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“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You watch with dread as the train inches to a stop several feet in front of you. It was already going horribly slow for the past 15 minutes, taking so long that Hotch even took his foot off the brake and put the car in park. There’s been a line of cars piling behind you, a median on your left, and a field that goes nowhere on your right, so it’s not like you could escape even if you wanted to.

The team was currently in a small college town in Texas investigating a string of murders happening on campus, leaving the entire population of less than 5,000 on edge. You and Hotch were on the way to question a professor that lived only a couple blocks away from the campus with an old rap sheet a mile long. You honestly hoped that he would be good for it so you guys could go the fuck home.

“Relax,” Hotch murmured, putting a comforting hand on your knee while he called the rest of the team at the station to let them know you two were going to be stuck for a while and to have another pair go out to the professor’s house.

You understand that Hotch was trying to help put you at ease since you’ve been cranky all day. Scratch that, you’ve been cranky the past 3 days. It’s not your fault that the BAU was called on your Saturday off, especially when you planned to spend that day off in bed with your boss.

It had taken a while for you and Hotch to get your act together after gradually crossing that professional boundary. The past 6 months consisted of late-night dinners in Hotch’s office, going to the park with him and Jack on the weekends, and mind-blowing orgasms on possibly every surface in Hotch’s apartment.

You’re not sure when the lines had started blurring for you. Maybe that one day you came into Hotch’s office for dinner after a particularly brutal case and ordered from your favorite Thai restaurant despite everything on their menu being too spicy for him. Or maybe it was when you saw the wide smile adorning his face when Jack scored the winning goal at a soccer game, making him look younger. Or maybe it was when he told you you looked beautiful while you were riding his cock in the darkness of his bedroom, his hands pressing bruises into your hips, and the moonlight strewing in from the curtains illuminating the awe in his eyes.

Only several weeks ago did Hotch properly ask you out to dinner and it’s like everything changed. Suddenly, the glances across the bullpen meant something different, something sweeter. Now, you can be affectionate without fearing Hotch wouldn’t reciprocate. Now, he’s touchier— touching the small of your back when he walks by, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear when you’re having dinner in his office, or pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before you fall asleep on his chest.

It's new and you’re still adjusting. However, it definitely hasn’t stopped the sex.

So, your Saturday plans with Hotch got ruined, that’s fine. It wasn’t like the team had just gotten back from a week-long case and you had barely tumbled into bed with Hotch when his phone rang. And you haven’t even had the chance for a quickie in the hotel, both of you too tired and passing out before even thinking of sneaking in each other’s rooms.

You’re cranky because you haven’t gotten laid in almost a week and you work with possibly the hottest man alive and today, he’s wearing one of your top 3 hottest outfits he’s ever worn.

Your third favorite outfit is his green button-up with the sleeves rolled up, often paired with black jeans. The first time you saw him pull that out for date night, hair perfectly gelled down and sleeves rolled up his wide forearms, you had missed your dinner reservations because you were too busy on your knees in the middle of the doorway. He just looked so good wearing dark green— the way it complemented his complexion, and even better when he wore those tight jeans that made your eyes bug out of your head.

Your second favorite outfit was more intimate—a faded GWU shirt that was starting to stretch over Hotch’s shoulders and gray sweatpants that definitely left little to the imagination. At times, this combination felt straight up pornographic, especially if Hotch was relaxing on the couch, legs spread with his arms stretched behind his head. It felt like a siren call, and you fell for it every single time.

But Hotch right now, not only wearing a plain black tee that stretched over his chest, but also his Kevlar vest, was your most favorite outfit of them all.

You didn’t know why it was your favorite. You see Hotch wearing his Kevlar vest almost twice a week, usually over a white dress shirt, and it doesn’t distract you as much as this specific combination does.

Maybe it’s because you’ve always been a sucker for Hotch’s arms, as you stare at the way he has them stretched out lazily with his wrists resting on the steering wheel, muscles bulging. Or maybe it’s the way the vest hugs him so tightly it makes him look even broader, makes him stand up straighter and appear more confident. Or maybe it’s because Hotch inevitably starts sweating not even 10 minutes after the vest is on due to the constricting material, making his chest heave and sweat form at his forehead. You wear your vest just as often as he does, and you know for a fact that you don’t look as insanely sexy he does.

“Are you okay?”

You blink, brain brought back to reality, feeling a rising heat to your face and down to your stomach. You bring your gaze up from where you were ogling his jean-clad thighs to Hotch staring down at you in amusement. “Yep, why wouldn’t I be? We’ve just been stuck behind this train for hours.”

Hotch cracks a smile at that. It makes your chest tighten. “It hasn’t even been 30 minutes, don’t be so dramatic.”

You lean over to swat at his arm playfully and definitely not an attempt to quickly cop a feel. “How dare you! I’m never dramatic.”

Hotch huffs a laugh at that, used to your antics by now. “Morgan and Reid are already on their way to the Thompson house so we may as well relax.”

Someone several cars down honks, causing Hotch to twist his upper body as best as he could in the vest to look back incredulously, as if they could see him through the tinted windows. You’re suddenly enraptured by the sharp cut of his jaw and the line of his throat. “People here have no patience,” he remarks.

An idea slowly forms in your mind. Not only is it in the middle of the night, but the county-issued SUV that you were in had tinted windows the same strength as the ones back home. No one at the police station was expecting you since they knew you were trapped behind the train and it’s not like you brought any files or your laptop to continue bouncing around ideas about the case.

You watch thoughtfully as Hotch shifts in his seat, adjusting the vest to sit a bit more comfortably. How could you resist?

“I have an idea,” you say, feigning nonchalance.

Hotch’s eyes flit to you, eyes narrowing because, like you said, he knows you by now. “And what idea is that?”

“I can suck you off?”

You watch in delight as Hotch’s eyebrows raise, a flush rising up his neck. He clears his throat, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel, before saying almost breathlessly “And what makes you think I’ll let you?”

You know you’ve already gotten him, that he’s already going to let you go down on him. He wouldn’t be shifting in his seat if he wasn’t. Any other day, he would’ve turned you down instantly, a reprimand telling you to at least pretend to be professional at the tip of his tongue. If you’re sexually frustrated, he must be at least ten times hornier since his libido has always been worse than yours.

“Well, our weekend plans got ruined and this is the first time we’ve been alone in over a week,” you sigh, leaning over the console as gracefully as you could with the vest weighing you down to put your hand on his, running your fingertips up his forearms. “And I miss you.”

A smile quirks at the corner of Hotch’s mouth. “We work together.”

You roll your eyes, letting your fingers trace the veins decorating his arms. God, he’s so hot. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Hotch says, softly, watching you with a gaze so fond that it makes you want to cry. “That doesn’t mean you need to suck my cock while we’re on the job.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. Hotch is only vulgar like that in the privacy of the bedroom, knowing how much it gets you off when he’s muttering in your ear about how good you take his cock. The contrast of his soft gaze and lewd words has you shifting in your seat now, thighs rubbing together at the sudden onslaught of heat between them. You’re really about to do this.

“You just look really good in that vest,” you whisper, feeling a twinge of embarrassment.

Hotch hums, leaning back in the seat and moving his hips down. His right arm comes up to stretch out and rest his hand behind your headrest, watching you with dark eyes, almost beckoning you. “So that’s what’s got you all hot and bothered.”

“Yes,” you exhale, already feeling that familiar glaze over your brain. You glance down curiously at his lap and your mouth waters when you see the outline of his half-hard dick through his jeans, undoubtedly uncomfortable because all of his jeans are unfairly tight. “Can I?”

“Come here first.” His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, an action that’s lately been making you weak in the knees. He’s been clingier lately, pressing his lips to any part of you he can take, and you know what he’s asking for, his neck craned and his eyes zeroing in on your mouth.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and nearly bang your knee against the console when you lean over more to kiss him, something tender and gentle despite the way you desperately want to clamber over to sit on his lap. He tastes like cheap coffee and something inexplicably Aaron, warm and soothing, that makes you part your lips to deepen the kiss. His mouth is so soft, yet he kisses you in a way that’s all consuming, heady. His hold on your jaw tightens before sliding down your neck, and the way it would be so easy for him to take a hold of you there makes you dizzy.

When you pull away, he’s watching you with that fond look that’s been making more of an appearance recently. “Now can I?”

There’s that smile with your favorite dimple again, barely detectable even from the dashboard lights and the flashing railroad stop signs. “Yes,” Aaron says, exasperatedly.

You situate yourself with your knees on your seat, your own vest digging into your chest when you lean down lower, so your face is nearly in his lap. He doesn’t even need to move his seat back, his long legs already making him sit ridiculously far from the wheel, leaving you with enough breathing room.

You press your palm against his cock over his jeans and you preen a little when you feel a click in his throat before he clears it. He unbuckles his seatbelt and scoots down in his seat a bit more, causing him to push his hips up against your hand. You try to wrap your fingers around him, marveling at the heat seeping through the fabric. He’s fully hard despite not having done anything except talk and kiss, signifying to you that he may just be as desperate as you are.

“You have to be quick,” Aaron mutters through gritted teeth. You can almost imagine his eyes flitting back and forth out the window, anticipating when the train was going to start moving again.

“Don’t rush me,” you say and get the reaction you’re hoping for when you feel Aaron’s large hand on the top of your head, pushing your face down into his lap until your mouth is inches away from the outline of his cock.

“You have such a mouth on you,” Aaron sighs, feigning the type of nonchalance that makes your cheeks heat. “Maybe you should put it to good use.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your hands swiftly unbutton his jeans and pull the zipper down, your mouth already watering. He helps you by lifting his hips up again and wiggling his jeans and briefs down until they’re mid-thigh, and then his hard cock is out, a pretty red with precum glistening at the tip. The way it looks against his vest, soft flesh contrasting against the rough material, has you licking your lips.

This has to be the best idea you’ve ever had.

Since Aaron was right about you possibly not having a lot of time, you forgo your usual teasing kitten licks for a broad stripe up his length and watch intently at the way the head of his cock brushes against his vest. Aaron jumps at the rough feeling against the sensitive head but lets out a low groan all the same. Something akin to glee fills you when you notice the wet patch his cock leaves on the blue fabric.

Aaron must notice because his hand is back on your head, putting pressure in a way that was hard to ignore. “You’re so filthy, practically begging me with those pretty eyes of yours to have my cock down your throat.”

You don’t answer, you know he’s not expecting one anyway. Instead, you grab his cock at the base, silently marveling at just how big he is in your hand, and lick another path up his cock before taking him fully in your mouth.

You always love sucking Aaron off— the weight of him on your tongue, the clean and musky taste of him, and the way he fills out your mouth and just feels so good in your hands. The best part is clearly the way he responds.

He groans deeply, a sound coming straight from within his chest, and you hear the thud from him throwing his head back against the headrest. You rest your free hand on his muscular thigh, marveling at the obvious way he’s attempting to hold himself back from immediately fucking into your mouth. He gives you a minute since it’s been a while, although you can feel the way his hand on your head clenches into a fist, patience already wearing thin.

You swirl your tongue around his head before taking more of him into your mouth, letting spit run down his length so you can stroke whatever you can’t fit in your mouth. You wish you had gotten a better look at his cock before doing this to marvel at the bulging veins, similar to his arms. Instead, you trace the vein on the underside of his cock with your tongue before coming back up to press against the head and coming up to flick your tongue against his leaking slit.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good, sweetheart.”

God, you wish you were able to see his face, the way he would be watching you with half-lidded eyes like he couldn’t decide whether to close them in pleasure or watch your lips stretch around him. He’d be biting at his lip, attempting to suppress his sounds because he’s still self-conscious about having his dick out in a government vehicle. He would have a crease between his brows, still trying to give you time to adjust and not giving in, and the flush on his neck would slowly rise up to his face.

But with the way you’re leaning with the console digging into you, your ass basically in the air, you can’t. As if Aaron read your mind, his right hand runs down your spine, leaving a hot trail in his wake, and down until he’s grabbing a handful of your ass. It’s so close to the aching heat of your pussy and your head spins when you start to wonder if he’s going to finger you like this or leave you wanting with wetness seeping through your pants.

The feeling of his hand on you and the way he inadvertently pushes you causes your mouth to slide another inch down his cock until your lips touch your fist. You moan, tightening your grip on his impossibly hard flesh, causing Aaron to let out another deep moan.

There’s another honk from behind the car and you suddenly remember that Aaron was right and you really don’t have a lot of time to waste.

So, you take a deep breath through your nostrils before you slide down until you could take as much of him as you could, spit starting to run out of the corners of your mouth, until he was hitting the back of your throat.

Aaron lets out a strangled sound, hips thrusting of his own accord. Luckily you were expecting it and you make sure to relax your jaw just a little bit more, slide down more until you move your hand away to settle on his thigh and your nose is pressed against neat curls. You focus on your heartbeat pounding in your ears and the feeling of his cock prodding at the back of your throat when you hold for two seconds and not the automatic way you want to gag before coming up to gasp in a breath. You barely hear the whisper of your name from Aaron’s lips before you’re taking him in his mouth again, easily due to how slick he is from your spit, until you’re deepthroating him.

“You always take my cock so well,” Aaron chokes out, his hands frantically coming to gather your hair in one hand before he barely pushes your head down and then back up. The hold he has on you isn’t rough, which you’re grateful for, but he still tugs you off his cock with a force that makes you dizzy. He makes you crane your neck at him, uncomfortably, but it’s worth it when you see the glazed look in his dark eyes and his parted lips as he pants in the air. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You know you’re panting just as hard, tears already starting to prickle at the corner of your eyes, and your mouth swollen. You know Aaron loves you like this, open-mouthed and silently begging. So, you can’t help yourself when you lick your lips, relishing in the way Aaron’s hungry gaze follows the movement, and say in a raspy voice “Yes, sir.”

You never would’ve guessed Aaron liked being called sir in the bedroom, though you secretly hoped, but you didn’t realize the full extent of it until you called him sir as a joke in his office and noticed the way his back stiffened and his breath stuttered. After that, you always got a kick out of teasing him, just to see what he had in store for you when you got home.

You know exactly what he has in store for you now, in fact you had planned it. Your skin prickles as Aaron’s eyes narrow and the line of his mouth flattens. His chest is heaving as he tries to catch his breath and you watch the way the vest moves with him, shirt underneath stretching across him. He doesn’t say anything as he pushes you down, gentle enough so you know you could always back out if you wanted to.

You ignore the sore twinge in your neck as you wrap your lips around him again, closing your eyes to focus on covering your teeth, leaving one hand on his thigh in case you need to tap out and the other bent at the elbow to lean on the plush upholstery. You hear Aaron sigh blissfully when his cock slides back into your mouth, a hand gathering your hair again in a vice like grip, like he’s been thinking about this all week.

The way Aaron starts to fuck your mouth, you think you may be right. The thought of holding back seems to have been thrown out the window based on the noises he makes; guttural and heavy groans and whispered praises. Seeing his hips come off from the seat and into the warm wetness of your mouth and the easy glide of his cock between your lips is intoxicating, especially when added with the fact that you’re letting him.

The ache between your legs is almost overwhelming, pulsing with every thrust of Aaron’s hips against your face, and you wouldn’t be surprised if your panties were absolutely ruined by now from your arousal.

The sound of him fucking your mouth is obscene, lewd as the car is filled with the sounds of him hitting the back of your throat and his breathless pants. You let him take over and you watch with tears brimming at your eyes as his hips barely need to lift off the seat since he’s focusing all of his attention pulling you on and off his cock by your hair. The feeling of his cock thrusting in your mouth, of him using you to get himself off quickly is heady and so fucking hot.

You know he’s close when he starts to speed up, hips bucking into your open mouth frantically. You feel him start to pull you off of him in a silent question of where do you want me and the thought of him coming down your throat, hot and desperate, has your eyes rolling in the back of your head. The next time he thrusts into your mouth, you hold him there, the spot in the back of your throat deliciously raw.

“Jesus Christ,” you hear Aaron mutter through the blood rushing in your ears. “You want me to come in your mouth, sweetheart? So no one knows you were letting me fuck your mouth?”

You whimper, a muffled sound from your lips stretched around his cock, causing Aaron’s hips to stutter again. You pull off of him but you don’t move far, instead just barely hovering over the head, panting with your mouth open and tongue out, the message clear as day. You watch as Aaron’s free hand comes down to quickly jerk himself off.  

“Fuck, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Everyone knowing how good you are for me?”

God, you really wish you could see his face, but to make up for it, you move to press your tongue against him as best as you could while his hand is a blur on his cock. You’re barely able to tongue the slit, the salty taste of his precum cutting through, when you hear the roaring of an engine and a train horn.

You realize the train’s finally moving, which means now you’re really running out of time.

You squeeze his thigh, not trusting your ability to speak, and Aaron wordlessly brings you down so you could further wrap your lips around the head of his cock, flicking your tongue against him, his hand continuing to bring himself off. The way his large hand envelops his thick cock, slick from your spit and squelching lewdly, has you pressing your thighs together in an effort to press the inseam of your pants against your clit, because the blur of his hand and his rhythmic grunts were so filthy.  

It didn’t take long for Aaron’s raspy exhales to turn into a stuttered groan, his muscled thigh underneath your hand tensing, and his hips to snap up once, twice, before his come is shooting into your mouth in hot spurts. The bitter taste coats your tongue, your throat, and you swallow before you can think of it. You hollow your cheeks, taking more of him in your mouth and press your tongue against the slit to gather whatever is left despite the hiss you faintly hear, Aaron undoubtedly sensitive.

You lift up off him, using his leg as leverage, and ignore the soreness in your abdomen from the console pressing against your vest while you sucked your boss’s cock in a government issued vehicle. The ache between your thighs is nearly overwhelming, your panties melding against your pussy from how wet you were, and you secretly wished Aaron used his thick fingers to give you some relief while you went down on him.

The train just barely passes by you before the red lights stop flashing and the barriers come up, causing Aaron to hurriedly tuck himself back in his jeans and put the car back in drive. You’re just barely buckling your seatbelt in before you’re speeding off, the glaring lights from the cars behind you now a distant memory.

“You okay?” you ask after you’ve been driving in silence for nearly 5 minutes. You glance over at Aaron to see him almost done catching his breath, however his chest is still rising and falling deliciously so, especially still in that fucking vest. His jeans are still undone and you bite your lip when you notice a dried spot near the zipper where some of him must have escaped from the corner of your mouth. Oops.

Aaron shakes his head, ducking his head to chuckle breathlessly. He’s so endearingly handsome. “Never been more okay in my life.” And then he’s placing his hand on your thigh, fingertips so close to where you need him most, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

At the next stoplight, Aaron finally does his jeans back up and then twists his body towards you. His eyes are still dark, bottom lip raw from where he must have been biting it, and then says to you again in a low voice “Come here.”

You obey, because how could you not, and then Aaron’s hand that was on your thigh is cradling your jaw to meet you halfway and kiss you, deeply. It’s a different kiss than the one he gave you earlier, more intense as his tongue slides against yours. He groans at the taste of himself in your mouth and you swear you fall a little more in love with him.

When he pulls back, he’s looking at you like you’re something precious, despite the fact that your hair must be a rat’s nest from his hands and your lips are swollen and chapped. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, something sweet twitching at the corner of his mouth. “You think you can wait until we get back to the hotel?”

You fail to hide your surprise because Aaron rarely wants to spend the night together on cases, which technically explains how you got here in the first place, the taste of come still at the back of your mouth and your panties sticking to you. He must really want to fuck you. You run your eyes over him, at the red light sharpening his features and his dimple just barely visible. You imagine him looming over you and holding onto the straps adorning his sides as he fucks mercilessly into you. “As long as you keep the vest on.”

The smile on Aaron’s face is blinding, causing your heart to stutter in your chest. You’re so screwed.

“Your ties have arrived,” your voice sounds through the speaker. He can picture the way you’re balancing your phone between your ear and shoulder, a box full of ties in your hands as you make your way to your bedroom.

“I faked your signature if that’s alright.”

He chuckled at that.

“That’s alright, thank you. You can leave them on the bed; I’ll be home tonight.”

An excited squeal followed, “Thank God, it’s been too long.”

He agreed with your statement, then asked you how you were, but you didn’t answer. Instead he heard some faint shuffling in the background. 

“What are you doing?”

“Putting on this tie, the silk navy one,” you answered.

A memory flashed through his mind: how he was lying down on the couch, your figure seated between his legs, head resting on his chest as you had his laptop placed on top of your lap. You were looking through several websites, finding new ties to order. Your eye had immediately landed on a silk navy one, tracing the fabric with your finger over the screen.

“You know what else this tie will be perfect for?” You had purred to him, resulting in him groaning as he hid his face in the crook of your neck, showering you in kisses and bites.

It was a common bedroom activity you like to participate in: using ties. The two of you made a creative team, finding ways to use his ties as handcuffs, as blindfolds, and even as chokers. And what material could be better than soft silk?

“Check your text messages. You can stay on the call,” you instruct him, bringing him back to reality.

Maybe he should’ve thought his next action more through. Maybe he should’ve told you No, I’ll check it when I have the time. When I’m not standing in the corner of a busy police station. But he didn’t. Simply because it was you who asked. 

He exited the call to go to his messages, for a second afraid he had hung up on you, but then he heard your voice again. “Go on.”

To say that you had knocked the breath out of his lungs was an understatement. There, opened on his phone in full screen, was a picture of you. You were standing in front of the mirror, only your upper body showing. Completely bare, besides… his tie.

The navy blue tie decorated your neck, tied perfectly due to the many times you’ve helped him. Aaron looked up for just a second, seeing his colleagues and police busy themselves in chatter, not focused on him. Still, he turned around, shielding himself as he held his phone in a tight grip, like he held the most valuable possession known to man in his hands. 

He swallowed when he took another glance at the picture. Cock swelling as he took in your hardened peaks, the soft curve of your breasts, the way the silk fell down in between them.

“Earth to Aaron,” you spoke after not having heard a sound besides his heavy breathing for the last minute.

“I have to go.”

Call ended.

-`♡´-

Maybe you’ve gone too far. You sit on the edge of your shared bed, letting out a disappointed sigh as you play with the tie around your neck. Worst case scenario he gets home tonight and will punish you. 

The idea sends an excited jolt to your core. But instead, not even a couple of minutes later, you receive a text message from Aaron.

With scrunched eyebrows you open the app, seeing the loading screen of a video. You can vaguely make out some colors: mainly white, and a warm beige color reminiscent of his skin. Then you take in the text that’s attached to it: Had to go to the bathroom while I’m supposed to give a profile in five. Don’t do that again.

Before you could question his message further, the video pops up in HD, fully loaded. You click on the play button.

The white turned out to be a toilet, making sense with his bathroom text. The beige turns out to be his hand, and as the video starts playing, you connect the dots.

Aaron groans, palming the obvious bulge in his pants that’s visible now that he’s adjusted the camera. Your heart stammers as he unzips himself, hands so skilled that holding his phone in the other hand doesn’t slow him down. His slacks fall to his knees, and his thick cock jumps up with a slap against his button-up.

Your throat turns dry as he grips himself in his fist, wrist flicking in slow circles as he moves his hand up and down his length. It felt so intimate to see. He didn’t speak to you, needing to be quiet. He didn’t acknowledge that the video was for you, even though you knew it was. It truly felt like catching him in a private moment of pleasure.

Precum spilled out of his length, and he caught all of it with his thumb, coating the slick around the head in the same way he usually covered your lips before pressing the rest of his thumb into your mouth. You moaned at the sight, and it seemed like Aaron had the same mental image in mind, groaning as he fisted himself harder. 

You held in your breath and turned the volume of your phone up to the max, wanting to catch every sigh and whimper that escaped his lips. He fucked his hand; wet sounds of his fist making contact with his stomach filled the room. He couldn’t lessen those sounds, not if he wanted to keep up this pace, and by the way his breathing was getting heavier, he did not want to slow down.

“Honey,” he groaned, and your cheeks heated. He was thinking of you. 

His hand moved faster, at a speed you weren’t sure you could recreate: up and down, up and down. You’re wondering what he’s picturing, if he’s imagining you on your knees in front of him, tits on display like they were in the picture, tie around your neck as you’re sticking your tongue out, begging for his release.

He moaned your name, and again, and again, until his cock twitched. White, hot ropes of his release spilling out. Some of the droplets are falling into the toilet, like he had intended, but having built up his release for days not being with you and not having had the time to get himself off, he’s adorning his hand, the seat, and even the floor. 

“Shit,” he mutters, catching up after his mind is getting clear.

Then the video ends.

Thanks for the show. Don’t forget to ask Reid for some cleaning wipes ;) You text him, stifling a giggle, enjoying getting a reaction out of him. 

The video replayed in your mind, and you bit your lip. Your legs were crossed, subconsciously trying to alleviate some of the building pressure, not able to wait to get off to that video later on.

Like the devil had heard you, you received a text back.

The sight of Hotch walking towards you on the tarmac is nothing short of a sight for sore eyes. You’d spent the last several months clinging to any form of communication from him whilst you wore his t-shirts to bed at night and sprayed his cologne on the pillows.

It was hard, harder than you’d thought it would be. Time spent away from one another wasn’t something uncommon considering Hotch’s line of work but this last stint in Pakistan was the longest the two of you have been apart.

So, there’s a justifiable reason why you immediately launch yourself towards him before he can even drop his bags. Your dress flows in the wind as you quite frankly tackle Aaron, your legs in the air as your arms wrap around his neck.

It’s then that you notice it. He’s grown a beard. Aaron had never held a particular preference for his own facial hair. He chose to keep himself clean shaven because he believed he made him look more professional but there were days where he’d be off work and too lazy to shave and there was nothing that had you drooling faster than Aaron with some stubble over his face.

He’d complained once that he looked like a lumberjack and wasn’t too amused to find you practically salivating over the sentiment. Safe to say, Hotch with facial hair was an uncommon occurrence in your house.

One you’re immensely fond of right now, you’re not sure you’d ever let him leave the house if he kept this beard up every day.

“Why hello there handsome,” you murmur, hand cupping one of his cheeks as you brush softly against his beard.

Hotch rolls his eyes, looking at you in fond amusement with his sunglasses pushed into his hair, “No ‘hello’ kiss for your boyfriend after not seeing him for a couple of months? You just wanna drool over my beard?” he spoke mockingly.

You bite your lip to hide your smile, eyes drifting from his beard to his face where he watches you with an adoring smile. You feel yourself become shy, not uncommon for you but simultaneously a sign that you and Aaron have been apart for a while.

Aaron’s eyes soften and he takes pity on you, slipping forward to meet you with a kiss. “O-oh.” You murmur, slipping into the kiss as a fuzzy feeling starts to creep through your brain, the only thoughts are that of Aaron’s muscular arms around you and the feeling of his beard tickling your face and neck slightly.

You whimper slightly as you draw back, eyes fluttering as you bring yourself out of the haze. Hotch’s expression is dark and predatory. He looks like he wants to devour you.

“W-we should uh—we should go home,” you stutter out, aware that you’re still on a very public tarmac and unwilling to give anyone more of a scene than you already have. Hotch seemingly decides it’s a good idea because without further ado, he places you back onto the floor, grabbing his bag with one hand and your hand with another as you both make your way inside.

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You’ve barely made it into the house before Aaron corners you. You’re dropping your keys onto the table when he comes up behind you and traps you between the counter and his body.

“Missed you sweet girl,” Aaron purrs softly, his voice tickling your ears as he pushes flush against you. The rough material of his tactical outfit brushes against your thighs and arms yet doesn’t hide the hard outline of his cock.

“A-Aaron” you mewl half-heartedly, pushing back into his erection. Your pussy clenches around nothing, slick starting to dampen your underwear. Your skin feels tight and buzzy, like you just can’t settle.

“That’s not my name baby,” Aaron coos, hand drifting down the front of your dress to cup your pussy over your clothes. A choked gasp escapes your mouth as you grind into his palm.

“What? I don’t—” you gasp, throwing your head back into Aaron’s chest as his fingers trace the covered folds of your pussy. Your legs slip further apart without warning.

“C’mon baby, you’re a smart girl—you know what I wanna hear.” Aaron murmurs, thumb now rubbing circles onto your clit, the fabric of your underwear brushing sweetly against your clit.

Your brain is floaty and quiet as you mewl as Aaron swirls his fingers on your clit. You feel so empty, you just want him to slip a finger inside of you—feel his cock stretching you out and filling you so completely.

“I—please-mm—please please need you—inside please” you beg, legs shaking as Aaron presses one of his fingers against the damp spot on your panty.

“Just gotta say the word sweetheart and I’ll give this tight little pussy what she wants.” Aaron croons mockingly, his tone is amused and slightly mean.

Tears prick your eyes in frustration as you feel your peak start to die down, the stimulation isn’t enough, you need more.

“Daddy” you cry desperately, mind mushy as you claw at Aaron’s biceps.

“Good girl,” Aaron groans and you feel his erection twitch against you. You moan sweetly, head rolling back to bite on Aaron’s bicep—leaving a soft indent in place as you continue to plead with him to stuff you full.

“Shh angel, Daddy’s here—Daddy’s gonna give you what you need.” His voice sounds as wrecked as you feel, eyes unfocused as you hear Aaron’s zipper drop down.

The heat of his erection burns through your skin, and you push back against him, “please-inside I-I need daddy please”

Aaron huffs a laugh behind you, lifting up your dress with one hand and tapping your hip to signal you to pull your underwear off. You do so immediately and the cool air brushing against your wet folds make you shiver.

“Oh honey,” Aaron coos condescendingly, “Your cunt’s practically dripping angel, you need Daddy that badly?”

You’re nodding as the sounds muffle around you, all you can hear is the sound of you repeating “yesyesyesyesyes” over and over.

Aaron uses his hand to drag his cock against your folds, covering it in your slick. The first touch of his cock against your hole has you gasping and whining as you head falls forward, “nng—Daddy please, put it in.” you plead.

Hotch’s arm wraps around your waist, dragging you back towards him as he lines up his cock. His tip barely breaches your hole before you’re gasping for air and squirming in his hold trying to thrust yourself back into him.

“Shh, shh baby-Daddy’s got you, settle down—don’t wanna hurt you.”

You slump in his hold and let him thrust forward achingly slow, you feel every inch drag across your insides as his cock fills you pussy.

“fuck fuck-” you mewl as his tip hits your cervix, your pussy leaks around him like a faucet adding to the slick glide of his cock as he thrusts in small intervals to get you used to his cock after being gone for so long.

“thaaat’s it baby—good girl.” He groans as he bottoms out as he tightens his arm around you, his forehead falls to your nape as he breathes in deeply, It’s been a while since he’s felt the soft, hot and tight fucking clench of your cunt around him and he’s gonna take a few seconds if he doesn’t wanna blow his load like a goddamn teenager.

He starts with slow thrusts into your velvet folds, the slick sounds of your wetness gushes around the both of you as your pussy drools around him. You’re a perfect fucked out mess, eyes half-lidded and mouth open as you make little punched out sounds every time Aaron thrusts forward.

“Fuck-you’re so tight-Daddy forgot how needy this little pussy can be, I’m not gonna last—ha, need you to cum soon” Aaron grunts, placing scattered kisses down your neck before biting softly into your shoulder.

You squeal as the pain mixes with the pleasure, aiding the dizzying headrush you already feel. Your hand sneaks from the table counter to your clit to swirl your fingers around the bundle of nerves.

The feeling is so intense with Aaron’s cock hitting your g-spot that you immediately feel your high approaching, clenching down tightly onto Aaron’s cock—forcing him to stutter in his thrusts as he muffles a pained groan into your shoulder.

“close—m’close, Daddy need-” your thoughts are a jumbled mess but Hotch seems to know exactly what you need, slapping your hand away from your clit as his own rough fingers replace your own.

His pace picks up, he thrusts deeper and harder into you which punches the air out of your lungs. You’re reduced to punching out all ‘uh uh uh’ sounds as Aaron practically rearranges your insides.

“Daddy’s gonna cum baby—gonna fill you up nice and full huh?” Aaron growls, eyes clenched tightly shut as he feels his balls draw up, the telltale sign he’s about to burst.

“Cum in me daddy-fill me—want you to breed me please.” You whine out, squirming at the force of Aaron’s thrusts as you feel his cock twitch inside you which makes you clench again harshly drawing out a punched out sound from Aaron.

“Gonna give you a baby honey-fuck you take me so good—Daddy’s gonna breed you.” He’s as good as gone, lost to his own personal damnation that’s the heaven between your thighs.

You can’t remember using one since you left college, especially not since you got into a relationship with Aaron. No need for loud, vibrating plastic when your boyfriend came with its own attached toy. A very good and effective one, at that. 

He gave you the gift at the restaurant where you’d had your first date with him, the location you’d return to every following anniversary or special occasion. The black box with the ruby-colored bow could have contained anything, and when you worked your manicured nails on untying it, it had cost you several seconds to realize that the hot pink silicone egg in front of you was a sex toy. A remote control vibrator, Aaron had explained to you later, pulling his phone from beneath the table to show you the matching app that was already on display.

You weren’t to blame for the sudden loss of words you were in. What were you expected to do now? Lift your dress, here, in this soft jazz, candlelit, Michelin star restaurant filled with sophisticated guests, and let your boyfriend control your just inserted vibrator like it was as normal as taking a bite out of a medium-rare steak? Were you supposed to act like the moans that slipped softly past your lips were as appropriate as humming after having a sip of Merlot?

It seemed like Aaron had seen the panic in your eyes, because he placed his warm palm onto your bare thigh, giving the skin a light squeeze that soothed instantly. He leaned in, bottom lip brushing against the shell of your ear, a shudder running through you. 

“Why don’t you go to the bathroom?”

His voice came in a low, whispered command, causing your stomach to flip. Your cheeks heated at the prospect that was right in front of you. You liked a little suspense, sure, but if it weren’t for Aaron having teased you the entire car ride over here, you don’t think you would’ve acted the way you did: jumping up on (already) shaky knees and taking quick strides to the bathroom, the toy hidden in a napkin in your purse. 

Usually, you found it embarrassing to see the sight of the dark, wet stain that always seemed to bloom on your underwear when you were around Aaron. Right now, you were grateful for it, as the toy smoothly entered you. Fitting just right. 

You hadn’t even pulled your dress back down when the toy started to buzz — a soft, pleasant hum tickling you. 

Aaron’s eyes found yours when you walked back to your shared table, sharply holding your gaze when you sat down beside him in the leather booth. You nodded subtly, letting him know that the toy was working, that there was now a teasing warmth pooling low in your stomach, making you want to squeeze your thighs together for more relief. The corner of his mouth twitched up in approval.

You took a peek at the phone in his hands. The screen showed an empty graph with a horizontal line, slightly lifted. Then he moved his fingertip, tracing a sharp, vertical line upward. To anyone watching, it looked like nothing more than a casual absent-minded swipe on his phone. But you? You knew exactly what that small movement meant when the toy inside of you started to pulse harder, knocking a sharp breath out of you.

Without a word, he pushed the line higher, drawing a half-cut bridge on the screen. The vibration reached a new peak, and you had to hold yourself back from making a sound. The toy was angled perfectly against your g-spot, pulsing against it as it simultaneously brushed the slick, sensitive walls of your pussy. The pleasure was almost enough to make you forget the situation you were in, the room around you dimming to an insignificant haze.  

Aaron placed his hand back on your thigh, thumbing lazy circles and reminding you that — even though he controlled it through an app — it was still him and his presence that was making you feel this good. 

“Why don’t you take a bite? We don’t want your food to get cold now, do we?”

You composed yourself. Tried to keep your face as expressionless as possible. Even succeeding in taking some bites before he lifted his finger again. The rhythm fastened, and you almost bit down on the silver of your fork,  instead letting it drop to the ground with a clatter.

“Focus,” Aaron whispered sharply into your ear. “You’re making a scene.”

“I’m trying!” You hiss back, the words having barely left your mouth when you clamped your teeth down on your bottom lip as another wave of pleasure rolled through you.

Polite smiles were exchanged with the waiter handing over new cutlery. The second he turned, though, you let out a moan. Shame seemed to have left you, your mind only filled with need as you rolled your hips instinctively, chasing that blissful sensation.

A chuckle sounded from beside you. “If you need me to turn it up, all you have to do is tell me.”

A dangerous proposal, but one you were glad to have accepted when the ache in your core was being washed away by a steadier, more insistent humming. Your whimpers were muffled by the palm of your hand, eyes fluttering shut as the edges of your vision began to blur. Your mind was filled with the image of Aaron. You felt him everywhere, although his presence just existed out of the warmth of his body next to you and his touch on your leg.

His fingertips dug into the flesh of your thigh, a signal for you to open your eyes. When you did, they landed on the thick outline of his cock as it strained against his dress pants. 

He hadn’t even touched his phone, but the sight alone — of how hard he could get by watching you squirm in your seat — caused your orgasm to approach you in a rushing tide. Your thighs started to tremble, your chest heaved up and down, your breaths got shorter and quicker, moans pushed against your closed lips, the toy thrummed relentlessly as it curled against your g-spot, your walls fluttered around it, every nerve in your body seemed to be electrified, and then…

It all stopped.

The image resembling a raging heartbeat on Aaron’s screen had reached cardiac arrest. The peak that was once so high, and made you feel so high has now disappeared to a flat line. The pleasure was stolen from you.

“Don’t even think about it,” Aaron warned you in controlled discipline, seeing the fire ignite in your teary eyes and knowing you were on the verge of cursing him out in front of everyone. 

“I’ll tell you when to come. The rules haven’t changed.”

“Fuck you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Is that the way you ask for something you want?”

You rolled your eyes, so badly wanting to refuse giving him the satisfaction of pleading — but your body betrayed you. Still desperate for that high you were about to reach.

“Please, Aaron? Please… Can you let me cum?”

“Please,” you begged again, your voice an unstable whimper. You took his hand from your thigh and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I’m so wet, Aaron. It’s all for you. Let me cum for you, please.”

And just like that, he let you. 

The toy surged back alive and set your body on fire, making you want to scream out. But you behaved, biting back all your cries as your toes curled in your heels and your cunt clenched tightly down on the toy.

Gradually, the vibrations died down, a wave ebbing away. Tears were prickling your lashes, but your body was fully at ease, a relaxed warmth settling over you. 

Your knuckle made contact with the door, knocking three times as you waited. When there was no immediate response, you quietly creaked the door open.

The sight of him behind the desk was familiar. His shoulders were hunched and his brows furrowed in concentration, as he scanned the endless stacks of paperwork that seemed to breed faster than he could handle them.

"Hey," you greeted softly, offering a small smile as you stepped into the room.

Hotch looked up from the pile in front of him, his gaze flicking from the documents to you. There was a slight exhaustion behind his eyes that he didn’t try to mask.

"Hey.” His eyes dropped to his wristwatch for just a moment, his lips curling into a subtle frown. "It’s late. Why haven’t you gone home yet?"

You waved off his concern. "I’m about to. Had to send a few more emails for the lab reports."

He nodded, but didn’t immediately return to his work. Instead, he watched you with that signature intensity of his, silently observing you.

"I- uh, I wanted to ask you something.” You hesitated for a moment as you moved further into the room, the door gently clicking shut behind you.

His brows rose slightly, an almost imperceptible shift of interest in his posture. "Go on."

You cleared your throat, your hands instinctively clasping behind your back. "You’ve been working a lot of late nights."

“That’s not a question.” He stated in an amused tone.

A small smile played on your lips. "I know, but it’s a… concern," you said. "And I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help you out."

He looked at you, his expression unreadable. His hands folded neatly in his lap, and he leaned back in his chair. It was hard to tell whether he was considering your offer or mentally debating the logistics of it.

"You want to help me out?" he asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

“Yes.”

Aaron grabbed a stack of papers, knocking them into a neat pile on his desk, then looked back at you. "So, this is something you’re interested in?" His tone was laced with amusement as he nodded down at the amount of paperwork in his hands.

You winced at the sight of it. "Uh... not exactly," you said, trying to keep your tone light. "I was thinking more along the lines of taking care of Jack," you added, raising your voice slightly on the last part, unsure of how he’d react to your suggestion.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Taking care of Jack?"

"Yeah.” You met his gaze, trying to sound confident despite the uncertainty creeping in. "Just on the days we don’t have a case. I could go to your place and stay with him until you get home."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "You know Jessica’s there," he said, referring to his ex-sister-in-law who had taken on the role of taking care of Jack when he had to work.

“Don’t you think she deserves a break every once in a while?”

His expression shifted, becoming slightly defensive. "She offered to take care of him.”

"I know," you responded quickly, knowing he’d never force her into it. "But I’m offering too. I babysat all through university, I know what I’m doing."

He gave you a tight-lipped smile, his eyes flicking back to the papers in front of him. "That’s not necessary, but thank you," he said, his tone closing the conversation.

You weren’t ready to let it go yet. You stepped closer to his desk, hoping to draw his attention back. "Please? I want to help you."

He didn’t look up. "I don’t need any help," he stubbornly replied, his eyes still glued to the paperwork.

“Then let me put it this way,” you pressed on. "I want to help the team, because no offense, your stress is affecting all of us. And on top of that, I want to help Jack."

He glanced up at you, the wheels in his mind turning, and you showed him your best puppy eyes.

"Did you learn that from Reid?" he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Is it working?" you grinned back.

He chuckled breathlessly. "Alright, fine. One night. Let’s see how it goes."

You fought back a victorious grin. “Good. Just you wait, Hotchner. Once you see how great I am with kids, you’ll never let me go."

—

A week later, Hotch took you up on your offer. Jessica had a wedding to attend, and you’d agreed to look after Jack for the evening.

Though you’d spent plenty of time with Jack when he visited his dad at the office or at events outside of work, Hotch insisted on driving you to his place for a proper handoff.

He held the door open for you as you entered his apartment. You were immediately greeted by Jessica, dressed in a stunning outfit with a purse ready in hand.

"I’m late, I’m late!" she panicked, almost running as she headed for the door. But when she saw you, her demeanor softened.

“There’s my saving grace,” she said with a relieved smile. “Thank you so much for doing this.”

You waved her off with a grin. “It’s my pleasure. You look amazing, go have fun.”

She offered a final smile, then said her goodbyes to Hotch before quickly heading out.

“Hi, Dad!” Jack’s voice rang out as he bounced into the living room, his excitement palpable. You smiled, watching the little boy as he ran toward his father.

“Hey, buddy.” Hotch lifted him into his arms with a small groan. “You’re getting bigger every day.”

Your heart warmed at the exchange. Hotch was a completely different man when he was at home—more relaxed, more playful, the kind of father who carefully kept work and family separate.

He put Jack down, introducing you to him.

“I know who she is, Dad. We colored together. She’s really good at drawing Spider-Man.”

Hotch raised an intrigued eyebrow at you.

"I have more hidden talents than you know,” you playfully shrugged.

You turned to Jack, crouching down to his level. "Want to grab the crayons? We can make some more drawings."

Jack’s eyes lit up, and without hesitation, he scampered off in search of his favorite colors, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll find the red one!”

You chuckled at his enthusiasm and straightened up, turning back to Hotch. “You’ve got a sweet kid,”

Hotch’s eyes followed Jack as he rummaged through the drawer. There was pride in the way he looked at his son, but you could see the hint of anxiety that always seemed to lurk beneath the surface when it came to Jack.

You placed a reassuring hand on his arm, giving him a small, comforting squeeze. “He’s in good hands, Hotch. You don’t have to worry.”

He met your eyes, and for a brief moment, the weight of his responsibilities seemed to lift. His gaze softened with unspoken gratitude. “I trust you,” he spoke sincerely.

“Good.” You gave him a small smile and gave his bicep a final, reassuring pat. “Now get some work done. You might be able to make it in time for dinner.”

With a final glance at Jack, he turned to leave. The door clicked softly behind him, and you were left on your own with the mini version of him, who was already showing off his new crayons.

—

That evening marked the first of many. When you weren’t out on a case, you found yourself naturally heading to Hotch's after work—sometimes taking over from Jessica for the day or picking up Jack from school yourself. You often stayed well into the evening, even after Hotch came home, enjoying dinner together, playing games, or simply talking. There were even times where you stayed the night, sharing a quiet drink after putting Jack to bed. He’d insist you sleep in his bed while he took the couch. In the mornings, the three of you would share breakfast, with Hotch always ensuring the fridge was stocked with your favorite foods and knowing exactly how you liked your eggs.

You knew your colleagues would lose their minds if they’d ever find out, but for you, it never felt strange. It felt right. Comfortable. And whenever you were back on the field, you’d slip back into your professional roles—the accidental first-name slips the only sign of the bond you shared.

Being at their place made you realize how much your work had tangled itself into every aspect of your life. You’d moved away from family, struggled to maintain a personal life, and watched every attempt at dating falter because of your job. Despite how fulfilling your work at the BAU was, you’d forgotten just how deeply you craved a sense of belonging—a place where you were appreciated for more than just your professional skills or your ability to handle a weapon. Around Aaron and Jack, you could simply let go and be yourself.

Today was another day at the Hotchner house. You had spent the entire afternoon with Jack playing soccer in a nearby park until he was utterly exhausted, you practically had to drag him home. This time you didn’t mind though. Today has been a painful reminder of how single you were. The park had been filled with happy couples—some picnicking, some feeding the ducks, and others nervously sharing their first kiss.

You were grateful for how Aaron had allowed you to wiggle your way into his little family on days like these, but still it wasn’t yours. You still longed for one to call your own one day.

So, here you were—alone on the couch, watching a rom-com wishing you were starring in it, and finding comfort in the warmth of his house and the glass of wine in your hand.

You were so absorbed in the movie that you didn’t notice the door unlocking until Hotch stepped inside.

“Hey,” you greeted, reaching for the remote to pause the film.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he said, putting down his bag and hanging up his jacket. He loosened his tie and walked over to the couch, settling on the opposite end.

“Sorry, I opened a new bottle of wine”

He waved it off. “I’m glad that you did. It would’ve just collected dust on the shelf.”

You take another sip. “It’s a good one. Rossi’s?”

“You know it,” he replied with a soft smile, getting comfortable in the cushions as you put the movie back on.

The screen flickered with a romantic scene: a couple dancing in the rain, the male lead spinning the woman around in circles as they laughed.

“I miss that,” you murmured, a wistful smile tugging at your lips as you watched them.

Hotch glanced at you, a smirk forming. “It’s raining outside. Be my guest.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully dismissing the comment. “That’s not what I meant. Just look, Aaron,” you pointed at the TV, where the couple gazed at each other lovingly, before he pulled her in for a passionate kiss. “I don’t remember the last time someone looked at me like that.”

“Sometimes, I feel so desperate that I think about saying yes to the first guy who comes along, just to feel wanted again.”

Hotch straightened, concern flickering in his eyes. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“I know, Dad,” you teased, trying to ease the tension. “I’m unfortunately fully aware of the creeps out there.”

“On top of that, I’m not even sure anyone would take me up on it,” you added with a breathless laugh, your voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. “I haven’t exactly gotten much attention since joining the team. Maybe I’m not considered attractive anymore.”

“People can tell you know how to handle yourself,” he profiled. “Some find that intimidating. But you’re just as attractive—if not more so—than before you joined the team.”

You almost spilled your wine at his confession, the sudden heat in your cheeks betraying the flutter in your stomach.

“You don’t have to say that,” you mumbled, not wanting him to feel pity for you.

“Am I lying?” he asked, his voice steady. You met his gaze—his posture was open, his shoulders relaxed, and his eye contact was unwavering. It was textbook honesty.

“No,” you admitted quietly, feeling the truth of his words sink in.

“I don’t think you need some stranger or a serious relationship to get what you’re after.”

You blinked, not sure if you’d heard him right. “No?”

Hotch leaned in just a little, his voice lower now. “I think we could give each other what we need... without it being complicated.”

Your heart skipped, and you tried to process what he was suggesting. Your mind raced, the words hanging in the air between you.

“Are you suggesting a no-strings-attached relationship with me?”

He gave a small, wry smile. “I’m trying to be subtle about it, but it’s not going so well.”

You laughed, caught off guard, trying to mask your surprise as you saw the seriousness in his expression.

“How will this work?”

The corners of his lips lifted as you acknowledged thinking this through. “We would just… enjoy ourselves. Just when we’re here. Just when it’s the two of us.”

Enjoying yourself with Aaron Hotchner definitely wasn’t how you’d imagined this night going.

You stayed quiet, thinking it over. After a moment you slowly nodded your head. “Okay.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, waiting for confirmation.

“Yes. I am,” you responded, the words coming easier now.

You licked your lips nervously as he moved closer to you. His cologne enveloped you, making your pulse quicken.

As he continued gazing into your eyes, you decided it was your turn to make the next move. Carefully, you reached up to cup his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of his stubble against the palm of your hand. A small prayer passed through your mind, hoping you wouldn’t regret your next decision.

Then you kissed him.

The moment his lips met yours, the cliché of “fireworks” suddenly made sense—the feeling was intense, electric, a rush that left you breathless. His hands moved to the sides of your waist, pulling you closer. Before you could think, you were settled on his lap, the world around you narrowing to the heat of his touch.

A small, desperate whimper escaped you as his tongue brushed against yours. It had been so long since someone touched you this way—especially someone as strong and attractive as Aaron. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your fingertips as your hand slid over his chest, the other wrapping around his neck. He deepened the kiss, and the feeling was so overwhelming that it almost made you cry in relief.

He brushed his hands over the smooth curve of your waist and down the swell of your thighs, digging his fingers into the clothed skin.

Your soft moans were swallowed by your kisses, and you couldn’t help yourself as you moved your hips against his, feeling yourself get more aroused with each movement against the thin fabric of his slacks.

He let out a low grunt as you repeatedly rolled your hips against the hardening bulge in his pants. His large hands roamed up beneath your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You placed your hands over his, ready to take your shirt off, but just as quickly his hands closed around your wrists, stopping you gently.

“Not here,” he warned. “Let’s move to the bedroom.”

His words sent a rush of desire to your core, and though your legs trembled, you stood from his lap and followed him across the room. As he moved, Hotch unbuckled his belt with one swift, effortless motion. You paused mid-step, breath catching at the sight of the leather coiled in his hand, hypnotised by how seductive the image looked. You blinked a couple of times to get out of your trance, before hurrying after him, your legs trying to catch up to his confident pace.

You stepped into the bedroom, moving until you stood at the foot of the bed as he locked the door behind you. A flutter of nerves stirred in your stomach at the reality of what was about to happen.

Hotch walked toward you, slowly closing the distance. His eyes were dark as they took you in with a look of pure lust—one you’d previously never seen on him.

“Turn around for me.”

Maybe it was because you were so accustomed to his authority in the field, or perhaps it was the undeniable fact that you'd let him do anything to you at this point, but without a second thought, you obeyed, turning your back toward him.

His hands reached out to rub over your shoulders in slow circles. You instinctively leaned into him, your eyes closing as you let yourself melt into the comfort of his touch. He presses in closer, his chin resting against your shoulder.

“What is it that you’ve been longing for?” His voice is a soft, sensual whisper, his breath warm against your skin.

A shaky breath escapes your lips as his hands delicately trail over your collarbones, carefully moving lower, inching toward your breasts. The moment his palms cup them, your nipples harden.

He hummed, still awaiting a response.

“You,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible through the thick need.

You feel the faint curve of a teasing smile against your skin. “You already have me,” he murmured. “Tell me how I can make you feel good.”

His thumbs flick over your nipples, and you arch your back into him, feeling the solid press of his body against yours, the hardness in his pants meeting you once again.

“It’s been a while since-” your words dissolve into a moan as his fingers pinch your nipples.

“Since what?” he teased, his lips tracing the curve of your neck, each kiss setting your skin alight.

You swallowed. “Since… since someone’s gone down on me.”

“Is that so?” he hummed, the sound rich with interest. His tongue slides up your neck, before turning it into a kiss.

“Aaron, please,” you begged, grinding your hips into him.

“How can someone like you have been deprived of pleasure for so long?” he thought out loud, and he finally grabbed the material of your shirt, pulling it over your head.

His hands glide softly over your back, before he unclasps your bra with one smooth motion. Your breasts spill free, and he immediately cups them in his hands, holding them as if he wants to keep you warm and covered. The pleasure is even more delicious now that the contact is skin-to-skin.

His hands roam over your stomach, until he reaches the button of your pants, undoing it. He sinks to his knees behind you, his fingers curling around the waistband of your pants and panties, easing them down. A low curse escapes him as the fabric slides over your ass and down your thighs, revealing more of you inch by inch.

You held onto his shoulder for support, as he steadied your leg, guiding you to step out of your pants. The second he tossed the fabric to the side, he placed his hands steadily on your thighs, leaning in to press a heated kiss to your ass. You let out a moan, bucking forward, but he holds you firmly in place as his lips trail wet, lingering kisses over your cheeks.

“Place your knee on the bed for me,” he tenderly instructs.

You followed his order, lifting one knee onto the bed, your upper body arching slightly as it hovers just above the mattress. The cool air brushes over your exposed pussy as you’re displayed in front of him.

A loud moan leaves your mouth, as his tongue makes contact with your folds. The pressure is just right, each flick of his tongue drawing a sharp gasp from you as he licks up and down in a deliberate rhythm.

“You taste like heaven,” he groans, the deep rumble of his voice vibrating through you as he speaks, “dripping down your thighs already.” His lips trail lower, and he laps up the wetness that has gathered on your inner thighs, his stubble tickling against your sensitive skin. You grip the sheets, desperate for something to hold on to.

Aaron’s tongue returns to your pussy, the tip of it firmly pushing inside, curling upward as he slides in and out, hitting all the right spots, sending waves of pleasure through you. Each thrust makes you cry out.

You let out a small whine as his tongue retreats, pressing a delicate kiss to the tender skin. “Don’t get me wrong,” he starts, licking his lips clean, “I love hearing you, but you can’t be too loud.”

You silently nodded, your breath hitching as his finger unhurriedly traced your sensitive folds. Just as he was about to enter you, you stopped him.

“I- I need your cock,” you whined, your hips pushing back toward him, desperate for more.

“Yeah? You need it that bad?” he teased, as he rose to his feet behind you.

You crawled onto the bed, glancing back at him. His lips still glistened with the trace of you, and his eyes were locked onto yours, filled with predatory focus.

“I need it, Aaron,” you repeated, biting your bottom lip as your gaze lingered on the hard outline of his length pressed against his thigh.

He groaned, his hands quickly pulling at his tie, tossing it aside before he began unbuttoning his shirt. His movements were confident—like a private performance just for you. You leaned back on your arms, your feet planted on the bed, allowing him to see just how much he was making you ache for him.

As he removed his shirt, the muscles in his broad shoulder flexed, and the trail of dark hair down his stomach led your eyes straight to what you craved.

He wasn’t shy as he pulled his pants down, eager to show you just how worked up you’d made him. His length stood hard, the tip flushed red and glistening with precum. You instinctively pressed your thighs together, giving you a soft release of tension.

He joined you on the bed, lying on his side and pulling you flush against his chest, spooning you. His lips crashed into yours in a deep, hungry kiss, his groans vibrating against your mouth. His hand explored your front, squeezing your breasts, while his arousal pressed insistently against your ass.

You moaned, your leg draping over his as you shifted, opening yourself up to him. He reached down, gripping his length, positioning it against you before slowly pushing inside, stretching you inch by inch.

You took a sharp breath, adjusting to the feel of him inside you. His cock throbbed, as if begging for you to move. Slowly, you rolled your hips, taking more of him in, and Hotch’s low growl rumbled in your ear.

“That’s it,” he praised, his voice rough with pleasure. “Taking me so well.”

He was fully inside you now, filling you completely, and his hand slid down to your exposed clit, his fingers moving in slow, rhythmic circles. His thrusts matched the pace, deep and deliberate.

Every movement sent shockwaves through your body, your breath quickening as the familiar knot of pleasure tightened in your stomach.

“I’m close, Aaron,” you whimpered, and he moaned in response, placing soft kisses along your jaw before sucking at your neck, marking you.

His fingers moved faster, pushing you closer to the edge, and your body twitched as your orgasm crashed over you. His arms held you tight, anchoring you as the sensations slowly subsided.

When he withdrew his hand from your clit, it slid down to your knee, bending your leg to spread you even wider. Without warning, he began pounding into you, the sudden change in speed making you cry out, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips.

“Be quiet for me. Don’t make me tell you again,” he warned. You involuntarily moaned at the way he commanded you, and he grunted in response.

With a swift motion, he flipped you onto your stomach, your body pressed flat against the bed. A sharp gasp escaped you as he grabbed your thighs, lifting them to raise your ass in the air, before entering you again.

One hand pressed firmly into your shoulder, holding you down, while the other gripped your hips, forcing you to meet each of his thrusts. The new position did its job—your moans were muffled into the pillow, leaving only the wet slap of skin and the sound of Hotch’s deep, guttural grunts with each push of his hips.

“They're so stupid for not wanting you,” he groaned. “You have me now. I’ll give you everything you want.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. After feeling this, you knew you wouldn’t ever be satisfied by anyone else. You would want no one but him.

“I’m going to come inside of you,” he breathed, bending over so his chest pressed against your back, his warmth enveloping you.

“Oh-“ Your breath caught as the sensation in your core tightened again. “Yes, please. Inside of me, please.” You couldn’t form a full sentence as the heat inside of your core builds up again.

He reaches under you to touch your clit, and the instant his fingers make contact, you come undone. Your legs tremble, giving way beneath you as the rush of pleasure takes over. Hotch pushes into you two more times before you feel him spill inside, the sensation sending you into another, deeper orgasm.

He presses soft, tender kisses to your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers in your ear, “I’m sorry I got a little carried away.”

You hum in satisfaction, a pleased smile tugging at your lips. “I’m glad you did.”

—

You weren’t sure what time it was, but you had a quick shower together—Hotch giving you one more orgasm—and were now laying in bed, your clean bodies tangled under his sheets.

“Will you stay the night?” he asked softly, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand as he held you close.

It was endearing how gentle and shy he sounded, a stark contrast to what the two of you had just shared.

“Only if you promise to not move to the couch,” you mumbled sleepily, your voice heavy with exhaustion.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

You turned your head to him, noticing the quiet that had settled between you both.

“What is it?” you asked, tracing absent patterns to his skin.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I was thinking… maybe we can attach those strings a bit more.”

You chuckle at their nervous reflections in the mirror as the elevator starts moving. A sudden creak causes Derek to snap his head towards you. “It made the same sound the last time!” You were just about to shut Derek up as the elevator shakes and the lights start flickering. 

“Not again!” Spencer whimpers, his eyes squeezed shut like he’s about to fall to his death at any given moment.

Hotch inspects the tight space, his expression grim. “It seems like the electricity went out…” 

“Actually, there are a lot of reasons why an elevator might stop,” Spencer interjects. “It could be worn-out suspension ropes, and it actually happens quite regularly that the motor overheats the safety sensors of the-“ 

“Let’s just solve this problem, shall we?” You cut him off, nudging Morgan out of the way to hit the red button on the panel. 

“You think that’ll do something?” Morgan asks, brow lifted. 

“It will alert someone that we’re stuck. We have to wait until somebody comes and gets us out of here.” Hotch adds. 

“Well at least I’ll be missing my meeting with Strauss,” I sigh in relief. 

“It was at twelve, right?” Spencer asks. 

“Yeah,” you respond with a nod.

“Statistically the average wait time to be rescued from an elevator is less than an hour,” Spencer continues, checking his watch. “That means you could still make it in time.” 

“Now that’s just what I wanted to hear,” you say sarcastically, earning a grin from Morgan. 

“We can only hope we won’t be in here for that long,” Hotch mutters, his impatience visible as he leans uncomfortably against the elevator doors. 

“Okay… so now what? Want to go over a case to pass the time?” 

“No, no cases please,” Morgan groans. “We’ve had three in a row. I’m done.” 

“Morgan is right. We’ve done enough cases in the past few days.” Hotch agrees. 

You mutter an “alright” as you sit down with your back against the elevator wall, smoothing out the crinkles in your skirt. The others look at you with uncertainty. Eventually Reid decides to sit next to you, exchanging a soft smile. Morgan follows suit, sitting in front of you. Hotch remains standing. You leave him be and turn to Spencer. 

“So Reid, I’m sure you’ve got enough interesting facts to pass the time.” 

Spencer looks surprised by the request, not used to directly being asked to share his facts, but his eyes quickly brighten, eager to share. “Well, actually, there are a lot of interesting things to say about elevators. There are approximately 20 million elevators worldwide,” you chuckle at his obvious enthusiasm. “The first elevator was created in 236 B.C. by Archimedes, a Greek mathematician. He used a water wheel and tied animals together with rope to create a lift mechanism.” You hum in interest. “They used lifts in the Colosseum, right?” 

“Yes! Exactly!” he responds excitedly. “The system was powered by eight men who would turn this massive wooden shaft connected to ropes. It could hold more than 600 pounds!” 

“Oh come on,” Derek says, his hand falling to his knee. “You’re telling me you’re actually interested in the mechanics of ancient elevators?”. 

Hotch glances at Morgan, silently agreeing with Derek’s skepticism. 

“Derek Morgan…” you feign offense, placing a hand on your chest. “Don’t act like I’m not curious about knowledge. At least Spence’s got something interesting to say.” 

Spencer blushes faintly, appreciating your defense. 

“Hey, I know facts too,” Morgan says smugly. “How about there being 7000 languages in the world today.” 

“The overall number is actually closer to 8000,” Spencer corrects him. “You only counted verbal communication.” 

“You guys are going to have a facts competition now?” You ask, bewildered. “It’s way too hot in here. I need some light conversation.”

“I agree,” Hotch mutters. “It is getting a little warm.”

You glance up at the AC in the corner of the elevator, which is clearly not working. It probably shut down along with the power. There’s a brief silence before Reid speaks up again. 

“I never thought I’d be trapped in an elevator with my colleagues,” he muses. “It’s a little cliché.”

“Cliche, how?” Hotch asks, intrigued despite himself. 

“You know how, in movies, a group of people get stuck in an elevator and they have to learn to overcome their differences to escape?” 

You shake your head in confusion, “I think I only know the dirty movies where they get stuck in an elevator,” you laugh. 

Spencer blinks at you, clearly thrown off. Derek chuckles at the scene, and even Hotch manages a faint smile. 

“I should’ve known you’ve only watched the dirty ones,” Derek teases. 

“What about you, pretty boy?  Ever seen a dirty movie?” He asks Spencer, grinning. 

Reid looks flustered. “I grew up in Vegas… I’ve seen some things.” 

“Ah, Vegas,” you say, sighing dreamily. “The place where you can’t drive for a minute without seeing a giant porn billboard.”

Morgan grins, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Sounds like my kind of place.” 

You laugh and kick his leg playfully. Morgan winks at you, enjoying the lighthearted banter. You glance up at Hotch, who is still the only one standing. 

“What about you, Hotch? What’s your favorite dirty movie?” You ask with a mischievous grin, but your expression quickly drops when you see his stern look. 

“Watch it, Y/L/N.” Hotch warns.

“Come on, Hotch,” Derek says. “Let loose a little!”

“See it as the universe’s sign.” I press on. 

“How is being stuck in here a sign of the universe?” Hotch asks, brows raised.

“Well, no way would you willingly take a break yourself. Now the universe got you stuck in here and is forcing you to relax,” you explain, with a playful gleam in your eyes. 

To everyone’s surprise, he slowly lowers himself to the floor, sitting down next to you. 

You exchange surprised looks with Derek and Spencer. All amazed at how you managed to get Hotch to sit down.

The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence, scared to say something that will make Hotch change his mind. You’re glad he joined you, but it’s hard to ignore the rising temperature now that another person is sitting in close proximity to you. 

“How long has it been?” you ask, fanning yourself with your blazer. “I’m starting to sweat.”

“Thirty-five minutes so far,” Derek replies, following your lead and fanning himself. 

Hotch looks mildly uncomfortable, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Spencer, however, looks the most miserable using the collar of his sweater vest to wipe his face. 

“You guys should take your jackets off,” you suggest, eyeing Morgan and Hotch. 

You don’t need to tell Derek twice, as he removes his jacket, revealing a black short sleeved shirt that looks a lot more comfortable. Hotch looks reluctant to do the same, but eventually gives in, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt collar. You take a peak as he reveals his broad, muscled shoulders for a moment, before readjusting his shirt. Hotch notices your glance and his eyes shoot up to yours, catching you in the moment as your cheeks flush. You quickly look away. 

“Oh, she’s enjoying the view, alright,” Derek smirks and you give him a warning glance.

“Shut up. I was just surprised Hotch would give in.” 

Morgan grins and nudges Hotch with his elbow, “Look at that, Hotch. You’re surprising us all today. First you smile and now you’re taking your jacket off. What’s next, dancing a jig?” You and Spencer snort at his comment. Hotch rolls his eyes at Morgan’s teasing but can’t help a small smile from appearing on his lips. 

Spencer struggles with his vest and you give him a hand. “Here, let me help you”, you say as you scoot closer, pulling the vest over his head. The fabric feels soft, but incredibly warm in your hands. You don’t know how he managed to keep it on for this long. Reid is taken aback for a moment, but mutters a soft thanks. Morgan and Hotch watch the exchange with interest, clearly amused at the sight of you being so forward with Reid.

“Now it’s your turn, you’re the one who insisted,” Morgan states, and you can’t help but agree as you take your blazer off, giving a satisfied hum at the immediate relief.

“I’ll open up some buttons too, if you don’t mind,” you announce as your fingers start working on your blouse. You don’t give them a chance to respond, since it seems only fair. Their eyes widen at your gesture, all of them staring at the sight of your blouse slightly opening up. Morgan lets out a low whistle, “Now that’s a nice view.”

“You’re insufferable,” you scoff as you stop unbuttoning, showing just a hint of your lacy bra. Morgan’s eyes linger on the sight, clearly enjoying the view. Hotch and Reid look like they’re struggling to keep their cool. Reid is the most flustered of all, turning bright red as he focuses on his hands. Morgan glances around at the others, seeing them struggle to keep themselves composed. 

He chuckles and shakes his head, enjoying the effect you’re having on them. “You know, you’re driving all of us a little crazy here, sweetheart.” 

You let out a small huff, “Give me a break. You’re wearing shortsleeves, I’m the one wearing a blouse.” 

Hotch speaks up, his gaze lingering on your blouse. “That blouse does seem a bit warm.” 

“Thank you!” You say, glad someone is on your side. 

Hotch eyes stay focused on you though, or specifically the bit of exposed collarbone and the lace that’s hugged around the swell of your breast. Your breathing heaves when you find Spencer taking occasional peaks as well, watching with a mixture of awe and embarrassment, finding difficulty in looking away. 

“Let’s just all take our shirts off, I want it to be fair”, you quickly exclaim, done with the heavy tension that’s driving you crazy. Hotch and Morgan exchange amused glances as Spencer eyes turn big, taking in your proposal. 

“All our shirts, are you sure about that?” Derek asks, a hint of surprise in his voice. 

“Then at least you won’t eye me like that.” 

“Oh, I think I’ll eye you only more.” Derek teases, licking his lips. 

“Just take your damn shirt off.” 

Derek chuckles and raises his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright. No need to get feisty.” He says as he lifts his shirt off in a smooth motion. It’s a known fact that Derek is jacked, but seeing him in a setting like this, abs glistening with sweat and pupils still dilated from looking at you, is on a whole ‘nother level. 

You’re glad the attention is taken away from your peering eyes as Hotch follows suit, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a clearly defined muscular chest with just a hint of hair. You start doubting your suggestion as it feels like the room is only growing hotter. You look over at Spencer, seeing whether he’ll be the next. Spencer hesitates for a moment, his eyes darting between the other’s bare chests and your unbuttoned blouse. His chest heaving with his breath, suggesting that he’s more affected than he’s letting on. 

“Come on, pretty boy. Join the party.” Derek says.

“I’ll go first,” you assure Spencer, not wanting him to suffer under peer pressure. Your hands start working on the buttons. Spencer’s eyes widened at the scene in front of him.

“See, it’s not that hard,” you reassure Spencer, folding your blouse and placing it next to you. 

“I don’t know about that. You’re making things pretty hard, baby girl.” Morgan comments, making you laugh. 

“You’re way too dirty for your own good.” 

Morgan grins. “Can you blame me? I mean, look at you. You’re looking mighty tempting right now.”

You softly smile at the compliment and focus back on Spencer. “You’ll feel a lot cooler, I promise,” you encourage. 

“I don’t know. I’m not as… toned as the others.” It hurts you to hear how he’s comparing himself to his colleagues. 

“Do you truly think I care about that?” You ask him. “It’s not a competition. I just want you to feel comfortable,” you speak genuinely. Spencer looks up at you, his eyes searching yours for any signs of mockery or deception. When he finds none, his face softens and he nods. He lifts his shirt over his head, revealing a body no less impressive than the others. 

“Not too bad, pretty boy. You’re looking pretty good without that vest on.” Derek compliments. 

“You do,” You agree, as you fold his shirt and place it on top of my blouse. Spencer gives you a sheepish smile, grateful for your help. Glad he decided to take his shirt off as he felt the cool air hit his chest, “Yeah, that does feel better.” 

You look around the room, the scene for sure one to be put down in the history books of the BAU. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve entered a new step in our colleague bonding,” you awkwardly chuckle, trying to lighten the mood but the air feels charged with an unspoken tension that’s impossible to ignore. You can feel their eyes on you, the way they linger, the weight of their gazes following your every movement. You try to ignore it, to stay professional, but your body betrays you. You shift slightly, adjusting your skirt, and that’s when you feel it - the subtle brush of Hotch’s fingers caressing your arm.

You swallow hard as you look away. The air around you is suddenly too tight. You want to curse your body as your nipples harden under his steady gaze, there being no way to blame it on the cold. Derek notices the exchange and leans in, the heat between you two palpable. 

His voice is low and husky, “You're all worked up, sweetheart. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.” 

Your pulse quickens, the sound of your heartbeat almost drowning out his words. “I’m not the only one,” you counter, voice quieter, but the challenge in it is unmistakable. You feel Spencer shift next to you, his body tense as he feels like he’s been caught staring at your chest. “Don’t be shy, genius,” Derek teases. “We’re all thinking the same thing right now.” You can’t help but smile at Spencer’s flustered look. “It’s… It’s hard not to, when you-” He cuts himself off, his voice faltering as his eyes dart away from your breasts. 

Hotch is still standing by the door, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches the dynamic play out. “We’ve been stuck in here long enough. I think it’s safe to say we all want and feel the same thing.” The air thickens with desire as he dares to say the thought that’s been occupying everyone’s mind. You glance at the others, seeing how Spencer is adjusting himself in his pants and the way Derek is watching you, his gaze so intense it almost feels like he’s touching you. 

“Guess it’s only fair if we all just… give in to it,” you murmur, your eyes flicking between them. The suggestion is there, unspoken but understood. 

From there on everything feels like a blur. You hear Hotch growl behind you as he wraps his bicep around your neck, pulling you in as his lips crash against yours. You whimper against his mouth, which gives him the opportunity to let his tongue slide in. You welcome his tongue with yours as your hand moves to squeeze the arm around your neck, making full use of the circumstances to feel up on his muscles. 

“You’re always driving me crazy when wearing this skirt,” Hotch groans in your ear as his teeth pull on your earlobe. You can find no other way to respond than let out a high pitched sound of enjoyment as his free hand kneads your ass through your pencil skirt. Spencer watches the scene unfold in front of him. How his boss roughly grabs and kisses you, manhandling you. 

 “I- I don’t know about this…” Spencer stammers. 

Morgan turns to him, breaking the intense gaze he had on you and Hotch. “Don’t worry Reid, she’s enjoying it.” 

“Are you sure?” Spencer asks, uncertainty in his voice as Hotch is pulling on your hair, giving him access to plant kisses and bites on your neck. 

Morgan grins, “Let me show you how sure I am,” he says as he steps towards you and Hotch. He rolls your skirt up to your stomach and lets his fingers slide over your panties, cursing when it easily slips between your folds, creating a wet sound. You moan at the friction, not in the state to feel embarrassed by how wet you are. 

“See Reid, she loves it,” Derek points out, licking his lips as he pulls your damp panties to the side. Spencer lets out a groan as Derek reveals your glistening pussy, his hand subconsciously squeezing the bulge in his pants for any form of release.

“Let me see,” Hotch insists, removing his lips from your neck. Derek slides a finger through your folds and proudly displays the stickiness to Hotch. 

“You’re such a little slut, aren’t you?,” Hotch whispers, his nose pressed against the side of your face. “Just been begging to get in a situation like this so we could all fuck you the way you deserve.” You whimper at his dirty words and hot breath on your skin. Your legs feel like jelly as he grinds himself against your ass. Derek continues to apply pressure with his hand as he lets his fingers rub up and down your lips and clit. 

Spencer’s eyes are burning holes in your chest. He just can’t understand how no one has touched your lovely tits, while they’ve been teasing him the entire time. 

“You can come here Spence,” you purr, hypnotizing him to walk towards you. He swallows as he’s close enough to touch you, close enough to hear all the little sounds you’re making as you’re being touched all over. 

“Can I-?” You don’t let Spencer finish his question as you quickly nod, throwing your head back as his finger grazes over your nipple, sending a direct spark of pleasure to your clit. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers mostly to himself in awe as he cups your breast, the shape fitting perfectly in his large hand. 

“Thank you,” you whisper back. It’s ironic how his sweet compliment is the thing that's making you shy.

Derek slips a finger inside of you with ease, and you bite your lip to hold back your mewls. “Don’t do that. I like the way you sound.” Spencer encourages, resulting in another moan from you, loving the effect his words have on you. 

Hotch unclasps your bra from behind and Spencer helps him by pulling your straps down, letting your breasts fall free. Hotch grabs your left breast, kneading it with his strong, calloused hands as he rolls your nipple in between his fingers. Spencer uses the momentary distraction to bend down and experimentally licks your nipple, humming at the sensation. He gives a couple more licks to your breast as he pulls your nipple in between his lips, sucking on it as he flicks his tongue against the sensitive bud. 

You feel overwhelmed by the way all of your erogenous zones are stimulated at once; Hotch licking and biting on your neck and ear, while massaging your breast and grinding his hardness against your ass. Spencer’s swollen lips and wet tongue tracing over your nipple as Derek caresses your thighs as he adds a second finger into your pussy. You realize that this is what pleasure is supposed to be like. The zones on your body are all connected and you haven’t experienced true bliss until those spots get triggered at the same time. 

“Morgan, is she ready?” Hotch asks, breathing heavily. 

“More than ready, sir,” Derek grins as he takes a step back. He lets his fingers slide out of you, making you whimper at the loss of contact, but then Hotch turns you around so that your chest is pressed up against the elevator doors where he was standing. 

“I need you for myself,” he groans. Derek tosses a condom from his jeans and Hotch catches it, ripping the package with his teeth while pulling his trousers down to his knees, not wanting to let a single moment go to waste. Your hands are pressed against the wall as he slowly enters you. 

“Oh my god… I feel so full,” you whine and you swear you could feel him grin as you register that he’s not even fully inside of you. You let out a long breath as you feel his balls make contact with your ass. 

“You’re doing okay there, princess?” Derek chuckles and you nod. Hotch slowly moves his length out of you as he slams his hips back in with a groan. You gasp as you wrap your hand around the back of his head, keeping yourself steady as he continues thrusting into you. His growls feel hot against your neck. His sweaty chest pressed up against your back, leaving you completely in his grasp.

“You feel that angel? How your pussy swallows my cock?” You let out a cry as you nod your head in agreement. 

“I don’t understand Y/N. You’re a big girl, use your words.” 

“Oh god…’’ Your head spins as he pounds into you. “I’m not going to tell you again Y/N, use your words.” He orders. 

“Yes!’’ you cry out. ‘’God yes Aaron, it feels so good. I can feel you so deep inside of me.” 

“Say my name again.” He moans as his hand trails down your stomach until it reaches your swollen bud. “Aaron, please… I’m so, so close.” He gives some quick taps to your clit, making you squirm in pleasure as your knees give out. His strong hands grip you by the waist and he hoists you back up on his dick. “I’m almost there honey, you can keep it up, be good for me.” 

You let out a string of whines as he uses the palm of his hand to swiftly move against your folds, indirectly bringing pleasure to your clit. You can’t take it any more, pressing your nails into his arms as you crouch down in front of him, shaking as your release hits you. Hotch groans loudly as his dick slips out of your pussy. His dick twitches as he takes off the condom, painting your back with hot spurts of cum.

You have your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath as you’re still riding down your orgasm. You hum as you feel the soft material of Spencer’s sweater vest against your back, cleaning you up. 

“You okay?” Spencer asks, kneeled in front of you. You nod your head and softly smile at his tenderness. 

“Yeah. I feel really, really good.” You answer, making Spencer return your smile. With him in front of you, you notice the visible outline of his bulge pressed against his thigh and reach out to touch it. Your fingers lightly brush over his length, causing him to shudder. 

“Do you want me to take care of you?” You ask sensually, looking in his eyes. 

“Not really,” he responds, taking you by surprise. He sees your expression and quickly corrects himself. “It’s not like I don’t want you to! I’d- I’d love you to do…”, he’s not actually sure what you planned on doing to him. “Whatever you would do. I just-,” his voice softens, meeting your gaze. “I really need to know what you taste like.” 

Your cheeks warm, feeling your arousal grow. “Okay,” you exhale. Spencer extends his hand, helping you up. You find your blazer and bundle it up for Spencer to lay his head on. You’re amazed at how willing he is to get down on the floor, ready to eat you out in a very nontraditional and arguable unsanitized way. You hover over his face as you get down on your knees, letting out a hum as his breath tingles your pussy. Spencer kneads your calves and runs his hands up the back of your thighs. He tilts his head up, placing a wet kiss on your inner thigh.

“Feels good,” you mumble. Spencer responds with a hum against your skin, the vibration causing you to moan. He grabs your thighs, slowly pulling them further apart. “I can’t wait to taste you,” he admits, sticking out his tongue and licking a stripe up your folds. You moan, arching your back. Through hooded eyes you spot the figure of Hotch. He’s sitting against the wall in front of you, lazily stroking his half hard length as he stares at you. 

Just when you were about to question where Morgan was, you catch him in your periphery. He holds your gaze as he approaches, coming to a stop right in front of you. His belt buckle hangs open, but it doesn’t look like he’s touched himself. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d really like to take up on that offer genius here denied.” You grin at him, hands reaching out to his belt. Spencer is keeping himself busy, licking and sucking up your juices. You pull Derek’s pants down, gasping as his dick springs free, slapping against his happy trail. You groan in delight as you wrap your hand around his shaft. He tilts his head back at the contact. “Fuck baby, your hands feel so warm and soft.” You lean forward and let some of your spit dribble down on his dick, making him hiss. You move your thumb in circles over his tip, mixing your saliva with his precum. When it feels like it’s wet enough, you move your hand up and down his length in a steady motion.

His tip grows red and you cannot resist licking your lips before putting your mouth on him. He feels heavy in your mouth as you take him in deeper, stimulating him with your tongue as you suck. His hands tangle in your hair, holding you as he moves in sync with your movements. 

Spencer moves a hand up the curve of your ass while he uses the other to unbuckle his belt. He slides his hand in his pants, rubbing himself over his boxers as he relishes in your taste. His lips nibble on your labia as his nose tickles against your clit. 

“Don’t get distracted, baby girl,” Derek states, softly pushing your head back down. You swallow around him and try to up your pace. Derek takes your breast in his hand, massaging it. As your nipples harden he takes one in between his fingers, pulling on it. You gasp at the sensation, making his dick slide deeper down your throat. 

“Fuck! Right there baby, that feels so good,” he pants. You blink away tears, continuing the steady movement of your head and swirls of your tongue. 

Spencer’s dick starts feeling too hot in his boxers and he pulls it out, so that it lays against his stomach. Your pussy is absolutely dripping because of the swipes of Spencer’s tongue and the taste of Derek in your mouth. Spencer can’t keep up with licking you clean, your wetness dripping down his chin. He reaches out to grab his length, the skin to skin contact overstimulating him. 

You notice Spencer getting restless underneath you. Derek’s dick pops out of your mouth. “Are you okay, Spence?” You ask. He hums against your clit in response, you let out a high pitched moan and instinctively bend your knees. “Sorry,” you apologize as you want to tilt your hips back up, but Spencer pulls you back down by your thighs, making you sit on his face.

“Oh god…” You moan as he starts devouring you. He keeps a hand firm on your ass as he starts jerking himself off to the beautiful sounds that you’re making. You lazily tug on Derek’s cock, too distracted by Spencer’s tongue. 

“Oh Spencer, I’m going to cum,” you whimper, mouth open and brows furrowed in pleasure. You start grinding yourself on his tongue, seeking your release. You find the perfect spot and Spencer presses the tip of his tongue against your clit, as you fall undone. Spencer laps up your juices and squeezes the load out of his dick as it splatters on his belly. You lift your hips to give Spencer some space. He moves away, joining you on his knees as he sits behind you, pressing featherlight kisses to your back. 

“I’m not gonna last that much longer,” Derek announces, who’s been stroking himself to your orgasm. “Come here, then,” you invite as you take him back in your mouth. Placing a hand on his thigh for support, you use all of the energy that is left in you to suck him off. Your free hand reaches out to play with his balls, which seems to be the trigger for him.

“Fuck, Y/N, baby, I’m going to cum!” He groans deeply as he fills your mouth. You quickly swallow his load, eyes watering as he pulls you in by your head, needing your lips on him as he rides out the aftershocks. 

“Fuck… You’re amazing, sweetheart.” He sighs, letting go of your hair so that you can catch your breath. 

-

“Who the hell is in there?” 

The voice outside is sharp and gruff. Everyone’s heads whip around, startled. Hotch swiftly buckles his belt as he strides towards the elevator doors.

“This is SSA Aaron Hotchner of the BAU. I’m stuck here with three of my agents.” 

The voice responds quickly, dripping with disbelief. "Why didn’t you morons use the emergency button?"

Your colleagues look at each other, then shift their gaze to you, all with accusing looks plastered on their faces.

"Hey, don’t look at me! I’m the first one that pressed the red button!" You say in defense. 

The voice outside huffs in frustration. "Red? It's a black button."

You blink in surprise, your gaze snapping to the panel. You crawl up to get a better look, and sure enough, there's a black button, boldly labeled ‘EMERGENCY.’

"What in the world?" you mutter under your breath. "Then what the hell is the red button for?!"

The voice outside laughs sarcastically. "How the hell am I supposed to know? I’ve been working here for six months. Don’t blame me because you can’t read." He pauses, clearly shaking his head. "FBI agents, my ass."

You blink in disbelief. You share an incredulous glance with Derek, then burst out laughing, your frustration giving way to amusement. "Seriously?" you mutter, shaking your head. 

Derek notices how Spencer’s been unusually quiet. “Speak up, kid,” he urged. 

“I’ve known what the buttons do the entire time,” he says, voice casual.

You and Hotch both turn to look at him, eyes wide. “What?!” You both exclaim at the same time. 

Spencer shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes. “I told you about those movies where people overcome their differences to try to escape. I wanted to see how we would solve it.”

Derek’s mouth drops open. “You’ve been sitting here the whole time knowing exactly what to do and didn’t say anything?!” 

Spencer smiles, looking almost proud of himself. “It’s a team-building exercise,” he says matter-of-factly. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t enjoy it.”

You shake your head, laughing in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable, Reid.”

Ever since you were a little girl, you had a deep fascination with the monument. Maybe that had to do with the fact that your father was the owner of a well-established restaurant inside of the tower. You grew up with all sorts of magical stories about the place, and once you reached the age of twelve, your dad let you work with him on the weekends and during the holidays. 

The experiences you’ve had as a teen were just as amazing as you predicted them to be. The crew had taken you in like you were just as much their blood-related kid — which was necessary considering your dad didn’t have the time to treat you like his. Instead, he saw you as a colleague, counted on you as a colleague, and honestly, feeling useful and needed was the sentiment that made the experience as special as it was. 

Growing up came with more tasks and responsibilities, and you handled them well. So well that you decided that this is what you wanted to do for the rest of your life: follow in your father’s footsteps and inherit the business one day. 

It sounded all fun and games, until your father had reached an age where he had to take some steps back, work more from home instead of being at the restaurant all day, every day. 

That’s where you came in the picture. It had taken you years of hard work (yes, the boss might be your dad but he didn’t play favorites) when you finally received the title of manager. 

It was another fancy term that hid hours of stress and sleep deprivation, because now, being the head responsible, you could not fuck up.  

But you did.

Hard. 

Certain mistakes were to be expected: getting into an argument with a customer, dropping a new set of plates, adding the wrong date of a large booking in the calendar. But accidentally hiring a hit woman who got two of your star customers killed off was a rather large fuck up.

It wasn’t your fault; it was the sentence you’ve been repeating like a mantra for the past week. The popularity of the restaurant has blown up since you became manager. You had made some stylistic choices in both the interior and the menu that attracted a bunch of new customers. So many that the workload became overbearing, there was no other choice than to start hiring new employees.

The woman you had hired seemed the perfect match. Her resume was impressive — something you later found out was completely made up (you had no time to double-check, okay?) — and most important of all, she was available right away.

With full faith, you had let her take the night shift, giving her the responsibility of closing the place after hours. That following morning you received a call from your coworker at 5AM. You were certain it was something bad (having warned everyone that you’re not a morning person and you’re only available for emergencies), though what you didn’t expect was to hear how your star customers — two successful businessmen who had been dining at the restaurant — were brutally murdered, shot by a bullet through their heads, the new employee having fled the crime scene. 

So, here you were, having to deal with the consequences of your actions. The FBI was alarmed and on their way, and you got ready as fast as you could before heading over to the restaurant.

-`♡´-

“It’s fine, Alain,” you repeat with a sigh, rubbing your temples in frustration.

Alain, the coworker who had informed you and the police, was running around in circles, absolutely freaked out. You couldn’t blame him; he was the one who found the bodies and who instructed the forensics and medics when they had arrived. 

“Just… slow down, okay?” you remind him. “Can you please talk to the other agents outside? I’ll handle the ones that will investigate the scene.”

He swallowed, eyes still wide in adrenaline and anxiety, but eventually gave you a stern nod and a “Yes, boss,” before walking out.

You tried keeping calm as you took your place behind the reception, keeping your mind from wandering to all the cruelties of what had happened and of what will happen once your father is informed of the events. 

You didn’t need to distract yourself for long, because the sounds of footsteps and muffled muttering entered the room.

Two neatly dressed men appeared in your periphery. Just by their walks, you could tell that they meant business. Their faces too were etched in serious determination. You predicted the one on the left to be around your age, the one on the right a couple of years older than you, but still young. They were attractive. Too attractive for your liking.

“Are you the owner?” The agent on the right asked you.

You wished you could respond to that with a “Well yes, indeed I am”, but lying to the cops after a murder had taken place didn’t seem like the smartest idea. “I’m the manager,” you eventually answer.

The man nods, reaching his hand out toward you. “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner,” he tilts his head to the man beside him, “and this is my colleague, Special Agent Derek Morgan.”

As a manager, you’ve shaken many hands in your life; a handshake could tell a lot about a person, but all this handshake did was make your brain short-circuit. You felt a tingle in your stomach as Aaron’s large palm made contact with yours. His grip was firm, but you could tell that he was holding back, careful not to bruise you, although you wouldn’t have minded that. Looking up through your lashes, you caught his dark colored eyes already focused on you. He brushed his thumb over your skin, ever so light, but you noticed the action came with a small gleam in his eyes. 

The other agent, Morgan, cleared his throat. “The bodies were found by that window?”

His question snapped you out of whatever mental fantasy you had found yourself in. To your dismay, Aaron let go of your hand, the intertwining of your fingers breaking as your hand fell to your side, palm still clammy as a reminder of his touch.

Awkwardly you scratched the back of your neck, following his gaze to the window and trying not to comment on the way Derek’s lip curled as he patted Aaron on the back, oblivious to you catching on. 

“Uh, yeah. My colleague told me it happened right here,” you explain, pointing toward the glass wall just a few feet away.

“Mind if we take a look?” 

“No, not at all,” you say in quick permission. “Go ahead.”

The second they turned their backs to you, you allowed yourself to take in a deep breath. It truly was comedic how, out of every event this morning, a polite handshake was the thing that seemed to have the most effect on you. 

Maybe you were more touch-deprived than you thought you were. It made sense, honestly. It was another reason why you were on the hunt for new employees: needing more personal time, sexual time included. 

You watched the two males from a distance, hands gripped tight around the wooden desk, like you were trying to keep some sexual beast from escaping out of you.

“Hey!” You scoffed when Derek wiped his gloved thumb over the window. Those were cleaned just two days ago!

He turns his head to you, brows furrowed in question. “Have these holes always been in here?”

Have these holes always been in here? You repeat in your hand with a mocking tone. Of course there haven’t been holes in the windows; this is a well-established restaurant! 

You spoke up, your tone sounding softer than it was intended. “What do you mean?” 

Aaron made a gesture with his hand, asking you to come over, and you did your best to not imagine what it’s like if he curled his fingers like that in a different situation. 

You patted your clammy hands on your pants, straightened your back, and walked over to them.

The moment you stood in front of the window, you noticed it: there were two clean, bullet-sized holes at varying heights, around three feet away from each other. You let your hand ghost over the window, feeling a slight breeze coming from outside.

“See this?” Derek circles the hole with his thumb — an act that your mind is also turning dirty. “You can tell that the shot is fired from outside.”

“Did they do it from the roof of that apartment?”

The observation seemed simple to you; the beige-colored apartment building facing the restaurant had the perfect viewpoint to aim directly at the window where you stood. But apparently you had said something genius, because Derek’s brows raised and Aaron’s eyes glazed over you with a look full of surprise and pride.

He nods. “That could be it. I’ll call Garcia.”

You had no clue who Garcia was, only that the call was so urgent that Aaron took large strides to the other side of the room, leaving you and Agent Morgan alone.

“You shouldn’t have touched the glass,” you muttered. It was very nitpicky, you were aware, but something in you pulled you to Derek Morgan — to the both of them, for that matter — that made you want to speak to him, no matter the subject.

He chuckled, moving his eyebrows in an expressive way. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

You kept your voice steady, wanting to radiate confidence. “I got them cleaned two days ago.”

That made him laugh even more. “You got them cleaned?” He shook his head in slight disbelief, still smirking. “You didn’t even clean them yourself, princess. You have no right to complain.”

The nickname easily rolled off of his tongue, and you could imagine you not being the first person receiving the pet name. Still your stomach fluttered.

He leaned closer to you, and you almost jumped when his muscled arm grazed yours. “Do you like being called princess?”

You scoffed a laugh, not showing the effect his words had on you. “What? You’re a mind reader?”

“I’m a profiler, princess, I work at the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.” 

Ah. 

Just when you were about to tease him back, the now familiar clicking of Aaron’s dress shoes filled the room. 

“You were right,” he started, announcing his presence. “We knew she was a hit woman, but Garcia found out she never works alone. We’re assuming she had two sharpshooters with her who shot the men from the apartment building when she gave the sign.”

The two agents eye each other, then the window, conspiratorially. 

“She had to have lured them to the window somehow.” Morgan analyzes, observing the ground he’s standing on. “She must’ve stood in the middle, one sharpshooter taking a victim each.”

Hotch is quiet for a moment, taking his words in. “There’s a lot of space in between them.”

“Maybe she wasn’t standing.”

You don’t know what possessed you to speak up again. You have no experience in the field; hell, you don’t even have enough free time to watch any crime shows.

“I’m sorry, I won’t interrupt anymore.”

“Do you think she was lying down?” Aaron asks you. Nothing about his looks or tone told you that he was joking. He was serious. He genuinely wanted to hear your opinion.

Still, you rub your neck, scared to say something stupid. “Uh, I don’t know. It just makes more sense, also with her height and stuff.”

“Was your coworker a flirt?”

Aaron and you tilt your face to Derek. As Aaron tries to figure out what the logic behind the question was, you think back on your coworker, and suddenly puzzle pieces start to connect.

“She hasn’t worked here for long, but she’s always been a bit flirty with them. The uh, the victims.”

Derek nods, shaking his head, his tongue poking into his cheek to hold back his sly grin. “This might sound crazy.”

A breathy chuckle escapes you. He cannot be thinking the same thing as you are.

Aaron is the only one not catching on, blinking between you guys. “What is it?”

-`♡´-

That’s how you found yourself balancing on the soles of your feet while Aaron stood behind you, his hands holding your hips steady while you had your back bent with your own hands clawed around Derek’s thighs as he towered over you. 

And to not leave any details behind: Aaron was slowly rubbing the head of his cock along the swollen lips of your pussy, while your tongue was toying and teasing the lines along Derek’s length. 

Okay, it didn’t happen that fast. You were desperate, but you still had some manners. 

Derek was quick to find out that the unsub had used sex to lure the men to the window. It was because of a mutual effort that you figured out the position: Eiffel Tower. 

It was ironic, sure, the Eiffel Tower sex position in the Eiffel Tower itself. You had stupidly laughed about it and had tried to mimic the position to Aaron with your hands. But instead of joining you in your joking, his expression remained neutral. He had considered your words… and it sounded plausible to him.

First you had watched as Aaron and Derek stood on the spots where the victims had stood last night. They spoke to themselves, pretending to be them in this strange sort of role play of the dead, trying to get a glimpse of whatever the victims and the unsub must’ve been thinking at the time.

It was Derek who had called you over. His voice sounded casual, strictly business, as he asked you for your help. As if reenacting a sexual position with two federal agents was the usual procedure. 

Not one to decline the commands of authority, you had given a tight-lipped smile, maneuvering yourself in between their broad bodies. Grateful that running around the restaurant on the daily had kept you some sort of flexible, you had bent your back, clawing onto Derek’s thighs to keep yourself steady.

It was only when you blinked up that you noticed how incredibly close your face was to the agent’s groin. “Oh, sorry,” you apologized in embarrassment, taking a small step back until you bumped your ass against the stiffening length in Aaron’s pants. 

You stayed still, as if keeping quiet for the next moments would magically make everyone forget about what had just happened. What you had just felt. 

Derek spoke up first, trying to lighten the mood by giving a low whistle. “Now this is a sight for sore eyes.”

Aaron cleared his throat, remembering what he was here for. “This could be the position.” His gaze flicked to the bullet holes in the glass that matched almost precisely with their heights. “A clear shot straight through their heads.” 

Still, he didn’t move. Didn’t give you a Thank you for your help, we know enough. No, he stayed right in place. He even shuffled closer to you, the heat radiating off of him. 

And then he pressed his hips forward. Just slightly. Just to let you feel him, to see what kind of reaction he could get out of you. 

The air left your lungs in a quiet gasp, the action catching you off guard. You hadn’t even realized how turned on you were until you felt how damp your panties clung onto you now that his hips were pressed against yours.

Inevitably, you followed the gasp with a moan. A loud one at that, showing just how desperate you’d been for a single touch.

God, you were embarrassed. You wanted to dig a hole to crawl in and not get out for the foreseeable future. But apparently the agents didn’t share that same sentiment. To be more precise, Derek let out a groan in response, throwing his head back like he had been holding it in this whole time. As if his dirtiest dreams just came to life right in front of him. 

You noticed his pants creasing around his crotch as his hardening cock filled out the fabric. Words only made things awkward, more difficult than they had to be, so you let your hands talk.

“That’s it, princess,” Derek sighed in pleasure as your fingers brushed over the thick outline of his length. 

Some of your senses seemed to sharpen — finding yourself in some weird trance while you played with him, already fantasizing over how his cock would look and feel when there’d be no clothes separating you. Other thoughts (mainly worries) faded to the background in a blur. You didn’t — couldn’t — think about the fact that you were doing this in public. With one turn of your head, you’d be able to look out of the window and see the panoramic view of Paris, all of its citizens. But it didn’t matter to you. Neither did it matter that you were about to have sex at an active crime scene nor that a bunch of reporters were standing outside, eagerly waiting for the agents to leave the tower. 

How could you worry about those things when you were squished in between two federal agents? Agents who are meant to protect you, and in this case, please you too.

Aaron held you steady by your upper thighs, enabling you to play with his colleague’s cock. You looked up at Derek with darkened irises full of lust, and it only took one nod from him to give you the go sign. 

Hungrily, your hands fiddled with his slacks, grateful that he wasn’t wearing a belt so that you could pull them down with a single tug after undoing the button. Your heart hammered in your chest, breath heaving in anticipation as you sneaked your hands into his pants. A hum escaped you when you felt the muscles of Derek’s firm thighs. 

Not only had your hands moved in greed. Simultaneously, Aaron’s strong, calloused fingers had slipped into the waistband of your pants, mirroring your movements. You stopped your own ministrations, facing Derek’s well-groomed v-line as you helped Aaron by stepping out of your pants, your underwear smoothly coming along.

“Shit, look at you,” Aaron praised in a husky voice.

There was no time to process his words as a sharp sting bloomed across the cheek of your ass. Then another. The delicious impact made you stumble forward, your nose brushing against Agent Morgan’s shaft that was still mostly covered by his boxers.

You surprised the both of them by being into it (very much so), placing a wet kiss on the exposed shaft, using your dominant hand to bunch the fabric down in a hurry until it pooled at his knees. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Derek breathed out, his hands finding your hair as you got to work, peppering kisses along his stiffening heavy length. “Come on, take it. It’s yours.”

Using only the tip of your tongue, you pushed the head of his cock up until it lay flat in your mouth. Then, trying to keep some composure, you carefully swallowed him inch by inch until he was comfortable filling your throat. 

Behind you, Aaron had busied himself with taking off his pants, only catching your attention when his belt hit the floor with a loud clang. He had fisted his leaking cock in a tight grip, pumping himself a few times for good measure before aligning himself with your cunt. His arousal dripped onto your needy folds, adding to your slickness. 

You moaned around Derek’s length, eyes watering from the ache in your jaw and the teasing pressure of Aaron’s cock against your swollen clit. 

Aaron had set a steady pace, dragging his tip along your folds — occasionally slipping an inch into your entrance just to tease you — and you followed that rhythm by bobbing your head up and down, connecting the three of you in this filthy dance.

“Feel that?” Aaron hissed as he slipped his tip back in. “How she’s pulling me in?” 

It truly was a challenge to communicate with someone when you had your mouth full of cock. 

“Oh, she’s enjoying it,” Derek answered for you, hands tightening into your hair and tilting his head back to get a better view of his colleague’s cock disappearing into your pussy. “I think she wants some more, Hotch.”

Thank you. 

“I know she wants it, Morgan. Her pussy’s begging me for it.” And with that, his thick girth slides into you. Not inch by inch like Derek’s had — no hesitation — just one smooth, long stroke until he bottomed out.

“Fuck!” you cried, sputtering for breath as your hand replaced your mouth on Derek’s length.

Your pussy clenched around him, swallowing him deeper until the rough hairs on his happy trail tickled your skin. Every sliver of your skin felt like it was on fire, your entire body charged with pure bliss as the hands of two men played with you.

“Don’t get distracted now,” Aaron spoke in a low tone, keeping his hands splayed out on your thighs, fingers digging into the plump flesh as he thrust himself into you.

The initial burning of being filled was quick to dissolve into pleasure. The girth of his length dragged along your inner walls, stretching you open with each push and pull of his hips. 

Meanwhile, Derek was getting impatient. He lazily fisted his cock, now standing fully proud and erect, practically begging to enter your tight throat again. 

He grazed your jaw with his knuckles, coaxing you to look up at him.

“Come get another taste, pretty girl,” he cooed, using the blunt head of his cock to paint your lips in a slick gloss. 

“That’s it,” Aaron hummed in satisfaction, watching the scene unfold in front of him. “Now give him a little kiss.”

His words ignited a spark in you, the tingling sensation shooting directly to your core. You licked your lips, savoring the salty and inviting taste before parting your lips and taking him in. Your mouth happily welcomed him back, already used to his size as you explored his cock further with your tongue. 

Aaron’s hands were exploring your body, not knowing where to settle his palms as they roamed from the soft skin of your stomach that hid beneath your blouse back to the plump swell of your ass as he continued fucking himself into you. 

“Fucking perfect,” Aaron grunted. “Taking us like it’s nothing. Like you do it every day.”

If they only knew that you hadn’t gotten laid in months, that this is a result of the sheer desperation that had been building up.

“She needed this bad, Hotch,” the profiler in front of you spoke knowingly. His eyes found yours, cupping your jaw that held his heavy length inside of it. “I think we should give her a little more. You deserve that, don’t you, baby?”

Instead of nodding, you shook your head to take more of him in, licking a bold stripe to the underside of his cock to agree. Then you tightly clenched your walls, repeating the message to Aaron. 

“Is that what you want, honey?”

Another clench.

“Alright, then,” he breathed, squeezing your ass. “You’ve asked for it.” 

Suddenly his cock slipped out of you, leaving you painfully empty. But before you could whimper in complaint, he had dropped himself to his knees, fingers gripping your hips as he pulled you down with him, his cock entering you again in a single, smooth motion. 

The hard floor bruised your knees, positioned in doggy, but with your upper body bent as you held onto Derek’s thigh. The Eiffel Tower now more reminiscent of the Tower of Pisa. 

Aaron angled his cock into you so that his tip comfortably nuzzled into your G-spot, drawing a low whine from your mouth. Either Aaron was a great profiler in areas outside of crime too, or this man was very experienced — because he knew exactly how you liked it: lifting your hips up and down his cock, giving you full-body shudders with every thrust. 

Derek’s cock hovered above your face, just inches away from your mouth. This time he didn’t have to ask, because in a second you had greedily wrapped your lips around him again, craving his taste after the momentary loss. 

You wrapped your soft fingers around his shaft, stroking him with practiced ease, matching the movements of your head.

You knew you were done for when Aaron’s palm dragged from your lower stomach to your heat. His long fingers spread open your folds. Your clit was already throbbing, awaiting his touch. The little bud twitched when he pressed the pad of his finger against it, not even needing to circle it for you to start moaning out, the weight of the contact enough to drive you crazy. 

“There she is,” Derek hummed, proudly watching you as you hollow your cheeks around him. “Still sucking me so good even when that tight pussy is getting used.”

You speed up the flicks of your wrist, pulling your mouth back to catch a deep breath. A moan leaves your lips just by seeing how the agent is hovering over you — his lip caught in between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes blinking tightly shut when you tease his slit with the tip of your tongue.

“Fuck, babygirl, you’re gonna make me come like that.” He hissed.

“That’s exactly what she wants, Derek,” Aaron grunts, fastening the drags of his finger over your clit while he moves his cock in and out of you in deep strokes. 

“This sweet pussy is going to come all over me,” he continues, voice raspy. “She wants you to fill her mouth. Give her something back.”

Derek smirked. “I’ll give you what you want, but… ladies first.”

Hearing his words made you realize that you were subconsciously waiting for some sort of permission to let go. The second that Derek had finished his sentence, your legs started trembling. Aaron’s pace was relentless, marking you up from the inside. The head of his cock kissed your G-spot with every push of his hips, and you desperately clung onto the warm wave that was building deep in your stomach.

“Doing so good for us, you’re almost there.” Aaron praised you. “Let us fill you up, honey, give you what you deserve. All you have to do is let go.”

A cry tore from your lips as your walls broke down. All of your muscles spasmed, hit by one aftershock after the other.

Your orgasm tipped Derek over the edge, palms holding your head steady as he spilled into your mouth. 

Aaron placed his hands in the air in surrender, watching in awe as your body shook and pulsed around him. How the muscles in Morgan’s pelvis clenched as he shot his warm release down your throat.

Your cunt was gripping him so tightly. Fucking weeping for more. 

And Aaron gave it to you.

A loud, guttural moan echoed through the restaurant as his hips stuttered, painting your walls white.

“That’s a good fucking girl,” Derek breathed out, head thrown back with a lazy grin. 

Derek’s cock slipped out of your mouth, traces of your saliva and his cum dripping off his half-hard length. 

“You got a lil something—“ His thumb brushed some slick off of your chin before pushing the digit into your mouth. You licked his thumb clean with a flick of your tongue, moaning as you did so. 

When he removed his finger, you allowed yourself to lean back into Aaron’s chest. Collapse, more like. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, and you took comfort in the way his cock softened inside of you. 

Not as fazed as you are, Derek pulled his pants back up. He shoved his cock into his boxers, not minding the wet stain that he left on them.  

“The bodies must be at the morgue right now. I’ll meet Spencer there.” 

Only now did your mind feel clear enough to realize the gravity of the situation.

It became even more clear when Aaron gently pushed you off of him, taking your hand to lift you up. Then he repeated Derek’s acts by dressing himself.

Hurriedly you did the same, ignoring the warm semen that dripped down your thighs as you pulled your underwear up. 

Aaron waited until you were done and then held out his hand, a white card seated between his thumb and pointer finger. “Thank you for your help. We’ll contact you when we know more about the case.”

-`♡´-

It was several days later when your phone rang.

It was a habit to pick up right away. As a manager, being the one all clients and establishments will reach out to.

“Hello?”

“It’s SSA Aaron Hotchner. We have an update on the case.”

“Oh,” you breathed out. Not your most clever response, but not yet having whipped your head around the fact of who’s on the other side of the line.

Night after night you find yourselves talking, and suddenly your vocabulary is filled with terms you’d never imagined discussing outside bureau protocol. Hard limits and soft boundaries. Carefully planned visits. He even tested a few daring suggestions you’d never imagined yourself fantasizing about, intriguing you as much as they embarrass you.

Although mortification isn’t the problem. You’re a born profiler with an inconvenient instinct to study every new stimulus; curiosity is your ruin, so to speak. If shame were meant to deter you, it should’ve chosen a less enticing disguise.

Granted, you’re not exactly surprised when you slip into Aaron’s motel room and spot another presence waiting. You find Spencer like that, standing warily at the foot of the bed, looking strangely out of place despite the fact your knees had brushed in the SUV only an hour ago.

But your heart does a little somersault. A silly patter that spreads through your chest with the dizzy certainty that an idea you’ve only read in ink is about to be written in flesh.

The clause was tucked near the end of the contract — “the introduction of a third participant at the discretion of the primary.” You’d half-skimmed those last few pages, disbelief blurring the words when you couldn’t quite fathom that your fantasies had been printed and bound like actual paperwork.

It’s one thing to discuss it verbally, another thing entirely to see it embodied in your hands like an actual scripture.

“I just want you to feel safe,” Aaron had said, which struck you as almost redundant. You already felt safe without having these stipulations spelled out in twelve-point font. Still, you picked up the pen, humored his need for formalities, and wrote your name in deliberate strokes.

And with Spencer hovering a few unsure steps from the bed tonight, that small flourish of ink seems to glow on the page in your memory.

“You’re late,” Aaron greets from the other side of the room, and closes the space between you in three easy strides.

“Emily cornered me in the hallway," you say, meeting him halfway for a kiss before nudging back, a wry smile on your lips. “So I’m guessing he knows about us?”

His gaze flicks to Spencer before settling back on you. “He found our contract.”

Your brows curve into a frown. “You mean… he found the thing just lying around?”

“Not exactly." He gives a curt shake of his head. "It was on my desk. Didn’t think he’d come in without knocking.”

"Aaron."

“It was an oversight," he tries to defend himself. He spares you the detail that Spencer apparently read enough to memorize every clause and condition. You’re already eyeing him dubiously.

“And why is he here now?”

The same logic that led Aaron to keeping him here.

“For his silence.”

"You’re blackmailing him?”

The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Of course not. I’d call it leveraging a situation for mutual understanding."

“That is the prettiest way I’ve ever heard someone describe blackmail.”

A soft shuffle of shoes answers you from behind.

“It isn’t blackmail,” Spencer interjects. “He didn’t force me into anything. I wanted to understand what was going on and—” He falters at the subtle, expectant tilt of Aaron’s head, then clears his throat and finishes, “—and now I do.”

Aaron’s hand finds its way to your waist. “Are you okay with this?”

Are you?

You don’t answer immediately. It isn’t indecision that holds your tongue to the roof of your mouth, rather the slow crawl of anticipation that coils low in your belly. Skittering around your hips.

Oddly enough, the prospect doesn’t rattle you the way it once did when you first traced those lines in the contract. You’d just never thought the day would actually arrive, and certainly not today, with Spencer, of all people.

You can almost hear the flutter of his pulse from here, see the quiet calculations ticking behind lowered lashes as he tries to stand perfectly still. He’s cinched into his cardigan that's smoothed flat over narrow shoulders, and you’d be lying if you claimed you’d never wondered what hid beneath all those layers of neatly pressed wool.

Pure curiosity, you reason. Curiosity fed by the sparks you’ve caught in his eyes when he thought you weren’t looking. A sweep of hazel that dips down your neckline, or by the restless twitch of his fingers whenever your perfume drifts too close. And you’ve idly speculated, maybe more than once, whether those fidgeting hands would feel rough on your skin or as soft as the flush rising in his cheeks.

You let the quiet stretch for one more heartbeat, watching his gaze snag on the top of your blouse before darting back up.

Heat coils languid and sweet inside you.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I’m okay. I think.”

“Need you to be sure, sweetheart.”

“I’m okay,” you repeat, trying to smooth out your voice. Maybe saying it once more will solidify your confidence. “I’m really okay.”

Aaron’s palm tightens at your waist. “Color?”

It takes you a while to understand what he means, but when you do, you feel the answer rise with the next breath you take.

“Green.”

“Good, if at any point it changes, you tell me.”

You give him a slight dip of your head.

"Reid, come here."

Spencer obeys before he seems aware he’s moving. One cautious step, then another, until you can feel the anxious energy rippling off him. He’s close enough now that the crease of your knee nearly grazes the front of his slacks. Close enough you can catch the soft quiver in his limbs.

Your own chest tightens at the sheer proximity, but whatever butterflies flit through you aren’t half as fierce as the ones etched across his tense shoulders and downturned gaze.

“Spence, it’s okay, you can touch me," you offer.

He curls his fingers into fists, chords of tendon shifting under skin gone too pale.

He’s overthinking, of course. Mental gears grinding loud enough to drown out his own pulse. It’s his nature to second-guess and dissect unfamiliar situations from every angle. He did it when he first spotted the contract on Aaron’s desk, when Aaron quietly invited him here, even when he agreed to come of his own free will. But standing in front of you knots those gears tighter.

Enumerate risks, assign probability, choose the safest option.

The safest option, though, he realizes, is the most dangerous one.

But the real danger isn’t the touch itself. It’s how a single brush of fingertips will shatter his neatly ordered rules.

Consent redraws the margins while he continues to study. You give him an expectant look, Aaron seals it with a nod, and suddenly the universe has shrunk to three conspirators orbiting a single point of contact.

So he closes the last inch between you. Pulls in the same measured breath he’s perfected on the firing line. One, two, three — on four his fingertips drift forward, brushing the sleeve of your blouse. The cotton vibrates under his knuckles, yet even through the fabric he can feel the pliant warmth of your skin. He coaxes higher along your arm, sliding past the cuff and onto the bare flesh of your shoulder.

You’re warmer here, silken, and the softness doubles when his hand cups the delicate column of your neck, thumb resting in the hollow below your jaw. Softest of all, though, is the sight that meets him when he finally lifts his gaze. Plump, glossy petals of dewy lips.

Gone is every ounce of hesitation.

He steel himself for the question hanging on his lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

Useless, of course, when you’re already leaning in.

So he does, carrying the bite of burnt motel coffee and a trace of whatever dessert he demolished tonight. You also catch the tang of his nerves on your tongue. He’s a jumble of sensations — confused, curious, ravenous, and that ripple of hunger makes itself known as he nudges his cock against your hip. The pressure loosens your knees, and just as you begin to sync with the eager pull of his mouth, another hard pressure claims the space behind.

Aaron’s obvious bulge slots perfectly between your ass, as well as the way his mouth latches along the spot where your pulse flutters the most.

It’s nearly impossible to keep your heartbeat steady when attention comes in perfect pairs.

Two mouths tracing heat.

Two cocks hemming you in.

Two sets of hands shaping your body — a pair cupping your breasts firmly, another holding your hip while the last hand dips over the fabric covering your mound.

It takes a drowsy, blinking inhale before you realize it’s Spencer coaxing pleasure through the damp cloth. A new type of pleasure that comes with new territory as his fingers slide in patient circles, translating curiosity into confidence with every slow stroke. It’s a novel kind of surrender that eclipses the rules you thought you understood with Aaron alone.

This is a submission refracted through two different types of needs. Circumstances might look like you’re completely helpless with two men manhandling you, but somehow you've never felt more powerful.

And that power consumes you, bleeding warmth into your skin until it feels like you’re burning from the inside out. Flooding every nerve, soaking through your pores until even the hum of the air conditioner feels weak against the sweat beading at the small of your back.

Aaron feels the tremor beneath his palm.

“Too hot?”

You manage a weak nod. “Mhm.”

He quickly moves to remedy it. He won’t have his sweet girl suffering for even a second longer than necessary. His fingers skim down your blouse, carefully slipping buttons through holes before Spencer’s eager hands join him — unhooking, unbuttoning, and sliding the rest of your clothes off until there’s nothing left between you and the open air.

Your lungs finally fill without the last scrap of fabric, though each inhale stays shallow. The stark contrast between your bare skin and the layers of their tailored shirts and pressed slacks only sharpens the ache gathering low in your belly. You’re so wound up that a slow, insistent throb of liquid seeps between the snug folds of your cunt.

Aaron is quick to notice, too. He’s already attuned to your body by now, the way gooseflesh ripples up your thighs the moment you try to squeeze them together for relief. Before you’ve even fully registered it, his arm loops around your waist, guiding you a step back toward the bed.

In one smooth pull you’re lifted, settled astride his lap. “I think we should show him how wet you are.”

You lean back, heart hammering in your chest.

In another life, shame would color your cheeks, but in this one, you’re too keenly aware of your own arousal as his hands hook under your thighs, spreading your legs apart.

Spencer falls to his knees. And wets his bottom lip, eyes fixed on the sheen glistening between your legs — pretty and glossy without a single touch from either of them, and he wonders how much more of a mess he can make of you. That thought sends two fingers pressing against the swollen outer lips, gently stretching them for a better view of your anatomy as he breathes in your musky scent.

God, you smell delicious.

He bets you taste just as good too.

As if drown to a magnetic pull, he leans in and lets the tip of his tongue flick against the tender spot of your clit.

You’re not sure if the gasp that escapes your lips is louder than the rush of blood pounding in your ears. Spencer hears it, feels it, and takes it as permission. He lingers, gently at first, tracing delicate circles that coax your clit into a throbbing fullness until the once shy nub swells under the next pass of his tongue.

The hammering behind your eyes barrels down your veins, skimming collarbones and ribcage, rushing through your gut before pooling right where his mouth is working. Broad laps that drag from your slick entrance to the tip. Sucks a plush fold of your labia into his mouth, testing delicate skin with gentle tugs.

Your next exhale comes out as a moan, and Aaron marvels at the sound. “Feels good?”

Good is an anemic word — barely a quarter of what’s sluicing through you when Spencer curls his tongue inside your tight walls. Pleasure radiates in hot pulses, and language dissolves on your tongue as your head lolls helplessly against Aaron’s shoulder.

He tries to press you again. Hooks a finger beneath your jaw to tilt your chin up, leaving a ghost of space that tempts you to close your mouth around him. He pulls away when you lean in.

“Good, sweetheart?”

He clearly wants an answer. So you give him one — stretch your voice into the space he’s carved for you.

“S’good.”

“Yeah?”

Your hips stutter into Spencer’s mouth. “Yes—yes. Good.”

You're finally rewarded with a kiss and a groan between your legs.

Shame really has nothing on you. Your body is on fire, and the only thing that matters is the taste of his lips plastered against yours while Spencer’s mouth devours you in greedy lungfuls. Drags his tongue slow and heavy across the entire span of your cunt as the faint rasp of his jaw scrapes against your inner thighs.

You’re hardly surprised by how your orgasm coils fast. Starts as a scatter of static in your toes, slithers up your calves and welds the muscles of your thighs as Spencer’s mouth seals around you, lips locking, tongue pressing. Instinct has your legs snapping shut around his head, but a low disapproving sound from Aaron vibrates on your mouth, cuts through your blinding haze.

“No, no—spread them open,” he tuts, prying your legs wider. “Let him take care of you.”

You can only whine in response.

Your thoughts knot and unravel in the same breath, slipping through your grasp the moment they begin to form. Words dissolve. Time warps. You're reduced to pure reaction — tiny, involuntary gasps that stutter out between parted lips. You can't keep still. Can't breathe deep. Every inhale shudders. Heat blooms at the base of your skull, racing along nerve paths until your toes curl in suspended air.

Then it hits again. But his mouth doesn’t stop the mess he's made of you. Slick glistens down his chin, streaking into the shallow hollows of his cheeks, pooling in the groove where his jaw meets his neck. He tilts his head, adjusting just enough to keep you pinned with legs spread wide and twitching as he slurps you up with intense hunger.

A keening cry rips free before you can swallow it.

Aaron notices it. Sees the way you nearly go cross-eyed towards the ceiling, jaw unhinged and mouth dangling loose.

“Reid,” he warns.

Spencer barely blinks.

“Reid.”

His voice continues to fall on deaf ears.

“Reid.”

It isn’t until Aaron firmly pushes his head away that Spencer finally snaps out of it. His eyes dart up to meet Aaron’s, then to you, chest rising and falling as though suddenly realizing the state he’s left you in.

“Oh—I’m sorry,” there’s an edge of guilt in his voice. His gaze drops back to your swollen clit, overly sensitive from his relentless attention, and moves in to press a soft, almost apologetic kiss to it. “I’m sorry.”

Your hips jerk at the contact.

Aaron rests a hand over your thigh, “Let’s give her a minute.”

You finally manage to clamp your mouth shut.

It does seem wise to wait until your heartbeat evens out, let your pulse crawl back down from its wild pitch. Yet the space they leave empty aches just as sharply. All you can feel is emptiness and the gnawing urge to be filled, so you shift in Aaron’s lap, sliding forward until your hips brush the sharply pressed crease of his slacks.

“I’m fine,” you blurt out. “I can keep going.”

Aaron’s palm spans your stomach. “I don’t want to push you too far.”

“You're not,” you insist, and with desperation digging its claws way too deep in your chest, you add, “Please?"

His lips curl into a knowing smile. You're practically bleating, and he’s absolutely smitten. "You're begging already."

You are, and you'd gladly do it again. Say it sweeter, say it filthier. You’ve learned to like begging, learned how easy it sits on your tongue when it earns you that look.

"Need you, Aaron."

He looks absolutely pleased.

“You need me?" His gaze slips towards Spencer, still crouched between your thighs, wetting his lips. "Or do you need him?”

Your mouth opens before you can think—

“Need you both.”

Which, after years spent of working alongside them, is something you never expected to admit.

But the honesty on your tongue tastes absolutely sweet.

Everything then unravels in a blur of impatient hands. Buttons pop, zippers slip, fabric rustles to the floor in a blur of motion you’ll replay later but can’t quite track now. Your own senses tunnel to the snap of Spencer’s belt, the soft thud of Aaron’s shoes hitting carpet, the sigh of crisp cotton sliding from skin.

By the time the last scrap of fabric has hit the floor, you’re stretched on your side atop the cool sheets with Aaron’s solid heat pressed along your back. He braces your leg up, while the blunt crown of his cock teases the slick seam of your cunt. You’re already dripping, so incredibly wet that one firm push has the soft flesh of your hole bulging around his girth when he sinks all the way.

It doesn’t dull the shock of intrusion, though. Aaron is all all weight and pulsing veins, and no matter how many times he’s fucked you senseless, you never quite get used to how he stretches you open. The burn hits sharp, then dissolves into a syrupy ache you drink down willingly.

You also swallow around the thick head of Spencer’s cock pressing to your mouth, feeling the bitter tang dissolve on your tongue as he pauses to gauge your reaction. Your first instinct is disbelief. It boggles your mind how someone built so lanky and lithe can carry such surprising weight, but instead you let a tiny, encouraging nod.

It's all it takes for him to nudge forward.

He lets out a tiny gasp, hips stuttering as your warmth envelopes the only part your mouth can comfortably take. A shiver races through his frame, and before he can stop himself, one hand threads into your hair with a desperate grip. He’s trying so hard to be gentle, but his pelvis gives a needy push.

You choke around the force punching your throat.

Aaron immediately slows his own rhythm behind you. “Reid, control yourself,” he warns. “Won’t have you hurting her.”

You pull back just enough to steal a breath.

“No—” You swallow, eyes darting up to meet Spencer’s wide, worried gaze. “It’s okay. Do it again.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I like it,” you manage, and Aaron’s brows lift slightly. He’s never taken you too roughly. Binding you with his tie is an exercise in restraint, a blindfold a test of trust, and when it comes to edging, his patience is almost cruel in its tenderness. He likes to think his dominance is a careful thing.

But clearly he underestimated you. Especially when you lift your gaze to Spencer with glassy, luminous eyes.

“You can use my mouth,” you say softly, a little bashfully. “I want you to.”

The confession snaps something loose in Aaron. He grunts, hikes your leg higher and plunges into you with reckless speed. “You should’ve told me sooner,” he grits out. “Didn’t know you liked it so rough.”

Your clammy back slides against his chest every time he drives into you. “I-I did, you’re just a big softie.”

He gives you another grunt against your bare shoulder while Spencer tries to catch your attention again, brushing a damp strand of hair clinging to your cheek.

“Are you sure?”

You don’t think you’ve ever been this certain.

Confidence has never felt so visceral when you know what you want, and the idea someone as awkward as Spencer surrendering to hunger enough to use your mouth only slicks you further around Aaron’s cock.

So you tilt your head back shamelessly, tongue slipping out in a languid sweep over your lower lip.

And how can he possibly resist?

He wraps his hand around the back of your skull, palm splayed wide and fingers tangling in your hair as he thrusts forward. Sets a smooth languid pace, slow enough you can feel every rigid vein drag across your tongue. Most times he glides in with practiced care, more often than not, the bulbous tip of his cock bumps up against discomfort that lingers just the shy of pain.

Tears prick your lashes, a throbbing ache begins to set in your jaw, but you force your muscles to relax. Concentrate on the rush of air through your nose.

Inhale, exhale.

Gag.

Swallow.

Soft wiry curls brush the sensitive curve of your nose with each thrust as you continue to let him mold your throat into his own perfect fit. He fills your mouth with the same certainty Aaron fills your cunt, so that no inch of you remains untouched.

You’re a mess of body fluids. Spit runs from the corners of your mouth, sweat paints your bruising skin. But it’s your pussy that bears the most, swollen and slick beyond reason, you’re so thoroughly fucked that every plunge punches a shameless squelch into the air. Bounces off the faded wallpaper and the brittle plaster of an old building that has seen better days. Decades, even.

This place couldn’t be further from luxury. It’s a simple nondescript motel on the edge of this town that’s only available where the stench of cheap detergent and stale air barely masks the lingering scent of old cigarettes. Though the sagging mattress is more than enough to cradle you between two bodies in a sweaty, desperate mess.

And desperation thickens the air, thick as summer humidity. Aaron’s thrusts grow sloppy, grip bruising your skin as he pants against your ear, “Not gonna last long, sweetheart.”

You don’t think you’re going to last any longer either. Not when the sheer force of his pace makes it impossible to focus on anything else. It’s becoming too much, and Spencer seems to notice your fractured gasps muffled around his shaft. He looks at you through heavy lids and takes pity on your predicament, pulls himself out of your mouth and sits back on his heels.

You still catch the sight of him fisting his cock through the mist clouding your eyes, but even that melts away when Aaron’s lips find the shell of your ear, whispering all the filthy things that ruins what’s left of your fragile composure.

Always so good to me.

That’s it, taking me so well.

—my sweet, sweet girl.

But it isn’t until his voice drops lower that your body responds without permission.

“Gonna fill you up, yeah?” His teeth graze your earlobe. “You'll let me do that?”

Your cunt squeezes him so fiercely that he chokes on a grunt. Slides a heavy palm right at the supple flesh of your belly.

“Or you gonna let both of us fill you up?”

You feel your muscles tensing—

“Let him fuck my cum back into you?"

And moan unabashedly.

The sounds spilling from your throat hardly seem like your own. You try to marshal a proper syllable, but it simply melts on your tongue before it can crawl past your lips. What comes instead is an automatic stutter of nods, frantic little jerks of your head because he’s your boss, isn’t he? And good subordinates follow orders dutifully.

“That’s right,” Aaron croons. “Knew you’d take it. Such a good girl for me, aren't you?"

You nod even harder, grinding back against his ruthless thrusts while he keeps spinning those filthy words.

“Gonna be so full, sweetheart. Mess dripping out this pretty pussy."

The picture he paints is enough to tip you over the edge.

Pleasure snaps bright and violent. Your vision splinters into shards of glittering light as your cunt clamps down around him, walls fluttering in rapid spasms that slowly jerk his own release.

Aaron groans, fingers biting into the soft give of your skin while he keeps you chained. Holds you still as he floods your insides, heavy spurts that seem to pool deep in your belly before trickling down every fold of your flesh. Trickles weave along your swollen lips, mars the plush curve of your ass — stains your already wet thighs as he gently slips free.

You’re in no state to protest when he drags your limp body across tangled sheets. You don’t even have the strength to lift your head as he tucks you effortlessly under his chin, back to his chest, letting yourself dissolve between thick thighs. Your skin is burning fresh from the tremor clinging in your core.

Your lungs still stutter, but your pulse is clamoring for more.

Seldom have you seen Spencer move with such quiet certainty. He sinks to his knees between your quivering thighs, and the dim lamplight silvers the slick shine on his cock as he guides it through the creamy mess clinging to your folds. Quite repulsive, but nothing less than a wicked kind of fascination.

Clearly he sees the appeal — why else would he press the rounded crown against your hole, only to have you seize around him even after being stretched so thoroughly? Mesmerized is a better way to put it as he tries to rut deeper, and with every inch your pretty cunt swallows, he wonders why he’s wasted years fussing over germs when raw pleasure like this exists.

When you simply exist.

He lets out a pleased sigh when you finally stretch around him (takes a moment of more slow rocking and a hissed curse you’ve never heard from his lips) as your eyes hone in on the spot where your bodies merge. Hips flushed, pelvis snug, coarse hair pressed against your puffy clit, and you feel a stab of fullness that spirals straight into your spine.

It doesn’t take long for him to fuck you then.

Like a man possessed, too.

Your nails bite into Aaron’s thighs. Claws sinking into warm flesh as you brace yourself for every brutal thrust Spencer rams into you. The force sends your tits bouncing with each snap of his hips, and Aaron’s hands are there in an instant — rough palms claiming the soft weight, wicked thumbs skating over taut peaks. Rolls them between calloused fingers with just enough pressure to sting your eyes.

The rapture on your face is barely recognizable anymore. Pinched and overwhelmed, you don’t notice him abandoning your perky nipples to skim down your torso until the pruny pads of his fingertips find your soaking clit.

Your back arches off his chest.

“Fuuuck—” you wail, “gonna c-come.”

He can see that. It’s painfully, beautifully obvious to anyone with eyes that you’re right on the edge again for what must be the hundredth time tonight. And Aaron doesn’t think of himself as cruel. Far from it, really. But watching your body almost folded in half has him feeling absolutely wicked.

His voice is toothy sweet as he rubs firm circles against your poor, overstimulated clit. “I know, sweetheart. Gonna come again from being used?”

“Ah, ah—baby—p-please—”

“Gonna soak his cock for me? Show him how good my girl is?”

“Aaron—!”

“Mmm? What’s that?” He hums lazily. “You want me to stop?”

A desperate whine tears from your throat, and your shaking fingers clutch at the coarse hair on his forearm. His muscles flex beneath your grip, then loosen, then tighten. All it earns you is an amused laugh and an open-mouthed kiss to your cheek.

“Oh, my pretty girl. Greedy little thing can’t even decide, can you?”

“I— I can— I want—”

“Shh,” he soothes, though his touch only grows faster. Rubs your tight little bud as your hips buck shamelessly into the twofold stimulation. “No need to think, sweetheart, that’s my job. Yours is to take it, isn’t it?”

Your words slur into a quiet sob—

“You can take it, I know you can—yes—yes, that’s it, sweetie, give it to us. Come on, just like that—”

—before it blares into the stale air.

The back of your heels kick the mattress the moment you come around his word.

Spencer does too, lungs pummeled when your cunt squeeze around his length, gripping him like a steel vise.

He feels it all the way down to his bones, feels the ache radiating from his groin to his thighs and into the small of his back with every pulse of cum that hammers into you. His hips jerk in a frantic rhythm that no amount of bliss can slow, even when the swollen head of his cock nudges the soft resistance of your cervical lip, seeking a depth that simply doesn’t exist.

Still, he grinds deeper, crushing the distance until you’re stuffed full with an ironclad grip on your thighs.

“S-Spence…”

“A bit more,” he rasps. “Promise. Just a little more.”

That little fills you to the absolute brim.

It feels like his own pulse is tangled in the tight press of your walls.

And you’ve never known the smell of sex this strong. The air all but congeals when he finally pulls out, a slow, sticky slide that draws silken filaments of white from your used, swollen hole as three pairs of eyes lock onto the streak.

Yours is a little bleary. You can’t tell which milky ribbon belongs to whom, whose thick release is swirling with the gloss of your own slick, or which heartbeat drums the loudest in the tight space between your bodies. Breath, heat, and sweat fold together until the three of you feel like a single organism with too many limbs and just one shared lung.

Not that it matters. None of you seem particularly bothered by the lack of space. Aaron reclines against the creaky headboard, cradling most of your weight across his chest while Spencer draws lazy patterns over your sated thighs.

You don’t mind in the least. In fact, you bask in them both, drifting in the strange yet comforting irony that it took a misplaced contract for you to realize intimacy could be plural. You never expected it to multiply so neatly.

Some connections, it seems, don’t fit into singular terms at all.

Later that night, when the two men almost twice your size crowd you in the cramped bathroom, you realize your thoughts are already rewriting the contract. You wonder if Aaron would let you make a slight revision, scribble the third-participant clause into something more permanent.

Nannying for the Hotchners was better than the families you babysat for in college. The term says it already; you were a nanny now, a live-in nanny at that. You had a home, a stable income, and took care of a shy but very sweet kid who grew more comfortable around you every day. If you closed your eyes, you could almost picture this being your life: the apartment you clean and cook warm meals in being yours, the mothers at Jack’s school seeing you as their equal and not just as “the nanny of”... And if you squint hard enough, you could imagine Aaron being your partner, the one who brought in the money so you could be a stay-at-home wife.

It’s not as delusional as it sounds, promise. Even though you and Aaron weren’t actually dating, at this point you might as well be. Because, honestly, can there really be any love involved with a man who always prioritizes his job? You lived in his house, took care of his kid, and besides that, there was only one more thing needed for the label of having a relationship: sex. And sex there was. Lots of it.

Okay, again, it might not be like the sex you’d see in a traditional relationship, but you lived in the 21st century, for Christ’s sake. It counted as something. At least to you. 

It had been a couple of months since you started working for Mr. Hotchner when you had made the mutual decision to add an extra addition to your contract: a free use policy.

The decision didn’t come out of nowhere. The second you had met up with Aaron over coffee to see if you were suitable for the job, there was a tension that neither of you could deny. An undeniable attraction that lingered in the air when your eyes first met across the café. A spark that coursed through both of your veins when he held out his hand and cupped your smaller one in his. The way your heart did a jump when he pulled out a chair for you and how his body had the same reaction at seeing your dress ride up when you sat down, revealing the slightest sliver of skin. 

This arrangement was destined to work. Aaron was stressed out and on the verge of breaking down if he didn’t get the relief of tension he so desperately needed after a long day of work. You needed to feel useful and worthy. Wanted by someone that in your eyes had it all. 

One and one make two.

It sounded simple enough to you: being each other’s sex buddy, satisfying each other’s needs without overcomplicating it. But it wouldn’t be your life if the execution of this plan went that smoothly. 

During a late night on the couch, several glasses of wine in, you tried making a move on Aaron. Your legs were intertwined, bundled up beneath a warm blanket. His fingers had found the bare skin of your calves, drawing slow circles as he listened to you recalling your day with Jack. His lips would curl ever so slightly when you mentioned Jack getting a compliment from his teacher or when you laughed as you repeated the pun you had learned from his son.

Still, the tiredness in his eyes remained, just like the dark circles beneath them that never seemed to fade.

You just wanted to help, make him feel comforted in a way you knew would work. He didn’t object when you scooted closer, turning your upper body to his to rest your head on his shoulder. He didn’t react when you used the tip of your nose to lightly graze his neck—apathetic to the small shiver of his shoulders and the trail of goosebumps that followed with your movement. He did not even flinch at the first couple of kisses that you pressed to his skin.

It was only when your hot breath fanned over the shell of his ear that he had stopped you. 

“We need to set boundaries. This isn’t professional.”

You swallowed down your sigh, chirping out a high-pitched sure. Deep down you could’ve predicted this. Aaron was the type of man disciplined enough to print out another copy of your contract, all the while ignoring the hard-on that was uncomfortably pressing against the zipper of his pants. 

It was admirable how he took the time to explain this “free use” arrangement to you. Despite you working with kids, you weren’t as patient. You were getting sex. That was all you needed to know. So you politely nodded along to his words as he scribbled down new information on the contract. 

“I need you to sign here,” Aaron murmured, glancing up at your position on the couch.

With an inaudible huff, you stood and walked up to the wooden table he was bent over. Aaron took a step back, giving you the space to prop yourself in between the table and his frame to take a better look at the paper.

Your eyes flit over the rules:

No kissing

Minimal talking during the act (sounds of pleasure and code word allowed)

No talking about the act outside of the act

And most importantly, since he is the boss, he makes the calls on when you’ll be having sex. No arguments.

The second you had scribbled down your signature on the new document, Aaron had pressed his body to yours. Large arms wrapped around your waist, his palms finding a home on your lower stomach. The erection you had spotted earlier wasn’t gone, as it now poked against the soft curve of your ass.

A breathless sound escaped your mouth, quickly turning louder when Aaron’s short, dark hair brushed against your ear, placing open-mouthed, wet kisses on the place where your neck met your jaw.

You remembered how his hand slid into your jeans next, his fingers expertly slipping between the puffy folds of your pussy. His breathing heaved with every curl of his finger, and so did his movements as he rocked his hips into your back. He was visibly enjoying making you feel good. That much you could tell, but still you had thought that this was just a warm-up to get you ready for him. But when you came—with a loud cry he had to muffle with his other palm—he had simply left the room.

It had been like this for the next couple of times: Aaron worshipping your body with his mouth or hands but never asking for anything in return. Maybe it was a boundary he wasn’t ready to cross yet, or maybe watching you come undone was enough to satiate his needs and take away his stress. No matter his initial reasons, eventually he wasn’t able to hold back anymore, your endeavors more often turning into you sucking him off while he’s on a tense phone call or having a quickie in the kitchen before the workday would start. Yes, specifically in the kitchen. Or any location other than the bedroom, for that matter. Because although not on the list, having sex in bed was an unspoken form of intimacy you agreed on not having.

But all sexual acts aside, at the end of the day you were a nanny. One who had a job to do. 

With a long stretch of your arms and a loud groan, you climbed out of bed this morning. The weekend—two days filled with cheering Jack on during his soccer matches and baking chocolate chip cookies—unfortunately has come to an end. 

Your feet moved on autopilot, still in a dazed state from your sleep, until you found yourself in Aaron’s bedroom. It was only to enter the connected master’s bathroom. It was probably against the “rules”, but no one could deny that his bathroom was superior to the guest one: it had a large shower cabin made out of glass, a window where the perfect amount of sunlight beamed through in the mornings, and there were discreet spotlights hidden in the ceiling that illuminated the room in a romantic setting during late night showers.

You never showered here when Aaron was at home. But he had been on a case this entire weekend, giving you the opportunity to fully enjoy the luxuries of his apartment. You did suspect that he was aware of your sneaky endeavors. One day he had come out of the shower smelling exactly like the vanilla scent of your shampoo—the shampoo you had forgotten to take back to your room with you.

Turning on the shower made you realize why waking up early was worth it. Warm drops of water fell down your skin, the fog that came free wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You had exactly one hour until Jack would wake up, one hour to abuse Mr. Hotchner’s water bill and carry out your sacred full-body routine.

You were in the middle of rinsing the shampoo out of your hair when the creaking of the bathroom door sounded. 

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, blindly reaching for a towel to dry your eyes from the prickling foam that’s running down your face. 

“Jack, what did I tell you about knocking when—“

Standing in front of you, barricaded only by the fogged shower doors, stood a man that—considering someone couldn’t grow twenty inches overnight—was not Jack. 

The dark, short-cut hair and the black blazer that was thrown over the figure’s form gave him away. It was none other than your boss standing in front of you.

“Jack’s still asleep,” Aaron said matter of factly as he tugged the blazer off his arm before dropping it into the laundry basket.

A tinge of worry filled your chest, your mind running in a million different directions as it tried to come up with the most natural and fast explanation for you being here. “I didn’t want to wake him. Your room is at the other side of the apartment, and you weren’t home, so—“

He waves you off with a motion of his hand. “Good call, he needs his sleep.”

The fogged glass hides the deep breath of relief you're letting out at hearing his approval. 

With the anxiety slipping away, you carefully reach out to wash the rest of your hair. You should turn around, face your back to him, and get the job done as fast as possible, but your boss had this essence that was too captivating to look away from. Squinting your eyes, you could make out the exhausted expression that lingered on Aaron’s face as he was busy untying his tie. 

“Rough weekend?”

He gave a short snort. “As always.”

You nodded in understanding, although he couldn’t see. Another silence followed, causing you to finally look away. It didn’t take long for your curiosity to be piqued again, when the sound of a belt buckle unclasping and the soft thud of a shirt falling to the ground interrupted the steady stream of spilling water. 

Turning your head, you could make out a vague tanned beige color where you previously saw the white of his dress shirt. The skin… the belt… Fuck, was this man getting naked?

“What are you doing?” You gulp when a strong hand reaches out for the shower’s doors. 

“Joining you.”

Such a deadpan tone, like your boss joining you in your morning shower is the most normal thing to happen on earth. But this is what you wanted, wasn’t it? To feel like it was a mundane thing. For it to feel like you had an actual, healthy relationship with Aaron, that you weren’t essentially getting paid for your services.

“Okay,” you respond back with a newfound confidence.

You weren’t sure whether Aaron had waited on your confirmation, but the second the approval left your mouth, the doors were being opened. 

There was no need to hide your body; it wasn’t anything he hadn't seen before. The way he looked, however, was different. You’d only seen Aaron in a state where he was turned on, where he’d either been fantasizing about you all day at work—walking around with a painful boner all day—or where you’d been teasing him before you had greedily pulled his pants down. Now, however, he was still soft.

It wasn’t a sight you’ve often seen in your life, most men that you’d encountered feeling ashamed of the flaccid state; being a grower, or not thinking it looks sexy. So the fact that Aaron didn’t think twice of walking in showed a sense of trust and intimacy that made your stomach flutter. Besides, he had no reason to worry about his looks, because he looked good in this state. His balls were tight and roundly shaped, his length looked a bit shorter when soft but hung thick and heavy over said balls, and what drove you even wilder was the way his full tip twitched when his eyes had landed on you.

“Can I help you with that?” He asked, nodding down to the pink loofah in your hand.

You answered by taking a step back, giving him the space to fully enter the shower and close the doors behind him. He reached out his hand, and you had to blink a couple of times to make sure that this was really happening before handing him over the sponge.

Aaron accepts it. His other arm extends, almost brushing against yours. You inhale a deep breath, only to find out he was reaching for the shower gel behind you. With the use of his thumb, he clicks open the cap and squeezes a generous amount of liquid onto the loofah. 

Aaron’s eyes flick over your body, as if deciding where to start first. It was difficult for him to imagine that he had you right where he wanted. That you were standing right in the spot where he had fisted himself for months to the thought of you. The way you looked, with your curves bare on display as drops of water fell down the side of your body, was beyond any visualization his own mind could’ve ever come up with. 

Your nipples harden under the weight of his long, dark gaze, and it seems like the decision is made for him. Gently, he places the sponge on your collarbone, then moves it down in a slow stroke, following the curve of your breast. Your eyes close shut when the rough material catches onto your nipple, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core.

With curious eyes he takes in your reaction, then repeats the movement, moving the sponge back up. Your breast sways along, causing Aaron to swallow back a groan. In circular motions he moves on to your other breast. You hum in pleasure as he repeatedly caresses the pebbled bud while covering you in little bubbles of soap. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me now,” he teases. “Is it that relaxing?”

The corners of your lips lift up, it’s not often that he breaks his own rules by talking to you. When you open your eyes, you notice a mischievous glimmer behind the stoic facade. It’s not just that that you notice: the proximity is undeniable. In the few seconds your eyes were shut, Aaron had moved closer. So close that his forehead was nearly touching yours. So close that you could almost count the curly hairs on his chest that have deepened in color because of the streaming water. 

It was a mistake to look down.

Just an inch away from your stomach, heaved Aaron’s rock hard cock—that’s how fast the transformation can go. The large vein that you could dream at this point had made its appearance, and his bulbous head was shining in pre-cum. A thick drop hypnotizingly coating the slit.

“That’s what you do to me,” Aaron breathes out, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours.

Your heart was beating a million miles an hour. He could kiss you right now, his lips impossibly close to yours as he wet them with his tongue. Instead, his mouth moved: “Up.”

Before you were able to squint your eyebrows in confusion, Aaron had his arms wrapped around your thighs, giving you a firm tug up, allowing you to jump like he’d asked you. 

In a smooth—way too smooth—motion, you were thrown against the cold tiled wall, legs wrapped around his waist. Then he said it again. Up. 

Like a toddler being lifted by their parents, Aaron had managed to climb you up so that your thighs were seated against each side of his face, legs dangling over his shoulders and the back of your calves planted firmly against his lower back.

“How the fuck…” you gasp out in belated shock.

“Don’t waste your words asking questions,” he murmured, his hot breath fanning over your spread pussy. Not like you’d be able to in the state he’s got you in. “Just enjoy yourself.”

With his hands pinning you against the wall, he used the sole power of his neck to dive in. No time was wasted as his wet tongue split open the folds of your pussy, immediately latching onto your swollen pearl—completely magnetized by it.

Your thighs clenched around his head, a sound in between a moan and a gasp escaping you as you threw your head back.

“Shit,” you hiss, the back of your head making contact with the cold surface. 

Aaron groaned. You knew him well enough to know that it was a sound of disapproval, one of his dad-like “I told you to be careful” huffs. It didn’t have its designated effect, though; his muffled sound vibrates through your body, causing a wave of tingles to ignite your skin, your clit twitching against his tongue. 

When you looked down, he was rolling his eyes at you. “Are you serious?” his face spoke. A giggle left your chest, you couldn’t take the stern attitude seriously. 

Apparently, he did take it seriously. Aaron leaned back just enough to turn his head, and you missed the warmth of his mouth on you already. The light stubble that covered his jaw from being away on a case all weekend grazed along your inner thigh. 

“More,” you whimpered, lifting your hips from the wall and driving your cunt into his face.

His eyes flick to yours for a split second. It was easy to miss the moment, but something behind his eyes shifted, reaching the max of dealing with this daring disobedience of yours. Your breath gets caught before it happens: his teeth sink into your thigh.

You sputter in his grasp, legs locking tighter around his waist. He didn’t bite hard enough to cut skin, but he was definitely leaving a mark. You were sure of that when, after the use of teeth, he wrapped his lips around the aching spot, sucking and not stopping despite your sharp nails digging into his back.

“Are you going to be good for me now?”

“Yes! Yes, I promise!”

Wrong answer. Another bite.

This time you just nod, not speaking any excessive words. 

His teeth are replaced by his lips. He leaves two featherlight kisses on the bruised spot and moves back to your needy hole.

“Haven’t touched you in a minute, and you’re already dripping.”

Apparently the rule of not speaking doesn’t apply to Aaron Hotchner today. Not that you minded.

He licked the sweetness off your pussy, getting back into rhythm. Aaron’s lips sealed around your labia, gently suckling until the only sounds leaving your mouth were passionate moans. 

At this point it was impossible to decipher whether the wet, sloppy noises came from your pussy or from the water that dripped out of the shower's head, warming the sides of your bodies. 

You dug your nails lightly into his shoulders, grounding yourself from the accumulating heat that was starting to form low in your stomach.

With every up and down of his chin, Aaron’s nose would bump against your clit, making it twitch in desperation.

“Mmph,” you whine in response to his actions. I’m close! Aaron, please! Is what you wish you could scream out to him right now. Wishing you could beg for a fast release as the obscene sounds grew louder around you. But you couldn’t, not if you wanted to have any release at all. Forced to endure his sweet torture.

Aaron lifted his head, his mouth inches away from where you needed him most. 

“Are you close?”

You obediently nod up and down, making sure he gets the memo. 

“Will you cum if I touch her?” 

You vehemently nod, tears burning in the corners of your eyes. Please, touch my clit, Aaron. 

His hot breath ghosted over the swollen bud. “Hold on tight.”

You moved your fingers to wrap tightly in his locks, right on time as Aaron wraps your throbbing clit in between his lips. It was a combination of his satisfied moans and the slurping of his tongue that tipped you over the edge.

By the time Aaron had placed you back on the ground, you were wobbling on your legs, and your throat felt sore from the cries that had tumbled from your lips. 

There wasn’t much time to recover, Aaron’s hands finding your waist, warm palms burning your skin as he turned you around. Your chest heaved from your orgasm, and your heart rate only sped up when his fingers made contact with the back of your arms. He guided his hands up until your fingers locked. 

The bathroom tiles weren’t as cold as you expected them to be when you placed your palms against them, still heated by Aaron’s hands that were pressed against the same spot only a minute ago.

“Arch your back for me, sweetheart,” he instructed. 

The nickname had your legs close to giving out. You clawed against the wall as you arched your back, ass raised high in the air, your cunt making contact with his poking cock as it pulsed from the sight of you. 

An arm cups around your frame, holding you steady against him. With the other, he brushes the skin of your curves, mapping out his favorite spots.

Aaron’s thick fingers grip around the cheek of your ass, spreading you open and watching you in a mix of lust and adoration. “Fucking beautiful,” he murmured under his breath, as if he’d just witnessed the opening of an exotic flower.

You felt the weight of his solid chest against your back, dew drops falling from his skin and melting onto yours. Aaron bent slightly through his knees, enough to line himself up with your hole. Then he pushed in.

“That’s it, you can take it,” he encouraged as his throbbing length entered you inch by inch. “Almost there. You’re doing so good, taking all of me.”

“Feels good,” you whisper softly, not able to help the words from spilling out.

“I know, honey. Going to make you feel even better.”

With that, he started pumping himself in and out of you, creating a mark in your cervix that he kissed with every thrust of his hips. It was hot. So fucking hot. The steam that has built up in the shower cabin, the warm press of Aaron’s body, the fullness of him inside of you, the heaving of his breath in your ear… Too hot.

It’s like he heard you, because in the next moment he had you pushed up against the cool expanse of tile. A shiver ran through your body, a pleasant one, as your nipples peaked against it, stimulated by the continuous rubbing against the surface as Aaron moved your body up and down his cock. 

A groan tore from his throat, the sound lightning through your body. “I missed this. Missed having you wrapped around me.”

The words were dirty, definitely, but it was the most affectionate thing he’s ever said to you. You could do this for the rest of your life: have him use you, be the reason he feels good, because there truly was nothing that made you feel more whole than to be praised by him. 

You fluttered your pussy around him, enticing another deep groan from him. 

“I’m getting close,” he hisses, and you nod. Give it to me, please. 

Instead of speeding up the slapping of skin, he halts his movements, pulling a whiny no out of you. 

With your back facing him, you don’t catch on to how he’s taking the shower head from its bar. Not even noticing the change of there being no more water falling down your body. 

What you do take in, is him hungrily cupping your mound. And you are definitely aware when he uses two of his fingers to spread your lips. You swear you can feel his grin against your neck when the shower head magically appears in his hand, turned to a setting where a strong current of water spurts out, which he places directly above your clit.

A high-pitched cry leaves your mouth, making you wiggle in his grasp. If he didn’t have you pinned against his body, you would’ve fallen to the ground, your legs feeling like complete jelly.

“Hold yourself open for me.”

Regret followed later, when you realized that Aaron would pick up his pace again, all the while your clit was being overstimulated by the flow of water.

Your mouth was agape, moans and gasps and cries tumbling out—sometimes loud, sometimes utterly breathless. The last sound that left you was a scream of Aaron’s name as you came around his cock. 

Your hand had left your pussy, reaching back to grip Aaron’s ass—the most accessible, and convenient place to hold—as your orgasm stuttered through you. You held him tightly, forcing a few more deep thrusts out of him before he pulled himself out.

“Knees. Now.”

The next moment passed in a blur. You fell to your knees, your legs squeaking against the cold, wet floor. You didn’t have the time to decide where to settle your eye: on his thick length that he held tightly in his fist, on his soft stomach and chest that heaved in anticipation of his orgasm, or on his face that was barely visible with the way he had his head thrown back, lip caught in between his teeth. 

His hips twitched, and his muscled thighs clenched as a white-hot fountain erupted on you. His release fell down your body, covering you from your breasts to your stomach to your legs. He even made a mess of himself, his hand covered in his essence, spread all over his cock by the jerking of his hand.

“Jesus,” Aaron curses, using his clean hand to push his hair out of his face. 

When his eyes fell back on you, he caught sight of you obediently sitting in front of him, using your thumb to flick a white stain off your breast before swirling your tongue around the digit.

He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his face. “You’ll be the death of me.”

You pick up the shower head that was thrown beside you on the ground, then place your hand around his thigh for leverage, wanting to clean him up.

Aaron sharply inhaled, body tensing when the stream hit his sensitive cock. “Don’t do that!”

“I’m sorry!” You quickly apologize in a stutter, then burst out in small laughter.

He shakes his head, opening his palm. “Hand it over to me.”

For a second you’re afraid he’s planning his revenge, but he turns the handle so that a gentle and even stream flows out of the head, then holds it above your body. Your personal waterfall.

With a hum, you wash yourself clean, almost sad to see the proof of his loving vanish from your body. 

“Come here,” he whispers when you’re done and helps pull you up by your arm.

Surprisingly, he wraps a strong arm around you, the back of his fingers running across your cheek to put the wet strands of your hair back in place. 

“I can bring Jack to school today.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Are you sure? You haven’t slept all night. I don’t mind—“

“Me neither,” he assures. “I know the work here is tiring too.”

It was. You knew nannying wasn’t an easy job, but nothing had prepared you for the days and nights spent alone while Aaron was catching killers in different states. It wasn’t easy being the main responsibility of a child in his most formative years, no matter how much gratification the work gives you.

“Okay,” you hum. “Thank you.”

“I have some free time when I get back.” His eyes search for yours as he speaks the words, awaiting your reply to the invitation. His eyes soften when they catch your small smile.

“Sounds good.”

Still, the habit lingered. Your spine straightened every time someone new spoke, you nodded politely, you laughed at all the right cues. But it was getting increasingly harder to feign interest in anything anyone was saying, not with how close Aaron was sitting next to you.

It was criminal, really, how little time you’d had alone with him lately. Between your caseload, his travel schedule, and the world’s general refusal to accommodate a few uninterrupted minutes, tonight had been the first time in weeks you’d managed to make it into the same photograph. 

Unfortunately, the night you could both conjure up happened to involve other people. Talkative, never-quite-leaving people.

And you were trying your hardest to remain composed, executing your best poker-face saved for the courtroom to keep your thoughts and facial expressions appropriate. But then you felt Aaron’s hand brush your thigh under the table, and you forgot what someone was saying about….something. 

You didn’t look at him right away, you knew better. Instead, you set your fork down and reached for your wine glass, agreeing to God knows what conversation was happening. The question could’ve been ‘Have you ever committed perjury?’ and there you were, nodding along because the man you couldn’t wait to get alone was currently trying to initiate foreplay at the dinner table. 

His hand never paused, fingers tracing idle shapes above your knee, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake like breadcrumbs to your undoing. The room began to feel violently hot, and unfortunately there didn’t seem to be enough air for everyone to share. You reached for a cream napkin, blotting your mouth but also using it as a barrier from everyone else.

This wasn’t you. You had rules, standards, a personal code built on discretion, discipline, and never fooling around in public with a man who could get you to confess to crimes with just his fingers. You turned towards him, napkin still raised.

“Aaron,” you warned. “Stop that.”

He did just the opposite, his fingers pressing down a little harder now. 

You had never been the kind of woman to lose her head. You didn’t do public groping during candlelit dinner while someone ranted about office politics. You followed your rules. You were judicious, you were composed, you were the kind of person who scheduled spontaneity. 

And yet, here you were, pressing your thighs together under the table while Aaron Hotchner slowly pushed every moral you’d ever held into a shredder with one hand and a neutral expression. 

You turned to him again. “I’m serious. You need to stop.”

The bastard had the gall to tilt his head and furrow his brows like he couldn’t possibly imagine what you meant.

“I mean it. Quit that,” you chided, setting your napkin down. 

And his hand did move. He lifted it from your thigh and returned it to his side of the table. You exhaled—relief, technically—but it came threaded with something that felt suspiciously like disappointment.

Because yes, this was about professionalism, about decency, about not letting the I-haven’t-seen-you-in-too-long hormones reduce you both to a cautionary tale in public misconduct. Still…you couldn’t help but mourn the loss of that spark he had managed to light in a place it had no business burning. 

Though you didn’t have time to dwell or dissect your traitorous feelings before Aaron was abruptly standing and pulling your chair back for you, mumbling a curt, “Excuse us,” to the table. 

You looked around, mouth wide as your legs brought you up. “I’m so sorry,” you said, passing a look to everyone at the table who didn’t look the least bit fazed. “Back in a sec.”

Aaron’s hand found your wrist, his misbehaving fingers curling around yours as he started pulling you towards the back of the bar. You were so flustered your legs could barely keep up, tripping over themselves every second step like they were also struggling to process what was happening. 

“Where are we going?” you hissed, stumbling slightly as he rounded a corner. “You can’t just pull us away from dinner mid-conversation. What’s gotten into you today?”

“You looked a little hot,” he muttered, glancing back as he steered you past the bathrooms and down a corridor that was definitely for staff only. 

“Because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself!”

He continued weaving through the turns and bends until you reached a narrow staircase that looked like it was in dire need of a health inspection.

“Think it’s this way,” he mumbled to himself, and all you could do was follow as he all but dragged you up the least stable stairs your feet had ever stood on.

“You are insane. We shouldn’t even be up here. You’re going to get us banned and I come here for drinks more often than I go home for dinner.”

“You come here to network,” he corrected.

You glared at the back of his head, noting his deliciously broad shoulders under the navy suit jacket he was wearing. “That’s what I said. Which is all the more reason we shouldn’t be on anything that’s not the ground floor.”

You reached the top of the stairs, and Aaron let go of your hand to use both of his to open up the fire exit door planted at the end of the stairwell. It opened with a creak of protest before you felt a gush of cold air greet you. 

“What is your pla—” You didn’t get the chance to finish before Aaron was manhandling you again, hungry hands ruching up your dress as they groped all they could reach.

“Aaron, we can’t do this here,” you breathed, head tilting up to the sky, the stars above shining down like innocent witnesses to your wildly inappropriate, excessively horny boyfriend. 

“Missed you.” He nipped your neck, nose brushing the pendant that rested on your collarbone. “So much.”

“I missed you too, fuck, but we can’t possibly do this here. Let’s just—wait until we get home.”

He grabbed your hand, bringing it down to his crotch. “Does this feel like it can wait?”

You should’ve pulled your hand back, should’ve ignored the feeling between your legs, but your immediate response was to curl your fingers around him. “This is so inappropriate.”

“I know.” His mouth was on your neck again and you felt him nudge and grind into your hand, then into your thigh, the hard press of his cock knocking all your sensible principles loose one by one. “You smell so fucking good.”

“You’re not listening,” you tried, weakly, because that’s what you were supposed to say. “I’m trying to be rational.”

“And I’m trying to make you feel good.” He grinned into your skin. “Guess we’re both busy.”

You made contact with the brick wall, just as Aaron pushed you up against it, hand dipping beneath your dress.

“We’ll get caught.”

He kissed your jaw. “No one comes up here.”

“We could get arrested.”

Another kiss. “I’d make sure you didn’t.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring,” you muttered, but your voice dropped when his thumb pressed down onto your clothed clit.

“If you really want me to stop, say the word.” The word. Your safe word. Not that you’d ever had to use it before, because Aaron had never decided to pounce on you on a restaurant rooftop like the idea of waiting for a cab repulsed him. 

You said nothing.

Little protests had left your lips when his hand landed on your thigh, but now that you had the chance to actually make all of this stop, you didn’t. You couldn’t. And you knew it was wrong. So deeply wrong and anyone could walk in, and there could be cameras and—

“Turn around,” he instructed, taking half a step back to slip off his jacket, his white shirt almost glowing in the dark. 

“What?”

“Against the wall.” 

He was already guiding your hips, manoeuvring you to spin your back to him. Your palms braced the scratchy brick wall, the one you were about to get very well acquainted with if you were to let Aaron have his way with you. Which, let’s be honest, has happened since the moment you walked into this place.

“What if someone comes up?” you asked quietly, pausing when you heard the buckle of his belt come undone, like that sound was your final chance to put a stop to all of this.

His response came in the form of hoisting your dress up, his chest keeping your back warm. “Can feel the heat through your thighs.”

Your breathing was already ragged and he hadn't actually touched you yet, not properly. You hated how easy it was for him to reduce you to this. 

“You ready?” he murmured, fingers finding the waistband of your underwear. 

You nodded, barely.

“Use your words.”

“…Yes.”

You folded into the wall, forehead grazing stone as he slipped your panties halfway down your legs. One of his hands rested on your hip, while the other gripped his cock, and you could feel the motion of him pumping himself a few times before his tip nudged between your thighs, thick and wet. 

Normally, he would tease, drag it through your pussy, because he knew you loved hearing the lewd sounds of how wet the both of you were. Loved the feeling of his veins burning your clit. But tonight, he just pushed in, the stretch knocking the breath from your lungs. 

It had been over 2 months since you'd felt him. 73 days, if you wanted to be exact. And somehow, he felt bigger than you remembered.

“Christ,” he groaned, forehead resting on your shoulder as he sank deeper. “You feel so fucking good. Tightest you’ve ever been.”

He pulled out just to slam back in.

“Can’t believe I waited this long. Should’ve had you like this the second we got in the car.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-moan, your body jerking with the next thrust. “I would’ve killed you.”

“Look at you, you’ve been fighting me all night just to end up like this.”

And he was right, which annoyingly, was the case with him nine times out of ten. You fought him because that’s what you’d taught yourself to do. Fight everyone in some form or another, directly or indirectly. It wasn’t even a conscious decision you made anymore, just part of your operating system. 

But then came Aaron. 

He was someone who didn’t hold back, who didn’t let you win arguments just to keep the peace. He pushed you, gently of course, and you could tell he took some smug satisfaction in challenging you when he knew you were wrong (a rarity). You hated it at first, the feeling of being matched, but also of being completely understood. It made you feel exposed, like he’d see your true colours and run. But instead, he was fucking you against a brick wall while your friends laughed over drinks downstairs. 

Your fingers scraped the brick and your knees buckled when his hand slid between your thighs again. “Aaron—”

“Oh, you’re close. You’re gonna come just like this, aren’t you?”

“I swear to God—”

“Right here?” he asked, his fingers dragging slow circles. “Where anyone could walk up and see how good I’m making you feel?”

The noise you made was inaudible. A whimper, a moan, a curse all jammed into one.

“Thought you had rules,” he mocked. “Thought you didn’t do things like this.”

“I don’t.”

“No?” He pinched your clit, and you pressed your forehead harder into the wall, teeth clenched, your thighs squeezing around his arm, like you could trap him there or stop him—you weren’t sure anymore.

Every part of your body felt like it was on fire, the breeze of the night doing you zero favours. You were close, so close, and there was nothing left to give him. You couldn’t match his pace nor his efforts, all you could do was stand there and take it. 

The moment his fingers quickened and his strokes pushed deeper,  your hand flew over your mouth, muffling a moan, then another. And before you knew it a cry was spilling into your palm as you came, toes curling in your heels, your entire body going rigid.

“Aaron,” you cried out, feeling both of his hands move to your hips, holding you in place. 

“I know, honey,” he panted. “Almost there.” 

He kept going, hips rutting in you as he chased the high you were still coming down from. Your cheek was pressed to the brick now, one heel slipping as your body fought to recover while he kept moving. 

“Just a little more. You can take it.” 

And you did, until his thrusts slowed, a series of curses lacing into your hair as he pushed himself flush against you. You felt him twitch and spill inside, his thumb tracing soft circles into your hip like a silent thank you.

He waited a minute, maybe less, before he was pulling out of you. Your brain scrambled to organise the next steps, cleaning up screaming the loudest, right before you felt Aaron’s calloused hands around your thighs, tugging your underwear back into place. 

“What are you doing?” you managed, looking down as he adjusted the fabric for you.

“You’re wearing them,” he said, smoothing your dress back down over your hips. “Just like this.” 

You spun to face him, watching as he fussed with his belt. “This is obscene, Aaron. I’m going to the bathroom to clean up and then I’m going home.”

“Don’t be dramatic. You’ve already made it this far and you know it’s rude to leave early.”

"You expect me to just go back out there like this?" 

He slipped his jacket on and then leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. "I expect you to sit there, make conversation, and pretend you're not still full of me."

Your mouth fell open. If your mother had been there, she’d have told you to close it before a fly flew in.

Aaron smiled gently, snaking a hand around the small of your back. “You’ll be fine.”

You had no choice but to move, one foot in front of the other as Aaron held the bulky rooftop door open for you. You took the stairs down far slower than you went up them, wincing with every step. You could feel exactly what he’d left inside you beginning to leak, trickling slowly from the cotton of your panties and down the inside of your thigh. 

Once you made it to the bottom you paused, glancing over your shoulder just as he reached you. “Head up, honey,” Aaron cooed. “You’re still the most put-together one at the table.”

You rolled your eyes but straightened up anyway because you’d be damned if your posture had to suffer.

Everyone looked like they hadn’t moved an inch back at the table, and Aaron, ever the gentleman, pulled your seat back. You did your best to sit in it as graciously as you could, trying to keep everything to yourself. You crossed your legs, which made it worse, so you uncrossed them. Then you sat forward. Leaned back. Nothing helped.

“Dessert menus came,” one of your friends said, sliding an embossed card your way. “But we figured we’d wait for you two.”

“Oh, how thoughtful,” you smiled, still trying to get comfortable. You started reading through the options, gladly taking the distraction. And you thought, foolishly, that you might at least make it through dessert with some semblance of normalcy. That was until Aaron’s hand landed on your thigh. Again.

You stiffened, eyes snapping to him, but he was mid-conversation with someone across the table, something about funding, completely unbothered, like he wasn’t slowly trying to finger you into oblivion at the table. You moved in your seat, tring to squeeze your legs together but the pressure only made it worse, your underwear still damp and clinging across skin that was already far too sensitive.

It made no difference. He just laughed at a joke someone made, all while his fingers traced lazy patterns from your knee to the hem of your dress. Your heeled foot found his under the table, and you gave it a kick. He looked at you then, all smiley. 

“Breathe,” he said quietly and entirely unhelpfully. “Don’t draw attention to yourself.”

“You’re crazy,” you muttered, your thighs already tensing as his hand slid higher, swallowed by your dress.

His fingers pressed the soaked material of your underwear, and you dropped your head, hand coming up to your temple like you were nursing a headache. He leaned in then, nodding towards the dessert menu before whispering, “So good for me, sweetheart.”

You disguised a whimper as a cough and felt his fingers dip beneath the fabric. You bit your bottom lip hard enough to taste blood.

“Listen to yourself,” he mumbled, right as he started circling your clit again. And you heard it, exactly what he was referring to. The wet sound of him mixed with your arousal, embarrassingly loud in your own ears even over the clink of cutlery and conversation. He was using one of your biggest turn-ons against you and you hated how well he knew it…hated even more how well it was working, that familiar feeling already making itself known in the pit of your stomach. 

Orange was your safe word. All you had to do was mention oranges—how they’re in season, how they’re not, ask if anyone liked marmalade, hell, just casually bring up vitamin C. No one would question it. Aaron would recognise it immediately and he’d stop.

But the syllables wouldn’t come. The tip of your tongue was useless, and your brain had apparently filed for resignation. So instead you shifted in your seat, spreading your legs a little wider. You lifted your eyes to meet his, seeing what looked close to pride.

Across the table, someone asked you a question and you nodded vaguely. You hoped it was a yes or no question because you absolutely could not be trusted to speak. Your mouth was too dry, and the rest of you was, well…not. 

Your hand reached for the cool glass of water, and you wrapped your fingers around it, absently smearing through the beads of condensation. But you didn’t lift it, for fear of dropping it straight into your lap and dragging every pair of eyes to exactly where Aaron’s fingers were now knuckle-deep inside you.

Your eyes fluttered closed for a second too long as he fucked into you, slowly. Not enough to push you over the edge, but far too much to pretend like you were functioning normally.

“Aaron,” you breathed, eyelids heavy, forehead clammy with sweat. 

“Need me to go faster?” he asked, quiet enough for only you to hear.

You nodded, focusing on the simple mechanics of breathing in and out, as if oxygen alone might be enough to hold you together. You just had to make it five more minutes. Five more minutes without gasping or moaning or knocking a water glass into your lap and revealing everything.

But then his fingers curled just right and your hips lurched forward helplessly. Aaron’s arm bumped the underside of the table, making the plates clatter and shift, not that anyone seemed to notice or if they did, they were polite enough to not comment. 

You dropped your hand to your lap, nails digging crescent moons into your thigh. Someone across the table laughed, and then someone else followed. Apparently there had been an endless stream of jokes while you’d been too busy getting off on your boyfriend’s thick fingers to notice.

“Are you alright?” one of your friends asked. 

“Yeah—yeah, all good.” You nodded, forcing a smile that was too tight. “Just a little hot, that’s all.”

Aaron hummed beside you, low and pleased, as though your answer had been for him and rewarded you below the table, curling his fingers deeper. You let out a sharp gasp, eyes snapping to the friend who’d asked if you were okay, checking to see if she was still watching. She wasn’t. You relaxed, only slightly, because your second orgasm was right around the corner.

You felt it in the way one of your heels had slipped off under the table, your toes curling against the floor. In the way one hand stayed pressed into your thigh, while the other clung to the edge of the table like your life depended on it.

“I’m gonna–”

“Shhh,” Aaron hushed you, leaning into your shoulder. To anyone else, it would look like the two of you were simply having a private conversation, huddled close to hear each other over the noise, leaving no clue, aside from your frantic breathing, that his hand was still buried inside you.

“I can feel you clenching around me,” he murmured. “So fucking desperate. What would they say if they knew you were dripping down my wrist right now?”

That was all it took. You were already close and he nudged you over with just a handful of syllables. Your eyes squeezed shut, like a secret you couldn’t hold anymore. Your breath left you in a wobbly exhale, and you forced your head to stay upright, even as your muscles went soft, your body completely spent.

You could still feel your pulse pounding in your ears but you blinked through the heat behind your eyes, trying to calm yourself with shallow sips of air. Aaron withdrew his hand, wiping his fingers on a napkin.

“You okay?” he asked, without any trace of smugness. 

You nodded, a little slow. “Yeah. Just… give me a second.”

“I’ll call us a cab,” he said gently. “We’ll take the desserts to go.”

He started to stand, but your hand landed on his thigh, stopping him. “I’m going to need some help,” you muttered, partly because you were afraid your legs might give out… and partly because you weren’t brave enough to look at the state of the chair.

Aaron leaned down, placed a soft kiss on your forehead, and whispered, “Okay, honey. I’ll come get you once the car is here.”

And then he was gone, walking towards the waiter you’d had that evening while simultaneously pulling his phone from his pocket to call a cab. That gave you a ten-minute window to come up with an excuse for why you were leaving early, which, you noted with a vague sense of resignation, was just another one of your own rules you’d managed to break tonight.

You adjusted your dress, avoided looking at the chair, and mentally crossed dignity off the list of things you’d be leaving with.

At least the dessert was boxed.

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