౨ৎ

He drags his thumb across your bottom lip, slowly, watching the way your mouth parts for him on instinct. “Still can’t take me all the way, can you?” he murmurs, pressing just the tip of his thumb inside, letting you taste him. “We’ve been over this. You get eager, you get sloppy, and then you start crying when it’s too much. Remember last time?”

Your cheeks burn. You do remember gagging, mascara streaked down your cheeks, his hand fisted gently in your hair while he told you to breathe through your nose like you were a rookie learning the basics.

He pulls his thumb out only to replace it with two thick fingers, sliding them along your tongue until you moan around them. “There we go,” he says, almost gently. “Open up for me. Let’s try again.”

You do. God, you do. You let him fuck your mouth slowly—way too slowly—with his fingers first, teaching you the rhythm he wants, scolding you every time you try to rush it.

“Uh-uh. Slow. You don’t get my cock until you prove you can be patient.”

It’s torture.

Every time you hollow your cheeks or swirl your tongue the way he likes, he hums approvingly but still doesn’t give you what you want.

Your brain is already slipping, thoughts getting sticky and honey slow, words shrinking down to please and more and Aaron.

When he finally pulls his fingers free, they’re slick with spit, connected to your bottom lip by a thin string that breaks when he wipes them on your cheek.

“On your knees,” he says.

You scramble down between his thighs so fast you almost trip and hit your head. He steadies you with a hand on your elbow as you position yourself on the floor.

Hotch spreads his legs wider to make room, unbuckling his belt with one hand while the other strokes through your hair.

“Look at you,” he says, freeing himself, he's heavy and flushed in his hand. “Already so stupid for it. You’re drooling, baby.” He coos at you.

You are.

There’s spit on your chin, and your eyes are glassy and you can’t even be embarrassed because all you can think about is how badly you need him in your throat.

He taps the head of his cock against your lips, once, twice, painting them glossy with his pre-cum. “Open,” he orders, and when you do, he slides in just a little bit, letting you feel every inch. “That’s it. Relax. You’re gonna take it this time. No tears until I say so.”

You try. You really try to be good, to breathe through your nose like he taught you last time, but he’s so thick and hot, and delicious, and the way he’s looking down at you—one brow raised, lips curled in that tiny smug almost-smile—makes your brain leak out of your ears, and you want more, need more.

Halfway in and your eyes are already watering. He doesn’t thrust, just holds himself there, letting you adjust, letting you feel how full your mouth is.

“Still think you’re ready for all of me?” he asks, voice on the brink of sounding cruel. “Because you’re shaking, sweetheart. And we’ve barely started.”

You whimper around him, the sound muffled and wet, and try to push forward on your own. He tightens his grip in your hair immediately.

“No," he tsks at you. "You stay right there until I move. Understand?”

You nod as much as you can with your mouth stuffed full of him, tears spilling over, mascara probably halfway down your cheeks already.

You don’t care. You just want him to use you.

He must see it, the way you’ve gone soft and pliant and desperate, because his expression shifts—still in control, still a little mean, but warmer around the edges.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, finally feeding you another inch. “Knew you could be good when you’re too cockdumb to argue.”

You moan a loud and broken sound around him, and he starts to move. Slow, steady thrusts that push deeper each time, training your throat to take him, to open up and let him in until your nose brushes the trim hair at the base and you’re crying openly but not pulling away.

“Fuck, look at that,” he breathes, voice rougher now. “Took every inch. My pretty little mess.”

You can’t answer, can only gargle out a wrecked sound that in you speak means please don’t stop, please keep going, please ruin me.

He does.

He holds you there, buried to the hilt, until your throat flutters around him and your hands scrabble at his thighs.

Only then does he pull back, letting you gasp and cough and drool all over yourself before he slides right back in.

By the time he’s close, you’re gone—hollow-headed, whiny, humping the air because you’re so empty everywhere else and all you know is the weight of him on your tongue.

He comes with a low groan, hips stuttering, flooding your mouth while he pets your hair like you’re something precious even while he’s wrecking you.

When he pulls out, you chase him instinctively, lips parted, tongue out, begging without words.

Hotch cups your wet face, thumbs wiping at the tears and spit like he’s cleaning you up.

“Still not satisfied?” he asks softly, condescending as ever. “Don’t worry, baby. We’re just getting started. Open up again.”

He doesn’t give you time to catch your breath.

You’re still kneeling, chest heaving, spit and cum shining on your chin, when Hotch drags the slick head of his cock across your swollen bottom lip again. Your tongue darts out on pure instinct, chasing the taste of him, and he chuckles.

“Jesus, look at you,” he mutters, voice rough. “Can’t even close your mouth anymore. Just a drooling little hole waiting for me to fill it again.”

You try to answer.

Something that might’ve been his name once comes out as a garbled, wet “A-A’wn—” before dissolving into a whimper.

Your brain is soup.

Actual soup.

Words are gone. All that’s left is heat and want and the heavy pulse between your legs you can’t do anything about because your hands are fisted in his slacks like that’s the only thing keeping you upright.

He gently caresses your cheek with his knuckles. “That’s it. Nothing up there anymore, is there?” He moves his hand and taps your temple lightly. “Just cock and cum and please, please, please.”

You nod frantically, eyes glassy, tears still leaking because you can’t stop them. Another pathetic noise bubbles up.

Hotch groans at the sound, stroking himself slowly right in front of your face. He’s still half-hard, flushed dark, and the sight makes you whine louder, leaning forward without permission until he tightens his grip in your hair and yanks you back, yet again.

“Stay,” he orders, sharp. “Remember what I told you not even five minutes ago.”

You freeze, trembling, lips parted. A thin string of spit drips from your tongue onto your thigh. You don’t even notice.

He jerks himself faster now, breath hitching, eyes locked on your face. “Gonna paint you, baby,” he says, voice tight. “Gonna make you even messier. You want that? Want me to mark up this pretty face so you remember who you belong to?”

You can’t form words. You just sob out a desperate, “M-mhm—p’ease—” and stick your tongue out further like an offering.

The first rope hits high on your cheek and you flinch, a tiny startled jerk, eyes fluttering. Not scared—never scared of him—just overwhelmed, like every drop is a surprise your fried little brain can’t quite process.

Another across the bridge of your nose. You twitch again, a soft, hiccuping “ah—” escaping as your lashes get sticky.

Third stripe lands over your parted lips and tongue. You jolt, whimpering, but immediately try to lick it up, chasing the taste even while more keeps coming.

Fourth, fifth—he’s groaning your name now, hips jerking as he milks himself dry—splattering your forehead, your other cheek, one last spurt dripping down your chin to join the disaster already there.

You’re a painting. A ruined, trembling, cockdrunk cum painting.

Hotch breathes hard for a second, thumb brushing through the mess on your cheek just to spread it further. You blink up at him, slow and dazed, cum sliding over your lashes, and let out the tiniest, happiest sigh like you’ve never been more content in your life.

He crouches, still holding your hair, and presses a single gentle kiss to your sticky forehead.

“Such a good little mess,” he whispers against your skin. “Can’t even talk anymore, can you?”

You shake your head, clumsy and slow. A broken, “Uh-uh,” is all you manage, followed by a dreamy, “Y’rs.”

"Yeah, you're mine." He chuckles and wipes a thumb through the cum on your lips just to push it back into your mouth. You suck it clean without hesitation, eyes fluttering shut.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “We’re gonna keep you, just... like this all night.”

"Hi," you greeted with a kind smile, a paper bag in hand. "I was looking for Aaron? I'm dropping off his lunch."

Emily blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Hotch?" she repeated, brows raised. "His office is just over-" But before she could finish, Hotch was already descending the steps from his office, eyes only for you.

"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, his hand settling instinctively on the small of your back as he gently ushered you away from the now very curious stares of his team.

"Not so fast, Hotch!" Morgan called out behind him, followed closely by Emily, JJ, and Reid. "You're not going to introduce us?" Emily added, a playful glint in her eye.

"No," Hotch replied without missing a beat, smoothly guiding you into his office and closing the door behind you, shutting out the murmurs from the bullpen.

You laughed softly, leaning against his desk, still holding the lunch bag. "Work got you all grumpy?"

"Not work," he said, stepping closer with a faint smile. "Just them." He took the bag from your hand, setting it aside before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

You giggled against his mouth, looping your arms around his neck as he steadied himself with a hand on the desk behind you. "Thank you for lunch," he whispered.

"Of course." You reached up to wipe a smudge of your lip gloss from his mouth, making him chuckle as he playfully nipped at your finger.

"There's pasta, some greens, and I slipped in a snack cake. Just in case," you added with a grin.

"A snack cake?" he teased, raising an eyebrow. "What am I, ten?" Still smiling, he moved around to his chair and sat down. "Why don't you stay with me while I eat?"

You followed, walking around the desk and settling onto his lap. His arm wrapped securely around your waist, hand resting warmly against your stomach as he tilted his head to press a kiss just beneath your ear.

You smiled at first until the kiss lingered, deepened, his mouth moving deliberately against your skin. You squirmed slightly, breath catching.

"Aaron?" you murmured.

He didn't answer with words, just a hum of affirmation as his other hand pulled you closer.

"Turn around," he murmured, voice low and coaxing.

You obeyed, as you always did, shifting to straddle his lap. His hands found their place on your hips, then lower, as his lips sought yours once more with increasing urgency.

Outside the office, Spencer's voice broke the stunned silence. “Guys... maybe we should get back to work."

The rest of the team stood frozen, eyes wide and cheeks red, as they quickly realized that Hotch had, for once, forgotten to close the blinds.

All of them staring just long enough to see Aaron's hand slip somewhere it definitely shouldn't have in a federal building.

"I didn't see anything," JJ said quickly, turning around.

"Yep, back to work, back to work," Morgan muttered, practically jogging away.

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.

You’re leaning over the evidence table, deliberately bending farther than necessary to reach a photo, when Rossi sidles up beside you.

“You trying to get fired, kid?” he mutters under his breath. Already knowing exactly what you're playing at. Rossi knows Hotch too well, knows you too well. And has definitely figured out just what your relationship entails behind closed doors.

You don’t even look at him. “Just keeping him on his toes, David.”

He hums, unconvinced. “He’s gonna put you on your knees later, and not in the fun way.”

You grin, sharp and sweet, when in reality you should've been mortified at the words coming out of Rossi's mouth. “We’ll see.”

Hotch’s voice cuts across the bullpen. “L/N. My six. Now.”

You straighten slowly, brushing imaginary lint off your shirt. “Yes, sir.”

You saunter over, boots echoing, and stop just inside his personal space, close enough that he has to tilt his head down to glare at you.

The rest of the room pretends they’re suddenly very very busy. And definitely not listening to whatever is about to happen between the two of you.

“You’re off the raid,” he says, voice low enough that only you can hear the tremor of fury underneath. Meaning that you've just struck bingo, and Hotch is giving you exactly what you were playing for later.

You blink, all mock innocence, before you raise your brows at him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re staying here with the locals.”

You laugh, actually laugh, straight in his face. “No, I’m not.”

“That wasn’t a request.” His eyes flash, his pupils dilating, darkening. You can tell that he is trying to claw his way out of Hotch, begging to be released upon you.

“And this isn’t a negotiation.” You step closer, dropping your voice to a purr. “You want me on a leash, Aaron, you’re gonna have to put it on me yourself. In front of everyone. Go ahead.” You cross your arms over your chest.

His nostrils flare. For one electric second, you think he might actually do it, might snap right here, take his belt off, and drag you out by the back of your neck like you both know you want him to.

Instead, he exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, trying to ground himself before he says something too unprofessional. When he finally speaks, he leans down to whisper in your ear through gritted teeth, “Fine! You’re with me. You leave my sight for less than .01 seconds, I'll cuff you to the SUV and leave you in the car overnight like some abandoned pet left on the side of the road. Try me.”

You lick your bottom lip. “Promise?”

He turns on his heel before he does something he can’t take back in front of twenty witnesses and the entirety of his team.

The raid is a clusterfuck waiting to happen, and you are the match.

Hotch wants to go in quietly through the back. You’re already halfway across the parking lot toward the front door before he grabs your vest and yanks you back.

“Jesus Christ, do you have a death wish today?” He says, leaving little to no discussion in his tone, you know that tone all too well, even strive to get it out of him on occasion... well, more times than not.

You spin, grinning up at him. “Only if you’re the one pulling the trigger.”

He looks like he’s two seconds from gagging you with his own tie and bending you over right here, right now.

Morgan’s voice crackles over comms. “Hotch, we’re set on the east side. You two coming or getting a room?”

You reach up and key your own comm without looking away from Hotch. “We’re coming, 'baby girl'. Unit Chief’s just having a little performance anxiety.” You can already imagine Morgan's confused look at the nickname.

Hotch rips the earpiece out of your ear and crushes it under his boot.

You whistle, low and a little playful. “That’s destruction of FBI property, sir. Very naughty.”

He grabs the front of your vest this time, hauling you in until you’re nose to nose. There he is. “You do not speak again until this unsub is in cuffs. Not one fucking word. Nod if you understand.”

You nod, solemn and mocking. Already planning to break that exact promise.

He releases you like you’re radioactive.

The warehouse is a maze of rusted machinery and broken skylights. Moonlight stripes the concrete floor. You move ahead of Hotch, deliberately, clearing corners before he can tell you to wait.

He hisses your name, barely audible.

You ignore him.

You hear the unsub before you see him: panicked breathing, the clatter of a dropped magazine. He’s reloading behind a stack of crates twenty feet ahead.

You raise your weapon before you step into the open.

Hotch swears viciously behind you and moves to cover, but you’re already talking.

“FBI! Drop it!”

The unsub spins, wild-eyed, gun up.

You don’t flinch.

Hotch is shouting your name now, furious and afraid all at the same time, but you keep your voice steady, taunting. “Come on, sweetheart. You wanted us to chase you. Here I am.”

The unsub’s finger tightens on the trigger.

Hotch’s arm hooks around your waist from behind, and he yanks you sideways, throwing you both sideways behind a forklift just as the shot rings out. Concrete explodes exactly where you were just standing.

You land half on top of him, ears ringing, heart slamming against your ribs.

He’s shaking with rage, hands gripping your vest so hard the straps bite.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snarls into your face.

You grin, breathless, high on adrenaline and the feel of him under you. “You’re welcome.”

Another shot pings off metal above your heads.

Hotch flips you onto your back, shielding you with his body, weapon already up. His voice in your ear is lethal. “Stay. Down.”

This time, you finally listen.

He rises in one fluid motion, one precise shot to his leg, and the unsub drops like a puppet that just had its strings cut.

Silence falls in the warehouse, broken only by distant shouting as the rest of the team floods in.

Hotch holsters his weapon, turns back to you, where you’re pushing to your feet.

You meet his eyes across the moonlit warehouse, chest heaving, blood thundering in your ears.

The unsub is down.

The cuffs are clicking.

And Aaron Hotchner looks like he’s deciding exactly how long it’s going to take to make you cry tonight.

The jet is grounded until at least morning due to a mechanical failure in the engine, so the team books into the hotel closest to the hangar and landing strip.

Everyone’s exhausted, adrenaline crashing hard, all a little annoyed from the lack of sleeping in their own beds tonight. But the air between you and Hotch is still a live current, ready to explode any second now.

You’re leaning against the check-in desk, tapping your badge against your palm, when Hotch steps up beside you and quietly tells the clerk, “Two singles.”

You don’t miss a beat. “Separate rooms,” you echo, loud enough for Hotch and the clerk to hear. You flash him a saccharine smile. “How very professional of us, Agent Hotchner. Gotta keep up appearances for the Bureau. Wouldn’t want anyone to know their precious unit chief has been balls-deep in his subordinate every night for the last eight months.”

The night clerk’s eyes go wide. Rossi, waiting for his key behind you, chokes on a laugh which he pretends is a cough.

Hotch doesn’t flinch. He just signs the receipt with a pen that might actually snap in his grip, then hands you a keycard.

“Room 312,” he says, voice flat. “I’ll be there in five minutes. You open that door for anyone else, you won’t sit for a month.”

He walks away before you can answer.

You take the stairs two at a time, pulse already racing.

The second the door clicks shut behind him, the mask is gone.

He shrugs out of his jacket, tosses it toward the chair in the corner of the room, and stalks toward you like a predator who’s finally off leash and pouncing straight toward its next meal.

“Strip!”

You arch a brow at him. “Please?”

He’s on you in two strides, hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head back, hard.

“Don’t push me any further tonight,” he warns. “You’ve used up every last ounce of patience I have.”

“Good.” You smile slowly up at him.

He kisses you all teeth, no mercy, until you’re gasping against his mouth. Then he spins you, shoves you chest-first over the foot of the bed, yanks your jeans and panties down in one rough motion.

His palm slides between your shoulder blades, pinning you flat. You feel the heat of him behind you, the hard line of his cock pressing against your ass through his slacks.

“You’ve been begging for this all day,” he says, his voice low and more controlled than you had anticipated when you started pushing him this morning. It's the way he gets right before he completely unravels you. “Every smart-ass comment, every eye roll, every time you said my title like it’s a fucking joke. You want my attention? You have it.”

He drags your hips back until you’re bent perfectly for him, feet barely touching the carpet. The first thrust of his clothed hips against your bare skin is deliberate, grinding, a promise and a threat all at once.

You push back, greedy for him to enter you.

He stills you with one hand splayed over the base of your spine, the other winding your hair around his fist until your neck arches.

“Stay still,” he growls. “You move when I tell you to move.” He leans over you, mouth at your ear. “Color?”

“Green,” you breathe, already trembling. “So fucking green.”

He pulls back just enough to unbuckle his belt, the metallic clink loud in the almost silent room. You hear his zipper, feel the blunt, bare heat of him drag up the seam of your body.

He doesn’t enter you. Not yet.

Instead, he notches himself at your entrance and holds there, agonizingly still, while you try to rock back and take him, sheathe yourself on his cock. His grip on your hair tightens, holding you exactly where he wants you.

“Beg!”

“Please, Sir—”

“Louder.”

“Please fuck me, Sir, I need—”

He slams into you in one brutal stroke, no warning, filling you so suddenly your breath catches on a scream.

Your legs wrap around nothing, toes curling into the carpet, hips snapping hard enough to jolt the bedframe into the wall with every thrust.

He flips you onto your back without pulling out, hooking your knees over his elbows, and spreading you wide. The new angle drags a broken sound from your throat as his thrusts take him deeper and deeper.

“Look at you,” he growls against your collarbone as he shoves your shirt up and runs his mouth over your skin, teeth scraping against you. “Acting like a spoiled little brat in front of the entire team. You think they didn’t notice? You think I didn’t see the way Morgan smirked every time you opened that mouth?”

“Maybe I wanted them to know,” you taunt, breathless, reaching for him. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending I don’t belong to—”

He cuts you off by pulling out entirely and flipping you again, this time onto your knees, face and chest pressed against the mattress.

He thrusts back in so hard your hands scrabble for purchase on the sheets.

“Say it,” he snarls, one hand sliding up to collar your throat from behind, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave a bruise in the morning. “Finish that sentence.”

“I belong to you,” you sob, clenching around him. “Only you—fuck—Aaron—”

“That’s right.” He presses you deeper into the bed, hips relentless. “You’re mine. And tomorrow, when you can’t walk straight and my cum still dripping down your thighs during our briefing on the jet, you’ll remember exactly who you answer to.”

He reaches beneath you, finds your clit with better precision than a trained sharpshooter, no searching, no hesitation, just the rough pad of his finger settling right where you’re swollen and aching for him. He doesn’t move at first. Just presses, holds, lets you feel the weight of that single point of contact while his cock throbs inside you, stretching you open, owning every trembling inch.

You try to rock back, to chase more, but his grip turns iron.

“Stay,” he growls against the shell of your ear, breath hot, voice shredded. “You take what I give you.”

Then he starts to move, slow, cruel circles that drag over your clit with exactly enough pressure to make your thighs shake. Every stroke is perfectly timed with the roll of his hips, the thick drag of him pulling out until only the head remains before he slams back in, forcing the air from your lungs.

Your hands claw at the sheets. Your spine arches so hard it hurts. The pleasure coils tighter and tighter, vicious and unstoppable, until you’re sobbing his name into the pillow, broken and desperate little pleas of his name.

He speeds up, just barely, thumb flicking faster, hips snapping harder, the wet sound of him fucking you filling the room along with your wrecked moans.

“Cum,” he orders, voice cracking with restraint. “Cum on my cock right now. Show me who you belong to.”

The command rips through you.

You shatter, back bowing, toes curling, a raw scream tearing from your throat as your entire body locks down around him. Wave after wave crashes over you, so intense your vision whites out, every pulse of your orgasm dragging him deeper, milking him with greedy, rhythmic clenches.

He swears once and loses the last thread of control. His rhythm stutters, hips slamming forward one final time as he cums with a rough groan, spilling inside you.

You feel every throb, every pulse, the way he jerks and grinds through it, forehead pressed hard between your shoulder blades like he’s trying to fuse himself to your skin.

He stays there, buried to the hilt, chest heaving against your back, both of you trembling in the aftermath, slick with sweat and utterly spent. You can’t help it, your hips give a tiny, greedy roll, chasing the last sparks of pleasure, trying to keep him deep.

A soft, satisfied moan slips out of you.

Hotch’s chuckle rumbles against your spine. His arms tighten, pinning you flat to the mattress so you can’t move an inch further than you've already wiggled.

“You think we’re done?” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. He nips the lobe hard enough to make you gasp. “Oh, sweetheart. You’ve had your fun. Now it’s my time to play.”

He pulls out slowly, letting you feel every inch drag against your oversensitive walls. You whine at the sudden emptiness, but before you can protest, he’s already moving, shirt buttons flying, slacks kicked the rest of the way off, socks gone.

In seconds, he’s gloriously bare, all hard lines, cock still half-hard and glistening with your cum.

He turns his attention to you next, signaling with his hand for you to flip over on your back. You do as ordered.

Your shirt is shoved up under your arms. He yanks it off, unhooks your bra, and tosses both across the room. Then he grabs his discarded tie and crawls over you.

“Hands up,” he orders.

You obey instantly, stretching your arms above your head. He loops the tie around your wrists, threads it through the headboard, and cinches it tight. Not painful, but absolutely inescapable from your end of the deal. You tug once; the silk holds firm.

A helpless little thrill shoots straight to your core.

He settles between your thighs again, slides back inside you with one smooth thrust that makes your back arch. You’re so wet, so swollen, the stretch burns in the best way, you're not sure you can take the sensation much longer before cumming again.

“Good girl,” he praises, voice rough. “Stay just like that.”

He starts slow. Long and deep strokes that hit every spot inside you. His mouth finds your neck, your breasts, sucking bruises into your skin while his hips roll in that maddening rhythm he knows drives you absolutely insane.

It doesn’t take long before you’re writhing, breath hitching, thighs trembling around his waist.

“Please! Sir, I’m close,” you whimper.

He pulls out completely.

You cry out, hips bucking at nothing. He watches you struggle against the tie, thighs squeezing together for friction that isn’t there.

“Shh.” He strokes your hip in a soothing yet cruel manner. “Calm down a little. We’re nowhere near done.”

He waits until your breathing evens, until the desperation fades, then slides back in and starts all over again.

He does it four times.

Four times, he builds you right to the brink, fingers on your clit, mouth on your nipples, cock dragging slow and steady against your walls, until you’re sobbing, begging, tears of frustration gathering at the corners of your eyes.

The fifth time you get loud, really loud, a broken, whining “Please, please, I can’t—” spilling out over and over.

Hotch clicks his tongue. “Too noisy, baby.” He reaches for your discarded panties and balls them up. “Open.”

You shake your head, playful defiance flaring even through the haze.

He arches a brow. “Open that pretty mouth, or I stop entirely and you get nothing.”

Your lips part instantly. He stuffs the panties in, the taste of yourself flooding your tongue, muffling every sound to desperate, garbled whimpers.

“There we go,” he croons, brushing the back of his hand over your cheek. “Much better.”

He fucks you like that for what feels like hours. He comes once deep inside you again, groaning your name against your throat. Pulls out, strokes himself, and paints thick stripes across your stomach and breasts.

Later, he pushes your knees to your chest, and spills across your face while you keen helplessly behind the gag.

Each time he finishes, he starts again, sliding through the mess he’s made across your frame, using it to make you slicker, filthier. You lose count of his orgasms. You’re a trembling, oversensitive wreck, and still he denies you that second release, pulling out the instant your walls start to flutter.

Finally, finally, he collapses over you, sweat-slick and breathless, cock spent and utterly dry. He reaches up and carefully unties your wrists, massaging the faint red marks with his thumbs. Then he gently pulls the soaked panties from your mouth. You work your jaw, swallowing hard, voice hoarse.

He kisses you softly. “Up,” he murmurs.

You’re boneless, but he helps you sit. He slides the same wet panties that he just pulled from your mouth back up your legs, tugging them into place with deliberate care. The fabric settles against your abused, swollen pussy, trapping every drop of his cum inside you. You whimper at the pressure.

He leaves for a second before coming back with a wet cloth in his hand.

When he settles back down beside you, he cups your chin, tilts your face to his, and with the warm cloth, he cleans your cheeks, your lips, your eyelashes with tender, reverent strokes that make you melt against his hand.

But when you reach for a tissue to wipe your chest and stomach, he catches your wrist.

“No.” His voice drops into that stern, deep tone that makes you freeze. “You don’t clean the rest off. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not until we’re wheels-down at Quantico and you’re standing in my shower at home. You’re going to feel me on your skin every second on the jet, every time you shift in your chair. You’ll remember exactly who you bratted off to today, and exactly who owns every inch of this body. Understood?”

You nod, throat tight, arousal somehow flaring all over again despite everything.

“Yes, Sir.”

He smiles, a small, satisfied, and soft smile, before he pulls you into his chest. His hand spreads possessively over the sticky mess on your stomach, holding you close.

“Sleep, trouble,” he whispers into your hair. “You’re going to need it.

You’re already half-asleep when he speaks again, voice low in the dark.

“Next time you pull a stunt like that in the field, I won’t wait until we’re in a hotel room.”

You smile against his skin, sore and sated and utterly ruined.

“Next time,” you mumble, “I’ll be worse.”

He bites your shoulder in warning.

You wake up to the alarm on Hotch’s watch at 5:47 a.m. He’s already sitting on the edge of the bed, hair damp from the shower, knotting a fresh tie. You try to roll over and immediately regret it. Every muscle between your hips screams. Your thighs are sticky, your pussy swollen and aching, and when you clench experimentally, you feel the slow, obscene slide of everything he left inside you only a couple of hours ago.

He glances back, eyes satisfied.

“Up,” he says, voice still rough from sleep and sex. “Wheels up in forty.”

You groan. Actually groan. Getting vertical feels like an Olympic event that you never trained for.

He watches you struggle into yesterday’s jeans with the faintest smirk curling his mouth, when in reality, all you want is a pair of sweatpants.

The panties he pulled back up your legs after he finally untied you are soaked through, his cum, yours, the evidence of four separate loads, and every step makes the fabric drag against your oversensitive clit.

By the time you limp into the hotel lobby, the whole team is already waiting. Morgan does a double-take.

“Damn, sweetheart. You pull a muscle wrestling that unsub... or something?”

You flip him off with the hand that isn’t clutching your go-bag strap for support.

Hotch doesn’t say a word, just opens the back door of the SUV for you like a perfect gentleman, as you make it to the cars. You slide across the seat and bite the inside of your cheek to keep from whimpering when your ass meets cold and slightly hard leather.

On the jet, you take the seat farthest from the group, legs pressed tightly together, praying the movement of the plane doesn’t jostle anything loose. Hotch sits directly across the aisle from you, tablet in hand, leading the debrief like nothing happened last night. Like he didn’t wreck you so thoroughly that you’re still tasting him through your pussy.

He starts with the profile review. You’re supposed to contribute. Instead, you’re hyper-aware of the slow trickle working its way down your thigh every time the jet banks left. You shift, and the wet drag of cotton against your folds makes you swallow a gasp.

Hotch’s eyes flick to you. Calm and professional. Except for the slight curve at the corner of his mouth that says he knows exactly what you’re feeling.

“Agent L/N,” he says smoothly, “care to walk us through the victimology again and what we can learn from it for future cases?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Clear your throat. “Uh. Females, twenty-two to twenty-nine, brunettes, all abducted within—”

Your voice cracks on the last word because the plane hits a pocket of turbulence, and you feel a fresh pulse of warmth slip free. You clamp your thighs harder, face burning.

Reid starts rambling about geographic decay rates. You stop listening. All you can focus on is the slow, steady throb between your legs and the way Hotch’s gaze keeps drifting to your lap like he’s cataloging every squirm.

Forty unending minutes later, the wheels finally touch down in Quantico. You stand too fast, and your knees nearly buckle. Hotch’s hand shoots out to steady your elbow, the perfect picture of a concerned boss... or partner.

You make it down the stairs on wobbly legs, every step making the mess in your panties shift and cling. You’re praying no one notices the way you’re walking like you just rode a horse for twelve hours straight.

Rossi falls into step beside Hotch as you head for the car park. He doesn’t even bother lowering his voice.

“Atta boy,” he mutters, clapping Hotch once on the shoulder.

Hotch doesn’t answer, but you catch the faint, wicked tilt of his lips before he slides on his sunglasses.

You flip Rossi off behind Hotch’s back.

Rossi just laughs knowingly and calls over his shoulder, “Feel better, kid.”

You’re going to kill them both.

Later.

Much, much later.

When you can walk again.

“Aren’t you at least a little bit embarrassed?” you tease, already starting to brew the coffee beans. It has been almost a year since he bought it – following your suggestion – and he never even cared to learn how to use it. Not that he needed to, really. You were always there to do it for him.

He pressed his lips together in a mocking reflective expression, just to shrug his shoulders “Not really, no.” you just chuckle as the two of you move in sync to finish preparing breakfast.

Just as the eggs were ready, his phone rang all the way to his bedroom. As an old man who still hadn’t created the urge to be glued to his phone 24/7, you took over the bacon pan as he faded into the hallway to pick up.

You were so focused on your task you didn’t realize he was taking too long. It wasn’t until you filled both of your plates and mugs that you noticed he didn’t come back. Your first reaction was too tense, to go after him and check what was wrong, but soon after you heard his laugh, loud and strong, making its way towards you. So, no emergencies.

Sensing it was probably Sean, your boyfriend’s brother, or maybe Rossi with a gossip – something you learnt after you started dating Hotch: the two older men at the BAU were gossipers. Penelope Garcia level gossiper – you stayed back, giving them privacy to chat. Ignoring all the etiquette lessons you had, you started eating alone. At least one of you should enjoy the warm food.

Just when you took the last bite you heard him stepping back into the kitchen, a ghost of a smile still present on his face “Hey, you chatty” you teased. He chuckled, sitting beside you on the stoll and drinking a sip of coffee “Who was it?” your curiosity got the best of you, even though you knew he was going to tell you either way.

“Beth!”

Oh.

“Oh”

“Yeah.” he agrees, taking a bite of the toast, completely oblivious to the gut wrenching feeling taking over your senses “She called me to say she’s coming back. From Hong Kong.”

Oh (but harder).

“That’s… good?”

“It’s great! She got to transfer back for a promotion, with a higher salary and getting to be close to her family.” he explains, sounding way too pleased with himself.

“She rocks.” you cringe immediately, not knowing what the hell you meant by that.

“Right?” fortunately – or not, that’s up to the eye of the beholder – he remained completely clueless to your awkwardness. “Jack’s going to lose it when he hears it.” he said, chuckling to himself.

You hate how hearing this makes you twice as jealous.

“Y’think Jack remembers her?” you wonder, pretending to be unbothered as you wash your dishes in a way to distract yourself. He stays silent for a second, and you hope he’s not picking up on your selfish rotting for the worse.

“He does. Last time she face-timed me, Jack took over half the call.” he says, his voice suddenly closer to you. He takes the dishes from your hand, gently pushing you to the side “That’s on me.” he points kindly, taking over the dishes. You step away, hoping he didn’t feel the sound of your heart breaking.

They face-time each other? Is Jack a part of this? By the way he said it, it seems like a frequent occurrence. Where were you all those times? How could you miss that?

Is this cheating? Objectively speaking, if it was cheating he probably wouldn’t be so blunt about it. And he’s probably the most loyal person you know.

So why does it feel like cheating? Why do you feel betrayed? Why do you feel so jealous?

Trying to take a hold of the situation, you fight to appear normal, trying your best to hide your anxiousness and all of self-doubt, at least while you figure your feelings out. Otherwise you’d probably end up locked in a mental asylum.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It turned out the mental asylum would probably be a nicer place to be than your own head right now.

As the day passed by, you started to notice how excited Aaron was for Beth’s arrival. If you missed their calls before, you definitely weren’t now. Every other day you stumbled on him somewhere in the house, his phone balanced between his shoulder and his ear while he finished a task.

When it wasn’t the calls, it was the texting. He would send her pictures about things she liked and places she missed. She would always send a picture of everything that was different over there, ask silly questions about the job or about Jack. 

And Jack was a whole other problem. Not a problem, actually. But his obvious adoration towards the woman made you bitter. You found yourself losing your appetite more often than not every time Jack asked about her in the middle of dinner or lunch. Which was a horror on its own, but it was even worse because every time he did it, soon after the meal ended Hotch would call her to tell her about it.

You felt like an outsider.

The worst part was that it wasn’t even their fault. Everytime you walked by him, he asked you to join the call, pulling you to sit with him and chat with the woman on the other side of the screen. She would ask about you, about your likes and dislikes. She would joke about Hotch, about his sleep myoclonus, about his ability to fall asleep in the first few minutes of a movie.  You laughed with her, making fun of his antic habits as if sharing that with her didn’t feel like a knife in your gut. 

When she finally came back, it was, somehow, worse.

Hotch insisted that you’d tag along on their catching ups, you hang with them as she went out with the team. You had playdates with her and Jack.

It was now safe to say: you hated Beth. And you were completely obsessed with her.

You watched the way she spoke, the way she dressed. How she smiled, how she laughed. The exact color of her lipstick, her haircut. 

When her nails were perfectly made. She was so elegant. You started doing your nails weekly.

Next time you saw her, her nails were chipped and two of them were broken. She was so carefree. You cancelled your membership at the nail salon.

One would think Beth was a frequent character in Hotch's life. She really wasn’t. With all the cases, Jack and his relationship with you, he barely had time to actually hang out with Beth. But there was no point, and the damage was made.

Ever since he took that call, she made her way into your head, building her own little house with a balcony and a white fence. Even if she wasn’t around, your mind made sure to think about her. You hated hearing her name, but you secretly hoped it would come up in the middle of the conversation.

When his phone rang, you braced yourself, preparing for that gut wrenching pain you were oh, so familiar with. 9 out of 10 times, it wasn’t her. But 1 out of ten times, it was. And when you hear him calling her name, smiling easily at the speaker like she was seeing him, you felt your world fall apart, and what a comforting sensation that was.

You had no idea how you could crave someone as much as you craved her.

You wanted her gone.

The thought came to you out of nowhere, in the middle of the night. You were sleeping on his bed – almost yours by now – and his body involuntarily jerked. And there it was: another sleepless night. You were reminded of her, and now you were cursed to spend the rest of the evening wondering if she slept on the same side of the bed you were in, on how she would react. Would she laugh? Would she wake him? Would she pretend she didn’t see it?

It was maddening. It had to stop.

It wasn’t going to stop. You had to get out of this.

When the thought came, it stayed. You haven’t thought about it before, but you knew it. It had to be done. There was no way you would survive this. There was no way you could compete with this, with her. They understood each other to a degree you could never. They were the same age, and had the same references. They were both divorced, they had experiences you still haven’t had. You hated being outside of their inside jokes, even if said jokes were whatever was fashion in the 70’s.

Truth to be told, you wouldn’t even be with him if she hadn’t moved out of the country. And now she was back, reclaiming her old apartment, her athletic habits and his heart.

You weren’t dumb. You could see he loved you. But he loved her too. And you wouldn’t settle for half. Even if it killed you inside.

Besides being younger than Aaron – and Beth – you were very mature. Mature enough to understand that you shouldn’t make a big deal out of this. You knew, usually, the right thing to do was to talk about your feelings. To explain where you were coming from and make changes in order to keep the relationship alive.

But how could you go to the man you loved and beg him to not fall back in love with his ex? What exactly do you want to achieve by talking to him about it? He wasn’t doing anything wrong, you know that much. He would probably just stop talking to her ‘if it meant not making you insecure’, but you know very well how that would turn out. You didn’t want it to end with a fight, and you didn’t want to feel like you had to put up a fight to keep the man you love. You didn’t deserve that, and neither did him.

So, piece by piece, you started to make your way out of Aaron’s life.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You usually spent the majority of your time in his place. And you started to change that, slowly starting to spend more time in your rented apartment than in his. Piece by piece, you started to move back your clothes. First a blouse, then a pajama. Evolving to your dresses, shoes, and your products.

It was going by unnoticed, until after you moved almost all the products on your side of his bathroom’s cabinet. A wednesday morning, while getting ready to work, you opened it to find everything back where they belonged.

You stayed there, shocked for a few seconds, your heart racing. The toothbrush inside your mouth is frozen, the minty foam starting to burn your gums. Aaron stepped on the bathroom behind you, fixing his cufflinks and looking at you through the mirror.

“Oh, I saw you ran out of them.” he explained, casually pointing at the new stack of products, completely unaware of your mind short circuiting “You didn’t restock, but I remembered them from last time. I had to go to the drugstore anyway.” he shrugged, reaching for his cologne and stepping out like he didn’t just shatter your whole world.

Later, when your tears smudged your mascara, you just said you choked with the mouthwash.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

After a while, you’d spent so much time on your own place that Aaron started to miss you. Not only that, he questioned it. One specific morning, you were in the shared kitchen in the BAU mixing a bowl of yogurt with cereals and fruits when you felt a pair of large hands clinging to your hips. Yelping in surprise, you turned to face your boyfriend.

“Hey, you scared me.” you chuckled, picking up the bowl to put something between the two of you.

“I miss you.” he said, simply. He wasn’t whining, or complaining, or even trying to talk you out of your devious plan – not that he knew about it. He was just stating a fact, as clear as the day, the same way and tone he announced a profile or call a meeting.

Not knowing what to answer without breaking into tears, you stuffed a spoon full of greek yogurt, granola and strawberries into your mouth. While you did it, you mumbled something he couldn’t comprehend. Figuring you said you missed him too, he just moved on, leaning over your head to reach for the cabinet.

“Can I take you out for dinner tonight?” he asked, grabbing the freshly made coffee and filing his mug “It’s been a while since we left the house.”

You swoon at him, taking a deep breath before answering “It has. But I have plans.” you grimaced “Girls night.” you explained, chewing on the granola for longer than needed.

Aaron stopped for a second, his steaming mug already halfway to his lips. “Oh.” He wasn’t the kind of boyfriend to be in the way of your life, but he usually was aware of your plans. Not in a controlling way, but by knowing you, talking to you. And he was just realizing how it felt not knowing. He hated it. Not being a man to give up, he quickly came up with another idea “I can make you that BLT you like while you get ready.” not seeing you immediately jump with joy – as you usually do when BLT is mentioned – he suggested “Or we can stop at McDonalds drive-thru when I pick you up later.” 

Your heart did a backflip and shattered in a thousand pieces with the sight of his puppy eyes, expectantly looking at you.

“Oh that sounds lovely. But the bar we’re heading it’s the one across the street from my building. We’re walking there.” you explain, placing a hand on his chest gently, fixing the lapels of his suit. He looked down at your hands, fighting the urge to pull you by his arms and lock you in there. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but his gut knew something didn’t sit right.

“Text me when you get there. And when you get home.” he says, more a statement than a request. Your safety was not negotiable. You nodded, stepping closer to him and giving him a quick peck on the side of his jaw.

“I promise!” and you meant it, winking at him as you move to leave the kitchen.

Just as you step outside the perimeter, you almost bump into Rossi, who’s just standing there with his hands buried in his pockets and his eyebrow raised so high it was almost blending his hairline. Not ready to handle his piercing gaze – knowing you’d crumble at the first couple minutes –, you just nodded and gave him one of your best polite smiles, speeding your pace all the way to your desk.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

After you knocked twice on the office door, you stared at the words “David Rossi” engraved on the metal platter in its center as you waited for him to open.

When he did, you were surprised to see his office drowned in low light coming from the lamp on his desk and the moonlight peeking through the widow.

“You wanted to see me?” it meant as a statement: he did ask to see you. At first, you were sure it had something to do with the case you were consulting, the topic you and him were talking about during dinner. What confused you was that the setting looked anything but professional, if the expensive bourbon bottle and the two glasses sitting on the table wasn’t enough of a tell.

“Yes. Come in.” he said, waiting for you to walk into the office to close the door. You stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, waiting for him to take the lead. Unaware – or, most probably, choosing to ignore – your startled state, he slowly made his way to the couch on the back of the room, filling up both glasses before sitting comfortably.

Taking one of the glasses, you sat beside him, pressing your lips together and trying not to bounce your leg to ease the tension.

“How was girls night?” Rossi asks, raising his glass to his lips. He didn’t even look at you as he waited for your answer, his tone almost mocking you.

Having absolutely no idea what he was going with this, you decided to play along “It was fun.”

He nodded “I see.” You took a sip of your drink, trying to keep your posture. It didn’t work. As soon as the burning liquid settled in your stomach, you turned to face him. Terrible idea.

“Dave, what’s going on? What is this?”

“You know,” he started, completely ignoring your question “People may think about profiling as a criminal study. They think we have to learn about psychopaths, stressors, geography, and criminal patterns. That it’s about getting in the mind of crazy people and figuring them out.”

“And it isn’t?” you blinked, drowned by his speech.

“Oh, definitely. But it’s not just that. It’s about studying people. Feelings, motivations. Learning, understanding their behaviour and using it to figure out their intentions.”

And that’s when it hit you: he knew.

“We have an unspoken policy in the BAU: not profiling each other.” he began, turning his body to face you.

“So why are you profiling me?” you asked, voice edging and uneasy, desperately trying to stop him from putting into words. He ignored it.

“You’re breaking up with him.” Not a question, not a suggestion, and definitely not a doubt. “I know what this is about. Who this is about.” your chewed on your bottom lip, deciding on what to say.

“Please, don’t try to talk me out of it.” you beg, hating how weak your own voice sounds. He took another long and lazy sip, and you watched as the liquid clinged to his lips, the wet reflecting the low light of the lamp.

“I won’t.” he stared at you, his eyes squinting slightly “I’m here to encourage you.”

You frowned, your eyebrows pinching together “What?”

“Yes. You really should break up with him. You know, if you’re in such an unbearable relationship.” You roll your eyes, tilting your head back.

“Stop.”

“No, seriously. Do you think he’s what? Cheating on you with Beth?”

“What? That’s not what this is about. I know he’s not cheating.” you defend yourself, cringing at the topic of the discussion.

“Then what is it?”

“I’m just…” your eyes burn with tears harder than the liquid on your throat when you down the rest of the bourbon before continuing “I’m not her.”

“You sure? Under this specific light I could’ve swore…”

“Dave!” you whine, and he chuckles.

“Yes, you’re not Beth.” you grimace at her name, not bothering to hide your feelings anymore “Why are you saying this as a bad thing?”

“Because it is. She’s back now and…” you feel a tear striking down your cheek as you gesticulate “She just fits. She gets him.”

“And you don’t?”

You sigh “You must think I sound really stupid.”

“Oh, you sound absolutely ridiculous.” you look at him, looking at a smirk on his face. Before you realize it, you’re laughing as well, but in a weak and depressed way “Love does this to us. Make us blind to the obvious. Clouds our judgement and turns us into…” he gesticulates towards you. You roll your eyes, but you’re not crying anymore “I have three divorces, so you’d think I know one thing or two about failed relationships. And let me tell you: yours isn’t one of them.”

“You’re just saying this because you’re his best friend.”

“I’m saying this because I love you.” he stated bluntly, and you widened your eyes in surprise, not expecting this. “And it'll kill me to see you do something I know you’ll regret later.” he leaned closer, looking at you with a paternal love that made you uneasy “Hotch loves you, kid. Don’t try to assume things. Let him know.”

“It’s hard.”

“I know it is. It has to be, don’t you think?” he smiles, the wrinkle on the corner of his eyes enhancing his passion towards the subject “Or else is not worth it. But talk to him. You know him more than I do, but I’m pretty sure you’re seeing things out of a place of hurt, probably past experiences.” he nod his head in a knowing gesture “From what I see, you’re out of your mind if you think that Hotch would ever consider living his life away from you.”

You only notice the tear streaming down your cheeks like a waterfall when his fingers gently wipe them away.

“Sorry.” you mumble, and he shakes his head.

“Listen, if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t. It’ll be fine too. You’ll be fine. But just don’t let it all go to waste before at least giving him a chance.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It got to a point where you had to stop for a second to wipe the sweat out of your eyelids to see. By the time you reached your – Aaron’s – front door, your heartbeat had lowered to a normal rhythm and your skin was now cold rather than wet. You spent almost the entire night awake, tossing and turning on the bed. The night went so late it was almost morning, so you figured it made more sense to just get up and do something other than to lay in the dark with nothing but your loud and torturous mind.

Running, these past few weeks, were your loyal ally to your early mornings. That specific day, you just got back from an over two hour long run, finally feeling your limbs hurting more than your heart. As you walked in, you were surprised to find Aaron pacing around the living room, something crumpled up on one of his fist, a piece of paper in the other.

When he looked at you, his face was everything but stoic: he looked panicked, tortured, confused and, overall, hurting. “We need to talk” he said, quietly. If you listened closely, you could hear the way his voice wobbled in the middle of the sentence, like he didn’t actually want to talk. Like he wanted you to just be confused, and just ask what he meant by that, and that you weren’t being distant, he was just paranoid. Anything that could prove, beyond reasonable doubt, that you weren’t, in fact, leaving.

Despite all his silent wishes you just nodded, making your way to the couch “Yeah, we do.”

Hoping the sound of his heart shattering wasn't loud enough for you to hear, he made his way to the couch in front of you, distant enough for him to think clearly – as much as possible, under the circumstances. For a minute you just stared at each other, the weight of everything unsaid so heavy it could suffocate.

You glanced down at his hands, still not managing to understand what he was holding so tight on his fist. On the other hand, you could finally see what it was. Before you left the house that morning, already planning on staying out for long, you wrote him a note with the steps to use the coffee pot.

“Before we start,” he began, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat before continuing “I already know. So there’s no need to lie.” you gulp, shifting in your seat. You never lied to him before, but it was fair of him to point it  out. You weren’t being exactly honest. And even though you knew what he was talking about, it still surprised you when he finally said it out loud “When exactly you were planning on breaking up with me?”

Your breath hitched, panic rushing through your veins. It didn’t matter that you still weren't sure about what to do, there was no point in lying. Not anymore. It hurt you to think about it, but actually admitting to him was a whole other level of pain.

“I don’t know.” you answer weakly.

He blinks. And then chuckles.

When he dips his head down, you stare at him confused. The only thing you catch is the way his head shakes slightly, his fists flexing but never letting go of your note and the other white soft – looks fluffy? Is it a stress relief ball? – thing. Aaron tilts his head up and his eyes are full of tears. They are shiny and reddish, and you want nothing more than to make it all go away.

“Hotch,” you try, because just watching him crumble in front of you is not an option.

“Jesus! Stop calling me that.” he spat, frowning.

“Your name?”

“That’s not my name. Not to you. Not in here.” he adverts, the pain muffling the anger in his tone.

You chew on your bottom lip, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to fall from your eyes. Sniffing as quietly as possible, you look at him “Do you think this is easy for me?”

“It must be!” he says, barely containing himself, “You’re doing it all behind my back, vanishing from my life little by little, until all I have left is an empty drawer with nothing but this shirt and a coffee pot I don't know how to use.” and you finally understand what he was holding on so tightly. It’s a plain silky pajama shirt. It’s the only piece of clothing because it’s matching short you – he – ended up tearing it in half on the first night you wore it.

“I left you instructions.” you point to the paper in his other hand.

“I don’t want to learn.” he looks disgusted at the paper, like it personally offended him “I’m not learning how to use it.” he emphasizes.

You try again “It’s not that hard.”

“I won’t.” 

That discussion was pointless, anyway. It is something to cling onto while avoiding the main issue. Sighing deeply in order to avoid crying, you change the subject “Listen, it’s nothing with you. It’s me.” you snort at that, because it’s that old cheesy and shitty excuse. But it’s the truth. “I’m just…” it’s all you manage to say before the tears blur your vision and you have to dip your head down to try and wipe them away.

His voice filled your ears, making you glance up to face him again. “I noticed that you weren’t being yourself, but I figured you’d tell me. It was something from work, or your family. I didn’t think it was this. It was us.” his voice weakens, and he has to gulp before continuing “Aren’t you happy anymore?” 

“I… there’s a lot going on.”  you feel your nose burning, and you stop caring if he sees the tears streaming down your face.

“Tell me what I did.” his demeanor changes, and he doesn’t look sad and confused anymore. He sounds energetic, urgent, demanding and begging all together “Tell me where I got it wrong, i can change it. I’ll do it right. I’ll do it better.”

Hearing this, combined with the raw desperation on his voice, so opposite from his usual calm and steady behavior, only makes you cry harder, and you don’t even try to wipe them away.

“You did nothing wrong. Nothing. I don’t want you to change. I just…” a strangled hiccup interrupted your speech, and you feel ridiculous, weak, dramatic and lonely. You want this to end, but also you want this to have never happened. “I shouldn’t feel this way in a relationship.”

He nodded, thinking. When Aaron speaks again, his voice is much calmer. Resignated, even. “So that’s it, then? You have your mind made up? Nothing I say will change it.” and it’s not a question anymore.

“I’m doing this for you, I want nothing more than what’s best for you.”

“Bullshit.”  he snapped, his words startling you “Why are you doing this? Is it the job? You said it’s not me. Is it Jack? Is this life too much for you? The responsibility of…”

“What? Of course not!” your heart aches thinking about it. It hurts that he thinks this, but you have no one but yourself to blame “I love Jack. I love our… this life.” 

He stays silent for a second, as if analyzing your explanation — or lack thereof. “Is it someone else?” you stop, and blinks. This is it. You won’t lie straight to his face. He stiffens, and it doesn’t need another word from you to understand. “Who is him?”

“Him?” you frown in the middle of your tears, so confused you stopped crying. “What do you mean?” 

“You said there was someone else.” he squinted his eyes at you.

“I didn’t, you did.” 

“You didn’t deny it. Who is he?” he insisted, his jaw tensed.

“Who do you think I am?” you asked, actually aggravated at his accusations “I would  never…” 

“Who is he?” he interrupts you, his eyes burning holes in your head.

“There's no he. It’s Beth.” 

Hotch’s jaw is immediately unlocked at that, the anger and betrayal completely subsided by complete shock and confusion. “What? You and… Beth?”

“Huh?” you were the one left in confusion now. How did he get to that conclusion? For a second, you didn’t feel the excruciating pain and humiliation from admitting your feelings to him “No. You and Beth.”

“What do I have to do with this?” he asks, his confusion turning to aggravation once again “You don’t like our friendship? That’s why you're breaking up with me?”

Now, said excruciating pain and humiliation were back on its full force. You ignored the lump on your throat, taking a deep breath and explaining the situation in the most sober and objective way possible. “I realized you and her fit more together than me and you, and…” your voice faltered as you saw his outrageous expression “...the two of you only broke up because she moved away. You’re all happy that she’s coming back. I just figured…”

“What?” he interrupted, his voice sharp and edgy “That i’d break up with you to be with her?” asking like it was a ridiculous thought. You stayed silent, because that was exactly what you thought. He huffed an incredulous laugh through his nose “Jesus. Did I ever give you a reason to question me? Or my loyalty?” he accused, his voice showing more worry than anger.

“No. Actually I don't know if you’d break up with me. That’s why I saved you the trouble.” you shrugged, trying not to show how much it hurt you to say it.

“Jesus fucking christ.” he muttered, pintching the bridge of his noise “Are you even hearing yourself?”

“Stop talking like I'm insane.” you snapped, losing your patience “You’re the one making phone calls, facetiming and going on dates with your ex girlfriend. I saw you when the two of you broke up. I was there. You were in pain. How am I supposed to feel? How am I supposed to handle this? How am I supposed to compete with this? Explain to me, Aaron. Because I have no fucking clue.”

The moment you stopped speaking, you realized you were almost yelling. It was the first time you let out your anger, your hurt. All the time you kept saying you were doing the best: for Aaron, for Jack, for Beth… Not once you stopped to think how much it sucked to be you, to deal with all of that. Yes, you could’ve talked to him sooner. But you shouldn’t have felt like that. No one should. 

When you asked him to explain, to tell you what to do, it wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t sass. You were actually asking, begging for him, for someone, to tell you how to feel. It didn’t make sense, none of this made sense to you. It was too overwhelming, and you just wanted it to be gone. You wanted to disappear.

You noticed too late you were crying, fully sobbing now, with one hand clutched to your chest, as if you tried to rip your heart out, and the other resting against your throat, trying to soothe the pain from talking so loud. You didn’t see how his expression softened, his anger melting into pure sorrow. He couldn’t believe he did that to you, that he, of all people, made you feel this way.

A few minutes had passed when he finally made a move. He got up from his couch and crossed the room, sitting right by your side. His knees were pressed against your thighs, his eyes filled with tears. His body and his soul were completely in surrender to yours. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, simply. “I should’ve seen it before. I shouldn't have acted like this. Or at least, talked to you about it. I’m not trying to make any excuses for the way I acted, but I need to explain.” he cleared, his eyes scanning your face every 10 seconds, trying to find any hint of chance in your stance “The thought of someone other than you, in a romantic way, is so out of my reality that I didn’t even considered her a ‘threat’. Not that she, or anyone, is a threat. But I really didn’t see the situation as something that could’ve hurt you. And that was my first mistake.”

“She knows you in a way that I can’t.”

“You know me in a way no one can.” he argued “You were my subordinate, then my work colleague, my friend. Now you’re my best friend and my family. You’re the woman I love.” he gulped, flinching at his own words and feeling the hot streak of a lonely tear falling from his eye. The one he couldn’t hold back. “I don’t want you going back to being less than that.”

Your posture didn’t show any kind of surrender. But he didn’t see resistance either, and when you turned to face him, he noticed that you didn’t keep arguing and just waited to listen. Taking it as a good (the best yet) sign, he pressed further.

“There’s nothing going on between me and Beth. She happened to be the first friend I’ve had outside of the job for a long time, that’s all. I don’t know if it will help to hear this,” he tried, hesitantly “...but her leaving wasn’t the only reason why we broke up.” seeing your questioning expression, he kept going “We came to the realization we worked better as friends anyway, and it was just a matter of time for us to end things. The moving just happened first.” he shrugged.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he anticipated your argument “Yes, I did suffer. It was a change in scenario, how could I not? But as I said, we knew it was happening. So what it hurt the most was actually Jack. I felt like the worst parent from giving another sort of mother figure just to take it away from his life. Again.”

Before you could think properly, your hand reached out to his, squeezing in a silent reassurance. He always doubted his parental skills, and you were always making sure to remind him how amazing he was. Even now, with your heart broken and your relationship hanging by a thread, you still found a way to comfort him. 

How could he lose something like this? Someone like this? How could he let you go? How could he make you feel that way? He had to press his lips together in a thin line to keep them from trembling, and to hold back the force of his grip when he squeezed your hand back, making sure he wasn’t hurting you as he not so subtly tried to hold on to you. To keep you from leaving.

“Honey,” he started, not even caring about his voice cracking. He couldn’t wait any longer, or lose any more chances. This was it. “I love you so much. I know this isn’t ideal, and I hate myself for ever making you feel this way. If not being with me will make you happier, then…” he gulped “...I’ll let you go. But if this situation is the only reason, please, don’t go. Please, give me a chance to show you how you’re the only one I want.”

You feel your tears running freely from your face, and you choke up a sob before speaking, your voice so weak it was barely hearable “I feel really immature.”

He laughs, but it doesn’t sound like he’s making fun of you. It sounds like he’s gone completely mad, like your admission was the water bottle after two days in the desert. It gave him hope.

“No.” he denied firmly, not letting go of your hand even for a second “Now that I think about it, if the tables were turned, I might’ve murdered your ex.” he whispered like a secret. It was so unexpected and so out of character of him that you laughed, surprising both you and him. He smiled from ear to ear at the sound of it. “I’m really sorry, I should’ve been more careful with the situation.”

“I should’ve just talked to you instead of jumping to conclusions.” you smiled apologetically. He ignores your attempt, looking deep into your eyes and calling your name with such a raw expectation that if you weren’t already seated, you would’ve fell.

“Did you change your mind?” you hesitate for a second, and he sees right through you “Tell me you have. I know you want to, I can feel it.” His voice is quiet, his words so soft spoken it feels like a spell. Only you know that you do want to be with him, now that is all cleared. “Please, give me a chance to make things right.”

You chew on your bottom lip as your eyes fill with tears again “I feel stupid.” you admit, and he wants nothing more than to cry his eyes out.

“Don’t say that ever again.” he leans in hesitantly, and when you don’t flinch or pull back, he wipes the tears from your face with the pad of his thumb. The other hand is still holding yours firmly “You were protecting yourself, as you should’ve. Thank you.”

“What for?” you snort between tears, not understanding what he could possibly be thankful for in this situation.

“Thank you for protecting and taking such good care of someone I love so much. Especially when I was too damn blind to see that she needed it.”

After that, there was no point of dragging this any further: you were completely and undeniably his.

He didn’t see it coming, his body jerking in surprise when you literally jumped to his lap, hugging him tightly and burying your face on his neck, sobbing and muttering apologies on repeat. His lips were glued to the crown of your head, kissing you repeatedly. His hands were all over you, touching from your feet to the strands of your hair, as if his body needed to feel you there, to make sure you were with him, for his mind to completely wrap up around the fact that you weren’t going anywhere.

Ignoring your words, he whispered his own, “Don’t you ever apologize. I should be the one apologizing. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” and it’s the only moment his lips leave your skin “I’m sorry. I will never make you feel this way. If I ever hurt you like that again, and I won’t, I want you…”

“Don’t say it.” you cut him off. He ignores, once again.

“...to just shoot me in the face. Kill me.”

You chuckle weakly, lifting your head from his chest to face him properly “Dude, you gotta stop with the murder threats.” he arches his eyebrow at you, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk.

“Dude? Who do you think you’re talking to?” he asks, and his finger tickles your sides as the stubble on his beard tickles your neck. Your body jerks and twitches on top of his while you laugh loudly, but never moving away from his.

When he finally feels you learned your lessons, his hands rested comfortably around your waist in its rightful place. You sigh, looking at him.

“Promise me that you will always talk to me, and be honest about your feelings. No matter how ugly you think they are.”

“I promise.” you say as you wipe the wet off his face, and it’s just then that he realizes he’d been crying all along “Promise me that if your feelings for me change, you’ll communicate.” he rolls his eyes so hard it feels like they’ll hit the back of his head “Promise.” you insist.

“I promise.” he says, seriously. When you relax, he starts again. “Matter of fact, my feelings just changed.” you squint your eyes at his playful tone “A few minutes ago I wanted to stop by your place to get back the clothes you took. But now, I’ve decided you’ll be spending the rest of the weekend with nothing to wear but that shirt.” he says, leaning – without moving you away from his lap – to grab the piece of fabric he left on the center table.

“I have to get at least underwear.” you argue.

“If you behave, I’ll let you borrow a couple boxers.”

“Jack will see it.”

“He’s a kid. And they’re the exact same size of what you call your casual shorts so I doubt he’ll notice the difference.” he points seriously and you squeal, slapping his chest slightly.

“That’s rude. And humiliating.”

“That’s what you get for stealing.”

Your mouth hangs open for a second “I didn’t steal! I didn’t take anything from your house but my clothes.”

“This house is ours.” he stares at you deeply, waiting for his statement to sink in before continuing “So is everything in it. From the bedroom to the coffee pot and, therefore, your clothes. So, basically, you stole from us.” he shrugged, like he made a perfect point. You just laugh, choosing to accept it.

“I’m sorry for stealing.” he nodded politely and you dive back into his embrace, sighing happily “Can we stay like this forever?” Aaron tight his arms around you, his whole body answering before any words came out.

“I’ll think about it. But before that, we have to eat. You're probably on the verge of dehydration right now.” he points, standing up with you still in his arms, and makes his way toward the kitchen. He settles you in one of the stools and hands you your shirt “Go change while I make us breakfast. Now that I’ve learnt how to use the coffee pot.”

You gasp, widening your eyes in a mock-threat. Jumping out of the stool with your shirt already crumpled on your hands, you stomp your way to where he stands behind the stove, pointing your finger to his chest. “You can cook whatever you want, but don't you dare touch the coffee pot, Aaron Hotchner.”

Aaron does just as you said, beaming while frying the bacon even when you’re upstairs in his shower. Your shower. And both of you know, somehow, you’ll be okay.