts; those will be removed in about a week, and we’ll keep an eye on the swelling and bruising during that time.”

Pressure builds in in your eyes, but you nod and ask, “The other injuries?”

“Because of the abrasions and bruising, we’re unable to put on a cast on your wrist, but proper use of the splint will allow for healing in six to eight weeks. The bruises will fade, of course. The abrasions may pull and bleed during the first week or so, but after that they should heal with no to minimal scarring.”

“Thanks, doctor,” you reply.

“Of course. I’ll be back once more around six and then the day shift will come in. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to use the call button.”

You nod, then look at the curtains as the doctor leaves. Tim thanks him softly, then sits down again.

“Can you close your eyes?” you ask Tim.

“Why?” he counters.

“Please.”

Tim sighs quietly, then murmurs, “Closed.”

Slowly, you turn toward him. He’s still wearing his patrol blues, but his hair is tousled, and he looks tired, like he’s been chasing you. When you look away again, you invite him to open his eyes.

“You should go home,” you offer. “Get some rest.”

Tim laughs flatly, stretching out in the chair. “Not likely.”

You roll your eyes, then relax your face. Tim has made himself comfortable, unaware that he’s been your rock since you were first taken. If you know him (and you do), he’ll be at your side through your recovery, whether you decide to return to work or get out early.

“Is it the wound?” he asks suddenly. “Why you won’t look at me?”

“Tim,” you sigh, dropping your chin toward your chest.

“I’m not trying to force you into anything you’re uncomfortable with,” he promises. “But I don’t care about scars. I care about you.”

“And if I’m not me anymore?”

Tim inches the chair closer to your bed. “You are. You have injuries, scars that run deeper than anything they did to you, but you’re still the same amazing woman.”

“Oli,” you say. “His name’s Oli Navarro.”

“How do you know?”

“He wanted information about the Steve Navarro case.” Shrugging, you add, “They look alike.”

“I’ll let Lopez know,” Tim assures you.

“You should go, too, make sure the cuffs are nice and tight.”

“I’m good here. Besides, Lopez won’t let me, says I have a volatile attitude.”

“She’s not wrong,” you muse. “Neither are you.”

Tim hums. You trust him; maybe more than you should. Turning slowly, you keep your eyes on Tim’s uniform as you face him. The worst of the injuries are covered, but it’s still clear that you’ve been tortured, that you don’t look the same as you did this time yesterday.

“I won’t blame you if you want to leave,” you promise softly.

Tim stands, and your eyes close. The sound of his chair moving prefaces him sitting again. When you open your eyes again, he’s directly beside you, smiling softly as he offers his hand at the edge of your bed.

“I’m right here,” he promises. “No matter what you say. Unless you actually want me to leave.”

You shake your head and lay your less injured hand on his. Your eyes close, and Tim whispers that he’ll be here when you wake, and you know he will be.

Nine days after you woke in the hospital, you’re being released. The sutures are out of your face, the bandages on your waist and legs are fresh, and you have a binder full of instructions on how to treat the wounds before your next doctor’s appointment.

You have a new room, too. When the doctors suggested you not be alone during the next stage of your recovery, Tim didn’t hesitate to invite you to move in with him for a while. Despite your argument that he’s already missed too much work, he insisted.

The first night in his guest room, you wake in tears. You hadn’t had time to dream in the hospital, being interrupted every hour or two or kept awake for observation. Now that you can relax, your mind takes your back to Oli’s hidden hideaway. He must still be there, you think, because he hasn’t been located to be arrested yet. Turning over in the bed, you’re surprised to see Kojo asleep on the floor beside you. Carefully, you reach off the bed and pet him. He rumbles happily beneath you, and the nightmare is forgotten.

Until the next night. It’s the same dream three nights in a row: you’re with Oli again, only this time Tim isn’t coming because Oli doesn’t want him to. He decides you’re worth more to him than anyone else. So, you’re trapped forever.

When it’s time to go to bed on the fourth night with Tim, you stand in the doorway and stare at the unmade bed. Turning, you plan to return to the couch where you can sit, stay awake for as long as possible and distract yourself when or if you awake from a nightmare.

“You need something?” Tim asks when you pass his open bedroom door.

Stepping back, you link your fingers together and meet his eyes.

“I, uh… I’ve been having nightmares,” you admit.

Tim nods in understanding, and for some reason, it’s enough to break you. The first tear breaks past your lashes, but Tim is on his feet before the second appears. He pulls you into his arms, holding you close as you cling to him, crying into his chest. Carefully, Tim leads you into his bed, holding you and whispering promises into your hair until your shoulders still. You cry yourself to sleep against him, and the sleep that follows is dreamless, Tim’s presence acting as a dreamcatcher, your constant protector.

After that night, sleeping is easier. The process to end the day is far more detailed. You have to change bandages, ensure the splint on your wrist is secure, put ointment on the scar on your face, and check for signs of infection.

Tim sits with you every night, helping you with places you can’t reach, gentle and patient. He always watches in the mirror as you hesitate to touch the Glasgow smile scar spanning your cheeks. Every night, he fails to find the words to tell you that the scar doesn’t change you, that you’re still beautiful.

A month and a half later, you decide to return to work. Oli Navarro is behind bars, on the verge of making a deal with the D.A. that involves a confession not only for his crimes against you, but for those his brother was indicted for years ago.

Neither you nor Tim have brought up the living arrangement, his guest room beginning to look more and more like it belongs solely to you. So, when you get ready for your first day back, it’s in his house. Angela helped you find a lightweight mask that covers your scar without impeding your breathing or speaking, and you wear it around your neck as you put scar cream on your face.

“You don’t need it,” Tim says suddenly.

He’s leaning against the doorway, his blue eyes fixed on your face in the mirror.

“Everyone in that station is your friend,” he adds. “You don’t have to hide it from us, you can trust us with all of it.”

You put the cap on the ointment, then turn to see Tim.

“It’s not them I’m worried about Tim,” you reply. “It’s the scared kid on the sidewalk, or, or- Tim, I am scared of my own reflection, okay? I don’t recognize who I see, so I need to cover it up. At least for now.”

Tim nods, but murmurs, “Burying it won’t make it go away. Trust me, I know.”

“I can’t,” you whisper. “Not yet.”

“It’s okay,” he promises. “If or when you are, you’re not alone.”

He steps forward, careful and reverent as he brings the top of the mask to your nose. When the silicone band around the top is in place, your eyes and forehead are visible, and the bottom of the mask disappears into your collar.

“You ready?” Tim checks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you answer. He steps back, but you reach out to stop him, your healed wrist functioning as if it was never injured when you wrap your fingers around Tim’s arm. “Thank you,” you say. “For everything.”

The mask becomes a permanent part of your wardrobe, whether you’re in uniform or grocery shopping. Even after you return to your apartment, the masks get constant use when you go out. Yet, every night, you take it off and look at yourself in the mirror. You’re starting to recognize who you see again.

The only time you go out without the mask is if you’re with Tim or going to his house. He doesn’t look at you differently than before, doesn’t make you any more self-conscious than you already are. If you weren’t in love with him before, you would be now.

“7-Adam-19,” Lucy radios. “We need backup. Approximately 500 underage suspects at our location.”

You shake your head before you attach yourself to their call. They were called to break up a party, but none of you anticipated the size of it. When you arrive, Nolan and Celina are exiting their shop to offer assistance, too.

“I hope you’re bringing more,” you tell them. “We’re outnumbered.”

“Doors and windows are locked,” Tim informs you, speaking over the music. “We tried to get in the garage, but no luck.”

“Entry in the back?” Nolan checks.

“Yeah, and there are people in the backyard so there’s got to be an open door somewhere,” Lucy answers. “We just have to find a way in.”

“Found it,” Celina interjects, pointing to the east side of the house.

There are teenagers exiting through the side gate, and Tim doesn’t hesitate to run across the yard and hold it open.

“LAPD!” you call as you follow Nolan into the backyard. “Everybody, hands where we can see them!”

“Turn the music off!” Tim demands.

One of the teenage boys closest to you glances at someone on the other side of the patio.

“Tim,” you warn.

Before you can finish, people start running. The boy beside you surges forward, attempting to distract you or push you away. His fingers hook in your mask, tugging it down as you step back to create distance.

He barks a laugh, then calls, “Look! The LAPD hired the Joker!”

In the time it takes you to inhale, he’s been knocked flat onto his back. Tim flips him, snaps handcuffs around his wrists, and stands, demanding everyone freeze. This time, they listen. His voice is angry, booming like a firework. Yet, when he glances at you, you see the fear in his expression. He’s worried that the kid’s comment got to you, that you’re going to get numb again and shut down.

So, you smile at him and pull the mask off. He exhales, his shoulders dropping in relief. You can’t see the shift, the moment he realizes that it isn’t enough, that this will never be enough.

“You’re all under arrest,” Nolan announces. “I’m sure your parents will be thrilled.”

“Backup’s here!” Smitty calls as he enters the yard. “Ooh, pizza!”

Tim knocks on the door, his patrol blues traded for jeans and a Henley as he holds a paper bag in his hand. When you pull the door open, you smile in surprise.

“Hi,” you greet, making room for him to enter. “Come on in.”

Tim nods and steps inside. When you close the door, he turns and blurts out, “Go out with me?”

Your lips part, but he doesn’t give you time to reply.

“I mean right now. I… I can’t keep going like this, acting like I don’t feel what I do,” he adds.

“It’s not you,” you preface. Tim knows then you’re going to say no but decides to hear you out. “I trust you, Tim, more than anyone. I love you, but so much has changed.”

“Nothing that really matters,” Tim counters, stepping closer to you.

You let him into your space, tipping your chin to look into his eyes. Tim drops the bag in his hand, flowers and your favorite treat spilling out. He moves slowly, giving you another chance to back out. When his hands rise, you lean into his touch. His kiss is electric, full of promises and truths that you’ve dreamed of hearing him say. You don’t hesitate to kiss him back, holding his waist as his thumb brushes across your face. Rather than realizing he’s touching your scar, you focus only on his warmth against your skin, the feelings he communicates with every little hum that escapes him. You sigh into the kiss, pressing your chest to him before he pulls back, holding your waist in one hand and your jaw in the other.

“Are you sure?” you check softly.

Tim rolls his eyes as he murmurs, “I love you. And nothing has changed.”

You tip your head, prepared to argue, but Tim lifts you before you can speak. Secure in his arms, you laugh, feeling like yourself again as he drops you onto your couch. Hovering above you, Tim kisses your forehead before he presses his lips to your scar carefully, prepared to show that that he’s more than sure.

Tim is on his third 16-hour day when he decides that he has to act. He’s physically and emotionally exhausted after the long hours working back-to-back draining cases. Rather than finding a way to deal with the deep tiredness settling in him, Tim pulls his phone from his pocket and texts you.

When you receive his single-line text, you know what he’s doing. He’s pulling away from you because he’s dealing with something. He said he won’t be home, but you know it’s more than that. The last time he had to pull an unexpected double, he called, apologetic and promising to make it up for you. This is different; you can feel it even through a text. Hesitating to reply, you weigh your options. It doesn’t take long to remember that forcing Tim to talk before he’s ready is a bad idea and your relationship is too important to risk. So, you answer that you understand and remind him that you love him. It has to be enough for now.

Tim pushes his fingers through his hair, tugging the roots painfully after an unsuccessful raid on the suspect’s home. There are people in danger because he can’t solve this case; his inadequacies are harming the people closest to him and the citizens he vowed to serve and protect. He could talk to someone, he knows. Wade would understand the stress, the fear, the exhaustion. And you’d listen to him, comforting him in a way only you know how.

But what if I’m right? he thinks.

What if he’s to blame for this case going unsolved? What if he’s as weak as he fears? What if bothering you with this is the last straw, the thing that drives you away?

Those questions threaten to pull him under farther than he already is, so he straightens his shoulders and bottles up the emotions. He won’t go home to you like this, won’t burden you with this until the case is solved and he’s sure of his worth and abilities once more.

Four days after his text, you drive by Tim’s house again. For the first time in days, his truck is in the driveway. You don’t hesitate to pull in and walk to his door. He’s hiding and it breaks your heart.

Tim pulls the door open after you knock the second time. He looks exhausted, drained beyond comprehension. You’re not even sure how he’s standing with how tired he looks.

“Hi,” you greet softly, shifting the overnight bag in your hand.

“What are you doing here?” Tim asks, his eyes looking at you but failing to truly focus.

“I thought you might need something,” you explain. “But if you don’t want me to come in, I’ll leave. Just let me order you dinner or something.”

Tim nods, stepping back as he pulls the door open. You smile but don’t touch him while you step inside his house. His backpack is by the door, stuffed so full the zipper is straining at both seams. Tim sighs as he closes the door; for some reason, you know exactly what he’s about to say.

“You’re not fine,” you say before he can lie to you. “I don’t know what you’re dealing with or the type of exhaustion you’ve encountered this week, but I do know that you need help. If not from me-“

“From you,” Tim murmurs, shuffling toward you as his shoulders draw inward, his back curving like he’s trying to hide.

“Are you hungry?” you ask.

Tim nods, looking at your hands rather than your face.

“Okay. How about I make you dinner while you take a hot shower?” Tim shifts, so you add, “I’ll get everything ready so all you have to do is relax.”

Hesitantly, he agrees. He trails behind you to his bathroom, smaller and quieter than you’ve ever seen him. It breaks your heart, but you’re glad you can be here for him.

After the water warms up, you put a fresh towel by the shower, then step into Tim’s room to get clothes out of dresser.

“Do you need anything else?” you inquire, straightening the bottles in Tim’s shower.

He meets your eyes in the mirror and shakes his head, his eyes glassy.

“I’m right outside,” you remind him, pulling the door to but not closed.

While Tim showers, you return to his kitchen to make dinner. He has most of the ingredients, and you were on your way back from the store, so you have everything you need to make his favorite. Against the hum of the shower, you prepare the food. Each time your mind begins to wander to what could be bothering Tim, you remind yourself to think of something else.

Thirty minutes later, you’re beginning to worry about Tim. Dinner is almost ready and he looked ready to collapse when you arrived. After turning off the stove, you move toward the living room. Then, the shower shuts off. You nod to yourself and return to the counter to finish the food and put it on plates.

Every time something goes wrong in your life, Tim is there to hold you, offer advice, and make everything better. Yet, he never gives himself the same grace, never approaches his own problems the same way.

Tim steps into view, dressed in dark blue pajama pants and a Lakers t-shirt. He looks more awake, but the sad smile he sends you is devastating.

“Dinner’s ready,” you tell him. “Table or couch?”

“Couch, please,” he replies.

You carry the plates to the table, then set two glasses of water beside them. Tim lowers to the couch beside you, his eyes forward and his shoulders sagging like the weight of the world is pulling him down.

“Want to watch something?” you check.

“You pick,” he murmurs.

The wind howls outside as you clear your plates from the coffee table. Tim is half-watching the ‘90s sitcom you turned on, clearly lost in his thoughts.

“I was looking for those treats Kojo likes and saw an ad for a new made-to-order dog food,” you say as you return to Tim’s side. “I feel like it would be easier to just make him food, but I don’t know if I’m a good enough cook for Kojo’s taste.”

“He loves everything you make,” Tim points out. “Everything you do.”

“Well, yeah, because he’s a loving guy. I’m sure a lot of people think I could try a little harder in the kitchen.”

“I could work faster,” Tim counters, staring at a mark on the table. “Maybe then we would have known the cases were connected and could have worked them the right way. If I’d done my part, we wouldn’t have spent days on end in the station.”

Your breaths slow as you listen to Tim. Pressure builds behind your eyes as you bite your inner cheek. “I hate how you talk to yourself,” you respond.

“It shouldn’t have been so hard,” he adds, his voice breaking as he drops his chin toward his chest.

“Tim,” you say, failing to make him look at you. “Tim, it’s not weak if you need to be held. The world won’t fall if you’re not holding it up… just, take a minute and put your mind on ice.”

Tim exhales, the breath shaky as his shoulders heave. When he looks over at you, his eyes are filled with tears, and the first blink sends them cascading down his cheeks.

“Tim,” you breathe out.

At that, your strong, world-saving, burden-bearing boyfriend shatters. He pushes forward, falling into your arms as sobs wrack his body. While you hold him, your hands firm and loving against his spine, Tim speaks indiscernibly into your shoulder.

“You try- you’re trying, but the burden is heavy and overgrown,” you sympathize when he stops talking, your hand rubbing along his spine. “We all get tired. It’s a long night when you do it on your own.”

“I’m supposed to be stronger than this,” Tim says, breathing raggedly as he shifts to press his forehead against your collarbone, his hands clutching your sides like you’re the only think grounding him.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head as you hold him. “You’re human, my love.”

His breaths grow shallow again, interrupted by a harsh hiccup that precedes heavy teardrops falling against your skin.

“You take care of me all the time,” you remind him. “And you are deserving of that same care not because of anything you do but because you’re good, Tim. You’re a good cop, a good son and brother, and an even better boyfriend. You’re the best person I’ve ever met, and it breaks my heart that you can’t see that.”

Tim sits up, wiping the stray tears from his jaw. “What if I can’t take care of myself?” he wonders.

“I’m right here,” you say, smiling as you lean closer to him. “I’m a call away, ready to take care of you and help you learn to take care of yourself.”

“How’d you know to come?”

“I know you. I’ve known since you sent that text that you could use a friendly shoulder.”

Tim reaches out to hold your shoulders as he pulls you closer. “Or two,” he murmurs softly.

“Did you solve the case?” you ask.

“We did. All three of them.”

“See? You did your job, Tim. Carrying those burdens is just going to run you into the ground.”

He nods, his blinks slowing. Practiced in coercing him, you convince Tim to go get in his bed, holding his hand as you lead him down the hall. You had planned to leave after he got settled, but he has practice in this too and convinces you to change and join him far too easily.

“I love you,” he says, speaking into your skin like he’s making a covenant in the darkness.

“I love you,” you reply, dancing your fingers along his arm. “I’m here.”

“Better be when I wake up, too,” he sighs. “Because you’ve been here for a while and haven’t kissed me once.”

“You needed something else tonight.”

Tim hums, then kisses your shoulder and says, “I expect you to make up the difference tomorrow.”

You sigh, but smile into the pillow as you agree, “Whatever you need, my love.”

Derek pulls into the car park with a low sigh, hand resting heavy on the steering wheel. His jaw is tight, and you can see the disappointment settle across his shoulders, subtle but unmistakable. He doesn't say anything at first—just stares out through the rain-streaked window at the park beyond, where the grass you'd planned to lay your blanket on is quickly turning to sludge. You can just make out the outline of the wooden picnic tables you'd both scoffed at earlier—"not romantic enough"—now sitting under a curtain of rain, abandoned and dripping. A forgotten playground sits in the distance, its swings moving lazily in the breeze, eerily empty.

Behind you, the two picnic baskets rattle as he brakes gently into the spot. One's stuffed with sandwiches you made that morning with aching fingers, slicing cucumbers so thin your wrists nearly locked up. The other is all his favourites—fried chicken, homemade cornbread wrapped in foil, peach cobbler in a little Tupperware you argued over finding a lid for. You'd even packed napkins and a little Bluetooth speaker and the cheap gingham blanket you swore would make everything feel like something out of a rom-com.

"Damn," he mutters. Not angry. Just... tired. "Been sunny all week."

"I checked the forecast like four times." You try to laugh, but it sounds thin, brittle around the edges. "Said we had clear skies till at least six."

"Yeah, well," he leans back against the headrest, his voice low, warm with affection even under the weight of ruined plans. "Guess the weather app's as reliable as Rossi's punctuality."

You huff a small laugh, shifting slightly in your seat—and immediately regret it.

The ache in your knees sharpens into something more vicious, a hot, splintering throb that cuts through the lower half of your body like broken glass. It's sharp enough to steal the air from your lungs for a second. You don't let it show. Not really. You keep your expression level, gaze trained on the window, though your fingers twitch slightly where they rest in your lap, muscles tightening with the effort it takes not to rub at your joints. Everything feels swollen and stiff, as if your skin can barely contain the revolt beneath it.

Derek glances over.

"You okay?"

You nod before the question finishes leaving his mouth. "Mhm."

He narrows his eyes, clearly not buying it. "You're curled up like a pretzel."

"I'm comfy."

"You're lying."

You exhale slowly through your nose. The car is warm, fogging up a little now with the windows closed against the rain. The scent of fried chicken from the basket in the backseat mingles with the faint trace of his aftershave—sandalwood and something deeper, smoky and grounding. There's something sacred about this space. A capsule of stillness in the middle of a storm. The storm outside turns the space into a cocoon, intimate and dim, but your body refuses to let you enjoy it. Every movement pulls at something else—an ankle twinge here, a stubborn twist of pain in your hip there. Even your fingers feel swollen, each knuckle burning under the skin like they're screaming in Morse code.

You adjust your posture slightly, trying to find a position that doesn't make your spine feel like it's made of mismatched puzzle pieces. Even that slight shift is a gamble.

"Did the walk from the car earlier do this?" Derek's voice is gentler now. He's not pushing, but he's also not going to pretend he doesn't notice. "You were fine when we left your place."

"It just flared," you say quietly. "Didn't even feel it start. One minute I was fine, next—" You break off with a shrug, shoulders tight. "You know how it is."

He nods. "Yeah. I know."

You look down at your hands, your thumb rubbing absently over your wrist. You can still feel the faint give from earlier, the way your knee had shifted ever so slightly out of place while you climbed the kerb. A micro-dislocation. You didn't say anything. You'd just clenched your jaw and kept moving. Didn't want to ruin the day. Didn't want him to see the way your body can buckle without warning.

You hate how good he is at reading you.

Silence settles between you, not awkward, but weighted. The kind that builds when plans unravel and there's nothing to do but sit in the aftermath. Rain drums harder now, furious and relentless, tapping a staccato rhythm against the roof of the car. The sound is almost soothing, in a twisted way. It drowns out everything but the throb in your joints and the way Derek keeps stealing glances at you like he's trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces.

You watch the droplets race each other down the window. One splits in half halfway down, a trail of water veering off course like it's trying to escape.

"It's like a bloody monsoon out there," you murmur.

"Could probably swim to that tree line," Derek replies dryly.

You glance at him. "Bet you'd still say it counts as cardio."

He smirks. "Damn right. Might bring my gym towel next time."

You try to smile, and for a moment, it almost works. But then a flash of pain shoots up your thigh, and your expression falters. You press your hand into the seat beside you, grounding yourself, resisting the urge to curl into the ache.

Derek shifts in his seat, one hand running over his jaw. "We could eat here," he offers. "Not ideal, but—picnic in the car. Beats going home."

You consider it. The thought of moving again makes your stomach turn slightly. Your joints feel fragile, like wet paper. Unstable. Like your body might betray you again the moment you lean the wrong way. You picture trying to climb into the backseat, unwrapping food with fingers that don't want to close properly, pretending to laugh while your ribs ache from holding yourself so tight.

"I don't want to ruin it," you say. "You've been looking forward to this all week."

"So have you."

"Yeah, but..." You trail off, unsure how to finish the sentence without making it sound like an apology. You hate how guilty you feel—like your body's betrayal somehow ruined more than just your own comfort. Like it's infected the day, spread into his mood, warped his patience. Like you've taken something from him you can't give back. There's a pit in your stomach that has nothing to do with hunger.

He doesn't say anything. Just watches you, expression unreadable.

A car drives past slowly behind you, its tyres hissing in the flooded car park. The windows fog more, the world outside blurring completely now. Trees turn to vague shapes, indistinct. Inside the car, the air is thick with tension—emotional, physical, suspended. Your limbs ache, and you feel the start of a migraine curl behind your eyes. The space behind your right temple pulses like it's being tugged by an invisible thread.

You don't move. Neither does he. You both sit in it—in the disappointment, the pain, the quiet love that has nowhere to go.

Derek turns to you slowly, like he's made up his mind about something.

You catch the shift out of the corner of your eye—his body angling toward you, brow furrowed not with frustration but with quiet, grounded concern. His gaze drifts from your face to the way you're sitting, tense and uneven, your weight clearly shifted to one side. You know you're holding yourself awkwardly, curled just so to protect your knee, your hip, the places screaming loudest. Your ankle's starting to tingle too, a warning sign you've felt too many times before—nerves getting compressed, circulation faltering. Even your back is beginning to feel like it's been fused at the base, the pressure mounting as your body folds in on itself to protect what hurts.

"You're doing the thing," he says, his voice low.

"What thing?" you ask, though you already know.

"The thing where you pretend you're fine and I'm not supposed to notice."

You open your mouth, close it again. You could deflect. Make a joke. Tell him you're just cold, or that the seat's uncomfortable, or that you're fine, really—

But he's already sliding his seat back.

"Derek—"

"Shh," he says gently, not sharply, just enough to quiet your protest. "Let me help."

He leans over, his movements careful, deliberate, as if he's done this a hundred times before. Maybe not this exact thing, but something like it. The kind of quiet, physical caretaking you don't get taught—you just learn, with time, when someone you love keeps pushing through pain. His tone never shifts into pity. Just quiet understanding, like he's meeting you where you are without needing you to explain first.

His hand brushes under your calves, warm and steady, and he lifts your legs slowly, gently, like you're made of porcelain and he's been trained not to drop you. He settles them in his lap with a tenderness that steals the breath right out of your chest. The shift in position sends a flare through your hip, but it fades almost as fast as it came, soothed by the new angle, the promise of relief. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, the smallest gasp of something like gratitude.

His thumbs graze the side of your knee, and your body instinctively flinches—not from fear, just anticipation.

"Too much?"

You shake your head. "No. It's okay."

He starts massaging around your knee through your leggings, fingers warm and careful, pressing into the muscle with a rhythm that feels instinctive. The pressure is perfect—firm enough to be effective, gentle enough to not make anything worse. You don't realise how tense you were until he starts easing the tightness from your leg. Every muscle along your thigh sighs beneath his touch. The pain doesn't disappear entirely, but it dulls, retreats into something manageable.

"You should've told me you were hurting," Derek says after a moment, voice quiet, like he doesn't want to scold you. Just wants to understand.

You glance at him, eyes half-lidded from the relief spreading through your leg. "I didn't want to ruin it."

"You don't ruin things." He says it simply, with no room for argument.

"I know. I just... I wanted today to be simple."

He pauses, still rubbing gentle circles. "Do you think simple means hiding the hard stuff?"

You sigh, a sound that escapes more from your ribs than your chest. "Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes I just want to eat sandwiches in the sun and feel normal."

"You are normal," he says.

"Normal for me." You smile wryly. "Which still includes surprise joint dislocations and migraines and knees that scream when I breathe wrong."

His hands shift slightly, now focusing behind your knee where the tension pools when you hold yourself too still for too long. "Yeah, but you also make perfect sandwiches and remember the napkins. You packed my favourite cobbler. You picked this park because you knew it had clean loos. You planned around everything. That's not weakness. That's strength."

You let out a quiet laugh, soft and watery. "You really think that?"

"I know that," he says, gently pressing along the outer edge of your kneecap. "You move through the world like it's trying to trip you up and you still find ways to dance."

Your lips twitch into a tired smile as you lean your head back against the cool window. The glass fogs near your cheek, the rain still hammering down outside, relentless. You close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself sink into the comfort of his touch. The rhythm of his hands, the warmth of his lap beneath your legs, the grounding sensation of being seen and not judged.

"It was supposed to be our day," you murmur. "The normal kind. The kind where I don't have to explain anything."

Derek's fingers slow for a second. "You don't have to explain to me."

You open your eyes again, watching him. He's focused on your leg, brows drawn in soft concentration, his thumbs tracing small circles just above your kneecap. "Yeah, but I want to. I want to be the version of me that doesn't have to lean on you all the time."

"You think I mind?"

You hesitate. "No. I think you mean it when you say you don't. But it still doesn't make it easier."

"I get it," he says. "You want to feel like you're not asking for anything. But you're not asking. You're letting me be here. That's different."

You blink slowly, throat tight. "What if I can't give back the same way?"

Derek pauses, then shifts one hand to rest gently on your shin. "You already do. Every time you let me in. Every time you trust me with this. That's not nothing. That's everything."

He looks up then, properly, eyes meeting yours across the narrow space between you.

"I don't love you despite this," he says. "I just love you."

The words hang in the air, unadorned and steady, like everything else about him. You feel their weight settle over you—not crushing, but grounding. Real. Like the storm outside is still there, but you've found shelter.

Your chest tightens with something almost too soft to name. Gratitude. Exhaustion. Relief. The desire to believe him, and the quiet understanding that you already do.

"You're too good at that," you murmur.

"At what?"

"Saying the exact thing I didn't know I needed to hear."

He smiles, thumb brushing absently along the curve of your knee. "Maybe I just pay attention."

"Or maybe you're magic."

He huffs a quiet laugh. "That, too."

Derek shifts again, carefully, as if mindful not to disturb your legs still resting in his lap. You feel the slight dip of movement beneath you and blink your eyes open in time to see him reach into the backseat with one long arm. He comes back with the thick blanket you'd tossed in at the last minute, just in case it got breezy.

Funny. At the time, you'd meant "breezy" as in "light wind, maybe a chill." Not an apocalyptic rainstorm that turned the whole city into soup. Not puddles big enough to swallow your ankles or thunder loud enough to rattle your teeth. Not the kind of cold that sinks into your joints and makes them ache even before you've stepped outside. Not this.

He unfolds the blanket in one practiced sweep, shaking it out before draping it over both of your laps with gentle efficiency. It's fleece-lined and soft against your skin, already warm from the heat of the car. The fibres catch the faint scent of lavender from your laundry detergent, mingling with the comforting mix of Derek's cologne and the residual aroma of fried chicken in the air. You shift slightly to tuck it around your thighs, grateful for the added weight and warmth. Your joints respond immediately—less tension, less resistance. Just enough comfort to feel like something's been given back. A little piece of your body exhaling. The kind of relief that doesn't fix everything but makes surviving it easier.

"Better?" he asks, voice low.

You nod. "Yeah. You always remember the little stuff."

"I try."

There's a beat of silence, soft and unhurried, before he reaches back again, slower this time, and grabs one of the smaller containers from the picnic basket. The plastic lid is misted with condensation, the inside slightly foggy, but you recognise it immediately: the fruit you'd sliced up that morning. Strawberries, blueberries, chunks of pineapple and kiwi layered in sections like a colour wheel. You'd been meticulous about it, cutting away every bit of rind and pith until your fingers were sticky with juice and your shoulder ached from standing too long.

He pops the lid and sets the container between you on the centre console, then glances down at your legs.

"You good like this?"

"Mmhm. Just don't let me slide off your lap if I fall asleep mid-bite."

He grins. "You think I'd drop you? Rude."

"I've seen you juggle three coffees and your badge without spilling a drop. You're cocky about it, so I don't trust you."

He shrugs, mock-casual. "That's because I'm excellent at what I do."

"Is that what this is?" You nudge his thigh lightly with your heel. "You being excellent at car-picnics too?"

"Damn right." He picks up a slice of kiwi and offers it to you. "Go on. Vitamin C. Doctor's orders."

You lean forward slightly to take it from him, lips brushing his fingertips in the process. He doesn't flinch, doesn't even shift—just smiles that same small, satisfied smile, like this is exactly how he pictured this going. You chew slowly, savouring the burst of tartness, the cold sweetness that makes your mouth water. You reach for a blueberry and pop it into your mouth, sighing with quiet contentment.

You reach again—this time for a chunk of pineapple—and he grabs a strawberry for himself, biting into it slowly while his hand finds its way back to your shin. The contact is constant now. Like instinct.

Outside, the storm has softened, though not stopped. The rain's a steadier rhythm now, less furious, more like a background hum. It beats against the roof and windows, but inside the car, everything feels insulated. Small. Safe. Like the world has narrowed down to just this space between you and him, the soft weight of the blanket, the steady pulse of his hand resting gently on your shin. It's like time has slowed to match your heartbeat.

You reach for a strawberry and he shifts slightly to accommodate you, fingers tightening briefly where they rest against your leg. It's not possessive. It's just... grounded. Like he's saying, I've got you, without needing to open his mouth. His thumb traces slow circles near your ankle as you lean back again, chewing thoughtfully.

"Remember that time we tried to go apple-picking and you slipped in the mud?"

You groan. "Please no. I still have the photo Garcia printed out and pinned to her corkboard."

"I told you those boots were more fashion than function."

"They were cute!"

"They had zero grip."

"They matched my flannel!"

Derek laughs, head tilting back slightly. "Yeah, they did. You were trying to live your little Pinterest fantasy."

"Pinterest fantasies don't account for ankle subluxations, apparently."

"Or muddy hills."

"I'm still mad you caught me mid-fall and then laughed for fifteen minutes straight."

"I was not laughing for fifteen minutes—"

"You were wheezing, Derek."

He grins. "Okay, fine. But you laughed too. Eventually."

You snort. "Because you fell after me. Karma."

"Classic romcom timing," he says, grinning. "If this were a movie, we would've kissed in the mud."

"I was too busy trying not to cry from the pain to kiss anyone."

"You still made that muddy flannel look good."

His hand squeezes your shin again, just once. "Still made it a good day."

You look at him for a long moment, strawberry halfway to your mouth. The edges of the fruit glisten in the soft light, and you can feel the moment stretch between you.

"You think this is still a good day?"

His eyes don't waver. "Yeah. It's not the one we planned. But it's ours. And that makes it good."

Your throat tightens. Not painfully. Just enough to remind you that it's okay to feel things even when you're tired, even when you're aching. You bite into the strawberry and nod, chewing slowly.

A crack of thunder rolls in the distance, softer now, like a low purr rather than a threat. The sky outside has shifted shades—still grey, but no longer furious. Just mellow. The kind of grey that settles instead of stirs.

Derek brushes a few crumbs from your knee, the blanket shifting slightly with the movement. His hand returns to its spot on your shin almost immediately, like it never really left.

"You ever think," you murmur, "that we do this better than the real thing?"

"What do you mean?"

You shrug lightly. "We plan a perfect day, and the world throws us rain. And somehow the rain's better."

He thinks about it for a moment, then nods. "Because we show up anyway. Even when it's messy. Especially when it's messy."

You smile, leaning your head against the window again. The glass is cool but not cold, a gentle counter to the warmth pooling around you. You watch the raindrops chase each other down the glass like little silver threads unraveling.

"Most people bail," you say softly. "When things get inconvenient, or hard. You never do."

"I'm not most people."

"No, you're not."

Outside, the world keeps turning. Inside, it feels like maybe it doesn't have to. Not for a little while longer. Not while you're tucked under a blanket, sharing fruit in the soft hush of a rain-soaked car, with Derek's steady hand on your shin like an anchor.

And for now, that's enough.

You were having sex with a guy, Trevor, for the first time in months and he made you remember why so much time had passed since your last sexual encounter.

From time to time you remembered to moan, just not to stay too silent, with such fakeness you sounded like the most experienced porn actress.

You know those ones that you barely touch with a finger and they’re already screaming and moaning at the top of their lungs as if they were having the best orgasm of their life? That was you.

How the hell did that guy not even understand that your moans were fake? Even the damned stones would have understood.

But not him. Trevor seemed so satisfied with his performance and you could see from a mile away that he hadn’t touched a woman in years, that he was only and solely focused on his pleasure.

His hips were moving too frantically, he had no rhythm and it seemed as if he was chasing something.

It was these random encounters that made you hate sex. You weren’t one of those women who needed sex in their life 7 days a week, you were fine without it, but sometimes you needed that human contact, that adrenaline, that desire, feeling your intestines turned upside down and your organs moved from their original spot, you needed to feel like dying while having an orgasm.

God how you missed sex like that.

You hated to admit it, but the only man who had been able to make you feel so much pleasure, to make you forget your own name was him.

Stop, don’t think about him right now.

You realized you were too quiet so you started panting and moaning again as if Trevor was rocking your world instead of almost putting you to sleep.

Man, you regretted inviting him so bad.

But what could you say? Desperate times, called for desperate measures.

When the hell is it going to end?

“I’m coming…” he groaned and you mentally sighed in relief. You didn’t even bother faking an orgasm, you just got out of bed and locked yourself in the bathroom, not even saying a word, hoping Trevor would get the hint and leave before you came out.

You turned on the shower and waited for the water to get a little warm before entering the stall, your only thought directed towards your vibrator best friend who was impatiently waiting for you.

-

The case the BAU was working on was successfully closed and the unsub got arrested before he could kill his next victim. You were on the team jet, returning in Virginia, and you were making yourself a cup of tea when you felt a presence behind you.

You turned and rolled your eyes when you noticed Derek Morgan standing behind you, his muscular arms crossed over his chest and a sneering smirk — both panty-ripping and slapping — plastered on his face.

“What do you want now Morgan?”

You had noticed Derek giving you strange looks all day now, but you had never had the chance to ask him why since you were both busy on an important murder hunt. You weren’t sure how to describe the way he looked at you, like he was teasing you on one hand but also analyzing and scrutinizing you from head to toe on the other.

You and Derek weren’t complete strangers, to say the least.

You ended up in bed together after a night of drinking after a successfully closed case, months ago. You wanted to forget it, god you tried so hard, but your mind kept replying that night every day since it happened.

He thought you didn’t remember anything, but every time you looked at him you could only think about how that bastard had been the best and most beautiful sex of your life.

And you hated it.

Stupid Trevor, why did you have to be the worst sex of my life and make me believe even more I’ll never have something as overwhelming as I experienced it with Derek?

Both you and Derek silently decided it’d only be a one-night stand but there had certainly been no shortage of jokes and barbs from him, or the languid and mischievous glances he’d throw you, like he wanted to undress you with his gaze, or how he’d give you that panty-ripping grin when he caught you staring at him.

You had always thought that Derek was a handsome man, since you joined the BAU. You’d always fantasized about him from day one, god you was so attracted to him likefew, but knowing what it was like to have sex with him had turned your world upside down.

And it didn’t help that you were so frustrated after the Trevor fiasco.

That day Derek was wearing an all-black look, almost as if he knew how crazy he was driving you.

Please calm down now.

“Oh nothing, I just wanted a coffee,” he replied, his voice so husky and soothing that just hearing it almost made you want to beg him to give him a blowjob right there in front of everyone.

Fucks sake I’m becoming an animal.

Your heart almost stopped when you realized he had taken a step towards you, almost making your drop your cup.

“You’re welcome, the kitchen is all yours then.”

“How was your night?” he asked, making you stop in your tracks before you could exit the jet’s small kitchen.

You sipped your tea, your heart skipping a beat. “It went well.”

His grin grew even wider, and you wondered what the hell was going through his mind. “Just well?”

“What do you want, Morgan?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh nothing, baby girl. I just asked a simple question.” His eyes moved from your eyes to your lips and your mouth suddenly felt dry. Derek noticed the way you wet your lips with your tongue, even though it was completely unintentional.

Even though your stomach was in a tizzy, you feigned calm and tranquility as you took another sip of your tea. “Well, I answered you, now if you don’t mind, I’m going to…”

He cut you off. “You know, if I hadn’t known before, I would’ve actually given you an Oscar for Best Actress.”

You frowned. “What?”

His grin grew even bigger than it already was. Your breath caught for a moment as he took another step towards you.

He was close.

Too close.

Your eyes never left his, which despite the dim light shone like two bright beacons in the night. His scent flooded your nostrils and that was enough to rekindle your senses.

Why the fuck did it have to smell so good?

“Oh yeah,” he fake-groaned in a low but high-pitched tone and you wished the earth would swallow you right then.

That’s what the bastard was talking about, he heard you.

Derek Morgan heard you having sex and, in that moment, you hated Trevor even more.

“Why fake actress?” You asked, an eyebrow raised.

“You look so beautiful when you fake a confidence you don’t have,” he retorted, reaching up and stroking your cheek with his index finger. It took all of you not to lean into his touch and close your eyes. “But the blush on your cheeks always gives you away. It’s so damn cute.”

Your breathing was visibly quickening, and you found yourself putting the cup of tea on the sink because you knew it would slip out of your hands sooner or later. You tried to put distance between you and Derek, but the space was too small.

“Morgan, they could hear us.”

“We’re just talking,” he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and — even though you fought it — you couldn’t help but look down at his lips, so beautiful and sensual. “I’m congratulating my dear colleague on her amazing performance.”

“Will you just stop? It wasn’t a performance. It was sex, have you ever heard of that, Morgan?”

He chuckled, his fingers still playing with the lock of your hair. “Oh yes, of course, that’s why I can tell reality from fiction and that orgasm, my beautiful agent, was the furthest thing from reality.”

“It’s not true,” you muttered, unable for the life of you to pretend and be more convinced. Derek’s eyes traveled along your body, making every cell that passed under his hungry gaze light up and set ablaze. He wet his lips and you almost moaned at the gesture. And that would’ve been a real moan. “You’re so creepy, did you really listen to me having sex with someone else?”

“It’s not my fault our rooms were practically attached,” he replied, his voice lowered and a hint of irritation surrounding it. “Believe me when I tell you the last thing I want is to hear you with someone else. But it comforts me to know that he wasn't even up to your level.”

“Oh, and what do you know? You weren't there with me.”

His chocolate brown eyes met yours again. His face came so terribly close to yours that you thought he was going to kiss you right then and there.

And the bad thing was that you wanted it and you were going to let him.

“Because I know what you look like when you're coming, I know what you sound like when your body is shaking with a real orgasm, I know how to touch you, how to make you lose your mind,” he whispered but his voice reached your ears powerfully. You clenched your hands into fists because that one whispered sentence made your vagina throb.

“You remember?” You whispered back, alternating your eyes between his and his lips. God how you wanted those lips on you, on every inch of your body.

You decided that you would think about how pathetic you sounded later.

His left arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you towards his body, already interrupting the tiny space between the two of you. A sigh escaped your lips involuntarily when you felt his erection press against you. Your hands, which were resting on his sculpted chest, clenched his shirt in a fist.

“I have done nothing but replicate that night for the last three and a half months, every fucking day.”

With his free hand, Derek moved your hair aside, letting it fall over your shoulders and leaving your neck free.

You sighed when he placed his hot mouth on your skin, leaving a series of chaste kisses that made you lose your mind. You forgot for a few moments where you were, that at any moment any member of the team could walk in there, but you couldn’t give a fuck.

“I know how your body shakes with pleasure, you pant uncontrollably, your moans aren’t loud,” he kissed that spot below your ear, “but they are so intense and so fucking sexy, I can come just hearing them. You don’t scream, but everything that came out of this mouth when you were with me was real. The way your body writhed, the way your pussy tightened around me was real. Tell me baby, did this happen with him? Did you feel like you were going to explode?”

“Oh God… Derek…” you muttered, your eyelids half-closed as his lips kissed your neck and his teeth nibbled your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. You didn’t even realize you’d tilted your head to the side to give him more access but you didn’t care, if that man wanted to fuck you right there, you would’ve let him without hesitation, even if it meant everyone would catch you.

That’s how desperate you were.

“I don’t think so,” he answered his own question and raised his head so he could look at you.

You bit your bottom lip, trying hard to hold back the urge to kiss him until you were out of breath.

His erection continued to press harder and harder against your body and you writhed, just wanting some relief.

“I tried to forget about that night, believe me. I was drunk but I remember every single gasp, every breathy moan, everything that dirty mouth said to me,” his thumb traced your bottom lip and you parted your lips spontaneously, your breathing quickening and your heart beating like you had just done a hard workout. “I remember perfectly the way you looked at me, how your eyes shone while you had my dick in your mouth, how you smiled at me when you turned around and looked at me while I fucked you from behind… Every little detail is burned into my memory and I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.”

“Fuck Derek please…” But you were begging him for what? You didn’t know.

His lips slammed against yours before you could finish that sentence and you moaned.

Yes, damn it, you moaned, and all you could do was pray that no one had heard you.

Your arms immediately wrapped around his neck as he held you tightly against his body, both of his hands gripping your hips with a firm, steady grip. His tongue wasted no time in possessing your mouth as soon as you gave him the chance and you lost yourself in that kiss.

All the frustration that had built up ignited like a match hitting gasoline, ready to explode and drag you into the ash.

You were rubbing yourself against him, his erection so hard you wanted nothing more than to free it.

“Y/n! Can you get me a cup of tea too please?” You heard JJ’s voice and that little bubble you and Derek were trapped in burst, making you separate from each other.

“Yes, I’ll be right there!” You exclaimed back, never taking your eyes off Derek whose chest was rising and falling rapidly in response to yours, his lips slick with saliva.

“Don’t even think for a second this is over,” he whispered, grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll kill before I let another man take what’s mine.”

“Not very jealous, huh?” You bit your lip and he sucked in a breath.

“Yeah. I’m quite possessive of what’s mine.”

“Since when?”

He grabbed your face with one hand with a tight grip, determined to leave you no escape but at the same time gentle, careful not to hurt you or leave marks. “From this moment on you are. Understood?” He kissed you one last time and you found yourself nodding in a trance like a poor idiot.

Girl stand the fuck up!

“See you soon, baby.”

When Derek had said those last words you didn’t think he was serious but when that same evening he knocked on your doorbell, you couldn’t hide your amazement and — above all — your excitement.

God what kind of witchcraft had that man done to you?

You waited a couple of moments before opening, just to keep him on his toes.

When you opened the door Derek revealed himself at his best, breathtakingly wonderful. You noticed he had changed clothes, he was wearing a white shirt and black pants and you wondered why he had dressed so elegantly to come to you.

But then you remembered when you—still drunk—told him how sexy he looked in a white shirt.

Needless to say, the memory of it made you want to bury yourself.

“Took you a long time, baby girl,” he grinned, a cheeky smirk plastered across his lips as he took pleasure in the way your eyes hungrily roamed over his body.

“What are you doing here?”

“I told you, this isn’t over.” He took a step toward you and then walked past you into your house, not even waiting to be invited in. Typical Derek Morgan.

“Come in, I guess,” you muttered under your breath before closing the door and following him into the living room. You watched him sit on your couch, legs spread and arms stretched over the back, his eyes on you as they devoured you.

He was so fucking hot you wished you had Reid’s eidetic memory so you could never forget that image.

He looked like a king sitting on his throne, ready to spit out orders and sentences left and right that you’d have happily obeyed whatever he asked.

Good job, sending back feminism back a hundred years.

His presence filled your modest home, it felt like every inch of it belonged to him and a part of you hated how good he looked sitting there on your couch.

He nodded to the empty seat next to him, never taking his eyes off you, as he looked at you and observed you so intently almost as if he wanted to find your most intimate secrets.

“You want something?”

His eyes traveled down your body and for a moment you cursed yourself for not wearing something sexier than a simple t-shirt and shorts. But, in your defense, you didn’t think he’d actually show up at your house.

He nodded as he looked back up at your face. “You.”

Your stomach clenched in on itself and for a moment you didn’t know what to do. Your options ranged between kneeling in front of him and running away to your bedroom and locking yourself in just because of the intensity of his gaze.

“Should I drag you here or what? I don’t bite, you know.”

“I wish,” you muttered under your breath but the deep, sexy chuckle that escaped his lips proved that it wasn’t as short as you thought.

“Come here, baby girl.”

Your feet moved on command and you stepped towards him. You were about to sit down but he grabbed your hand and pulled you towards him, making you sit on his lap.

Your arms spontaneously wrapped around his neck, just like they had done that same afternoon during that kiss. Your eyes looked and studied his face as if you hadn’t already imprinted every detail of his features in your memory.

Desperate? Very much so. But who could blame you.

That man was walking sex.

And he was sitting on your couch.

“I don’t understand you…” you started to speak, trying for a moment to think with your brain and not with your vagina.

“About what? I’m afraid you need to be more specific, baby.” Just as it had happened only a few hours before, his fingers began to play with a lock of your hair that had escaped from your messy ponytail.

“All of this. We had sex months ago, we both pretended it never happened and even forgotten about it. You hear me with another man, and now you act like this, you want me, you come to my home… I don’t understand Derek. What do you want?”

“I already told you. I want you,” he replied, “And I don’t want any other son of a bitch to put his dirty hands on you.”

“And why? What has changed from today until a few days ago when you were pretending nothing was happening?”

“You call what happened in these last few months ‘pretend nothing happened’?”

He was right about that, there had been times when you and Derek had been close, so close to ending up in bed again and breaking your promises. Even when you were around people there was always that attraction that pulled you towards each other.

He paused a little. “You really want to know what changed?”

You nodded.

His fingers moved to your face, his thumb caressing your cheek with a sweetness that almost made you go crazy.

“Absolutely nothing, that’s what changed. I’m as obsessed with you as I’ve been since that damn night and as I’ve been since I laid eyes on you the day you stepped foot in the unit.” His words, although almost whispered, were firm and his eyes never left yours as he spoke, almost as if he was trying to convince you he was sincere. “I pretended to forget for you, because that’s what you wanted and because I didn’t want to make things worse since you didn’t even look at me for two weeks, right?”

He wasn’t wrong.

You didn’t say anything.

“I was so stupid and I’m sorry. If I had done something we wouldn’t have, or at least I wouldn’t have, spent three and a half months of torture. Seeing you every day at work and not being able to touch you, seeing you and reliving every minute of that night we spent together with the knowledge it wasn’t going to happen again,” he sighed, a hand stroking your back. “Seeing you and knowing there was another bastard who was lucky enough to be with you. I imagined you would’ve eventually be with someone else, but hearing it… It was awful and I’ll be damned if I’ll let that happen again.”

He moved closer to you and pressed a kiss to your cheek while his other hand was still resting on the other cheek.

You chuckled. “Lucky you, first time I have sex with someone and you manage to hear me.”

“Wait, really? He was the only one?”

“Well… Yeah… I tried but you rocked my world pretty bad Agent Morgan,” you spoke as your fingers caressed the back of his neck. “You know, I always hoped you’d try again because with or without alcohol in my system as an excuse, I would’ve given in in a nanosecond.”

He frowned. “Don’t play with me. If you think I’ve never hit on you these past months then you’re completely wrong, you know you’ve always been the one to say no.”

“Well you’re right about that,” you chucked, placing a small kiss on the tip of his nose and watching him try to suppress a smile. “It’s just… Like I said, I thought you didn’t remember that night, I told myself it was a one night stand and I’d definitely find someone else who…” you paused “Oh and wipe that grin off your face.”

“No, no, go ahead, baby girl. I love hearing about how I’ve turned your life upside down with my sexual skills.”

“Idiot.” You laughed and gave him a small slap on the back of the head. “I was saying… Trevor was the first one I hooked up with but… Well… As you could hear it was a disaster, I had to use my vibrator when he left.”

“Oh well well, that’s the really interesting part. Tell me more, baby, I’m all ears,” he smirked and you giggled like a schoolgirl. Yep. Like a schoolgirl.

God, you were so fucked.

“Seriously? How are you already hard?” You said, gasping as you felt his erection press under your thigh.

“Baby I’m always hard when you’re around. Especially now, you’re sitting on me, looking so beautiful, smelling so good and you’re telling me about how you touched yourself, c’mon what did you expect?”

You stood up from his lap, earning a confused look from him but before he could ask what you were doing you positioned yourself on top of him again, this time straddling him as your legs surrounded his.

A mischievous smile appeared on his lips while his hands wasted no time gripping your ass. You sighed, in that position you could perfectly feel his erection pressed against your pussy and that was enough to rekindle the desire.

You caressed his shirt-covered chest, with slow and sensual movements, without his eyes ever leaving you. He looked at you as if you were the eighth wonder of the world, as if he was a pirate and you were the treasure he had just discovered.

“So you want to know how I lay naked in bed, still dripping wet from the shower, how I spread my legs and put the vibrator on my pussy while I thought about you and how you fucked me so, so good?” You whispered in his ear and his fingers tightened on your ass, pressing you more onto his erection and making you sigh again.

“Fuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth. You placed your lips on his neck and he immediately tilted his head to the side, giving you full access. You stuck out your tongue and began to lick his skin while your lips sucked and your teeth nibbled.

Derek let out a deep, guttural moan as you sucked and licked his skin. His hands continued to squeeze, press and grope your ass more and more, almost as if trying to release the tension he felt.

“Do you want me to show you?” You nibbled on his earlobe, basically dry humping each other.

“What?” he asked, dazed and confused.

You let out a chuckle. “How I used to touch myself thinking about you.”

You didn’t know where that confidence was coming from, you just knew you were horny as hell, that you were done talking and that this time you weren’t going to let anything stop that man from fucking you six ways into Sunday.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck yes, please.”

You giggled. “So desperate.”

“For you? You don’t have a clue.”

“Come with me.”

“I’d rather come in you. Actually, no, I believe in my pants if you keep this up.”

You burst out laughing again before getting up from his lap. You held out your hand and pulled him up with you before leading him to your bedroom. Did you have to say how he didn’t keep his hands to himself for even a second and how he kept touching your ass nonstop? No, you could imagine by now.

He was undressing you with his eyes. His gaze continued to travel up and down your body, analyzing every inch of exposed skin and imagining every depraved thing he could do to you.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said and wrapped his arm around your hips, pulling you closer to his body. His mouth was on yours before you could respond and for the second time that day, he sucked the soul out of you, kissing you until you were breathless.

This time, however, there was nothing that could stop you.

You were a mix of wandering hands, sighs, you touched each other as if it was the first time and as if you never wanted it to end.

Derek wasted no time in slipping his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. The air was thicker and hotter, your body possessed by the sensation of being engulfed in flames.

His hands moved to your face, one around your throat and the other around your ponytail which he pulled, forcing you to lean your head back.

Your mouth was still half open in an attempt to catch your breath after that pornographic kiss. You moaned when his lips kissed your neck, when you felt his tongue slide over your skin leaving a wet trail behind it, his teeth nipping and his lips simultaneously sucking every inch of skin he could access.

“Oh Derek…” you sighed in ecstasy as he continued to lick and suck the skin of your neck, moving down your chest and then back up, almost in disbelief that after months of pent up frustration his imagination had finally come true.

“Yeah baby girl, I’m going to make you feel so good. You’re so beautiful it drives me crazy,” he whispered against your lips and you closed the distance, sucking in his breath and canceling out his words.

You slid your hands down his chest and, in the heat and frenzy of finally having him naked, you ripped open his shirt, ripping the buttons and letting them fall scattered across the floor.

You pulled away as your brain processed what you had done and you gasped, noticing the now ruined and open shirt, his chest on full display. “Oh God Derek I’m so…”

Before you finished your sentence he grabbed you by the back of the neck and slammed his mouth hard on yours again, this time stopping your words, kissing you so deeply and so intensely that your knees went weak.

It was sloppy, messy, and the best kisses you’d ever had.

That’s what you’ve been missing.

The feeling of the ground disappearing beneath your feet, of having a person who wanted you so much your absence took his breath away, to the point that he couldn’t stop kissing you, touching you, breathing the same air as you.

“If you do something like that again you’ll make me come in my pants before we even start and don’t think for a second that I’m kidding,” he murmured against your lips between kisses and you smiled, letting out a giggle. You hated and loved the way that man made you giggle like a little girl.

Before you could even realize it, both of your clothes ended up on the floor, leaving you both naked. As his mouth continued to devour you, you slowly backed away until you both fell onto the mattress, his arms resting on either side of your head to cushion his weight on you.

You moaned as his lips trailed down your neck to encircle your breasts, first the right and then the left, biting and sucking on your nipples as his fingers spread your pussy, penetrating you with them with absolute ease.

“Derek please…” you sighed as he pushed his fingers in and out of you. “I want you so bad, fuck please.”

“So wet for me, my sweet, dirty little angel… All mine to ruin,” he murmured as he continued to brush your lips with his and you nodded, desperate, in the throes of pleasure as your hands cupped his face.

“Yes, yes, all yours, yes…” you felt your walls begin to contract and you knew your orgasm was already upon you. God, how you hated to admit it, but there was no man like Derek who could make you lose your mind, who could bring you to the edge with just two fingers.

You kept writhing beneath him, overwhelmed by the pleasure that you had missed so much, so intense you almost passed out.

“I’m… Oh God…” You dragged your nails over his bicep.

“Yes baby, come on my fingers, show me how only I make you feel,” he whispered in your ear as his lips licked and marked your skin and it sent you over the edge, making you explode in an orgasm not even your vibrator had ever given you.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to catch your breath but he didn’t give you time to recover because he had spread your legs and positioned himself between them again, lining up his cock with your entrance.

He wrapped his hand around your throat and you gasped, feeling your head spinning and light, as if you were on some kind of narcotic. What the hell had that man done to you?

“I want to eat your pussy until I pass out but I need, I need to be inside you right now,” he continued to tease you with his cock, rubbing it along your wet folds, making you both pant with anticipation. Before you could respond though, he entered you and in that moment you finally felt complete.

“Oh shit yes…” you moaned, breathless, enjoying the feeling of fullness. “You feel so good inside me.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed under his breath, breathing heavily as he concentrated on not coming right away. But too much time had passed and your pussy felt so damn good that he literally had to think about other things to keep from exploding right then and there.

“Please move,” you wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing your heels into his ass, your body shaking with the desire, the kind of pleasure you knew only Derek could give you.

“Fuck baby stop squeezing me like that or I’ll come before I even get started.” His voice was rough, desperate, the restraint in his tone barely hanging on. He finally started moving his hips, rolling them in a slow, controlled rhythm that sent a stinging jolt of pleasure through your body.

It wasn’t enough though, not to satisfy you completely. But Derek was doing it on purpose, he wanted to torture you, he wanted to make you beg and go crazy for every inch of him and it was safe to say he was doing it perfectly. He fucked you slowly, deeply—too deeply, making you feel him in every inch of your body.

You continued to pant as he fucked you, tension building in your stomach, tightening with each of his thrust, your hands pressing into his back so deeply they left marks.

You never looked away from his eyes, not even for a second.

And neither did he.

“God Derek please, give me more… I need more,” you panted. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he pressed his forehead to yours, both of them coated in sweat, his lips parted as his ragged breath tickled your mouth. You kissed him deeply, your gasps and moans mixing as well as his own.

His muscles were shaking, every inch of his body trying to resist letting go completely but he didn’t want to. He wanted to last as long as possible, to experience that feeling of pleasure and euphoria as long as he could, especially after so long.

“Fuck,” he groaned again, his voice strained as his fingers pressed tightly into your hip. “You destroy me.” He buried his face in the crook of your neck and licked and bit every inch of your skin he could reach, making you literally tremble beneath him.

When he raised his head again you kissed him again, biting his bottom lip, sucking his tongue. This made him thrust deeper and that almost made your heart stop.

“Shit yes do it again,” you moaned, “Break baby, break for me. I want to feel all of you… Please,” you brushed your lips against him, your hands on his cheeks.

And that’s when he completely snapped.

He started moving his hips deeper, harder, keeping up a rhythm so devastating it consumed you completely, made you lose your mind.

“Fuuuuck yes baby,” you gasped, almost breathless as he kept hitting over and over again that spot inside you. “Just like that oh my god, ah…”

“Baby I’m not… Fucking hell… I’m not gonna last…” He couldn’t hold back any longer, buried so deep inside you, wrapped in heat, in need, in the unbearable pleasure of your body. “This pussy feels so good, all mine to fuck.”

You tried to say something but it was almost impossible. You were losing yourself and as you dragged your nails down his back, holding him tighter, you felt another orgasm build up inside you.

Your breathing became frantic, your back arching beneath him, and he knew you were as close as he was. He could feel the way you tightened around him, your body responding to every stroke of his dick.

“Derek…” you moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders as you crashed your lips against his. Your kiss was frantic now, desperate as his hands grabbed a fistful of your hair.

“Come for me,” he groaned into your ear, his voice raw with need. “Let go, baby. I got you.”

That was all it took.

You shattered beneath him with a cry, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Your walls clenched around him, pulling him in deeper, and that was enough to send him over the edge, his own climax crashing through him like a tsunami.

He collapsed onto the mattress next to you, drained of energy as he waited for his soul to return to his body. He pulled you into a hug, holding you as if you were a lifeline. Your arm wrapped around his torso, your head resting on his chest as you felt the frantic beat of his heart in your ear.

“My God Derek, you’re destroying me. I don’t think I can feel my legs anymore,” you murmured, your eyes half closed. He dropped a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment as his free hand caressed your hair—which you had no doubt resembled a swallow’s nest at that moment—and your face.

“Look at me,” he whispered instead and cupped your chin with his thumb and forefinger, lifting your head towards him before kissing you softly. “How can you be so beautiful?”

You smiled, before kissing him again. “Now what?”

He raised his perfect eyebrow in question.

“Between us, I mean.”

He frowned. “I thought I made myself clear enough. You’re mine just as much as I’m yours, don’t think for a second that it’ll go back to the way it was before. I want you and I want to explore what’s between us.”

You opened your mouth to speak but he continued, stopping you. “And if you think I’m going to let another man get close to you, you’re sorely mistaken, I know a thousand ways to kill and ten thousand ways to get away with it, remember that.”

You fought back a smile, a flock of butterflies flooding your stomach. “So it’s already decided? I don’t have a choice?”

“Yes and no,” he said, dead serious. “You won’t get away from me again, I’ve already made this mistake once and it won’t happen again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, and you snuggled up to him again, but not before planting a kiss on his lips. “There’s no danger Agent Morgan. Aside from ruining me for everyone else, I already told you that you rocked my world pretty bad.”

“That’s what I love to hear,” he smiled triumphantly, before hugging you. “Damn I’m so obsessed with you,” he kissed you, over and over again.

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The defense attorney sitting at the bench beside you laughs under his breath when you open your pink and cream checkered notebook. Unsure whether he’s trying to get under your skin or simply making the devastating mistake of underestimating you because you don’t look like a textbook good lawyer, you don’t let it distract you. You're used to it. So, instead of showing him that he's wrong, you send him a smile and turn back toward the judge.

"Oh no," someone murmurs behind you.

Wesley Evers, you know without looking. He vowed never to face you in court again after your fifth win against him – you only prosecuted his clients five times, giving you a satisfying final score of 5-0. Like the attorney in his place now, Wesley thought you were a ditsy, high maintenance girl more concerned with your outfit than the case. But you're not here by chance. You worked hard to get here, and that dedication didn't end when you passed the bar. Every case you work is as important as the first. If haughty boys in expensive suits who wear Esquire at the end of their name like a signature accessory fail to see that, it’s on them.

"Evers?" the defense attorney asks.

"I told you not to take this case,” Wesley says.

"I thought you were kidding. I mean... Seriously, man? Look at her. What’s she gonna do, beat me with the power of pink and friendship?"

"I don't have to look at her. I know she's good. Really good."

"I have police testimony," the other man argues. "This case is in the bag."

"You have a cop, not a win.” Wesley sighs before he murmurs, “Welcome to the club."

Five hours later, the jury returns from a thirty-minute deliberation with a guilty verdict. Another win for you and the people of California.

"Well done,” you say, smiling as you shake the defense attorney's hand. "A word of advice?"

"Uh, sure,” he replies, clearly taken aback by the offer.

"Listen to Evers."

His face falls at the realization that you overheard their early conversation before you turn to gather your things. When you're ready to leave, Wesley calls your name.

"Mr. Evers," you greet kindly. There's a man standing beside him, you notice as you pull your bag onto your shoulder.

"I wanted to introduce you to someone,” Wesley explains.

"Sergeant Bradford,” you recognize. Instead of waiting for Wesley’s introduction, you offer your hand and your name. "Thanks for being here," you add. “The jury seemed to appreciate your testimony.”

"Not that it did much good,” Wesley jokes.

Smiling, you point out, “ You should have warned your friend sooner."

Wesley rolls his eyes as Tim shifts, his hands moving anxiously on his belt.

"Could we talk?" Tim asks you. “Alone?”

"Sure." You pull your bag onto your shoulder, wave to Wesley, and follow Tim out of the courthouse. In the late afternoon sunlight, standing on the steps, you take him in. He's gorgeous, well-spoken, good at his job. Yet the way his eyes wander your face before dipping to your body makes you pause, opting to hear him out rather than telling him what you’re thinking.

"So... This is...” Tim stutters. It was easy to think of the question, and he has no reason to think you'll say no, but he can't find the words to ask. As far as he can tell, it seems like you're the type to get around your fair share. It doesn't make it easier to ask you out. More than the firm belief you'll say yes, Tim can see something with you. Something good. Something he hasn't had in too long.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?" Tim manages.

You're not completely surprised by the question, but you think it might be of purer intention than the others who have asked. Especially of those few brave enough to ask immediately after a court proceeding.

Instead of saying yes or no, you smile, tip your head, and ask, “What can you offer me?”

“You gonna make me work for it?” Tim asks as his brows raise.

"I think I'm worth it,” you promise. "If you're up for the challenge.”

What Tim says next surprises him more than you. "I'll show you exactly what I can offer you.”

You gave Sergeant Bradford — who you refuse to call solely Tim because he seems to want it a great deal — a special ringtone in your phone. After he goes to voicemail, he sends a text.

“How would LA’s best prosecutor like a home cooked meal?” you read. Chuckling, you lock your phone and turn your attention to your computer. The phone on your desk rings then, and you don’t look away from the case file as you raise the receiver to your ear.

“You make your clients work this hard to talk to you?” Tim asks.

“Shouldn’t you be protecting this fair city?” you counter, leaning back in your seat. “And I was going to answer your text when I had time.”

“No, you weren’t. I’m persistent, remember? And I read people every day.”

“I know.” You hum, considering his offer of dinner. It does sound good, and you’ve been busy. “Your place?”

“Or I can pick you up.”

“Slow down, Casanova,” you joke.

“Wish I could,” he sighs. “You made it hard.”

“And you said you were up for the challenge.”

“Still am. What time do you get off?”

You consider lying, getting another point in whatever this game you’re playing is. But Tim really is adamant. It’s been two weeks and he’s not giving up. He’s different, a breath of fresh air.

So, when you get off work, Tim is leaning against the side of his truck waiting for you.

“You get prettier?” he murmurs as he straightens.

“Thanks for noticing,” you reply. “You’re as handsome as I remember.”

“I’m surprised you remember me at all. It’s been sixteen days.”

“I’m a little sorry for making you wait,” you offer. “But-“

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Tim interjects, opening the door for you. “And thank you.”

“For what?”

Tim leans in, his breath against your jaw as he whispers, “A chance.”

Your breath catches, and you fall quiet until after he closes the door. You’ll give him another chance, you know. And it’ll come easier than this one did.

“Do you… do you have plans this weekend?” you ask softly.

Tim looks away from the road long enough to reply, “You tell me.”

Tim Bradford is a man of many talents. If you’d known him before he asked you out, you wouldn’t have made it so hard on him. It was worth it, as far as you’re concerned, but now you know what you were missing. He can cook, he’ll drive you anywhere, treats you like a princess, and, as you recently learned, the man can kiss. When your lips meet, it’s like the world slows down and you’re precisely where you were always meant to be. Tim’s kisses feel like home.

Tim kisses your forehead when he walks through the door. You lean into his touch, trusting him wholly.

“What is that?” you ask.

Tim holds your waist as he straightens. He tucks the bag dangling from his fingers behind his back, his lips pursed as he looks at you.

“What do you need it to be?” he counters. “What gets me another week in my pretty girl’s good graces?”

“That was a decent start,” you murmur. “What were you planning to do with this pretty girl?”

“Take her to dinner at the new restaurant in Glendale she was talking to Chen about when she was supposed to be offering advice on a case,” Tim answers.

You hum, then smile and wrap your arms around him. “That sounds wonderful. And the bag?”

“I thought you might need an outfit,” he murmurs against your skin. “If you’d prefer to pick your own…”

You pull his arm forward,  rushing your fingers against his arm. One glance in the bag proves that Tim knows you well. It’s a smooth fabric, brushed in your favorite shade of pink.

“That certainly needs to be worn,” you agree.

“Nobody argument here, sweetheart. Let me be the lucky one to see you in it?”

You kiss him, chuckling against his mouth when he drops the bag to pull you up into his arms.

“Smooth talker,” you mumble against him.

“Add it to the list of things I can offer.”

Three months after your first date, Tim walks into a law office. It's late, so the only person he sees on the ground floor is a security guard.

He enters an office on the top floor and leaves the door open, treating it like his own. Rounding the desk, he ignores the papers and folders lining the surface. Rather than sitting in a chair or finding a clear spot on the desk, he steps between the desk and the chair.

Tim falls to his knees, runs his hands up the sides of your legs, and then falls forward into your arms. Finally, he's yours. It's more glorious than he ever imagined.

"Tough day?" you ask, rubbing your hand along his back. He sighs, nodding against your thighs. "Wanna go home?"

"Alone?" Tim checks, tightening his grip on you.

"That's no longer an option, my love.”

With that promise, Tim clambers tiredly to his feet and pulls you up. He doesn't have anything left to prove. You're now as madly in love with him as he's been with you — since the beginning.

"Pretty," Tim says. "New bag?”

You nod as he lifts it for you. Tim worked for this, but declined to let you return the favor. He offers his arm. And you're home.

"What are we waiting for?" Celina asks in the courthouse hall.

"Tim wants to see his girlfriend before we leave," Nyla answers.

Lucy walks up, her eyes wide as she asks, "He finally admit it?"

They turn together, watching Tim linger outside the courtroom where you're undoubtedly winning another case. He smiles when the door opens, like a different man when he pulls you aside to whisper something — a stolen moment between lovers. One witnessed by several of Tim’s friends.

"He's dating a lawyer?” Nolan interjects.

"Not that he'll admit," Angela sighs. “But we all know it.”

"The other thing?" Nyla checks.

"Dead end. My husband refuses to tell me if he knows anything.”

Celina hums, still watching you and Tim as she remembers, "Wesley introduced them.”

"He did what?!"

“Hey, you guys ever notice that the trip home always seems to go by so much faster?” Emily asked as you stepped off the elevator.

“It’s because the tailwinds are in our favor.” Spencer replied.

You tried to hide the smirk that crossed your face as a slightly annoyed Emily tried to explain herself, quickly letting her words die off due to exhaustion.

Jordan hoisted her bag up on her deflated shoulders, her jaw locked in the same place since you left California. Her emotional response was warranted, and completely normal. But it was manifesting into anger, which didn’t serve the unit dynamic well.

“You alright?” Rossi asked, and she quickly nodded her head.

“I will be.” She walked toward her office before anyone could follow-up, leaving the rest of the team in the dust.

You exchanged a look with Rossi, who only raised his eyebrows at you. Both of you tried to get through to her on this case; Rossi having witnessed her outburst at the press conference, and you helping her stand on her own two feet after finding the slaughtered family. After walking through the Hill house, you were almost certain it would’ve been you falling from grief on the front lawn. But Jordan’s tough exterior could only last so long with this unit before she broke.

“Someone’s in the BAU room.” Spencer said, dragging everyone’s attention to the figure in the room.

You caught a glimpse of the blonde hair as she turned, shoulders rocking back and forth as if holding something in her arms.

“It’s JJ,” Emily said, a smile slowly appearing on her face. “And it looks like she brought a cute baby with her.”

“Dibs on holding him first!!” Penelope squealed out as the team headed into the bullpen, haphazardly dropping bags at desks before moving onto the guest of honor.

“I’ll meet you guys up there,” you added as Emily squeezed your shoulder and moved past you to join the group.

There was nothing you wanted more than to wrap your arms around JJ and baby Henry. A mood boost for everyone, especially after this case and a six hour plane ride. But you’re not quite sure if your mood could be boosted, even by two of your favorite people.

You walked into the kitchenette, delaying the reunion for a few more minutes to make yourself a cup of tea that you know you won’t drink. But it was a task to complete, something to keep your hands and mind busy.

After pouring the water into your favorite mug, a hot pink creation with rhinestones glued on from none other than Penelope Garcia, you heard footsteps joining you in the kitchen. They settled against the back wall as you watched the tea bag steep in the mug.

You knew who was waiting for you before you turned around; despite his tactical background, Derek tended to walk heavy on his feet when he felt relaxed or tired.

“Hi.” You greeted Derek as you turned one hundred and eighty degrees, tea in hand as you leaned against the counter.

“Hi,” he replied, uncrossing his arms to make his way toward you. “Are you giving tea a 100th try to see if your tastebuds have changed?”

The smile tugging at the corner of his lips was almost enough for you to forget about the Hill girls, but your mind - and your gut - wouldn’t let you suppress the unpleasant feeling.

“I was willing to risk the taste if it helps me relax like the packaging so boldly claims.”

“I think it’s a placebo.” he offered his opinion before landing a few feet in front of you.

“Probably is.” you muttered, keeping your head down so you didn’t have to look into his warm brown eyes - they could read you like a book.

Even though there was an agreed upon no profiling each other rule in the BAU, Derek was more than just another profiler to you. You’d been working together for the better part of three years in a high-stakes environment, spending more time with this unit than your own family, so friendships formed fast and strong.

A few months ago your relationship with Derek changed from friends to something more. Late night conversations spent contemplating the job, hours spent sleeping against one another on the jet, and countless nights out with the team not working or talking about unsubs drew you closer together.

There was no big confession of feelings, no traumatic experience that had you running into each other's arms. There was a ride home from Rossi’s, a question of a dinner date, and a timid kiss on the cheek that pushed you towards each other and a relationship.

No one on the team knew about the two of you. But you knew Prentiss and Garcia were starting to pick up on your scent, if not the rest of the unit. You wanted to remain in this reality, neither here nor there, until someone was brave enough to question the new relationship between you and Derek.

You wish you could turn away and prevent him from asking you any questions about this case. But if he were acting the way you had been the last few hours, you’d be doing the same thing.

“If this were a normal day, you’d tackle every single one of us to be able to hold that baby first,” Derek started, trying - and succeeding - in getting a little chuckle from you. “What’s bothering you?”

“I just needed a few minutes to collect myself and switch from my BAU brain to my baby brain.” Your fingers were fiddling with the string of the tea bag as Derek let you organize your thoughts. You shook your head before continuing, “We’ve spent the last few weeks telling Jordan not to take these cases personally, to learn how to compartmentalize her emotions in order to do this job, yet here I am letting the case follow me three thousand miles home.”

“You’ve been doing this job longer than Todd. She needs to learn how to face the reality of our cases without acting on her emotions and letting them guide her decisions, or even the profile. We all learn to disassociate at some level.”

“Just because I’ve been doing this longer doesn’t mean I’m numb to it. You didn’t see the damage that Norman’s shotgun did to those girls. In their own home, by the hand of their father and husband. There was so much blood - splattered across his daughter's toys, his wife’s jewelry. And the smell, Derek,” you tried to swallow around the rising lump in your throat, fighting the same feeling earlier in the day after finding the girls.

“How am I supposed to tell her to just move on after seeing that? If I didn’t have to physically help her off the ground, I assure you it would have been me emptying my stomach in that yard.”

“Sweetheart, all of us have cases that hit us harder than others.” He took the mug from your hands, placing it on the counter beside you. “Our emotional response, our empathy, and our ability to remain objective in the moment - that’s what makes us different from them and makes us good at our job. And you did your job today.”

“I just really thought we were going to get to the family before he did,” your voice was quieter now, accepting the fate of the Hill family. “And I wanted Jordan to have this win. I wanted her to know that it’s worth it, all the bad we see and all the emotions we feel, it’s worth it to help people.”

“I know, baby,” he said before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into chest, “but we can’t save everyone. And that’s just as important of a lesson for her to learn.”

There were few places you felt completely safe in the world, and one of them was tucked into Derek Morgan’s arms. You let out a deep breath that had been stuck in your chest all day as you relaxed against him.

“I know,” you mumbled as you pulled away, quickly looking into the bullpen to see if anyone was watching. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Derek confirmed while giving your hand a squeeze.

“I think I’m up for some of that tackling over the baby nonsense you mentioned earlier.”

“I’m happy to hear it.” He said with a laugh, but neither of you moved from where you were standing.

Derek took his own look out into the bullpen, making sure the coast was clear before turning back to you. He kissed you gently, slowly, like you had all the time in the world and there wasn’t a group of people wondering where you were. His hands rested on your hips, dipping under your sweater to draw a small gasp out of you, as your own hands roamed his shoulders and down his chest. You felt his smile against your lips, and you slowly started retreating from his body, regrettably putting space back between you.

“C’mon,” you started, nodding toward the bullpen, “They’re going to come looking and I don’t want to hear any screams, other than Henry’s.”

“Alright, alright.” He smiled down at you, squeezing your hips one last time before letting go. “Let’s go.”

You snuck a final kiss in, resisting the urge to sink into him as he gently nipped your lower lip, following with shorter, sweeter pecks until he pulls away.

“You’re trouble,” you tease as you walk toward the conference room, keeping a safe three feet of between you as you suppress your smile.

“Says the one who started it.” He teases back, gently tapping your hip before you enter the room.

Everyone is gathered around JJ and Henry, admiring the one good thing that has ever come into this room.

You make your way to her, gently squeezing her shoulders while peering down to look at the beautiful baby.

“I’m so happy to see you.” You tell her as you watch Henry’s eyes lock onto his mother.

“It’s good to be back, even if it’s just for a visit.”

“JJ, do you mind if I…” Derek asked, holding his hands out in front of him and nodding to Henry.

“Oh, of course.”

She handed him over, making sure his head was supported and he was comfortable in Derek’s arms. When she backed away and you finally saw Derek Morgan holding a newborn baby, you couldn’t help the smile on your face. If you weren’t already head over heels for him, this would have secured your fate.

“Look at that, he is smiling at Derek Morgan.” Derek said while rocking Henry.

You and Garcia looked at each other, lightly rolling your eyes.

“Gas.” The two of you replied, causing him to shoot daggers at his best friend and then you.

Once Penelope’s gaze went elsewhere, though, he sent a wink your way, which you returned with a smile just for him.

“Subtle.” Prentiss whispered just loud enough for you to hear.

You turned toward your friend and saw the look on her face, and knew your secret was safe with her.

“Well he is a terrible flirt.”

Car Rides

“Alright everyone, to the car.”

You all followed Hotch’s orders going down the elevator and into the black SUV. There were an extra two people tagging along so the space would be tight, but it wasn’t that big of a deal.

You were one of the last people to enter, but you hopped out when you realized there was really no more room. “Guys, I don’t think I can fit anywhere.”

A smirk came to Derek’s lips making you nervous. He was definitely about to say something sexual.

“You’re wrong, babygirl. You can fit right here.” He patted his lap.

You avoided his eyes by rolling them, feeling your face heat up. Of course he would say something like that.

“Shut up, Derek!”

He laughed.

“Y/n, you can sit on mine?” Emily playfully said, but you instantly took up her offer.

Derek cursed under his breath. “Note to self, get dark brown hair and bangs.”

You laughed.

Splitting Up

As the car pulled up to the scene, a crowd of people immediately caught everyone’s attention.

“Damn, that’s a lot of people.”JJ pointed out. “Yeah, which means possible witnesses or suspects.” Aaron spoke in an annoyed tone.

This was gonna be a long day.

You all exited the car and got in a small huddle. “Alright, since there’s a lot of people, we’ll split up into pairs. Just go around and get people’s information.”

Everyone nodded and began splitting up. You watched as Spencer began walking towards you, a smile coming to his lips.

“Nope, pretty boy, I’m partnering with Y/n. Sorry” Derek interrupted.

You looked at him confused.

“That’s right, you're coming with me. Gotta make sure you're safe and protected.” He flexed his muscles, making you roll your eyes.

He looked offended as he placed a hand over his heart. “Hey, don’t roll those eyes at me, unless I’m making you.”

Your eyes grew in size at his words. “D-Derek, don’t say stuff like that!” He smiled. “What? I’m just saying what I’m thinking.”

His hand came to the small of your back as he guided you both through the crowd.

This indeed was gonna be a long day.

Wrong Room

The sounds of wheels on carpet echoed around the hallway as you looked at the doors to find your given room number.

After being outside in almost 100° weather all day, all you wanted to do was get in your room, take a shower, and go to sleep.

You could feel your eyes drooping down as you looked at your card. Room 208. You stopped in front of the door and swiped your card, but when you went to open it, the door didn’t budge.

You thought you swiped it wrong so you adjusted it and swiped again, but the same outcome came. “What the…” You muttered to yourself while swiping once more.

Growing impatient, you began pulling at the door knob. “Why won’t this stupid door open!”

As if God was listening to you, the door opened, revealing Derek. “What is going on out here?”

You froze, your eyes widening as you looked up at him. It seemed he had just gotten out of the shower, a black towel wrapped around his hips and water dripping from his face and body.

Your eyes shamelessly followed a water droplet as it slid down his tattooed arm.

“Oh, it’s you.”

You looked at him.

“You wanted to come in that bad?” He teased.

You gulped, eyes fluttering shut as you began to feel more awake. “N-No, this is my room.” His brows furrowed. “No it’s not? Hotch told me this is my room. 206?”

You quickly looked down at your card and saw it wasn’t a 6, but 8. “O-Oh my god, I’m so stupid.” You face palmed yourself. “I thought that was a 6, not an 8.”

Derek continued his teasing, “Yeah, right. I think you just wanted to catch me while I was in the shower.”

Your face grew as hot as the sun as you shook your head. “No I didn’t! I was just so tired and I couldn’t realize the difference between 6 and 8, it was an honest mistake!”

Derek laughed. “I’m just messing with ya. I see that you’re tired so go ahead to your room. Do you need me to walk you to it?”

You glared at him before walking two doors down.

Gym Day

You hopped out of the car with JJ and made your way inside the gym, seeing a lot of your coworkers already getting to work on the equipment.

“I’m gonna go stretch. Maybe we can fight later?”

You nodded your head and let her walk away before going off and doing your own thing.

After doing a small warm-up, you took a couple of sips from your water bottle and looked around the gym. You saw JJ doing her stretches, Spencer reading a book, but what really caught your eye was Derek.

He was currently on a streak of sit ups, his body glistening in sweat as his heavy breathing caught your ear. It was like you couldn't look away, your eyes staying glued to him.

You specifically studied his abs, watching them tighten as he sat up. God he looked so good like that.

Due to being distracted, you missed the sounds of footsteps behind you. You felt the hands before hearing the voice causing you to jump.

“Watching Derek I see?”

You turned around to see JJ and Spencer standing there, JJ with a knowing smile on her face.

“Me? Staring at Derek? No, I don’t stare at people, that’s weird!"

They both smiled.

“Y’know, when people over-explain and deny everything, we can tell they’re lying.” Spencer spoke.

You rolled your eyes. “I hate you guys.”

“Well I hope you don’t hate me, considering you were staring at me the whole time.”

You gulped and hesitantly turned around to see Derek standing there with that dumb, teasing grin on his face, your eyes instantly locking onto his chest and abs.

“Hey, my eyes are up here.”

You could feel your face burning as you made eye contact with him, making him laugh. “If you wanna touch, all you gotta do is ask.”

The case had been a rough one; with JJ stuck back at home having had her new baby, Rossi away on a book tour, and Derek out on an injured knee from a renovation incident. JJ’s liaison duties had fallen to you, to your silent horror.

It wasn’t that you were bad at public speaking or presenting. It’s just, your palms got all sticky with sweat, your legs shook, and there was a tightness in your chest that you knew was going to stick around for hours.

Which was not exactly ideal when trying to impress your hot boss.

So you stuffed your anxiety down and did what needed to be done. Because even false confidence had to become actual confidence at some point, right?

As of that moment though, you wouldn’t dare let Hotch know you felt out of your depth. Not while you had something to prove, and especially not when any amount of his attention gave you butterflies in your stomach.

With you on PR duty, the stress that Emily and Spencer were under had doubled.

And with Rossi gone, Hotch had no one to split the administrative duties with.

Which left you all so busy that you had barely seen much of Spencer and Emily. While you and Hotch had been alone together at the station the entire time, with little more than orders and questions conveyed back and forth between the two of you.

Until Hotch had gathered you all into a conference room together to go over the evidence and write up the profile—press releases and administrative bullshit be damned.

Which left you reeling, because the three of them were just as stressed as—if not more so than—you, and when they got stressed...

They tended to get undressed.

Not completely—obviously—just a suit jacket here, a few popped buttons there, maybe some rolled up sleeves and messy hair.

But a girl could dream.

And God, did you dream vividly.

Nothing about Hotch escaped your notice. The width of his shoulders and chest made you itch to splay your hands over them. His thick hair would look so tempting between your thighs. You wondered if he would like the way you’d tug on it as he devoured you. Even the way the man dressed drove you crazy. His suits must have been tailored, because they fit far too well for your sanity. His silk ties looked soft and pullable. Your fingers itched to give them a good tug, preferably while guiding him to your lips.

Your attraction to Spencer was different from how you lusted after Hotch.

Spencer had an innocence and pureness about him that was impossible not to adore… An innocence you fantasized about corrupting. You often watched Spencer read, a habit you couldn’t break. It was so hard to look away, however, when he drug his fingers down the page, gentle and reverent. You wondered how that would feel against your ribs. Or lower. His sweet smiles often tempted you to tease him mercilessly. The way his amber eyes lit up when he rambled on made your stomach fill with butterflies. His soft voice always left your heart pounding and your pussy throbbing. Not that he knew that—thank God—though even if he did, it would just embarrass him.

Emily was, well… Emily.

Confident, strong, sassy and could break you in half, something you definitely wished she would do. Her dark hair and porcelain skin were a thing of beauty. The way she held herself with such surety was enthralling. Her clever and bold personality was absolutely deadly, both to unsubs and your libido. You often wondered how it would feel to earn her attention. She had a ‘take charge’ attitude in the field that you were almost sure would extend to the bedroom as well. You found yourself daydreaming about her scarlet lips giving commands of the erotic variety, smiling, and calling you a good girl… Among other things you imagined they would be very good at.

In layman's terms you were metaphorically fucked.

If only you could get physically fucked… specifically, by one of them.

Alas, it’s against regulations to fuck your co-workers. So your imagination, that new vibrator, and—if you were lucky—a wet dream or two would just have to do.

Being alone with one of them was truly a battle between your common sense and your carnal imagination.

However, being in a room with all of them… that was enough to put you in a mental crisis of truly epic proportions.

Just to make everything astronomically worse, you were pretty sure they had started to notice.

They had all started to notice.

You had been so relieved to wrap up the case and finally head home. Until you realized that heading home meant being on that cramped jet for several hours with just the three of them.

Hotch, who was sitting across from you, had immediately noticed that something was off with your demeanor. You were usually so exuberant, talkative and flirtatious in a way that rivaled even Penelope.

Now your eyes darted around the cabin, never lingering longer than a second on anything—especially a person. Your cheeks were flushed, like you were a little overheated or had spent just a little too long in the sun.

His biggest clue, however, was the way your chest expanded in small rapid breaths. He was growing concerned and was about to ask if you were alright.

Before he could, you offered a quick excuse to Emily—who had been chatting animatedly to you—and headed toward the restroom.

“Okay, has anyone else noticed that she’s been acting strangely all day?” Spencer asked the other two, once the bathroom door latched behind you.

Hotch nodded his head, agreeing with Spencer’s assessment of your odd behavior.

“I agree, she’s not been quite herself this week.” Hotch murmured, raising his brows and shaking his head. “She definitely hasn’t been nearly as flirtatious as she normally is.” The usual crease in his brow returned to its proper place. “She didn’t say anything remotely off-color in front of me at all this week, now that I think about it.”

Your quiet, nervous state was so unlike you—not that he had watched you enough to know.

Usually, you would crack a poorly timed joke or two, earning a disciplinary glare, and he would have to bite back a grin all the way through it.

There were no jokes today, no flirting, just intense focus. Your eyes locked on the evidence board. Never straying for a second, not even when he made an attempt to draw your attention. You only responded when asked a direct question and only made eye contact when absolutely necessary.

He had easily noticed your skittish state. How you seemed to duck out of a room as soon as he entered, or disappear for a while and come back laser focused on anything that wasn’t him.

You were usually quite confident. Or at least did a very effective job at hiding it when you weren’t.

“No kidding.” Emily snorted in halfhearted amusement. “I’ve been trying to snap her out of it the entire flight, and apparently, my flirting only made it worse.”

“Maybe she just doesn’t like girls, Em.” Spencer joked with a smug grin.

“She definitely does…” Emily countered, giving Spencer a healthy dose of side-eye and a knowing smirk. “She flirts with me all the time, and Penelope told me that she has an ex-girlfriend. If anything she doesn’t swing your way.”

In Emily’s humble—expert—opinion, you practically had a flashing neon sign above your head that said: GAY!

Hotch chuckled and shook his head, smiling faintly, “I think you’re both wrong.” He refereed. “She’s bisexual, at the least.”

He glanced up from his case file, his brows raised and a smug smirk on his face.

“She very well could be.” Spencer admitted, his face stuck in that expression that said he was overanalyzing every detail about you that could ever apply to this situation. “We could test that hypothesis…”

His eyes were sparkling with a curiosity that was definitely scientific.

“It’s not a bad idea…” Emily mused. “It could be fun… and we do have five uninterrupted hours of airtime left…”

“Ground rules would be necessary,” Hotch added, murmuring almost as if to himself. Pretending to be lost in the case file again. His eyes traced boredly over the lines of text on the page, “and clear consent, from everyone.”

“Now we’re talking.” Emily smirked, sitting up a little straighter. She had been waiting for a chance to take her harmless flirting into a more serious pursuit. “I'm surprised though, you’re seriously gonna let us do this Hotch?”

“I can’t say I’m not curious to see where it goes…” He admitted, smirking a bit. However, his eyes barely lifted from the page, seemingly disinterested.

He was, in fact, very interested.

He saw the way you looked at him—and the other two—on a regular basis. He knew you were attracted to them.

What he didn’t know—with certainty anyway—was how you would react to an advance by all three of them at once. He was certain, however, that you were in for the surprise of your life—and a very good time—if you let it get that far.

“It’s settled then.” Reid smiled in self satisfaction. “When she comes back out we’ll conduct a little… experiment.”

Then the three of them produced a hurried plan.

When you exited the restroom a few minutes later you were no better—if not worse—off than you had been before. Trying to get yourself off had not only failed, it had also made the problem almost painful. However, staying in the restroom any longer would not only be embarrassing, but suspicious as well.

You tried not to look at Emily when you sat back down, looking anywhere else would be safer. So you shifted, only to catch Spencer’s eye, who was studying you with a strange expression.

The last time you felt so scrutinized, you had been defending your thesis to earn your Master’s.

You decided it was probably safest to stare at your lap instead, fiddling with the hem of your pencil skirt. Anxiously rubbing circles in the cotton fabric between your fingers in an effort to soothe… something. Hoping, praying, that none of them knew it had been hiked around your waist only moments before… with your hand tucked between your thighs.

“Hey, are you alright?” Emily asked softly.

You could feel all three sets of eyes burning into you, you didn’t dare look up. The racing of your pulse was only getting faster.

“Mm hmm.” You nodded, continuing to play with the seam of your skirt and then trying to smooth a run in the delicate black nylon of your stocking. “I’m perfectly fine.”

Your voice was a little higher than normal, and you knew they hadn’t missed it.

“Hmm, I don’t know…” Emily responded, you could hear slight teasing in her voice. “You haven’t been acting fine. In fact, you seem a little stressed,” You could practically feel the grin on her face as she turned, “Hotch, doesn’t she seem stressed?”

“Incredibly stressed.” He agreed, and if you’re not mistaken, that was amusement in his tone.

You flush even brighter.

“You should relax a little.” He suggested in that stupidly hot low timbre of his. He didn’t even have the decency to toss you a glance. You often wondered if anything could tear the man away from his file. God, maybe one of these days you’d strip down and stand in front of him butt-ass naked, just to see if that would do it.

You couldn’t help the little snort of indignant laughter that escaped you, because Hotch’s tone was practically sinful—proving that, yeah, you could get wetter than you already were—and the fact that Hotch, of all people, told you to relax.

“You’re one to talk.” You retorted before you could think better of it. A slight feeling of panic washed over you at your brashness and you risked a glance up at him, his expression was frustratingly neutral.

His eyes, however, held a peculiar spark. A spark that still somehow gave you nothing.

Emily scooted a tad closer to you, turning her body to face yours and pulling her knees up under her on the bench seat.

“Turn around.” She commanded, twirling her finger around in a circle. You raised a brow at her questioningly, unsure of what she was about to do. She rolled her eyes. “Just trust me.”

You sighed—long sufferingly—and did as she asked, turning to face the other end of the jet. Your back now facing the others. You had little indication of what Emily intended to do with your back facing her, but you didn’t have the energy, or the nerve, to argue with her. The only hope in your mind was that she didn’t touch you and send you spiraling down another unfortunate slip-n-slide of arousal.

Then you felt the french pin slide out of your hair, which promptly unfurled and cascaded down your back. The pressure lifted off your scalp, leaving behind a dull ache.

Why had you twisted it so tight that morning?

Oh, that's right.

So you could at least appear put together when you’d realized that it would only be the four of you on the jet home, with no case briefings to distract you.

You could only dream of where you wanted this to go.

Hot mouths, desperate grabs, pleasured moans… snap out of it before you let one slip, holy shit.

You stiffened, very aware that this was a bad idea and tried to pull away.

“Relax…” She cooed, alarmingly close to your ear. You bristled a little further. “I only want to help…”

Her hands slid into your hair then, nails raking over your scalp gently before her fingertips began firmly massaging your temples. Your eyes closed involuntarily and most of the tension fled your body without warning. A little sigh escaped your lips and you felt your cheeks start to burn as you sunk into her hands.

“There, isn’t that better?” She murmured softly, a lilt to her voice you couldn’t quite place yet.

“It does feel nice…” You admitted nervously.

Her fingers trailed down from your temples to the back of your neck. Working into the muscles, tight with the start of a tension headache.

“I bet it does, your knots have knots.” She hummed sympathetically, if not a little disapprovingly. “You shouldn’t let it get this bad. It’s not healthy and it feels painful.”

“It’s been a long week…” You responded a little defensively. “I don’t think I can handle many more cases without JJ and Rossi around.”

The words are almost strangled, her hands on your neck both a blessing and a curse. Then they slide down to your shoulders. Kneading and digging into your traps in an earnest attempt to banish the tension there.

“Why is that?” She asked curiously, but there was something more… sensuous, about the way she said it. It sent a small shiver down your spine that, luckily, was easy enough to conceal. But you still wondered if she felt it.

You tensed up slightly again.

“Because, I am not a trained press liaison. JJ does a much better job, and we’re all better off with more of us in the field. You guys almost ran yourselves ragged trying to get everything done, and Hotch didn’t have Rossi to delegate administrative tasks to. Not to mention the locals were being a pain in the ass the whole time. It honestly felt like a bit of a clusterfuck.” You confessed, though that was only half the truth.

“You did a wonderful job with the press, JJ even texted me to tell me she was proud of you.” Hotch murmured from across the aisle, giving you a rare compliment. You glanced over at him in surprise, you hadn’t known JJ had sung your praises to Hotch as well. “But she told you that herself earlier. So why are you really so anxious?”

“It was just a lot for the four of us to take on, that’s all.” You insisted, but Emily’s hands started to work their way down your spine. She found a particularly sore spot and dug her thumb into it mercilessly, forcing a moan to escape your lips without permission.

“Sorry.” You murmured in absolute mortification.

“Don’t apologize.” Emily hushes you, a sly knowing smile on her face. “I like it when you're vocal.”

That startled you so thoroughly that you actually jumped a little. Any other day and it wouldn’t have phased you at all. That type of flirting was normal from Emily, she liked to make you blush. Tonight, however, you were woefully underprepared for her raunchiness. You laughed nervously, knowing that she would expect you to laugh on a normal day.

“Mmmm, I’m with Hotch.” Spencer hummed, finally entering the conversation. “I think something else has you all worked up. You’re missing Morgan, JJ, and Rossi because they’re a good buffer.”

You almost choked on air, he couldn’t possibly have worked that out so easily.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You lied.

He didn’t respond, and instead shared a glance with the others behind your back. Hotch gave a subtle nod to Emily, and she smiled in pure glee, before pulling your hair to one side and tracing her nose down the side of your neck. Her breath caused goosebumps to rise on your skin.

“You don’t? Are you sure?” She murmured, voice taking on a blatantly seductive tone.

You shot a worried glance in Hotch’s direction, only to find his eyes glazed over. Something heated hiding just beneath the surface.

“I- I’m sure.” You stuttered, every bit of that false confidence you’d been building ripped away in an instant. Leaving you a mess, you squeezed your thighs together once more trying to silence the throbbing ache between them, and his eyes flicked down to track the movement.

“You can’t lie to us. We’ve all been paying attention, sweetheart, and we see everything.” Hotch murmured, his voice thick and husky. “You know better.”

Sweetheart? Oh god. What on earth was happening?

You looked away from him quickly, hoping the truth wasn’t on blatant display in your eyes.

He chuckled softly.

Emily’s hand cupped your chin gently as she turned your head to face her, to face all of them.

“Emily?” You murmured in apprehension. She started to lean in closer to you, much closer. Too close for you to keep your wits about you. “What are you doing?”

She was searching your eyes intently for any hint of discomfort or fear.

She found none.

“This.” She whispered and then her lips met yours.

It was a gentle, seeking kiss. Her lips sure and firm against your own. You couldn’t help but lose yourself in it for a moment. The world narrowed down to her.

Her soft lips against yours. The way her mouth moved, seeking more from you. Her hand skimmed up your jaw from your chin and tangled in your hair as she deepened the kiss, pulling a soft whimper from your throat.

A whimper that was echoed by Spencer, just a few feet away.

His soft needy whine pulled you back down to earth, or rather, inside the jet. Where it suddenly dawned on you that Emily was shoving her tongue down your throat, in front of the team. In front of the team and your boss, who was-unfortunately–a stickler for rules.

Jerking away from Emily, you looked over at Hotch.

“Emily!” You gasped quietly, scrambling backward away from her on the seat. Despite your very, very willing participation. She followed you slowly. “What has gotten into you!?”

You were panting, your breaths shaky, your hands even shakier.

She smiled at you softly and threw a glance back over her shoulder at the others. Her gaze seemed to project, I told you so, as she crawled a little closer to you. You looked around at them then—panicked and breathless—the throbbing between your legs not at all helping you to make sense of the situation.

You focused on Hotch. Your eyes searched his frantically, knowing a reprimand would be swiftly coming your way. Or the inevitable glare of disappointment. Or worse, suspension.

Your jaw nearly hit the floor when he smirked at you instead.

“Don’t stop on my account.” He murmured, his voice thick and low, a slight rasp starting to come through. “It was just starting to get interesting.”

What. The. Fuck.

“W-w-what?” You stuttered, unsure if you had maybe misheard him, or imagined the whole fucking thing.

“You heard what I said.” He shrugged at you. “Don’t stop.”

Your mouth opened and closed, trying to form words when you were pretty sure your brain was on a hiatus.

“But-” You started to argue and he furrowed his brows at you.

This absolutely could not be happening. It was impossible. Any second now you were going to wake up and employ that new toy you had ordered specifically to deal with this issue.

“Are you saying you don’t like it when Prentiss kisses you?” He asked, his expression making it clear that he already knew the answer was no. You searched his eyes intently, looking for any sign that this would end poorly for you. What you saw instead was pure, unadulterated lust. The deep hazel of his eyes was almost consumed by his pupils and dark with hunger. He wanted you, he wanted to watch you make out with Emily, wanted to hear your moans and it was driving him crazy. So you shook your head no. Because you definitely did like the way Emily had kissed you and you wanted more. “Then close your mouth before I use it, and let Emily make you feel better.”

“Okay.” You murmured, barely louder than a whisper.

That was all Emily needed to hear.

Her mouth crashed into yours again and she pressed you back against the seat, slowly laying you down. Her body hovered over yours, the sweet scent of her perfume curling around you and numbing your senses. A moan ripped its way out of your mouth and she devoured it whole as her hand rested softly on your leg, just below the knee length hem of your skirt, and began to push it slowly up your thigh. The coolness of the air on your newly exposed skin made you shiver, a small shuddery breath accompanying it.

Emily grinned against your lips.

“Garters, huh? Can’t wait to see if they match your panties.” She murmured, Hotch and Spencer both groaned.

The idea of the two of them watching the two of you and enjoying it… was enough to make you squirm, the throbbing between your legs became agonizing again. Your thighs were rubbing together seeking any amount of friction…

Until Emily forced her knee between your legs, forcing them apart and not allowing the friction you so desperately needed. Her fingers still slowly dragged your skirt up the expanse of your thigh until she had it hiked up around your waist again.

“So pretty…” Hotch murmured, his voice thick and rough.

You turned your head to look at him, not at all phasing Emily who began kissing your neck instead, and found him sitting with his legs spread. His pants were undone and his long thick member was firmly gripped in his palm. If you weren’t so occupied with the fact Emily had found a spot on your neck that made your entire body tingle, your eyes might’ve bugged out of your head.

Emily’s lips managed to coax another soft moan from you and your attention was temporarily diverted. Your head rolled back a little to give her space to work, which made her chuckle. A sound that you were sure was pure sin.

You heard another sound, a soft moan from across the aisle, and you realized that Hotch…

Wasn’t the only one.

Spencer had taken his out as well, watching you intently while stroking himself slowly. A loud and surprising moan erupted from your lips, pulling soft groans from the three of them in response.

You didn’t know what you wanted more.

Emily’s mouth… or either of the cocks now standing at attention in front of you.

However, the decision would not be left up to you.

Emily’s hand was now popping open the buttons of your blouse one by one. Working her way down your stomach, her mouth following her hands slowly. She was taking her sweet time, kissing, sucking and biting gently. Sucking your skin into her mouth and rolling it softly between her teeth, probably leaving some little red marks. Her head dipping lower and lower toward the apex of your thighs.

More little moans escaped through your heavy, panting breaths.

Her mouth finally hovered over the place you wanted it most. Emily’s breath was hot as she slowly closed her lips around your clit over your black lacy panties. A strangled cry breaking free as you threw your head back, your mouth wide and your eyes closing tightly.

Hotch knelt down behind you, pushing his shoulder under your head, forcing you to look down at Emily between your legs. His hand brushed your hair out of your face gently.

“Do you like having Emily’s mouth between your legs, sweetheart?” He hummed against your temple, placing a tender kiss there.

You opened your mouth to answer, but Emily had other plans, sucking harder on your clit that she had been previously, while flicking at it with her tongue. Your panties weren’t even off yet and she had you nearly in tears from the pleasure.

A strangled, half moan, half gasp left your mouth in the place of words.

Hotch chuckled softly and his breath moved your hair, tickling your forehead.

“Where did that clever mouth go? It was working so well earlier.” His fingers curled around your open blouse, and he gently pulled it off your shoulders. He guided you back onto his shoulder again as he placed kisses to the side of your neck, and then tossed the shirt to Spencer, who brought it to his nose and took a deep breath of your perfume.

“She smells so good…” Spencer mumbled softly, still palming his own erection and watching Emily's head move between your legs.

“You have no idea how good she smells.” Emily groaned, biting the inside of your thigh hard enough to sting and then started to suck a hickey over the indentations her teeth had made.

“Why don’t you take her panties off and tell us how she tastes.” Hotch suggested with a smirk, you groaned softly in agreement. Your hips bucked slightly and that knot in your core squeezed tight.

“You like that idea, huh?” He teased gently, you could feel his grin against your temple. Then he threaded his hand through your hair and pulled your head back to mouth hot kisses down the line of your throat.

“I definitely do.” Emily smirked, then hooked her thumbs into the waist of your panties and slowly began to drag them down your hips. Her fingers deftly unclipping your garters from your stockings, then continuing to drag your panties down your legs until she had freed them completely and tossed them to the floor. Her warm breath fanned out across your skin and yours hitched at the sensation. Much to Emily’s delight, goosebumps pebbled your thighs and she ran her fingertips over them slowly. Which only made them worse.

“It’s not braille.” You hissed at her impatiently. “It’s not going to magically spell anything out.”

“That fucking mouth…” She mumbled as she finally closed the distance between her mouth and your pussy. Your hips bucked at the heat of her tongue as she licked a path from your entrance to your clit.

A strangled cry flew from your lips. Emily’s laugh puffed against you, and the only thing keeping you aware of anything at all was the combination of Spencer and Hotch’s laughs filling the space as well.

“Not such a smartass with a tongue on your pussy are you?” Hotch’s gravelly voice reverberated in your ear before he took your ear lobe in his mouth and bit it gently. “Be good for us and we’ll see just how many times we can make you come.”

You only had the mental capacity to nod… because Emily had just sucked your clit into her mouth and was rolling her tongue over it. That—combined with the gentle suction she so mindfully applied—meant whimpering, nodding, and squirming was all you could manage to do.

The warmth of her mouth was obscene, the slick firmness of her tongue enough to make you see stars. She gave a particularly rough pull of suction against your clit and you couldn’t contain yourself.

“Fuck!” You gasped, throwing your head back and closing your eyes.

Hotch wasn’t having that though.

Especially since Spencer was barely containing his own whimpers and moans from the chair across the aisle, where he was watching the entire scene with rapt attention, soaking in every detail. Hotch took your chin in his hand and forced you to look at Spencer.

“Look at him.” He commanded, growling in your ear. “Look at what you’re doing to him, Sweetheart, and you haven’t even touched him.”

You made eye contact with Spencer then, his eyes full of longing, sweat glistening on his brow and his hand struggling to maintain a steady rhythm on his cock. His chest was heaving from the effort it was taking him to remain in control, you could clearly hear his ragged breaths from your place across the cabin. His cheeks were flushed–a ruddy pink–and his hair was disheveled from his fingers, which he kept dragging through it.

“Spence…” You murmured softly, for no other reason than you felt the need to say his name. To acknowledge him and make sure he knew you saw him. To be certain he knew that you appreciated what you saw.

His cock was so hard it was closer to pink than his natural skin tone and you were anxious to do something about it. It looked almost painful.

You felt like you could hear everything he was thinking as he broke eye contact to study the length of your body, then brought his gorgeous amber doe eyes back yours.

“Tell her how beautiful she looks Reid, talk to her, she loves it when you ramble.” Hotch urged him gently. “Don’t you, pretty girl?”

You really did and the pleading look in your eyes was all he needed to see to know that was true.

“You should see yourself right now, Angel…” Spencer murmured softly, hesitantly at first but the heat in your eyes as you gazed back at him was undeniable, and the boost in confidence he needed. “You’re stunning, absolutely ethereal, bewitching even. From the luster of your hair to the delicate curves of your legs, you look like a dream. Your perfect breasts look so firm and smooth, I want to cup my hands around them just to see how it would feel.”

You moaned softly at that and Hotch hummed his agreement and approval of Spencer’s pretty words. He had to admit he was impressed, Reid seemed to have a way of waxing poetic. He watched with glee as your body reacted, both to Emily’s ministrations and Spencer’s words as he continued to speak. “Darling you are divine, the very smell of your perfume is intoxicating. Your lips are tantalizing and I can only imagine the feel of them on mine would be soft as silk.”

You hung on every word, his voice mesmerizing you as he spoke. You had no idea that Spencer had such a way with words. His poetic phrasing had your heart racing and your stomach fluttering.

Emily’s warm tongue slowly drifted away from your clit, trailing down your pussy to the wetness of your entrance… and she began to leisurely fuck you with it. You moaned so loudly it startled you and bit your bottom lip to stifle the noise.

“They can’t hear you in the cockpit, Angel. The door is too thick and the engines are too loud. Not to mention, they’re wearing headsets to communicate with air traffic control.” Spencer explained quietly.

Hotch’s hands started to travel down your body. One slipping into the black see-through mesh and lace of your bra, the other sliding slowly down your stomach and finding your—recently abandoned—clit. He circled it with his fingertips gently. His other hand firmly massaging your breast and rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You heard him, Sweetheart. No one can hear you but the three of us, and like Emily said: we like it when you’re vocal.”

You let out a soft whimper and he hummed in approval.

Emily drew most of your attention back to herself as she replaced her tongue with two fingers, stretching you wider and filling you more satisfyingly than before. She stayed between your legs though, sucking and biting at your thighs as she made her fingers match the pace of Spencer’s hand.

You knew that’s what she was doing because you were still watching him from the corner of your eye, and for every downward stroke of his hand, she thrust her fingers inside you at the same moment. Hotch caught on to what she was doing, and he also began to match that rhythm and pace, kissing and nipping at the column of your throat as he played with your clit and nipples.

“Let go babe, we’ve got you. I can feel how close you are, you’ve got my fingers in a vise.” Emily murmured against the skin of your thigh, pressing a kiss to the place she had just bitten. Hotch hummed against your neck.

“Are you gonna come on Emily’s fingers, Sweetheart?” He murmured, before biting your exposed throat gently and laving at it with his tongue.

All you could do was moan in response.

Emily’s mouth found its way back to your clit, nipping Hotch’s finger playfully to make him move it. He looked down at her with a smirk and flicked her forehead teasingly before bringing his hand up to your other breast.

She rolled her eyes at him and flattened her tongue against your clit, then circled it and finally began sucking on it again as she continued to fuck you with her fingers. Hotch was rolling both your nipples between his fingers and returned his mouth to your throat, you were almost certain he was leaving marks there.

He was and it was completely intentional, it was the weekend, and he intended to give you all two extra days off at the start of next week. They would fade.

Emily was getting worked up herself and the sound of your little pants and moans were driving her to distraction. When you let out a particularly loud whimper, she hummed in satisfaction and the vibration made you throw your head back farther and moan so lewdly that Hotch picked his head up to look at your face.

Your eyes were squeezed shut, your supple lips were shaped in a wide ‘O’ and he couldn’t help himself anymore, your mouth was just begging to be filled.

You were vaguely aware that he had lifted your head off his shoulder and moved to stand, but you were too focused on Emily—and her mouth— to wonder why.

Then something warm bumped your chin.

You opened your eyes and found Hotch standing in front of you, his cock bouncing just out of reach of your mouth. You looked up and met his eyes, questioningly.

He smirked down at you, reaching out and cupping your jaw in his hand. His calloused thumb rubbed a small circle on the smooth skin of your cheek.

“I told you to close your mouth or I’d use it.” He murmured, voice low and rough. His thumb stretched to pull your lip down just a little and let it snap back into place, then brushed the corner of your mouth softly.

You didn’t respond, you just opened your mouth a little wider and offered it to him.

“Fuck.” He murmured, barely louder than a whisper.

Em chuckled quietly and the vibrations ran straight up your spine then down your legs, making your toes curl. You threaded your hands through Emily’s hair, needing something, anything, to hold on to.

“A little wider sweetheart.” Hotch prompted you.

You obeyed immediately, opening your mouth as wide as you could and maintaining eye contact with him. You knew he would like the attention and he did, rewarding you with his thick cock as he slid it slowly into the warmth of your mouth.

He tasted clean, but salty, and the precum that was already leaking from him was sweet as well with a slightly bitter—but delicious—aftertaste. You groaned as you closed your lips around him.

“How does her mouth feel?” Spencer’s voice was strained, he still hadn’t moved to touch you, content to observe.

To learn.

“She’s perfect.” Hotch groaned, his hand buried in your hair fisting it firmly but not roughly. He began to use it to pull you slowly up and down the length of his cock. “Fuck sweetheart, you feel amazing.” He murmured looking down at you affectionately, “You’re so warm, and you’re being so pliant for me.”

You kept eye contact with him, trying to focus on him… While also being on the verge of coming from Emily’s tongue on your clit, her finger pumping in and out of your pussy. All three of them were still matching pace with each other, and it was intoxicating. In and out and in and out, all at the same time.

Realizing how close you were, just needing a little push to fall over the edge, Emily reached up and started rolling your nipple beneath the lace of your bra. Then she slightly changed the angle of her fingers, curling them slightly to brush against your g-spot with every thrust.

You uttered a very strangled cry, the sound muffled around Hotch’s thickness. “Whatever you just did, she liked it. Didn’t you, pretty girl?”

You moaned in response and his hand tightened in your hair, a low hiss sliding through his clenched teeth.

Emily chuckled and kept her pace steady, but the vibration of her laughter around your clit as she sucked on it was all it took to send you spiraling into blissful oblivion.

Your body felt fuzzy and warm and your pussy was pulsing uncontrollably around Emily’s fingers. Your legs were shaking and you finally broke eye contact with Hotch as you scrunched your face up in pleasure. Eyes closed tightly as she fucked you through it, then licked your pussy from bottom to top as though savoring the taste of your orgasm.

Your body slowly relaxed again and when Emily pressed one more kiss to your clit then stood from the couch, you opened your eyes again to look up at her. Panting heavily as you realized now, that Hotch had pulled out of your mouth so that you could breathe through your orgasm.

Emily smirked down at you and then held her two glistening fingers up to the light for Hotch to inspect. He looked at them with a feral sort of hunger in his eyes.

“Do you want to taste her?” Emily asked him, a sly grin on her face as she offered her middle finger up to him. “She’s delicious…” She purred, and Hotch glanced down at you, recovering from your orgasm with a look of pure adoration for Emily in your eyes.

Then he turned his head toward her and grabbed her wrist with his free hand, before drawing her finger into his mouth… and sucking it clean.

You groaned and let your head rest against his hand that was still tangled in your hair.

“Fuck, she tastes like heaven. Reid, you wanna taste?” Hotch asked the younger man, then turned his attention back to you, tugging lightly on your hair. “Get down on your knees for me, Sweetheart.” He coaxed gently.

You obeyed him, getting down on your knees in front of him, but watched Reid and Prentiss as you did it. She was offering her ring finger to him and he was licking it clean and groaning, as he stroked himself a little harder.

Spencer… Spencer who didn’t shake hands because of germs… was licking Emily’s finger, just so he could taste you.

Fuck…

You whimpered softly and Hotch chuckled quietly, using your hair to tilt your face up to look at him .

“You can have him as soon as I’m done with your pretty little mouth.” He murmured teasingly. “Open up sweetheart.” You let your mouth fall open in what you hoped was a sexy expression. “So pretty…” He whispered for the second time that night as he slid his cock back into your mouth.

He used your hair—again, to your delight—to guide your mouth up and down his considerable length. He was taking it slow, going easy on you… you didn’t like that, not one bit. So you surged forward on his cock, taking as much of him as you could without gagging and he let out a sharp, gasping, string of barely intelligible obscenities.

You tried to pull back a bit to do it again… but he held you firmly in place.

“You want me to fuck your mouth, pretty girl? Blink once for no, twice for yes.” You moaned, looking up at him from under your lashes and pleading with your eyes, you blinked twice.

That is exactly what you wanted.

He chuckled quietly and then gave you a soft look.

“Have you ever had your mouth fucked before? Once for no, twice for yes.” You blinked once—you hadn’t and you were nervous because with his cock so deep in your throat you couldn’t breathe, you were also struggling not to gag—but you wanted him to do it so badly in that moment.

“Then listen closely, so I don’t hurt you.” He warned you, then caressed your neck tenderly. “Relax your throat, soften the back of your mouth.” He instructed gently. “Go ahead, I’ll tell you when you’ve done it right.” You tried to do as he asked, relaxing all the muscles in your throat and opening the back of your mouth. “Good girl, that’s perfect.”

Your head was starting to feel fuzzy from lack of oxygen, but you knew he wouldn’t hurt you so you didn’t panic.

“Keep your jaw loose and let me move you, don’t fight against me or try to help. It’ll make you sore if you do. You can’t breathe right now can you?” He asked, seemingly knowing the answer was no, but you blinked once anyway. “You are going to have to focus on your breathing. Time it so that you take a full inhale through your nose as I’m pulling out.”

He pulled you back off his cock just enough so that your airway was clear, you immediately sucked in a full breath and your head cleared.

“Good girl…” He soothed, stroking your cheek with the back of his finger. “When you take a breath, hold it. Then release it when I pull out the next time. Do you understand?”

You blinked twice.

“Perfect.”

He started so slowly—barely moving at all—letting you get the hang of how to breathe and how to keep everything loose and relaxed.

“That’s perfect, sweetheart, just like that.” He praised you after a minute, and then he slowly increased his pace, going a little deeper as well.

“Look how well she takes it…” Emily purred, kneeling down next to you and brushing a stray hair from your face. “Such a good girl…” She cooed, running her hand down your bare back.

Her words only served to fuel your ego and you preened under her praise.

“She’s a natural…” Hotch agreed and brought his free hand up to your cheek. “Think you can take it a little faster, pretty girl?” He asked, stroking your skin with his thumb.

You blinked twice.

“Good girl, remember to breathe in on every other one.” He both praised and reminded you softly as he picked up the pace. His cock was touching the back of your throat now with every inward thrust. His hand in your hair supported your head and held you completely still. You were like putty in his hands, and Hotch was reveling in it. He loved the way you completely surrendered and trusted him with something you’d never experienced before. “Fuck, Sweetheart… you’re taking me so well. I’m so proud of you.”

The tone of voice he was using—low and rough—was making your pussy throb all over again.

You moaned and he lost a little bit of his restraint, fucking into your mouth a little harder than he had been before, but not hard enough to hurt you. It was making your eyes water, however, and you had tears running down your cheeks. Hotch was enthralled by them, by the mascara tracks they were leaving and the way they changed the shade of your eyes slightly. “Such a good fucking girl, letting me fuck your mouth like this… you’re perfection, sweetheart.”

“Look at what you’re doing to him…” Emily whispered softly in your ear. “He’s barely holding on, you’re driving him crazy with those pouty, fuckable lips and pleading puppy dog eyes… you should see yourself the way he’s seeing you right now… you’re fucking beautiful baby.”

You moaned and it would’ve been loud and obscene if not for the cock in your mouth.

Hotch’s hips stuttered and he cursed, you knew that meant he was close.

“I’m about to come, pretty girl…” He gritted out, his hand in your hair tightening. “Can you take it?”

You moaned and blinked twice at him, then held eye contact. You didn’t know how you knew that would send him over the edge, you just did.

Then he was spilling himself down your throat, and you swallowed every fucking drop, then sucked him clean. He pulled his cock from your mouth and tucked it back into his briefs, then squatted down in front of you. The thumb of his free hand wiped a drop of liquid off your chin and he brought it to your lips, the look in his eyes almost challenging.

You licked his thumb from base to tip, then closed your lips around it and lightly sucked on it. He smiled at you then, pulling his thumb from your mouth and sliding that hand back to join his other in your hair. Hotch pulled you toward him gently as he started to lean in and murmured, “Such a good girl…”

The kiss he gave you was hot, sloppy and branding. He could taste himself in your mouth as his tongue invaded it and he was obsessed with the mingling of his flavor and yours. You moaned into his mouth and tried to deepen the kiss again, but he heard Spencer’s ragged breathing behind him and pulled back.

“You wanna ride Reid’s cock, Sweetheart?” He murmured loudly enough that Spencer also heard him and you both whimpered pathetically at the suggestion.

Hotch and Emily both chuckled, and then Hotch put his hands on your waist to help you stand and guided you over to the chair Spencer was in. Your legs were shaking and you were as clumsy as a baby giraffe stumbling over to him.

Spencer was looking up at you with those big amber puppy dog eyes and you felt even weaker in the knees, luckily you didn’t have to stand for much longer. Hotch steadied you on your wobbly legs until you climbed up onto Spencer’s lap, straddling him.

He was hesitant to touch you, his observation had started this whole thing and when he had suggested an experiment… he hadn’t expected it to end in sex…especially not group sex. When Hotch and Emily had started talking about consent and ground rules—lines that couldn’t be crossed— he had been sent reeling.

When he had asked if they’d noticed you acting strangely it had been out of concern for your wellbeing. When he had suggested they test the hypothesis he had merely meant to prove whether you were into men, women, or both.

He had wanted a scientific experiment, not sexual experimentation.

Not that he was complaining…

He, Emily, and Hotch were all three bisexual. Hotch didn’t really broadcast that fact, especially not in front of the others. Even though Spencer was pretty sure the only two on the team who weren’t queer were Rossi and Derek, and he wasn’t even sure about Rossi sometimes. So it wasn’t a big deal if you were or were not bisexual. He had only been curious.

Curiosity killed the cat or something like that… yet this time he had ended up with your bare pussy hovering over his cock, and he was not at all upset with this outcome. Just incredibly shocked. You were so beautiful, looking down at him with your tear stained cheeks and swollen lips. He still hesitated, however, because he wasn’t sure whether or not you really wanted him, or if he was being included simply because he was here.

You could see that hesitation, that self doubt in his eyes… you hated it.

So you leaned in and kissed him. It was a sweet kiss at first… reassuring and gentle. You were giving him plenty of time to work his nerve up. When he didn’t pull away—and even started to reciprocate—you deepened the kiss and teased at his lips with your tongue.

Requesting entry.

He parted his lips for you immediately, you smiled against him before you let your tongue caress his sinfully. His body was no longer rigid, but he was still tense. You moved to kissing his neck and nipping at his skin.

“Relax Spence…” You murmured sensually, running your hands through his hair and brushing it back from his forehead. “Let me lead, I’ll take care of you.” Pulling back and checking in to make sure, before you went too far, you looked him in the eyes, searching them intently. “Is this okay with you, Handsome?”

He nodded, biting his bottom lip in a way that made you want to bite it too.

“Yes.” He murmured, still hesitating… then whispered, “I just– I’ve only done this twice… I don’t know what to do in this position…”

Oh…

“That’s okay, I didn’t know what to do a minute ago and Hotch talked me right through it… We can do that for you, if you want?” You offered him gently. Your eyes were soft and kind, but let him see just how badly you wanted him. “Besides… I’ll enjoy being able to teach you something for once.”

He laughed softly, and some of the tension melted away from him.

“Okay.” He agreed. “Tell me what to do.”

Then in a burst of confidence, he reached up and tucked your hair behind your ear.

You hummed in approval.

“Touching me would be a great start.” You teased gently, not at all trying to bruise his ego.

“That’s true…” He joked quietly and his hands settled on your waist, then started to slowly trail up your sides. Lightly dancing over your ribs. “What if… I did this as well?”

And then his hands were reaching around to the clasp of your bra and deftly unhooking it. Which shocked you given his inexperience… you’d bet anything that he’d practiced somehow so he wouldn’t fumble when it mattered.

You reached down between your bodies and wrapped your hand around him. He sucked in a sharp gasp, jumping at the contact and your soft chuckle was echoed by two more behind you.

“Then I would do this and tell you that you have great instincts if you’ll just listen to them.” You started to slowly pump your hand up and down his length and he groaned. It was an almost tortured sound, as though you were both killing him and pleasuring him at the same time.

He slid the straps of your bra down your arms and you briefly let go of him to toss it to the floor. You sat up a little straighter as he took in the sight of you, sitting astride him in nothing but a garter belt and thigh-high stockings.

“You’re so beautiful, Angel…” he murmured, then leaned forward and pressed kisses to your breasts.

You lost patience then.

“Are you ready?” You asked him as you lined him up with your entrance, barely putting the tip in.

Your hands were trembling and your breathing was rapid and shaky.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one who asks you that?” He responded, but his voice cracked and you knew he was putting on bravado. He was every bit as desperate as you, his breaths ragged and harsh.

“Spence…” You whimpered, needing his permission to sink down on it. “Please.”

He didn’t respond, instead he gripped your hips firmly and tugged you down onto his cock until you were fully seated on it. You swore you could feel every ridge, every vein, and every little twitch it made.

“Fuck!” You moaned, loudly, earning snickers and snorts from the two voyeurs sitting on the couch behind you.

“Shit, sorry! Did I hurt you?” He panicked.

“That was definitely not a sound of pain, Reid.” Hotch murmured.

Spencer looked at you closely anyway, unsure if you were alright.

“You told me to follow my instincts so I–”

You kissed him, to shut him up and stop his doubts from running away with his head. Then you started to ride him slowly. He groaned against your lips and you smiled. The feel of him—filling you up—was exquisite.

“Your instincts are perfect Spencer…” You praised him, letting your hands drift back into his hair. “That was hot.”

His beautiful eyes gazing up at you as you rode him made you feel a little dizzy, he was so fucking pretty. He was gripping your hips tightly and every time you brought them back down he whimpered. The sounds he was making were driving you insane.

“Tilt your hips forward a bit more, sweetheart.” Hotch instructed you, his voice low and raspy. “It’ll help you take him deeper, and feel twice as good for him.”

He was right, and you did know that already, but it was so fucking sexy when he started giving orders.

“And for her.” Prentiss added, you could hear the salacious smile in her tone.

“Like this?” You asked in a faux bashful tone, as if you didn’t know how to do it. Then you did it perfectly, so that you and Reid both groaned, and your ass popped back enticingly for Hotch and Emily.

They both groaned softly and you smiled, winking at Spencer. Letting him in on your antics. He smiled back at you, as amused as he could be—given the circumstances.

“What about this? Do you think this would make him feel good?” You asked, rolling and circling your hips seductively as you rode him.

Spencer hissed out a breath, his eyes rolling back briefly.

“I can confirm that it does in fact feel amazing.” He groaned, you giggled and threw a flirty glance back over your shoulder at the others. Then leaned forward and sucked Spencer’s bottom lip into your mouth, biting it. He slid his hands down to your thighs squeezing tightly, then over your thighs where he looped his fingers into your stockings and peeled them down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Then traced his fingers back up your calves and thighs, back to your hips and you noticed he was avoiding your ass… So did Prentiss.

You felt the heat of her body behind you before you heard her voice, and pulled back to look up at her.

“Don’t be shy Reid…” She purred, her hands landing on his, dragging them back till they rested fully on your ass. “Get a good handful… or two.” She made him squeeze you firmly. You moaned and Emily chuckled. “See… She loves that, don’t you babe?”

“Yes!” You moaned wantonly, and caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of your eye. Hotch had moved closer and was perched on the edge of the table next to the seat you and Spencer were in. He was watching with a ravenous hunger in his eyes.

“Put her nipple in your mouth, Reid.” He said after a moment. “Suck on it while circling your tongue around it.”

Emily hummed her approval, they were giving Spencer a veritable textbook for How To Make You Come 101. Spencer listened, of course. He’d just watched Hotch and Emily tag team you into an orgasm, their words were as good as gold.

When his lips closed around your nipple you hissed and whimpered a little, picking up your pace as you bounced up and down on his cock. Hotch chuckled in lust filled amusement, reaching over and stroking your ribs with the back of his hand.

“She makes such beautiful little sounds.” He mused to Emily, who nodded and then grabbed a handful of your hair.

She used it to tip your head back then kissed you thoroughly, her tongue caressing yours and you could still taste your pussy on her lips. You moaned and ground yourself down against Spencer, his cock reaching all the way to your cervix, you felt as though you could feel him in your stomach.

Hotch’s fingers were tracing your ribs, or maybe that was Spencer? No, his hands were still on your ass so it had to be Hotch or Emily. Someone was trailing a hand down your stomach to where your body joined with Spencer’s, this hand was larger and callused while the other was soft and smaller. So Emily was tracing your ribs, while Hotch…

Hotch was on a collision course with your clit. You knew when he made impact, you’d see stars.

Spencer switched nipples, still kneading your ass with firmness and your muscles were starting to ache from pulling yourself up and down his cock at this pace. Emily was still lighting you up with her kiss, her fingers traveling down the line of your rib to the breast that Reid had started with. Hotch’s fingers were getting closer and closer, but they were moving so slowly you knew he was trying to drive you wild with anticipation.

It was working.

Your chest was heaving, you were trembling and your legs were aching deliciously from exertion. Spencer’s cock was hitting you perfectly every time you sank down on it. All the sensations combined were almost too much for your sanity. You were so close, again.

“Look at you, falling apart at the seams… you’re so close aren’t you sweetheart?” Hotch murmured, his voice a lot closer than it had last been. What was he, a mind reader? His nose skimmed your neck up to your ear, which he then bit gently. You moaned into Emily’s mouth, a pitiful little whimper, and you felt her smile softly against your lips. “Does Reid’s cock feel so good? Filling you up like that. Stretching you out. I wonder, can you still taste yourself on Emily’s lips? Do you know how good you taste, pretty girl?”

Fuck, was he trying to kill you?

It was like his voice had gained a solid form and had wrapped itself around your throat, cutting off your oxygen and leaving you completely breathless. Your senses were overwhelmed, in a state of near euphoria, and you knew that once Hotch’s fingers reached their destination—and they would in the next three seconds—that the barest graze of them was going to make you explode.

He stopped just short of his target. You whined against Emily’s lips and he laughed at you softly.

“I think she ought to earn this one… What do you think, Prentiss? Should we make her beg?” Hotch asked the other woman, he didn’t ask Reid because the poor man was barely holding it together and all of his focus was split between the nipple he was currently stimulating and not coming inside you without consent.

Emily—reluctantly—pulled her tongue out of your mouth and smirked down at you.

“Hmm, she was being a little bit of a tease a minute ago wasn’t she?” She made a show of looking very contemplative, all the while she continued toying with your other nipple. “Reid?”

She brought Spencer into the conversation—or she tried to.

“Busy.” He murmured against the skin of your breast as he continued his work there, he would not be distracted. You glanced down and saw that he had started marking your skin with hickeys.

You moaned at the sight and let your head fall back.

“You want me to beg, and I’ll beg. Just please don’t make him stop.” Your voice was heavy, rough and breathless. You were so incredibly close, your body was starting to shake, and you knew you’d come, whether they kept touching you or not.

They knew it too, but they also knew they could make it so much stronger… if you were good for them.

“It feels so good, huh, sweetheart?” Hotch asked, his tone slightly condescending. “If you ask nicely, we’ll give you what you need…”

His hand was still stalled on your lower abdomen less than an inch away from your clit. Emily was just barely teasing your nipple and while it seemed like Spencer was ignoring them, you knew he was giving you just enough to keep you on the edge. Sneaky.

However, you expected no less from him. He was a fast and visual learner, he had been watching closely when Hotch and Emily had been playing you like a fiddle. He could have had you screaming all on his own if he’d wanted to—you had no doubt about that— he’d just needed the confidence to get started.

Hotch and Emily had helped with that.

“I’ll be such a good girl if you let me come, Hotch, please…” You gave him the sexiest pout you could muster. His eyes seemed to darken—his hazel irises almost completely drowned out by his pupils—as they zoned in on your lips. “I’ll mind my manners and be so polite, I promise. Pretty please, make me come.”

Hotch was listening, and he had intended to make you beg more than this, but your lipstick smudged lips were just so alluring that he couldn’t focus on anything else at that moment. Remembering what they’d looked like wrapped around his cock several minutes earlier, he found his will rapidly dissolving, and all he really wanted was to watch the way those lips formed a perfect O when you came.

“I knew you’d sound so sweet begging…” He murmured, and his hand started to move again “Let us hear you, pretty girl. Loud and clear.”

“Yes sir.” You murmured confidently.

Emily chuckled and started sucking on your neck, you moaned… Then Hotch’s fingers—finally—found your clit.

You screamed.

Your vision went fuzzy and then white. Your head was buzzing and your body was nearly numb. You went limp and Spencer took over, fucking you through your orgasm, prolonging it. Emily’s hand had begun rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Good girl…” She cooed. “You look so pretty when you come.”

“Yes she does.” Hotch murmured, reaching over to where your head was resting on Spencer’s shoulder and brushing your hair away from your face. “So fucking pretty.”

You whimpered softly at the touch and he smiled tenderly at you. Your chest was heaving with hard-fought, ragged breaths. You were shaking, but your vision was slowly returning to normal.

“Are you alright?” Spencer whispered gently in your ear. His hands on your waist now, thumbs rubbing circles on your hips. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fucking fantastic, Spence…” You murmured in return, shifting your weight slightly to sit up and kiss him. He squeezed your hips tightly.

“Please don’t move.” He hissed, pleadingly. “I can’t… I’m gonna… If you don’t get off it, I’m going to come inside you. I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”

You froze, your lips just a centimeter from his.

“It’s okay… Don’t panic… They make pills for that, and I intend to take one anyway… I’m a little stuck at the moment though, my knees are too weak to get up.” You met his eyes, the panic in them was astounding. “Hotch, could you–”

The man's arms were already coming around your waist and he lifted you off of Spencer effortlessly, as the younger man bit his lip and hissed as if pained. Setting you on your feet softly, Hotch held you to his chest to keep you from falling to the floor.

“Didn’t you say you’d mind your manners and be polite if we let you come?” He asked, a hint of mischief in his voice.

You looked up at him, searching his eyes for a hint, a clue, anything to tell you what he was up to.

“Mm hmm…” You hummed in response, nodding at him.

“You made a mess Sweetheart…” He told you quietly, then took your chin in his hand and turned your face down to look at Spencer… Who was, in fact, a whimpering mess. “Clean it up.”

You licked your lips and smiled salaciously.

“Yes sir.” You murmured softly and got down on your knees at Spencer’s feet.

Reaching out and taking Spencer’s cock in your hand, you gave him a firm stroke. He moaned and his head fell back against the seat. So he didn’t see you coming when you lowered your head and took him in your mouth, all the way to the base.

“Oh fuck!” He yelped, you hummed in approval at his reaction, then you pulled back so that a manageable length was in your mouth. You put one hand on his thigh to brace yourself and create a little leverage, the other you wrapped around the rest of him. Slowly, you started to bob up and down, moving your hand in time with your head. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Spencer’s hands gripping the arms of the chair, his knuckles were white. That only spurred you on.

The taste of yourself on his cock was tantalizing, the tang of you mingling with the musk of him was something you never thought you would experience. This whole situation was something you never thought you’d experience. You’d considered it of course—more times than you could count— but it was only a fantasy, a daydream. Never had you once thought it might actually happen.

“She’s doing so well… don’t you think Hotch?” Emily’s voice purred on your right.

“Hmmm, I don’t know… she’s capable of more…” He hummed in response from the left, and a hand—that based on the size could only be his—palmed the curve of your ass. He gave it a squeeze and a playful smack and you moaned around Spence's cock. Spencer twitched in response.

“You think she can take more?” Emily asked him, her tone was nothing short of sinful and it made you shiver. Hotch’s following chuckle, however, went straight to your pussy, making you squeeze your thighs together. Suddenly, you were completely desperate again..

“I know she can.” He answered, with a confidence that made your toes curl. His voice tended to do that to you, but when he put that cocky, self assured, arrogant rasp behind it… Goddamn. It was the voice he used when he knew he had the upper hand, when he had an unsub completely caught up in a lie, a trap of their own making. The voice that made your knees weak and your thighs tighten. It went straight to your pussy every time, making it clench around nothing. “Why don’t you help her along?”

“I’d love to.” She purred.

Then Emily’s hand was in your hair, resting firmly on the back of your head.

“You heard him, Gorgeous…” she lilted provocatively as her hand grew heavier on your head, slowly pushing you down the lengthy expanse of Spencer’s cock, until your nose was touching the neat patch of hair at his base.

“Fuck, Angel…” Spencer groaned, his voice husky and strained. “I’m so close…”

You gave him a muffled little hum of approval and that was all he needed to fall over the edge. Spilling down your throat as he moaned loudly, his hands joined Emily’s in your hair and he held you there firmly until he was finished.

You swallowed as much as you could and then—when they released your head—you sucked and licked him clean.

“Thank you, Angel. That was… incredible.” Spencer murmured, reaching up to stroke your cheek tenderly with the back of his forefinger. You leaned into the touch and then gave him a sensuous smile as you climbed back up into his lap. You brought your lips to his before he could say another word and kissed him deeply, letting him taste the mixture of all the flavors that had accumulated on your tongue. It was by far the sweetest thing you’d ever tasted. He moaned into your mouth and you pulled back to smile at him.

“You are very. Very. Welcome.” You purred, punctuating each very with a gentle kiss and biting his bottom lip after welcome. “It was my pleasure…”

Hotch and Emily chuckled softly at your antics and you noticed that Em sounded a bit shaky. Then you realized she was the only one who hadn’t come at least once… you’d have to remedy that.

Hotch—astute as ever—immediately noticed when your eyes locked onto Emily’s form. He chuckled again, looking between you and her, then stood and helped her to her feet as well, guiding her to the space between you and the couch you both had started this whole thing on.

“You want Prentiss again, sweetheart?” He asked, his smirk letting you know he knew exactly what was on your mind. You simply nodded your head, never taking your eyes off her. “Hmm… What do you think, Emily? Has she earned the right to touch you yet?”

She smirked down at you, trying to maintain her slightly condescending attitude… but you could read her like a book, and she was so turned on she was struggling to breathe regularly. You smirked back at her and she raised a brow at you.

“I don’t know, she seems a little too cocky about it to me.” She answered him, only prolonging her own discomfort.

“Am I?” You murmured, giving her a teasing smile. “Take it from the boys, Em. I could rock your world…”

She laughed softly.

“I bet you could, but I wanna hear you beg for it…” She purred, grinning at you. “Tell me how much you want it.”

You started to get up and reach for her, to show her how much you wanted her… but she stepped back, bumping into Hotch’s chest. He steadied her without hesitation, his hands stayed planted firmly on her hips and to your surprise, Spencer gripped your own hips. Tugging you back down into his lap so that you now faced the others, he held you in place.

“She said tell her, Angel…” Spencer murmured, his breath tickling your ear. You were shocked at his sudden burst of dominance. Your eyes widened slightly and your lips parted in surprise.

Hotch chuckled and you studied the three of them carefully… they were all smiling at you, their eyes holding the same teasing light. It was as though they were waiting for you to notice something. You just didn’t know what.

“You don’t get to touch her yet, sweetheart… not until she gives you permission.” Hotch murmured teasingly. “You can look though…”

Then his hands slid around her waist to the front of her pants, and he began to unbuckle her belt.

“Oh fuck…” you whispered on a breathy sigh. This would be the death of you, you were sure. Your head tipped back as you looked to the ceiling, as though praying for patience or guidance—or perhaps salvation because you felt certifiably damned—but Spencer had other ideas.

“Don’t look away.” He instructed you, his voice low and commanding as he gripped your chin and made you look back at them. You’d never heard him speak with so much authority, and yet somehow it was still so soft that it was barely audible. “They’re doing this for you…”

Hotch continued his mission to rid Emily of her slacks by unbuttoning and then unzipping them. Then he slipped them down her legs and held her hand to steady her as she stepped out of them. She kept her heels on, now standing before you in just her button down blouse and undershirt.

Your brain was short circuiting.

“Please, Em… I need to touch you.” You murmured softly and she smirked at you, scarlet lips tipping up to one side.

“Not yet…” She taunted.

Hotch reached around her again and started to unbutton her blouse, his pace was agonizing. You noticed that he was careful not to touch her body at all, now that she was only half clothed, and his eyes were locked on you… not her.

They really were doing this just for you.

How they knew you’d find it hot to watch him undress her, you didn’t know, but it was working. They didn’t seem uncomfortable, no… they were enjoying themselves as they teased you mercilessly.

When he slid the blouse down her shoulders and it fell to the floor, you felt as though you couldn’t breathe. She was wearing that one red tank top that always made you drool.

“Emily…” you nearly whimpered. “Please…”

She looked smug as she shook her head, reveling in the shakiness of your voice. She knew what that tank top did to you…

“Do you want to see him take it off me?” She asked, sweet as sugar… in a saccharine kind of way.

“I’d rather do it myself…” you implored, giving her a pouty look.

Her breath hitched and you knew… you were going to win this one.

“But if I’m being totally honest… I have this… fantasy… of you, in this exact outfit. I want you just like this, you’ve always looked so sexy in red, Em.” You purred, and you can tell you’ve surprised her for once. She was speechless for a moment and Hotch smirked at you, his eyes showing his amusement at this little standoff between you and Emily. “You know you want me Emily… just give in.”

You licked your bottom lip subtly, then bit it, trying to tempt her by looking up at her as innocent as a lamb. She had spotted your ploy a mile away, seen it coming from the moment you said she looked sexy in red.

It still worked.

“I will.” She drawled sensually, her eyes tracing your body. “If you get on your hands and knees and crawl to me.”

She stepped away from Hotch and sat on the couch with her legs spread wide, revealing red lace panties that matched her red tank top.

“Fuck…” you breathed. “You win… you win Em… just… God, let me touch you… please.” You pleaded. “I fucking need you.”

“Crawl to me, Gorgeous.” She finally conceded, smiling at you triumphantly.

And you let her think she had the upper hand, as you slipped out of Spencer’s lap and to the floor, but you knew once you got your hands on her—your mouth on her—she’d be putty in them.

Hotch moved to Spencer’s side and leaned against the wall—to watch the show of course—and nodded at you encouragingly.

You took your time, crawling seductively across the cabin to her, using every inch of the space to taunt her. She devoured you with her eyes and when you got to her feet, picked her right one up and propped it on your shoulder. You planted soft kisses on the inside of her ankle, never breaking eye contact.

“I have dreams that start out just like this…” you murmured to her.

“So do I.” She admitted, her voice breathless and shaky.

“Mmm…” you hummed softly, then purred, “Then what happens?”

She laughed softly, trying to seem unaffected again, but it was much too late for that. You knew exactly what you were doing to her.

“What’s the matter, Em?” You teased, beginning to kiss your way up the inside of her leg. “Cat got your tongue?” She seemed to lose all semblance of composure and you giggled softly against her soft skin. “Don’t worry… I can figure it out. I’m very creative.”

The roles had been reversed, and you’d never felt more in control than in that moment, kneeling between her legs. You slid your hands up her thighs and around her hips, gripping her ass firmly and then pulled her to the edge of the couch in one smooth motion.

For better access of course.

She yelped in surprise and you chuckled against her skin, never checking up as you continued kissing your way up her leg. You’d made it to her inner thigh and she was trembling. You looked up at her from under your lashes and smirked.

“I like it when you’re vocal.” You teased her, repeating her words back to her and earning a soft laugh from Hotch in return.

Emily started to say something but you flatten your tongue against her pussy—through her panties—and she moaned instead.

You hummed at the sound, reveling in it and lapped at her clit enthusiastically. Not bothering to tease her at all, just diving right in—to shut her up and wipe the smug smile off her gorgeous lips—and showing her exactly how creative you could be with your tongue.

But that didn’t satisfy your hunger for her at all, no… you needed to taste her, without the lace that was currently barring you from doing it.

You gently moved her panties to the side and took in the sight of her, bare and wet—absolutely soaked—all for you.

“Oh Emily…” You purred. “You’re dripping for me… and such a pretty pussy too. I wonder if it tastes as delicious as it looks?”

You were dying for her to regain a little sentience.

Docile, desperately horny Em was cute… but you wanted her sassy, confident self to come back out to play. You puffed a hot, teasing breath over the supple skin of her pussy and slowly, so slowly, licked her from her slit all the way to her clit. You stopped just short of it though, teasing her entrance with your tongue instead.

“Stop teasing me before I change my mind.” She growled impatiently, her hand tangling in your hair and tipping your head back to make eye contact.

You smirked up at her, a bit defiantly, and said softly, “Ask me nicely…”

Her eyes narrowed slightly and her head tilted to the side just a fraction as she stared you down, she seemed to be contemplating her options here. She could either let you get away with that and actually say please, or she could do whatever just crossed her mind and made those beautiful onyx eyes flicker with heat.

“Please, stop teasing me.” She murmured softly, leaning down so that her lips brushed your cheek as she moved to whisper in your ear. “Or I will take care of this pretty pussy all by myself, and make you watch from Spencer’s lap.”

You chuckled, biting your bottom lip as you turned your head to look at her.

“Mmm, I love it when you’re bossy.” You murmured, your nose less than an inch from hers now.

“Do you?” She purred, leaning closer so her lips are hovering just over yours, sharing your every breath. You nodded, yes, and she grinned salaciously at you, moving closer so she could bite your bottom lip herself. “Then stop talking, and do something useful with that silver tongue instead.”

You felt your cheeks heat, whether it was embarrassment or arousal—or a mix of both—you weren’t certain. But you loved the way it felt.

“Yes ma’am.” You purred, your voice dripping with pure seduction.

You felt her hand vacate your hair and didn’t waste time. Leaning forward, you licked her cunt from bottom to top in one smooth motion. Your tongue—finally—delving in to taste her, before you buried yourself between her thighs and ate her pussy like you were starving. She was delectable. Her arousal like honey on your tongue, and she just kept getting wetter.

The more you explored and experimented with her, the more you learned.

For instance, if you suctioned your lips tightly around her clit and rolled your tongue in circles around it, she couldn’t help but squirm as she let out soft little moans. If you added two fingers, curling just slightly upwards, and used them to massage that spot—just past the ridge of her pubic bone—she bucked against you wildly. So you gripped her by her thighs and hoisted them up onto your shoulders, forcing her to lean back on the couch and spread herself wider for you. The new angle gave you more leverage with your fingers and allowed you to apply firmer pressure with your tongue.

She was putty in your hands, just as you knew she would be. Her ragged breaths and quiet whimpers were growing more and more desperate, her hands grappling for purchase on any part of you she could reach. You were unsurprised when they found your hair, threading into it and taking two fistfuls that had your scalp stinging delightfully. You moaned against her and then felt her walls start to flutter around your fingers.

“Don’t stop, don’t change anything, I’m so close!” She panted, her voice raw with desire.

You suppressed the urge to grin, needing to maintain the seal of your lips around her clit, the pressure of your tongue… but you couldn’t help feeling a little smug. Especially as she clamped down hard on your fingers, her thighs quivering and trying to close around your head. Her entire body went taunt, her back arching and her head falling back against the couch as she cried out, “Oh God!”

Only when her body fully relaxed and her grip loosened in your hair, did you allow yourself to smirk against her pussy and look up at her from under your lashes. She didn’t notice—too busy recovering from the mind blowing head you’d just given her—Hotch, however, did.

“Look at you, being all smug.” His voice ran up your spine like molten lava. You didn’t dare peek over at him, choosing instead to pepper Emily’s fevered skin with soft, barely there kisses. First over her inner thighs, then her lower stomach where her tank had ridden up nearly to her breasts. “Are you proud of yourself, Pretty Girl?”

Hotch’s hand perched softly at the nape of your neck, he squeezed gently but firmly. His hand slid down your back slowly, his finger slipping into your garter belt—the only item of clothing left on you—and snapping the elastic against your spine. You moaned softly at the sting and he chuckled softly. He began to guide the belt down your hips, over your ass and thighs, to your knees. Tapping each in silent command. You complied, lifting them one at a time so he could—finally—strip you completely bare. “Such a good girl…”

His murmured praise had you aching again as you continued your worshipful path of kisses up the plain of Emily’s belly. Not stopping when you reached her tank, instead starting to lift it over her head with her willing assistance. You tossed it to the floor and pushed her gently to her back, so that she was lying along the length of the couch. Climbing to settle between her legs again, you began to kiss her chest. Propping yourself up with one hand, you used the other to free her breasts from the cups of her bra, which—conveniently— clipped in the front. She moaned softly as your lips closed around one nipple and your free hand toyed with the other.

Warm breath on your pussy made it clench around nothing. Which made you keenly aware of the fact that you’d left your ass high in the air—and completely exposed. Strong hands gripped it firmly and tilted it up even further, positioning you exactly how their owner desired. “Stay just like this Sweetheart. I want to taste you while you take care of Emily.”

You moaned wantonly at Hotch’s order, spreading your legs a bit more for him. He smacked your ass, just hard enough to make a point. “I said stay still.”

“Yes sir.” You murmured seductively around Emily’s breast and he soothed the sting with a gentle kiss to the spot, just before he buried his face in your pussy. Groaning as he tasted you first hand, he gripped your ass with bruising strength and made you whine. “Fuck…”

He chuckled quietly to himself, his hand traveling down your ass and in between your legs. It wasted no time in finding its target. Your clit. He circled it so lightly, as though he thought it was delicate enough that any firmer touch would damage it.

The effect was maddening.

Emily’s hands found your breasts, toying with your nipples and bringing your attention partially back to her. You trailed your free hand down her stomach, finding her clit again with ease and began to move your finger over it ever so lightly. She whined quietly, and pressed up into your hand with her hips in a wordless request for more pressure.

“You need more, Em?” You asked softly, teasingly, as you kissed your way across her chest, up her neck, nipping her ear and finally hovered over her lips. “Hmm? Do you wanna taste yourself on my lips?”

“Shut up and kiss me.” She demanded, her hand wrapping around the back of your neck and tangling into your hair as she tugged you down to her lips.

The kiss was rough, frantic and heated. Emily was still grinding up into your hand—desperate for friction—so you had mercy and increased the pressure and speed of your hand.

Hotch’s tongue was still leisurely fucking into your pussy as his finger work your clit with precision. He kept making these self satisfied little groans in the back of his throat that were driving you crazy.

And then two more hands were touching you… Hotch’s hands were still on your ass and clit, Emily’s in your hair and toying with your breast…

But Spencer…

He’d been content to watch for a few minutes, but he couldn’t help himself any longer, he had to touch you.

He was tracing the lines of your ribs with one hand and your spine with the other, his touch light and inquisitive. You’d fantasized about him doing exactly this and you’d been right, it felt amazing. His hands on your skin anywhere would have been heavenly, but the way he was following each rib intentionally—reverently—reminded you of the way he traced each line when he was reading a book, the way his fingers skimmed over each vertebrae was making your back arch.

You pulled away from Emily to look up at him.

There was such adoration in his eyes as he studied the expanse of your skin. The hand at your ribs, going up to your shoulder blades and your collar bones. The one at your spine trailing down to the curve of your hip, over the rise of your ass and down the back of your thigh.

“Focus on Emily, Angel…” He murmured softly. “I just wanna touch you.”

You would do anything to have him keep touching you like that, so you redoubled your efforts on Emily. Sliding your fingers down from her clit to her cunt and slipping the middle two inside of her.

She moaned and you silenced it with a kiss, parting her lips with your tongue.

You rubbed her clit with your thumb while you worked her g-spot with the pads of your fingers and she started to squirm. She tried to close her legs but your knees were in the way and her thighs started to tremble.

“Give it to me, Emily…” You coaxed into her mouth, then bit her lip gently. “Let me have it, you can do it… come for me one more time…”

Her head fell back against the couch, so you dipped yours down and drew her nipple into your mouth, rolling it with your tongue. It was just enough to send her spiraling for the second time. A breathy cry falling from her lips as her pussy spasmed around your fingers.

All the stimulation—Hotch’s tongue and fingers, Emily’s cunt clenching around your fingers and her hands pulling your hair and squeezing your breast, and Spencer’s exploration of everywhere else—was nearly too much.

And then Hotch slipped two fingers inside of you… much thicker than Emily’s slender ones, and when he added a third… It was thicker that Spencer’s cock had been. Not as long, but with what he was doing… length didn’t matter.

You came hard. Your pussy clamping down on Hotch’s fingers so tightly you thought you could feel each knuckle and every callus. Your brain went completely offline and your thighs shook violently as your release ran down them.

Your knees gave out, and you collapsed against Emily with a moan. Your vision blurred as tears filled your eyes. You laid there unable to move for several moments. Emily wasn’t moving either–except for her chest, which was heaving as she panted for air—so you were in no hurry to go anywhere. You gently slipped your fingers out of her and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

“Holy–” She gasped.

“--fuck!” You finished for her on a hard fought breath.

Spencer snickered softly as he stepped back to observe the mess of limbs the two of you were tangled up in.

Hotch chose that moment to pull his fingers out of you—making you flinch and whine—and then he moved to lean against the table adjacent to the couch to watch you and Emily untangle yourselves.

“You good, gorgeous?” Emily murmured after a moment, her hand running through your hair affectionately.

You nuzzled into her neck, nipping at her throat playfully.

“I’m great, Em.” You purred, twirling her hair around your finger and then giggled, “Why? You wanna go again?”

“Do you?” Hotch’s voice pulled your attention from the way the overhead light caught in Emily’s hair.

You looked up at him, and found him staring down at you with heated eyes…

And a bulge in his pants.

You swallowed thickly, the amount of times you’d thought about fucking Aaron Hotchner…

Your mouth was suddenly dry and your tongue felt heavy and you didn’t think you’d be able to say anything if you tried.

So you nodded your head, yes.

“Come here.” He murmured, his voice low and rough.

You gently untangled yourself from Emily—dropping one more kiss to her lips as you went—and she propped herself up on her elbows to watch you go.

The three steps it took for you to reach him were the longest three steps of your life. When you came to stop in front of him he wasted no time.

He held the back of your neck and drew you in, gently but firmly, then kissed you.

You could feel the tension in the plain of his chest, the barely restrained strength of his grip, and the quiet urgency with which he kissed your lips.

He was desperate… but he didn’t want to be rough with you…

Which would have been sweet…

If that wasn’t exactly what you wanted.

You bit his lip, tugging it between your teeth and then licking into his mouth like you needed to taste him as much as you needed oxygen. Then you slipped your hand down and gave his cock a firm squeeze through his slacks.

He groaned and pulled you back to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

“Fuck me, like you own me.” You murmured, with much more confidence than you felt.

You saw in his eyes the exact moment his restraint snapped. It was like his whole demeanor did an about face.

The soft spoken, gentle—though slightly condescending and bossy—man that had been treating you with such tenderness and care…

He was gone.

You barely registered the movement, one moment you were standing up, asking him to fuck you…

And the next…

You were bent over the table he’d just been leaning on.

The sound of his zipper coming down made you clench around emptiness and then his hand was firmly planted in the center of your back. Holding you down on the table with an easy strength.

You felt the hard warmth of his cock at your entrance as he lined himself up, but he paused.

“You asked me to fuck you like I own you… are you sure you want that?” He asked again for consent. “I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.” You said clearly, with a surety in your tone that he could not mistake for anything but affirmation. “I just want you to fuck me.”

He didn’t answer you verbally.

Just slid his cock inside you, all the way to the base.

You cried out—hands clutching the edges of the table—-at the shock of it. You’d thought—surely—after coming three times, that you would be good and ready for him.

But he was… thick.

You couldn’t breathe, your lungs had ceased to function the moment he slid home.

Thicker than Spencer had been by a bit—though not as long—and you’d known that since you’d had both of them in your mouth. The way he was stretching you out though, it burned, it was a good burn… but you needed a moment to adjust.

He seemed to know that instinctually, and while he said he wouldn’t be gentle, he wasn’t going to hurt you purposefully either.

So as he bottomed out inside you he gave you a moment to sit with it.

“Breathe.” His voice was commanding, but strained.

You took a deep breath and he felt his hand on your back rise as your chest filled with air.

The burning eased, and you relaxed against the table.

“Good girl…” He murmured and then he started to move.

The stretch was amazing, the way he filled you up had your back arching and your hands white knuckling the table. Then he started to pick up the pace, his thrusts long and deep. Pulling almost completely out of you and then going so deep you saw spots.

You pushed back into him, trying to take him deeper—if that was even possible—urging him to go faster, harder. You wanted to feel him in your diaphragm—you knew that wasn’t possible, but you didn’t particularly care—wanted him slamming into you. Over and over and over…

He grabbed your wrists, pulling them behind your back and holding them in one hand while the other went back to your waist, with a bruising grip. Taking away every bit of leverage you had and giving himself total control of your body.

Then he pounded into you, hard and fast until your hips were bashing up against the table.

You didn’t even notice, because his cock was hitting you so perfectly with every sharp thrust.

“Hotch!” You keened his name, the loudest sound you’d made all night.

“Mmm keep talking to me, pretty girl, I love the way your voice sounds screaming my name.” His own voice sounded different from anything you’d ever heard from him. It was carnal and lust filled, and it had you clenching around him. “Fuck, if you keep squeezing me like that this isn’t gonna last very long, sweetheart.”

You could only moan in response.

There were hands in your hair, gathering it out of your face.

You hadn’t realized you’d closed your eyes, but when you opened them, Emily and Spencer were sitting side by side at the table you were bent over.

“She’s too quiet…” Emily purred, a truly wicked gleam in her eyes. “I don’t think you’re fucking her hard enough.”

Hotch chuckled, the sound ran up your spine and down your limbs until your whole body tingled.

“You think she can take it?” He asked her in return.

But it was Spencer who leaned down, his lips skimming your cheek as he murmured, “You can take it, can’t you Angel?”

“God yes!” You panted, trying to look back at Hotch, though it was nearly impossible to move at all with the way he was pinning you to the table. “I can take it!”

He pushed you back down flat on the table.

“You want it harder, Pretty Girl?” He asked and there was something in his tone… something lethal.

“Yes! Please!” You sobbed.

“Tell me how bad you want it, make it pretty for me sweetheart… I wanna hear you beg.” His grip on your waist got impossibly tighter.

“I don’t want it, I need it! It feels so good, Hotch, please! I’ll be so good! I’ll lie here and take it like a good girl! Just fuck me harder, please!” You pleaded, your voice cracking as he continued to fuck into you. “I need to feel you deeper!”

He groaned, letting go of your arms and taking ahold of your hair instead.

“God, I love to hear you beg…” He growled, pulling your head back so he could lean forward and whisper in your ear. “Hold on to the table, pretty girl. You’re gonna need it.”

You gripped the sides of the table as hard as you could, bracing yourself against it.

He railed into you so hard you couldn’t remember your own name, your hips slamming into the table. His balls were slapping your clit loud enough to be heard over the sound of your cries, which were spilling from your lips with every thrust.

They were unintelligible.

Not even you knew what you were saying, but it was clear what you meant.

Don’t. Fucking. Stop.

“Fuck, she looks so beautiful like this…” Emily groaned to Spencer. “Look at her.”

“I see her… she’s fucking perfect.” Spencer replied. “Watch, she’s getting close… she makes that face every time, right before she comes.”

You were, you were so wrapped up in the moment you hadn’t even felt it creeping up on you until he brought it to your attention.

“I can feel her pussy fluttering… fuck, she’s getting tighter.” Hotch sounded nearly pained. “Come on, sweetheart, let me have it. I wanna feel you come on my cock.”

Emily reached under the table and pressed on your clit.

Your vision went white, a dull roar—like the ocean—filled your ears, your knees buckled and only the table and Hotch’s grip kept you from hitting the floor.

Your throat burned, and you knew you must’ve screamed, but you couldn’t hear a thing.

Both his hands were on your hips now, squeezing like his life depended on, anchoring you firmly to himself.

And it was a good thing too, because you thought that otherwise you might’ve floated away.

Your body was numb, gravity meant nothing to you, neither did time, or space.

Just his hands on your hips and his cock still slamming into your pussy as he fucked you through it.

Your hearing was the first sense to return to you, and you thanked the universe and every deity you knew of—just to cover all your bases—that it did.

Because the sound of Aaron Hotchner coming was something you wanted branded into your memory.

“Fuck! Such a good girl, just like that baby!” He moaned, “You feel like heaven pretty girl! I’m- God- I’m about to come—“

He pulled out of you so abruptly that you whined at the loss.

But then there were warm, wet ropes landing on your back.

You moaned, you wished you could see it, though feeling it was something you’d never forget.

“Fuck.” Hotch panted, then patted your ass gently. “You did so good for me sweetheart. That was…”

You couldn’t seem to speak yet, and your vision was still fuzzy. Your limbs weren’t yet back under your control either. So you just laid there, panting.

“Angel, are you okay?” You heard Spencer’s sweet voice murmur, you could feel his lips near your ear.

And Emily’s hand in your hair, nails brushing against your scalp soothingly.

Hotch was stroking your thigh tenderly.

Then the strangest thing happened… you started to giggle… you couldn’t help it… nothing was funny.

You were just… happy?

Overwhelmed?

Incandescent?

“Is she laughing?” Hotch asked, confusion evident in his tone.

“It would seem so…” Spencer murmured. “I think—you might have broken her.”

“No…” Emily murmured, stroking your cheek, wiping away an errant tear. “She just needs a minute, she’s euphoric.”

There! That was the word you’d been looking for! Thank you Emily, you beautiful, sexy, sapphic goddess!

“I’m gonna get something to clean her up,” you heard Hotch murmur, “I’ll be right back.”

His footsteps retreated toward the bathroom.

You felt so heavy…

You just wanted to close your eyes and go to sleep.

A warm cloth touched your back, stroking up and down, cleaning up after Hotch’s release.

Voices were murmuring quietly around you, and then you felt someone—probably Hotch—lift you from the table.

You barely got your eyes open, just enough to look around.

Spencer was gathering all your clothes, you were resting on Hotch’s lap, Emily was digging in your go-bag—she pulled from it a pair of sweats and a t-shirt—then she brought them over and started dressing you.

You didn’t know at what point she had put her clothes back on… just that she was dressed.

Spencer put your discarded clothes into your go-bag and then he came back over to sit next to Hotch on the couch. He helped Emily get your arms—which were too heavy to move still—into the sleeves of your shirt.

When they had finished dressing you, Emily sat on Hotch’s other side. He gently lowered your head to her lap, and Spencer pulled your legs up into his.

“Are you sure she’s alright?” Spencer asked quietly.

“Mm hmm…” Emily hummed, stroking your hair tenderly. “She’s just exhausted… four times… is a lot.”

Hotch took your hand in his and kissed the back of it.

That was the last thing you felt before you fell asleep.

*Four Days Later*

You’d thought that it would be awkward…

Coming back to work after fucking three of your coworkers—one of whom is your boss—at the same time.

But it wasn’t.

It was exciting.

The four of you were all smiles when you looked at each other, secret smiles that no one else was aware of, and knowing glances had been passed back and forth all morning.

Hotch had accidentally brushed across your hips with the back of his hand when he’d passed you in the bullpen.

There was a bruise there from the table where he’d fucked you, and he knew it. He was reminding you on purpose.

Spencer had been glancing at your lips all morning, a soft pink flush coloring his cheeks each time. Likely remember how he’d come down your throat.

Now, at the round table, Emily squeezed your thigh once under the table. There was a bite mark there that hadn’t yet faded. One that she’d given you.

All their attention was making you feel a bit overheated, so you pulled your French pin from the pocket of your slacks and pinned your hair into a twist.

You noticed, after you’d done so, that Hotch was giving you a very smug look. You felt like there was something else behind it, other than the obvious, but you couldn’t figure out what.

Everyone was distracted, just waiting on the last of the team—Derek and Garcia—to straggle into the room. They’d made it to the door, but Derek was on crutches so they were taking their time and everyone was fine with that.

But then Derek stopped—right behind you—and laughed.

“You uh— you got a little somethin’ somethin’ on the back of your neck, there Lil’ Mama…” He teased.

You reached up to touch your neck, confused, you looked up at him.

“What?” You asked.

“Looks like somebody had a little fun this weekend.” He joked. “That’s a pretty interesting place for a hickey…”

You paled, then blushed, immediately pulling the pin out of your hair and letting it fall down your back to cover the mark.

“Morgan.” Hotch said quietly—to hide the amusement in his tone—his eyes flicking to you briefly over the top of the file he’d been pretending to read. “Leave her alone.”

Derek threw his hands up in surrender and kept making his way to his seat.

One half of the room moved on, assuming that Hotch had just scolded Morgan out of a need for professionalism, and was choosing to cut you some slack over a mark you clearly hadn’t known existed.

But the other half knew better.

Rossi—who had returned from his book tour just the night before—stood to pull out Derek’s chair for him and took one elbow, while Penelope took the other.

While they helped him get settled, you threw Hotch a scathing look.

Because the only one who had left marks on your neck, had been him.

He was already smirking back at you, smug as shit.

Emily and Spencer were biting their lips to keep from laughing and they didn’t dare make eye contact with each other, or they were going to lose it.

You just stared a hole through the smirking Unit Chief, silently berating him for leaving a mark where you couldn’t see it.

And the bastard winked at you.

Then he cleared his throat and you let your expression go blank as the others all came to attention.