Hotchderson4life

The blinds in Hotch’s office were half-closed, not nearly enough to guarantee privacy. It didn’t matter. Anderson was already pressed against the desk, his chest heaving, the sharp edge of Hotch’s oak desk biting into his hips.

“Grant,” Hotch warned, his voice low, gravelly, still wearing every ounce of his unit chief authority. “You shouldn’t be here.”

But Anderson only smirked, eyes darting over Hotch’s fitted suit, the crisp white shirt, the tie loosened just enough, the jacket hugging his shoulders. That image alone had him hard, throbbing in his slacks.

“I can’t help it,” Anderson whispered, already fumbling at Hotch’s belt. “You look too good. You know what this does to me.”

Hotch caught his wrist, steady, not letting him rush. “We’re at work. Anyone could—”

But Grant cut him off by kissing him, messy and desperate. It was reckless, and Hotch should’ve stopped it, but the little sound Anderson made against his mouth flipped a switch inside him. His restraint burned away.

Moments later, Anderson was bent over the desk, his hands braced on top of case files. Hotch’s suit pants were shoved down just enough, his tie hanging loose as he pushed inside.

Anderson gasped, loud, his head falling forward. “God, Aaron—”

“Quiet,” Hotch hissed, leaning down, his chest pressed to Anderson’s back. His hand wrapped around Grant’s mouth, muffling the noises spilling from him. “Do you want the entire floor to hear how needy you are for me?”

Hotch’s voice was harsh in his ear, his hips snapping forward hard enough to make Anderson cry out again, muffled and broken.

Anderson moaned into his palm, body clenching around him, the danger only making him harder. The desk shook with every thrust, pens scattering, papers slipping to the floor.

Anderson’s nails dug into the wood, his cock straining against the desk, leaking onto case notes. His whole body trembled with the effort not to come too soon.

Hotch yanked his tie free and looped it quickly around Anderson’s wrists, binding them behind his back. The sight in front of him, Anderson bent over his desk, restrained with his own tie, suit jacket wrinkled from his hands, nearly undid him.

“Look at you,” Hotch groaned, thrusting harder now, relentless.

It went on for what felt like hours, eventually, Anderson’s body went rigid, then shuddered violently as he came against the desk, his cum streaking across the desk.

Hotch followed, thrusting deep, muffling his own groan against Anderson’s neck as he spilled into him.

When the room finally stilled, Anderson sagged against the desk, wrists still bound, panting hard. Hotch kissed his shoulder, undoing the tie with careful fingers, his voice lower, softer now.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured.

Anderson only grinned, breathless, still pressed to the desk. “Worth it.”

The office was a mess. Papers scattered across the floor, a pen rolled beneath the desk, the sharp scent of sex lingering too strong in the air.

Anderson was still slumped against the desk, catching his breath, when Hotch tugged him upright. His tie slipped loose from Grant’s wrists, falling to the floor.

“Sit,” Hotch said quietly, settling himself back in the chair behind his desk. He pulled Anderson into his lap before the younger man could protest.

Grant straddled him, still flushed, his hair damp at the temples, shirt untucked and rumpled. The contrast against Hotch, still mostly put together in his suit, though his tie hung undone and his jacket was wrinkled, was almost obscene.

Hotch smoothed a hand down his back, grounding him. “We need to clean this up before anyone notices.”

But Anderson wasn’t in any rush. He leaned forward, his mouth brushing Hotch’s jaw, leaving soft kisses up to his lips. He tasted of sweat, of adrenaline, of pure reckless heat.

Hotch kissed him back, slower this time. Less frantic, more indulgent. One hand cupped the back of Grant’s neck, the other pressed against the small of his back, holding him close.

Anderson sighed into the kiss, the sound low and content. His hips shifted slightly in Hotch’s lap, not in search of more, just wanting to be closer.

For a moment, the mess on the desk, the danger of being discovered, the entire world outside the office, it all disappeared. It was just the two of them.

When Hotch finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against Anderson’s. “You’re going to get us both in trouble.”

Grant smiled, lazy and unrepentant. “Worth it.”

The mirror in their bedroom was angled perfectly, Hotch had made sure of that. It caught the bed in full, every angle reflected back. Tonight, he positioned Anderson in front of it, guiding him down onto all fours.

“Eyes up,” Hotch said, low but firm, settling behind him. His hands slid over Grant’s hips, steadying him, before pushing inside with one smooth thrust.

Anderson’s mouth fell open in a gasp, but Hotch caught his chin, tilting his head so his flushed face was reflected back at him.

“Look.”

The command was enough to send heat crawling across Anderson’s skin. His reflection stared back, hair mussed, lips parted, eyes wide and wet. Behind him, Hotch was steady and relentless, driving into him with every slow, deliberate push.

“You see that?” Hotch’s voice was gravel in his ear, his chest pressing against Anderson’s back as he thrust harder, forcing his gaze back to the mirror. “See how perfect you look getting fucked?”

Anderson whined, his arms trembling as he tried to hold himself up. Watching himself like this, sprawled open, Hotch buried inside him, was almost unbearable. His cock throbbed against the sheets, untouched, leaking, every drag of Hotch’s length inside him wringing another sound from his throat.

“Good boy,” Hotch praised, driving into him harder now, his hand sliding up to press between Anderson’s shoulder blades, keeping him bent low so he had no choice but to watch. “You take me so beautifully.”

Anderson’s body clenched, his reflection shimmering with sweat and desperation. His voice cracked as he begged, “Please—Aaron, please—”

Hotch groaned, his own control slipping as he watched the mirror too. Anderson’s flushed cheeks, the way his mouth opened in broken cries, the perfect arch of his back, it was intoxicating. He pressed harder, faster, his grip bruising on Grant’s hips.

“You’re everything,” Hotch growled against his ear, his eyes locked on the mirror. “My good boy. Look how perfect you are when I fuck you. Say it—”

Anderson’s whole body shook, his voice cracking on the edge of sobbing moans. “I’m your good boy—”

“Louder.”

“I’m your good boy!”

The cry echoed, shattering with his climax as he came, body trembling, his reflection showing every ounce of raw, broken pleasure.

Hotch followed seconds later, thrusting deep and holding him there, watching Anderson’s face in the mirror as he filled him.

Neither looked away.

Anderson’s thighs burned, his muscles trembling as he rode Hotch slow, steady, desperate. Every time he sank down, he let out a shaky breath, biting his lip to stifle the sounds that wanted to pour out. But Hotch could feel it in the way Grant’s body tightened around him, the way his rhythm stuttered.

He was waiting.

“Look at you,” Hotch finally murmured, voice low and heavy with approval. His hands slid up Anderson’s hips, guiding him down until he was fully seated, grinding against him. “Taking me so well.”

The praise landed like a spark, Anderson gasped, eyes fluttering shut as his body clenched, pleasure washing through him. His head tipped back, curls damp with sweat, and he rode harder, faster, chasing the words just as much as the friction.

“That’s it,” Hotch said, firmer this time, his grip tightening on Grant’s waist. “Such a good boy. You ride me so fucking good, baby.”

Anderson whined, broken and needy, bouncing faster now, hands pressed against Hotch’s chest for balance. His cock was leaking as Hotch toyed with it, his whole body responding to every word.

“You like that, don’t you?” Hotch rasped, lifting his hips to thrust up into him, hitting deep. “Hearing how good you are?.”

“Yes—yes—please,” Anderson begged, voice cracking. His thighs shook, rhythm faltering, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not when Hotch’s praise soaked into him like oxygen.

Hotch tilted his chin up, forcing Anderson to meet his gaze. “You’re beautiful when you take me. You know that?”

Grant moaned, clutching tighter at Hotch, his body jerking with the force of his arousal. He was so close, his cock twitching, precum dripping onto Hotch’s stomach.

“Say it,” Hotch ordered softly. “Tell me what you are.”

“I’m—” Anderson choked on the word, his voice breaking into a sob. “I’m your good boy.”

Hotch groaned, gripping his hips hard enough to bruise, thrusting up into him as he pulled the confession from him again and again.

“My perfect boy.”

Anderson screamed as he came, spilling hard across Hotch’s chest. His body clamped tight around him, milking Hotch through his own orgasm as the praise reverberated in his head, in his chest, in every nerve lit alive by Hotch’s voice.

When it was over, Anderson collapsed forward, still shaking, burying his face against Hotch’s neck. Hotch stroked his back slowly, soothing the tremors as he murmured more praise against his skin.

“You did so well, I’m proud of you.”

Anderson was wrecked before Hotch even touched him.

He lay sprawled across the sheets, skin flushed, shirt abandoned somewhere on the floor. The slick scent of his heat filled the room, sweet, sharp, overwhelming, making every breath Hotch drew heavy.

Grant whined, curling in on himself, thighs squeezing together as his body trembled with the ache that rolled through him. “Aaron— please, I can’t—” His voice was cracked, desperate, almost sobbing.

Hotch sat on the edge of the bed, steady as always. He stroked a hand through Anderson’s damp curls, firm but soothing. “You’re burning up.”

“I need—” Anderson gasped, arching against him, hips shifting restlessly. “Please, I can’t think— I just—”

Hotch caught his chin, tilting his face up. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you., baby”

That was all it took for Anderson to fall apart completely, pressing against him, clinging to his shirt as if it were the only thing tethering him. His body was a furnace, slick already dripping down his thighs, his cock flushed and hard.

Hotch pushed him gently back against the pillows, stripping the rest of his clothes with careful hands, murmuring reassurances. “I’ve got you. Just let me.”

When he slid into him, Anderson sobbed, the stretch, the fullness, the sharp ache easing instantly into relief. His body clenched desperately around Hotch, pulling him in deeper, every instinct screaming to be filled.

Hotch held him steady, pinning his wrists gently into the mattress as his thrusts found a rhythm. Deep, grounding, unyielding.

“That’s it,” Hotch murmured, his voice low, steady against the desperate sounds spilling from Grant. “You’re safe. I’ll give you what you need.”

Anderson writhed under him, blind with heat, chasing every thrust. His nails dug into Hotch’s skin, his thighs trembling with the effort of meeting him.

“More—” he begged, voice high and broken. “Aaron, I need more— please—”

Hotch groaned softly at the plea, hips snapping harder, filling him so deep that Anderson’s entire body arched. Slick coated them both, the sheets, the air thick with the scent of his heat.

“Good boy,” Hotch praised, leaning down to bite at his throat, a sharp mark blooming against his skin. “Taking me so well.”

The praise sent Anderson spiraling, his body clenching down, cock twitching. His orgasm hit fast and overwhelming, spilling hot across his stomach as he sobbed into Hotch’s shoulder.

Hotch didn’t stop. He kept moving, steady and unrelenting, holding him through it, filling him again until he went limp beneath him, ruined and pliant, but still needy with the relentless pull of his heat.

“I’ll keep going,” Hotch promised against his ear, thrusting deep, already chasing the next wave. “All night if I have to. You won’t go without.”

Anderson’s broken moan was muffled against his chest, but the way his body clung around him was all the answer Hotch needed.

Anderson was already shaking, his skin flushed and slick with sweat, chest rising and falling fast. His heat made everything unbearable, the stretch, the fullness, the constant need that no orgasm could quiet.

Hotch didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The drive to claim, to breed, pressed down harder than logic. His hips slammed into Anderson, deep and fast, his hands pinning Anderson’s thighs open as he fucked him into the mattress.

“Please—Aaron, please—” Grant’s voice broke, high and raw. His body clung around him desperately, every thrust pulling another cry from his lips.

“You want me to fill you up?” Hotch growled, teeth dragging along Anderson’s throat. His voice was low, feral, nothing like the calm, contained man at work. “Want me to knot you?”

“Yes—yes, god, yes!” Anderson sobbed, back arching, legs trembling as he wrapped them tight around Hotch’s waist. “Need it, need you—fill me—”

Hotch groaned deep in his chest, thrusting harder, deeper, until he felt his knot swelling, dragging against Anderson’s rim with every push. Anderson whined at the stretch, his hands clutching at the sheets, face flushed and tear-streaked.

“Take it,” Hotch ordered, his voice sharp but steady, grounding even through the roughness. “Take all of me.”

And then the knot slid in, stretching him wide, locking them together. Anderson screamed, the sound breaking into a sob as his body clenched hard around him. The pressure, the fullness, the primal claim of it, it shattered him.

His cock jerked, and he came hard, spilling across his stomach, his body convulsing as Hotch groaned against his throat, releasing deep inside him.

The hot flood of it, tied tight with the knot keeping every drop inside, sent Anderson spiraling, his heat-soaked body milking Hotch for everything he had.

He sobbed through it, overwhelmed, clinging to Hotch’s shoulders, nails digging into his skin as his body trembled violently. “Aaron—can’t—so much—”

Hotch hushed him, pressing kisses along his jaw, still grinding shallowly into him even as the knot held them locked. “You can take it, I know you can.”

Anderson whimpered, tears slipping down his cheeks, but his body clenched tight around Hotch, still pulsing with aftershocks, every nerve on fire.

Hotch held him, one hand stroking through his damp curls, the other gripping his hip firm and steady. “Good boy. You’ll stay full. Every drop. That’s what you needed.”

The bedroom was dim, lit only by the soft lamp on the nightstand, shadows crawling across the walls.

Hotch sat propped against the headboard, his broad shoulders relaxed, legs spread, eyes fixed on the sight in front of him.

Anderson was between his thighs, Hotch’s cock buried deep in his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he worked to take him all the way. His hair were already damp against his forehead, sweat rolling down his temples.

But that wasn’t all.

Every shift of his body made him whimper, because beneath him, the thick silicone of the dildo was buried inside his ass, stretching him wide, filling him completely. He rode it slow, rocking his hips down onto the toy even as Hotch’s cock slid across his tongue.

His hand was on his own cock, stroking desperately, the pace sloppy and uneven as the overload built.

Hotch’s hand rested heavy on the back of his head, guiding his pace on his cock, keeping him down long enough that his throat flexed around him. “Greedy,” Hotch muttered, his tone sharp and approving all at once. “Mouth full, ass full, cock in your fist. You can’t stop, can you?”

Anderson’s only answer was a muffled, broken whine around him, drool dripping down his chin as he gagged slightly, his hips still pushing down on the toy.

Anderson’s thighs shook with the effort, overstimulation dragging his nerves raw. Every thrust of the toy inside him rubbed against that deep, aching spot, while every stroke of his hand over his cock sent sparks through his body.

Hotch leaned back slightly, watching him fall apart with a steady gaze, the picture of control. “Touch yourself faster. Let me see how desperate you are.”

Grant obeyed, stroking himself quicker, his body jerking with each desperate tug, hips still grinding down against the toy. His muffled moans grew louder, wetter, broken.

“Good,” Hotch murmured, pushing him further down on his cock until his nose brushed against his skin. “Take it. All of it.”

Anderson’s body convulsed, the overload snapping tight. He came with a choked sob around Hotch’s cock, spilling hot across his hand and stomach, his body trembling as he shook through the release.

Hotch didn’t let him go. He held him there, the toy still buried inside, his cock still stretching his mouth, forcing Anderson to ride every wave until he was trembling, weak, ruined completely.

Grant was on his knees.

The carpet dug into his skin, but that wasn’t the part that made him shiver. It was Hotch’s hand tangled in his hair, keeping his head tilted back, his mouth stretched wide around Hotch’s cock.

“You think you can step out of line?” Hotch’s voice was low, controlled, the same voice he used when tearing someone apart in the interrogation room. “You think there aren’t consequences?”

Anderson whined around him, muffled and wet, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t, not with Hotch’s grip holding him firmly in place.

Hotch thrust deep, hitting the back of his throat. Grant gagged, tears springing instantly to his eyes, but Hotch didn’t let up. His hips snapped forward again, rougher, forcing him to take every inch.

“Open wider,” Hotch ordered, dragging his cock against his tongue before plunging back in. “Take it.”

Drool slipped from the corners of Grant’s mouth, dripping down his chin. His eyes blurred with tears, cheeks wet, his throat raw already, but every humiliating sound only spurred Hotch on.

Hotch’s free hand cupped his jaw, thumb digging into the hinge to keep his mouth open, holding him there while he fucked into his throat. “That’s it. That’s what you get for acting out. My cock down your throat until you can’t breathe, until you learn.”

Anderson whimpered, gagging again as Hotch pushed deep, holding him there for a breath too long before pulling back just enough for him to gasp. His chest heaved, throat burning, but his cock was hard, straining against his pants, betraying him completely.

“You like this,” Hotch growled, watching the mess he’d made of him, wet chin, red eyes, body trembling. “Being used. Being punished.”

Grant’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white, as if holding himself together. He couldn’t answer, not with his mouth full, but the desperate sound that tore from his throat when Hotch thrust in again was answer enough.

Hotch’s rhythm grew brutal, fucking him like he owned him, the wet slap of his cock against Grant’s lips filling the room. Anderson could barely keep upright, every thrust knocking him back, but Hotch’s hand in his hair kept him steady, kept him obedient.

Hotch hissed, forcing him all the way down until his nose pressed against his skin.

Grant gagged hard, tears streaming now, but he stayed there, throat stretched, chest heaving helplessly.

And when Hotch finally groaned, spilling deep into him, holding him down until he swallowed it all, Anderson was wrecked, red-faced, crying, drooling, and harder than he’d ever been.

Hotch pulled back, thumb swiping roughly across his wet chin before tilting his face up to look at him.

The room was quiet except for the sound of Anderson’s ragged breathing, muffled into the pillow as Hotch kept him pinned face-down against the mattress.

Hotch’s weight pressed firmly into him, his hands gripping Anderson’s wrists and locking them against the small of his back. Anderson’s shoulders strained against the position, but the ache only added to the rush that flooded him.

The blindfold was the final piece. Soft fabric knotted at the back of his head, cutting him off from everything but the heat of Hotch’s body and the relentless rhythm pounding into him.

“Aaron—” Grant gasped, voice breaking around the syllable. He couldn’t see, couldn’t move, could only feel Hotch driving into him, deep and slow, then fast and punishing, every thrust calculated.

“You don’t need your hands,” Hotch murmured, lips brushing against the back of his neck before biting down, sharp enough to leave a mark. “You don’t need your cock touched. You just need me.”

Anderson whimpered, his body shuddering as each thrust drove him higher. His cock throbbed against the sheets, untouched, leaking across the fabric. Every drag of Hotch inside him sent a spark up his spine, tighter, hotter, until he was trembling.

“Feel it,” Hotch ordered, pinning his wrists tighter, grinding into him from behind. “I want you to come just from this.”

The blindfold sharpened everything. Every sound, every movement, every shift of Hotch’s weight over him. The helplessness of it, the trust, the restraint, had his body already teetering at the edge.

He cried out, face pressed hard into the pillow as his back arched. The orgasm tore through him, sudden and raw, untouched cock pulsing as he spilled hot across the sheets.

Hotch didn’t stop. He kept driving into him, steady and relentless, fucking him through every wave, holding his wrists tight enough that Anderson couldn’t twist or hide.

Grant was wrecked, sobbing into the pillow, every muscle trembling, blindfold still covering his tear-bright eyes. And through all of it, Hotch’s voice stayed low, grounding him even as he unraveled.

“That’s it,” Hotch murmured, kissing the back of his neck between thrusts. “That’s my boy. You don’t need anything else but me.”

Anderson came down slowly, chest heaving, his body still shaking from the intensity of it. And Hotch, steady, controlled, careful even through the roughness, loosened his grip just enough to rub circles into his wrists, easing the ache, without ever breaking the rhythm inside him.

Anderson was still trembling from his untouched orgasm, chest pressed to the sheets, blindfold damp against his skin. His cock had gone soft against the mattress, but his body remained taut, still twitching with aftershocks.

Hotch didn’t stop.

He shifted his weight, pressed Anderson deeper into the mattress, and drove into him harder, steady, relentless. His hands pinned Anderson’s wrists tighter, the restraint unyielding.

Grant whimpered, voice breaking into ragged sounds he couldn’t control. “Aaron— I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Hotch cut in, voice calm and deliberate, each thrust punctuating the words. “Your body can take more. And you’re going to.”

The overstimulation crawled up his spine, sharp and unbearable and intoxicating all at once. Every thrust seemed to light his nerves on fire, pushing pleasure into pain, pain into something hotter.

His cock throbbed again, pressed helplessly into the mess he’d already made on the sheets, smearing it against his stomach. He tried to squirm, to pull his wrists free, but Hotch held him fast, grinding in deeper.

Anderson sobbed, the sound desperate and broken, but his body betrayed him. The tightness coiled again, too soon, too much, and he was crying out as he spilled again across the sheets, clenching hard around Hotch.

Hotch still didn’t stop. His thrusts grew rougher, chasing his own release, but never letting Anderson rest, never letting the overstimulation ease.

By the time Hotch finally came, pressing deep and groaning into Anderson’s shoulder, Grant was limp beneath him, wrecked beyond words, his wrists sore, blindfold damp, tears streaking down his flushed cheeks.

Hotch’s weight pressed into him fully now, his grip loosening at last. He kissed the back of Grant’s neck, slow and grounding, as if balancing the brutality with something gentler.

“You did so well,” he murmured, undoing the blindfold carefully. “So damn good for me.”

Anderson was riding him, thighs trembling as he lifted and dropped, Hotch’s cock buried deep in him. Sweat slicked his skin, and his curls clung damp to his forehead, but the most desperate part of him wasn’t his body, it was his hand working furiously over his own cock.

“Slow down,” Hotch ordered, voice low, gravelly, steady in the way that made Anderson’s stomach flip. His large hands gripped Anderson’s hips, guiding his movements, forcing him to take every inch slow, deep, unrelenting.

Grant whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as his body arched. “Aaron—” His voice broke. His cock was dripping, twitching, close enough that he couldn’t think straight.

Hotch tightened his grip, halting his frantic pace. “Not yet.”

The words were final, not cruel but absolute. Anderson groaned, head falling against Hotch’s shoulder, nails digging into his back as he tried to steady himself. Every movement dragged Hotch deeper inside him, his body begging to let go, but Hotch kept him on that knife’s edge.

“You’ll come when I say,” Hotch murmured, his lips brushing the side of Anderson’s ear. “Not a second before.”

Anderson whimpered again, the sound wrecked and needy. His hips trembled as Hotch thrust up into him, hitting deep, hard, dragging the orgasm out of him without letting it break. His hand slowed, stroking himself but never fast enough to tip over.

“You like this,don’t you?” Hotch continued, his tone calm, firm, as though they weren’t tangled up in heat and sweat.

Grant nodded desperately, his voice catching on another moan. “Yes—god, yes, I love it.”

Hotch’s hand closed over Anderson’s, stilling it entirely. The sudden lack of friction made him cry out, nearly sobbing at the denial. His cock ached, flushed dark and dripping, but Hotch’s grip didn’t waver.

“Patience,” Hotch said, pressing a slow kiss to his temple. “I’ll let you have it when you’ve earned it.”

Grant clung to him, body shuddering as he rode through the ache, every thrust deep, raw, dizzying. He couldn’t hold back the whines spilling from him, but every sound only seemed to tighten Hotch’s control.

It drove Anderson insane, the denial, the ache, the slow build that never broke. But under it, threaded through every second, was trust. He trusted Hotch to push him this far, to hold the reins when he couldn’t, to give him release when he finally allowed it.

When Hotch finally whispered, “Now,” and let him stroke himself again, Grant shattered instantly, spilling hard between them, crying out so loudly Hotch had to muffle it with his mouth.

Hotch held him through it, thrusting him down harder, spilling into him as Anderson shook violently in his lap, wrung out and ruined in the way he craved.