#swallowing

“I-uh- dad instinct,” perhaps his face reddens at the verbal clumsiness, but you assume that the pink in his cheeks are due to the cold Alaskan air as you start to shiver, the adrenaline from taking down the unsub having already worn off. Hotch opens the passenger door for you and waits until you’re seated before shutting it and crossing over to the driver’s side. The car lights reveal that his regular, professional, emotionless expression has returned. “That was good work, Agent. It was very quick thinking of you to subdue the unsub when you did. I was close to calling it but you managed to make him reveal the motive and CSI should confirm that the dumpsite checks out soon.” He had had the heat blasting before you entered the car and you couldn’t be more grateful.

“Thanks, Hotch.” This wasn’t your first time going undercover since joining the team but as you try to relax in the passenger seat, it starts to feel like your skin is pulling at itself, itching to return to normality after spending the past few hours clothed in bait. You shuffle to the left of your seat and bring your right foot to your waist to reveal the fiddly clasp of your too-tight heels. Going undercover tonight was your idea and while it paid off, digging around the precinct lost-and-found to find an outfit for your persona was less than ideal.

“I believe the department has invited the team to a local dive tonight. We can’t leave Alaska until the snow clears, which the ladies at the hangar estimate is at least mid afternoon so-“ Hotch sees the relief wash over you when you finally free your foot from the shoe and laughs, “but I can drive us to the hotel also.” You’re relieved and Hotch can see it on you.

———

The drive to the hotel is pleasant enough. The two of you discuss the local Alaskan police department and the fun that you’re both sure the team will have tonight, although, when Hotch pulls in to the hotel parking lot, you’re silently thankful as it feels like the two of you have run out of professional, yet casual conversation material. Having been free of them momentarily, slipping your feet back into the too-tight boots is akin to walking on broken glass, and Hotch chuckles almost teasingly when you wince. He shuts the door behind you before you realise he’s there, and when you turn to him you feel almost spoiled to see him handing you his suit jacket, if just for the short walk to the hotel from the car. The night is dark barring a lamppost across the street, and Hotch matches your gait.

The hotel is homely, if somewhat old. Reds cover the floors and couch cushions, broken apart only by faded brown table legs and dust balls carefully swatted under corners and other out-of reach places. Hotch’s shadow is lit up by a small lamp on the unmanned reception desk, and you see Hotch stop moving the very second you stop too.

“Hotch,” the kind of panic reserved for exhaustion sets in your voice, “I don’t have my room key.” You place your fingers to your temple, “I left everything in the precinct locker before I went undercover. I gave the locker key to Morgan.”

“That’s okay, don’t worry. I’ll speak with the night manager about getting you in your room.”

Of course, you can live without your wallet for a night, even your phone really. But what you would struggle without tonight is the freshly opened pack of cigarettes you bought this morning under the guise of making a breakfast run for the team. You’d said that you needed the walk when really you asked a uniform where the nearest convenience store was and bolted.

You don’t always smoke but picking up an old vice after a situationship had become routine for you as of late, something to occupy yourself between romantic stints and stings. You’re always careful not to let the team on to your bad habit, if mostly to avoid the lectures.

Hotch is pressing down on the service bell a second time when he sees an older gentleman, entirely unhappy to have been woken up, approach the desk. He explains that you don’t have your key card but his efforts are in vain. “I don’t know about that sir. The system. Its wireless now, last Tuesday, ‘cause my grandson clouded it all. I used to run this place with real keys that you hold in your hand…” The man begins to ramble, “My grandson has to boot up the system to make a new card from the clouds. Reconfigurate the Wi-Fi.”

“Sir,” Hotch stands straight, “is your grandson here right now?”

There’s a minute or so of back and forth and it becomes clear to you that you’re not getting into your hotel room tonight, or at least until Morgan shows up with your things from the precinct. Hotch turns around to you, looking defeated and the two of you make for the elevator. “I’ll see if I can get through to the team.” Hotch presses the elevator button to call it, looking ahead. “Of course, you can spend the night in my room. Or until the team gets back at least.” You both step in to the elevator and Hotch selects the third floor, “My phone is, um-” he looks almost through you and motions to your torso. Your mind goes blank before you remember that you’re wearing his jacket, and you reach into the breast pocket for his phone. “My phone is out of battery.” Hotch smiles, defeated. “My travel charger is at the precinct.” Your eyes meet and you and Hotch begin to laugh together, if mostly due to shared tiredness. The mood between the two of you is lighter than it was in the car, the air of professionalism that usually sticks to Aaron seems to have evaporated after his fruitless talk with the night manager.

The elevator dings and it seems to sober you both before you follow Hotch through the corridor to his room. “Would you like to have a shower?” Hotch reddens at his own words as the room door swings open. “In the meantime I can see if the front desk has a spare cord-” You bring your hand to Hotch’s chest to stop him.

“Do you honestly think Father Time down there knows where to find a USB-C? Or what one is? You think he’ll reconfigurate us one?” Hotch’s heartbeat pulses through his shirt and you pull away the second you realise how intimate the moment feels. You linger in the doorway a moment, wanting to give him a moment of peace in his own space before you invade it. There’s a small wobble as you lean against a wall to slide out of your shoes again, but the carpet beneath your feet is welcoming. Your balance is slightly shaky as you step further in to take in the room, realising quickly that he’d been granted one of the better rooms. It’s much bigger than yours, and you immediately notice the balcony that your own room lacks. Of course, it’s not like you’d ever dream of smoking in front of your superior, nor could you, given that you have no money, no wallet and, no real clothes - except for the threads on your back which are entirely not enough for the cold Alaskan winter. “They set you up good, don’t they?” You scan the room and see Hotch’s clothes folded beside his open suitcase atop a couch. You take his suit jacket off and hang it on a chair neatly. The bed is made with neat and precise lines, no doubt made by Hotch this morning. “You could flip a coin on that.”

“When locals hear that SSA Aaron Hotchner, unit chief of the BAU is in town…” Hotch trails off, playfully shrugging his shoulders. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Hotch engage in any physical humour, but it is endearing. He hands you a white towel and turns the bathroom light and fan on. “I’ll see who I can get through to with the landline and have your things from the department locker messengered in the morning. You can take the bed and-”

“No that’s ridiculous. I will-”

“That”s ridiculous.” Hotch has never interrupted you before.

“I’m happy to share the bed then.” Spills out of you quickly, a gallon of anxieties coat the words like oil in a hot fryer. “I couldn’t make you sleep on the couch and it could be nice.” Your tone raises at the end involuntarily. Mortifyingly. “As in-“

“I’ll have some clothes ready for when you finish, Agent.” Hotch interrupts again, welcome bad habit forming, you hope. The words are a touch cold but you’re too glad to shed your undercover costume to give it a second thought. You bring your underwear into the shower with you and wash them as the hot water runs down you. You notice that Hotch had stocked the shower with his own products from home when it hits you that you’ll be sharing a bed with him tonight. Of course, field agents share hotel rooms all the time, they probably share beds all the time too. Do they always share their green apple shower gel? This was a first for you and Aaron. And tonight of all nights is when he decides to start clowning around?! What’s next, his tight five?

The nerves set in as you wipe yourself dry. You glance at the clean but wet black panties hung on the towel rack and you curse yourself. Surely when FBI agents share a bed they wear underwear! You wrap yourself before stepping out of the bathroom, clutching your own matching black bra wrapped between the clothes you’d borrowed from the local PD.

Hotch appears startled when he sees you, you catch his eyes glance up and down you before settling on a spot behind you. Its unnerving to be wearing only a towel in front of your fully clothed boss and you assume it goes both ways. “Use whatever you please.” He says curtly before grabbing a towel and walking around you into the bathroom, careful to not even brush shoulders. You place your bundle on a desk and find a pile of perfectly folded clothes on the left side of the bed and promptly dress. Hotch has left you a pair of grey sweatpants, a white t-shirt, and some socks. He’d also left you a pair of his boxers but you place them by the rest of his clothes, surely wearing your boss’s boxers violates some HR guideline? Beside the clothes pile Hotch had also left a small bag with some toiletries and skincare. The sheets are cold as you settle into them and pull the bag onto your lap.

Dior men’s face cream? Prada cologne? You snoop through to be greeted by a handful of serums, creams, toners, and balms- all expensive name brand, most claiming to reduce fine lines, some hydrating, other’s detoxifying, you giggle at the idea of SSA Aaron Hotchner doing skincare and set them out in rows in front of you.

“Yes, sir!” Hotch knocks curtly on the bathroom door to announce his intention to come out and you respond promptly, feeling a laugh already brewing in your throat. “So do I start with the cleansing balm first or the-” Hotch emerges with his hair dripping wet and nothing but a towel around his waist. He glances at you and the many potions in front of you briefly before crossing the room to his clothes. You try not to stare but notice him pick up the pair of boxers that you’d put there and a warmth washes over you, it feels weirdly intimate for him to choose that pair, though logically you know that they were on top. He grabs a white t-shirt before returning to the bathroom.

He’s clothed when he shuts the bathroom lights off and he’s palming his hair dry with his towel as he approaches you. You start to feel silly, having emptied Hotch’s toiletries out and being caught playing with them before Hotch picks one up.

“Don’t be jealous of my skin!” He leans over you in the bed and holds his cheek close to your face in an over-the-top way, demonstrating his perfect skin, before grabbing one of his bottles. Hotch applies a serum wand directly onto his cheeks before bringing it to your face too. “So this is a hydration serum. You put it on before any moisturisers to lock it in.” You bring your hands to your face and Hotch holds your hand to stop you. “No, you use the tips of your fingers.” He spreads the serum on your face with his fingertips and you giggle. His fingers are warm on your skin, his movements gentle. He watches you intently from above and for a moment it feels like his hand is lingering under your chin.

Hotch takes a small step away from you before you realise that you had been sat at eye level with his crotch. Smoothly, he picks up a second product.

“This is for the eyes,” He opens the cap, taps some onto his finger and reaches it out to you to also sample, “it’s quite scientific, really. They recommend using your ring finger for this. Its the daintiest of the fingers.”

The seven-step process continues, with Hotch having you complete it with him at every step until he returns his potions to their toiletry bag and discards it on the desk with your clothes from earlier. It’s odd to see him so goofy, but welcome.

From the desk he grabs a television remote, throws it gently beside you, and turns the ceiling lights off.

“I’m easy.” He declares, clambering into bed beside you. He joins you beneath the covers and sits upright to face the television too. “Really? The local news? What do you suppose happens in here?”

“We took down a trafficker literally today.”

“That was an undercover op. Press won’t run it until the secondary site checks out.”

“If it checks out.”

“You don’t need to do that. You don’t need to doubt yourself after the fact. We built the profile, we followed it, we identified a key player in the trafficking industry, and you took him down. Leave the rest to the prosecutor’s office.” It’s comforting to see the ultra-professional SSA Aaron Hotchner rear his head after joking around, if only for a moment. Quickly, he snatches the remote from you, selects the guide and scans it quickly before selecting a new channel. The screen flashes and you chuckle, dumbstruck. “Do you think if things were different and Spencer hadn’t met Gideon he’d have turned into Sheldon Cooper?”

“I don’t think things would have to be too different, have you seen Penelope’s instagram dump from when they went to Comic-Con?”

———

Sleeping next to Aaron Hotchner- nay, pretending to sleep next to Aaron Hotchner, is a lot like going undercover, except, instead of throwing a person together from a musty lost and found bin, you were wearing Hotch’s clothes, Hotch’s skin-care, Hotch’s lipbalm, and impersonating someone who doesn’t care about these truly vital details. More so, you feel like like you’re actively trying to push down your own habits, you can’t sleep too close to the middle of the bed, or keep the television on for a bit longer, or, most importantly, go down and smoke a cigarette.

Now would typically be when you’d have one, and afterwards you’d be lulled to a dreamy sleep by the nicotine in your system. There’s nothing you can do about that now, but the craving has rendered you restless. You’re not sure whether Hotch is asleep but the idea of waking him with your tossing around would certainly break cover.

Perhaps what’s most irritating is the television opposite you, as you know that all you need is something to keep you from thinking to allow you to drift off. The grey box is annoyingly clear to you as the room is still bright, with the starry night sky shining through the curtains of the balcony door, adding to your frustrations.

“Why did you and Cassanova call it quits?”

“Pardon, sir?”

“You pick up smoking for a week or so every time things in your love life hit a wall.” Hotch replies cooly. “Sometimes it isn’t necessarily a break-up. Nor always cigarettes actually. You know, last April I had to explain to Rossi what a cotton candy ice elf bar is because one of your Romeos asked you to move in with them. Morgan thought you’d changed shampoo but when Garcia mentioned scented hand wash on the sixth floor ladies’ room I knew it had to be you vaping in there.”

“Hotch- I-I’m so sorry. For the vaping and the smoking and the keeping you up right now.” Your voice is laced with nerves, choppy compared the calm in your boss’s voice.

“You can call me Aaron. We’re not on the clock right now. I don’t care about the smoking, as long as you pass your physical I can turn a blind eye. I don’t love that you vaped in the Quantico restrooms but I hustled Morgan to do a week of paperwork if you’d break up with your boyfriend in a week and you did it in two days,” you can hear a smile on his face, “so out with it. What was wrong with Mr Robinson?”

“I didn’t tell anyone I was dating that guy in April.”

“Welcome to the BAU?” Hotch rolls onto his back, his words wrapped in snark.

“Isn’t there a rule about profiling each other?”

“Doesn’t apply to me.”

"How do you kn- why do you think-… Why does he have to be a Mr Robinson?”

“You tend to persue older men.” Hotch states. You pause, thinking it over yourself, and combing through what you’ve revealed to your colleagues about your love life. Hotch takes this as an opportunity to elaborate. “Your boyfriends only ever take you for fancy dinners, sometimes shows, you never say movies.”

“Wow.” You deadpan. “My steak is too juicy, my lobster too buttery, my-” Hotch shoves his hand over your face lightly.

“Are you confirming?” You gargle a negative response behind his hands, but the warm palm over your cold nose is pleasant.

“I have more evidence. I actually did some research after you hosted friendsgiving last year, did you know your cigar cutter costs four times what Rossi’s premo cutter costs? You said it was a gift and I deduced that it had to be from a romantic partner, family wouldn’t buy something cigar-related, friends wouldn’t be so generous, a man your age wouldn’t spend that much on a girlfriend, but an older man, financially comfortable, definitely an old man gift.”

“That’s hardly proof!” You move Aaron’s forearm with both of your hands from your face,

“A few months ago when JJ and Emily invited you to their brunch and axe throwing double date, I saw you stifle a laugh, like it was absurd. I suppose the older ones can’t always keep up physically. need to compensate somehow…”

“He’s fourty, hardly a mall-walker!” You point out in jokey-desperation.

“So why did you break up with Cassan-older?” Aaron’s voice is dripping with pride. You turn to face each other.

“He proposed.”

“That tracks, you’re also a commitment-phobe, which is actually why you go for men who tend to be emotionally unavailable. Older men.”

“Do you profile everyone on the team, Agent?”

“Yes, Rossi and I share our thoughts. Usually with scotch, sometimes we loop in Penelope and she makes mai tais.”

“And why am I privy tonight?”

“Because we’re sublimating.”

“I don’t think it works if you specifically state it.”

“Are you craving a cigarette?”

“Well now you mention it, yes.”

There’s something new in the air now, peaking out from the small space between your face and Hotch’s.

“Then let me try something else, Y/N.” There’s a beat before you realise what he means, and when you do your mouth opens but your voice doesn’t work. You nod, your body frozen momentarily. Smoothly, Hotch moves your hair behind your ear and leans closer to you, “I want to hear you say yes.” His breath is warm against your neck, and his thumb trails deliberately over the spot, waiting for further clearance.

“Yes please, Sir.” Hotch’s fingers tap the back of your neck gently.

“Call me Aaron.” You guide Aaron’s hand from your neck to your mouth, pressing his wrist to your lips. “This is only if you’re certain though-” Your mouth trails up the palm of Aaron’s hand to his index finger and you spit lightly on it as you continue pressing kisses.

“I’m certain Aaron.” He reclaims his hand from your grasp and you see his eyes darken at your words. He licks his thumb and presses it back to your lips, so you open them obligingly. At this, it seems you both realise that you haven’t yet kissed, and you push Hotch onto his back lightly before sitting on his chest and leaning down to his face. The two of you lock eyes and smile, before you close the space between you. The kiss is slow and sensual, not as lustful as the tension had suggested, but almost careful, as though one of you could awaken from a dream. “I’m certain, Aaron.” You whisper beside his ear and press your tongue to his neck, mapping the skin with playful kisses.

“Kiss my face like that too.” You do as told, pecking fiendishly at Aaron’s cheeks and nose. The act is playful, as if you’ve done this a million times. His hands find your back under your shirt- his shirt- sneakily, and he draws his fingers against the full length of your skin, like he also wants to leave no inch untouched. You giggle briefly, and pull back to see him smiling at you. “Too ticklish?” You shake your head no and move to lift your shirt off before he puts his hand over yours. “Can we turn the lamp on? Can you reach sweetheart?” Hotch places his hand on your ass as you lean over him to turn the lamp on, and the look on his face when you’re seated on him is one you’ve never seen before. You look down to meet his gaze and see that your nipples are visible through the white fabric. You raise the hem of the shirt slowly and watch the excitement and lust in Aaron’s eyes grow tenfold. “Can I-”

“Stop asking. Yes. Please.” The white of the t-shirt flashes over your eyes before it’s thrown to the floor and the cold air is quick to hit your upper body. Hotch readjusts underneath you so that you’re sitting closer to his face and spits generously on his hands before rubbing your nipples between his fingers, his knees prop you upright and you melt backwards. The silence from him feels almost scientific before he takes a deep breath and you rise and fall gently with his chest. The small movement seems to shock him and you laugh, reaching behind you to find his cock with your hands. “Can I?” Aaron’s dick is pressed to the side of your ass, “Me first.” You declare, attempting to raise yourself.

“Absolutely not.” Hotch’s hands catch your waist, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your sweatpants. “I also happen to know that you’re not wearing underwear.” Hotch lifts you gently and places you on your back. “Are you cold?” You kick the sheets to the side and begin to take your sweatpants down. He helps your feet out and sits between your open legs, taking you in with his eyes.

He spits onto his hand before rubbing his fingers between your open thighs. “So pretty.” His hand draws closer to your pussy and you feel yourself throbbing, aching for his touch. He brings his fingers directly to your cunt and swipes them back out just as fast. “Already wet.” He tastes you from his fingers and his eyes close involuntarily, savouring you. He leans forward and you open your mouth for his fingers too. “We can stop any time.”

“I know,” you make a show of licking Hotch’s fingers before he pulls them back. He brings his gaze back to your pussy, spread for him to admire. “But I’m not usually patient, Aaron.”

“I didn’t think you would be.” His thumb brushes against the inside of your thigh as his index and middle fingers paint a cool line on your legs, like mint on the rim of a cocktail glass. Hotch spreads your other leg further, studying your face for any signs of discomfort. His gaze is driving you close to the edge, with his light but masterful touches and slow calculated moves building your anticipation. With your legs spread you’re more aware of the wetness pooling from your pussy, and Hotch’s hands are refusing to acknowledge it, tugging instead at the skin of your thighs and hips, leaving small scratches. When you start struggling beneath him, Hotch brings himself eye-level to your pussy, “Touch your breasts.” He spits on your throbbing clit and touches you gently with his thumb, waiting for your reaction.

You lick your fingers again before bringing them to your nipples, keeping one hand at your waist, close to Hotch’s head but not touching him.

“You’re doing so so good.” Hotch’s eyes meet yours, still toying with your clit and painfully close to your cunt. “Do you still want a cigarette?”

A finger pushes slowly into your cunt and you moan shamelessly, “Fuck.” Hotch sits upright next to you, the other arm to steady himself. He spits on your clit from the height, and uses his free thumb to spread the wetness.

“Is that a yes?” Two fingers now, plunging deeper into you.

“No.” Your neck rolls back as Hotch’s thumb begins to rub circles on your clit. “No! No. No, I don’t want a cigarette. Thank you.”

“Its not time to thank me yet. You’ll know when it is,” he finds a slow rhythm as he pumps his fingers inside of you, still also playing with your clit, your breathing is becoming chaotic as he starts to undo you.

“I might, well I will actually.” You laugh sweetly. “I’m actually going to cum soon if you keep on.”

“Not as soon as you think.” his laugh is almost dorky, but before you register his words, he pulls his fingers from your thighs, robbing you. Hotch pulls the blanket over your body before stepping over to his go-bag.

“What are you doing? Is something wrong? Hey is that a-“ Hotch places a sealed box of cigarettes and a black lighter in front of the television before returning to the bed. In the corner of your eyes you see him put the fingers that had just been inside you into his mouth. He swallows before addressing you.

“You can have one now. And we can go to sleep. Or you can have one after, but I won’t let you cum. Or I can fuck you, and if you make me cum, I’ll fall asleep and I theoretically won’t know if you have one.”

The small box sings quietly to you beneath the questions spinning in your head.

You raise to your knees and make your way to the edge of the bed, pulling Hotch closer by the strings of his sweatpants.

“Do you think you’re fucking funny, Hotchner? You tug his pants down swiftly and guide him onto the bed as he clumsily steps out of them. “We’re off the clock. You’re not SSA right now, sweetheart.” You pull brashly at his t-shirt before he pulls it off. “You get off being a tease, don’t you?” His boxers, the ones you’d held a few hours ago, have grown several wet patches now. “Off.” Hotch’s dick hits his stomach with a quiet thump, and you catch his hand before he can hold it. “If you think you’re a tease…” One of your hands curl around the base of his cock and you spit above the tip, intentionally letting the liquid miss his cock by a millimetre before catching his eyes.

A look of surprise is plastered upon his face, with his mouth curved to speak for several beats before: “I bought the pack in Ohio.”

“June.”

“Yes, June.”

“I wasn’t asking if it was June. I’m stating.” You quip, feeling Hotch’s dick twitch in your hand.

“On the penultimate night there I bought it cause you’d had four coffees, one cup noodle, and no break in fourteen hours.”

“And why not give it to me then?”

“Well-“ you wait for Hotch to begin speaking before licking a line from the base to the middle of his cock.

“Did you want to do it like this?” You guide Hotch to sit upright on the bed before leaning over his lap and grazing your cheek onto the tip of his cock. “You wanted to put it there and play like this?” Your hand is still around the base of his cock, and you point your index finger to the cigarette box, moving his dick as well. “What do you want me to pick?” You slide between Hotch’s legs onto the floor to face him. Spit pools at your lips and you brush his cock from your lips to your cheeks. “I can have one now,” you kiss the stubble of Hotch’s waist, “And we stop.” Your hand travels to the middle of Hotch’s cock. “I can have one later,” you spit onto Hotch’s dick again, and spread it along the length. “But you won’t make me cum before.” You hold Hotch’s dick without moving again, still at the middle. “Or you can fuck me on the balcony. And I will be smoking during that.” You raise to your feet and step out from between Aaron’s legs.

The cigarette box is wrapped in plastic, and gives a small thud as you place it down after its inspection. Hotch’s eyes are firmly set on your ass, and he seems almost guilty when you turn around to see his hands around his cock.

“I won’t fuck you on the balcony. But the other two remain.”

“That won’t do.” You lay on the bed again, beside him.

“Door number three, I eat you out, and we will have successfully sublimated the craving as you cum on my face.” Hotch’s hands are warm as they trail up your thighs.

“I can let you try,” you twist over to lay on your back.

Hotch rises from the bed again and goes to his jacket, pulling something out of his wallet. Before he returns to the bed he stands the cigarette box upright again to face you.

He stretches over you to place a condom onto the nightstand and looks at you seriously.

“You’re sure you want this?”

“I’m certain.”

“You’re certain you want me to make you cum over and over again? Until you can barely think? Let alone hold one of those between your pretty fingers?” Hotch’s two hands clasp around your own, drawing deliberate strokes between your index and middle fingers, then brings your fingers to your nipple, placing the two on either side as if holding a cigarette. His tongue is warm on your breast, lapping at your nipple with a sense of worship. A moan escapes you as you focus on the sounds of his lips smacking on your skin, unfiltered and lustful. His hair knots in your other hand and you hold his head to you gently.

A line of spit rides from one nipple to the other as Hotch moves his attention to it, this time using his hands to massage the whole of your breast. His touch is firm and confident, and you can feel his smile on your skin as you moan out again. A hand travels down your torso and finds your clit impressively fast, your body jumping slightly at the new sensation.

“Spread.” His fingers pat between your thighs before you oblige, “You taste as pretty as I imagined. Sweet and refreshing.”

“Crisp?” You offer in fake solemnity; he nods and bows his head between your thighs before looking up at you.

“I don’t think you taste like a green apple.” Your laugh bursts from your chest as you wrap a leg around Hotch’s neck, his own laugh vibrating above you. “Are you always this bratty?”

“Are you always this domineering?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

“Right, you need to shut up now.” Hotch’s fingers quickly hit the walls of your cunt, stretching you open as they curl inside of you. “That’s fantastic. See?” Hotch points at the cigarette box behind him, and waits for your eyes to follow his hand before spitting on your clit and spreading it with his thumb. He brings the hand to your clit and uses both of his hands on you, as he did earlier. “You’re doing so well for me. Keep looking at the box sweetheart.”

“It isn’t sublimating if I’m literally looking at the cigarettes while you try-“

“I’m not trying yet,” he lowers his head, “and it’s working.” His words are garbled out from between your legs, the sound of his tongue lapping against your clit punctuating them.

His movements are faster than before, though still restrained, like he’s signing his name over and over again against your body, practiced and rhythmic. His thumb is drawing swatches over your clit, followed closely by his tongue, and his other fingers are curled inside of your entrance, teasing the walls of your cunt. You can both feel your body beckoning him further inside, to be more rough with you.

You bring your legs over Hotch’s back and gently nudge his shoulders further into you, it isn’t subtle and he laughs against you.

“More.”

“No please?”

“You know my vices.”

Hotch brings his fingers from inside you and paints a wobbly circle around your nipple, still thumbing your clit, the action apparently mindless. He reaches behind himself and grabs the box of cigarettes, using his mouth and free hand to open it before turning it upside down and shaking one out. He returns it to the table behind him before securing one of your legs over his shoulder and stretching over you to place the cigarette on the bedside table beside the condom. It begins rolling as Hotch asks:

“Do you want me to finish or would you like to have that?” His thumb speeds up against your clit, and he uses his other hand to bring his spit to your cunt. “Answer.”

You make a show of rolling your eyes and you adjust your hips, though they were perfect before. “Please finish.”

The cigarette on the bedside table finishes rolling before it falls, though you still stretch your arm slightly to nudge it back to the middle before sitting up. His spit and your own wetness have left finger prints on your waist and thighs, as if to point at the man between your legs.

“Come here.”

“I’m in the middle of something, Agent.” With more force than necessary you use your legs to roll Hotch onto his side, into the middle of the bed.

“Up more. It’s my turn.” You nudge Hotch onto his back and finally take in the sight of his glistening cock, throbbing with need. He moves clunkily higher up the bed before sitting back on the pillow you had been on. Hotch’s face is flushed and red, his cheeks and lips shining with your wetness. With your knees either side of Hotchner’s face, you crawl over Hotch until you’re at eye level with his dick and bring it to your face. His precum is salty and warm on your lips, a soft groan escapes you as you adjust yourself over Hotch, arching your back and making sure to keep your cunt an inch from his face. You rest on your elbows and knees, as Hotch’s chest rises beneath you erratically and he palms at your body, unfocused and desperate. His hands feebly attempt to bring your thighs closer to his face, though his movements unravel as your tongue flicks over the tip of his dick. You keep your knees firmly in place.

“That was a sweet show you put on,” Hotch’s cock twitches in your mouth when you take him in. “So I can go for a smoke right now and then we’ll fall asleep?” You drag your nails on Hotch’s thighs as you bob your head back down. He grumbles something beneath you, his voice stretched and thin with desperate need. You establish a slow rhythm above him, sinking closer to the base of his cock every time he whines.

Hotch hands remain desperate to bring your legs further up, to his face but you hold your position, knowing how invigorating the sight of your cunt must be, almost dripping as you savour his cock in your mouth. Eventually, Hotch’s hands fall to cup your knees and stay there, as his head falls back in pleasure.

His moans escape him freely as you take Hotch’s dick in your mouth at a steady pace. You use one hand to work at the base while the other holds you upright. Hotch’s precum is sweet on your lips, and in between dives down you rub the tip of his dick against your cheeks and neck, savouring the warm wetness coating your skin, like a treat almost more for you than Hotch.

Holding his shaft against your face with one hand, you bring your other hand to your clit and spread your legs further. The shift rouses Aaron’s attention and his swats your hand away, the sound of your slick on his fingers quickly punctuates your breathy moans.

“Mm, fuck, thank you Aaron, fuck, fuck.” He rubs his hands down your inner thighs and fumbles with your clit lightly, his hands also covered in your juices.

“You’re doing so so good. Keep arching, put your head down - oh yeah. Yes good girl, stay like this.” Hotch’s lips are soft on the inside of your thighs, his tongue slipping against your skin with reverence. Hotch’s cock is raw in your mouth and you can sense how close you’re bringing him to finishing.

Just as you resolve to hastening your pace, Hotch’s tongue joins his fingers at your entrance and dips against the walls of your cunt, making you moan and shudder in surprise. The vibration also pushes Hotch over the edge, and you barely register his warning as his cock twitches in your mouth and you begin to taste him. You bring your head further up his cock but keep your lips around him. Hotch’s hands leave your pussy and hold you steady at your waist until you swallow.

“Good god. Oral fixation. God. Thank you. Wow. Christ.” He clears his throat, perhaps attempting to bring his voice down an octave. “Let me-“ your leg passes over the chief’s head.

“Would you do it on the balcony?”

“Absolutely not. Stay here.” Hotch returns from the bathroom a few moments later, holding two wash cloths, a warm damp one and a dry one. He takes care to wipe and dry you from your face to your breasts and then your thighs, though not before swiping his tongue over your clit. There’s a serenity as he ambles around the room putting his clothes back on, and returning some socks to your feet before throwing the bed quilt beside you. He circles the bed and smiles as he rolls you in the duvet like a spring roll and brings you to your feet. He grabs the pack of cigarettes and lighter before saying: “You’ve more than earned this, agent.”

“What’s wrong with this picture?” His smile drops and his eyes begin to study you anxiously. “My arms, Hotch.” Relief washes over him and you snort with laughter. “Come outside and hold it for me please? You know how to use a lighter, right?”

“Shut up. I’m against this fundamentally.”

You and Hotch huddle together on the small balcony, he begrudgingly lights the cigarette for you, after two frankly pathetic attempts, and holds it to your lips. He helps himself to a single drag and then positions you in front of him, with his spare arm holding you to his chest.

“Am I better than your forty-somethings?”

“Jury’s out.”