My x Enchanted x Forest

Kissing Hotch is not a thought you've ever entertained. It’s not that you don’t find him attractive—he’s pretty much everything you dream about in a man, tall and strong and commanding, with dark hair and big hands and a withering stare. It’s more that you are so different, that you are loud and lively where he is quiet and clearly repressed; the idea of the two of you together just doesn’t make sense, until it really, really does.

You fist your hands in his shirt, arch up to press your hips against his, and he puts his hands on your body and shoves you back against the door; there’s something hanging on the wall to your right, and its frame rattles with the force of it. You moan into the kiss, and he pulls back, panting, to look into your eyes.

“Was just trying to shut you up for a change,” he says, low, and you lick your lips, look over his face. He’s still angry, and his hands are hard on your hips, holding you down when you try to press up again. Your heart is pounding, your breathing harsh.

“It was working.” His eyes sweep over your lips, your heaving chest, and you suddenly want so many things, starting with his mouth on yours immediately. “Maybe try again.”

He tilts his head, looking like he can’t decide whether he wants to kiss you or purposefully deny you what you’re asking for, but ultimately he gives in, leans in, takes your face in one of his big hands and kisses you hard.

You twist your fingers tighter in his shirt, slip him your tongue, and struggle against his hand so he’ll let you make contact, so you can feel the raging hard-on he has to be sporting. He takes his hand off your hip, and you think you’ve won, but he slides a thigh between your legs instead, pins you against the door that way, and grabs your wrists; he pulls your hands away from his shirt despite your tightening grip, holds your arms over your head, and deepens the kiss, makes it wetter and messier.

All your life, you have wanted this: someone bigger and stronger who could handle you at your mouthiest, who could calm the fire that’s always raging inside you and wind you up at the same time. Men have always been intimidated because you’re in the FBI, or because you were a cop, and for those reasons you’re also physically more capable than they expect; plenty of guys enjoy having a girlfriend who can rough them up a little, but not the guys you want. The guys you want see your strength, your fortitude, and they go running.

Hotch knows all of this about you, and he’s not running.

Far from running, he is crowding you up against the door, his body and his hands and his unrelenting mouth bringing you such pleasure you’re tempted to try to rub off against his leg. You grind against it, more to see what he will do than to actually try to achieve anything, and he shifts so both of your wrists are in one hand, brings the other to your jaw to hold it still. When he stops kissing you, you whimper at the loss.

“No.” So deep it’s almost a growl, his command is one you can feel in your bones, and you swallow hard. Your eyes are fixed on his, and you grind up against him again; his hand flexes on your jaw, presses into the bone, and while that feels really good, there’s something you want even more. You cover his hand with yours—his grip loosens, either because he knows you’re trying to ask for more or because he thinks you’ve had too much—and slide it to your cheek.

You let him go, look up at him, breathless, and he pulls back and slaps your face: not too hard, or too soft, just enough to sting and soak your panties. You gasp, lick your lips, dazed, and he switches hands, hold your wrists together with one and slaps the opposite cheek with the other. He takes your jaw in his hand again, tilts your face up like he’s daring you to act up.

You contemplate it, quickly weigh the pros and cons—acting up is looking better by the minute—but someone comes up and knocks on the door, right behind your head.

Hotch drops your hands, steps back, and you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, try to snap out of the trance you’ve found yourself in. He turns around, presses his hand against the front of his pants, clears his throat and says, “come in.”

It’s JJ, and she gives the both of you a concerned once over when she enters; she was in the SUV with you on the way back from the airport, had a front row seat to the argument that started it all. You can’t imagine how you look—flushed, breathless, a little confused?—but Hotch somehow manages to look unaffected, like he’s really just been up here bickering with you all this time. You envy his composure.

“I was just getting ready to leave, wanted to make sure you guys didn’t need anything.” He crosses his arms, shakes his head, and looks over at you; you shake your head too, hope that your inability to do much more than stand there can be attributed to the fight she clearly thinks the two of you were having. “Okay then. Have a nice weekend,” she says, flashing a soft smile, and she leaves, closes the door behind her. Hotch blows out a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair.

“Look,” he says, and your heart sinks so fast. You really thought for a second that things might be different with him. That you finally found what you’d been looking for.

“No, I get it,” you manage to say, and your voice is rough, but you look him dead in the eye because that’s who you are. “You didn’t mean for it to go that far. We can pretend it didn’t happen.”

You’re surprised again when he frowns, shakes his head.

“No. Well, yes, but no. I didn’t mean to take it that far, I’ve never—I’ve never done that.” He wets his lips and takes a step closer to you, and already your body knows how to react to his proximity. It’s like a switch was flipped, and now it can’t be unflipped. “But I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. Not if you don’t.”

You breathe heavily, let silence blanket the room for one heartbeat, two. Twenty.

“I don’t. I really don’t.” He takes another step closer, brings a hand to your cheek, but this time his touch is gentle.

“Then we won’t.”

His mouth, when it finds yours, is not gentle. It is bruising, probing, his tongue seeking yours, and you wrap your arms around his back, his shoulders, encourage it, until one of your hands drops to his belt and he grabs it, forces it down at your side.

“Not here,” he says through gritted teeth—probably because, while he’s saying no, the unmistakable bulge in his pants is actually begging yes. You move the hand he’s not holding, brush it through his hair, and he blinks slow. “Do you want to come home with me tonight?”

You’re pretty sure you’ve never wanted anything more in your goddamn life. The ride to Hotch’s place is slightly awkward. You are both mostly silent, in that stage of the hookup where you’re both reliving how you got here, wondering what will happen, if this is the right thing, if it’s worth it.

From everything you’ve seen so far, it’s really fucking worth it.

His apartment is very nice, clean, kind of bare in that modern bachelor way. Yours isn’t much better, because you are always at work, always looking at photos of missing women instead of your family and friends. You run a hand along the sofa—large, black, suede—and comment on it just to say something, and he puts his hands gently on either side of your throat, kisses you, and looms over you so you are forced to settle back onto it.

You lay back, one foot on the floor and the other leg stretched along the length of the cushions, and he pushes his way between your knees, drapes himself over top of you, kisses some more. You run your hands over him because he lets you, truly feeling his body for the first time, and the thickness, solidness, softness has you moaning against his lips for more.

He leans up, takes one hand off your throat, and moves the other to the front of it, his fingers digging into the sides of your neck. The image of him on top of you like this, your literal life, safety, comfort in his hands… it’s intoxicating, and you nod just slightly, to let him know that if he wants, this is something he can have. Something he can take.

He bends down to brush his lips over yours, then over your throat, your ear. “Just a little,” he murmurs, squeezing tight. “I’d prefer to discuss it more—unless you wanted to stop and do that now.” There is a smirk in his voice when he says it, because he knows already that stopping is the furthest thing from your mind. You’ll take just a little, for now.

He leans up again, flexes that hand on your throat in a way that makes your eyelids flutter. With his free hand, he loosens the knot of his tie, pulls it off, starts slipping his buttons free.

Undressing himself on top of you, making eye contact, restricting your air supply—never before have you been willing to give a man free rein of your body, but there’s a first time for everything, and he’s quickly earning himself a key to your kingdom. Your body thrums at the idea of being at his complete mercy, tied up maybe, legs spread, edged with his mouth and hands until all you can do is whine his name and beg to come.

Your face heats, and you whimper, and he loosens his grip, brushes his thumb over your mouth.

“Good girl. Are you alright?” You lick your lips, swiping your tongue over the pad of his finger, and nod.

“Yes, sir.”

You would never be insubordinate—okay, you absolutely would be, have been, were earlier today—but authority is not really your friend, so you aren’t the type of person to throw sir around like it’s second nature. Your use of the title here is deliberate—call it a hunch—and when his eyes darken, it’s clear it’s worth swallowing your pride over.

He takes his hand off of you, makes quicker work of his shirt with both hands available to him. You look down at his crotch, and he pauses to bring his hands to yours, moves them to his belt, giving you permission to open it. The clink of the buckle feels obscene in his quiet apartment, and you untuck his shirt so he can pull it off, left only in a tight undershirt that emphasizes every curve of muscle, the bit of softness across his midsection. He’s perfect, and you run your hands over him, moan, make sure that he knows it.

He pulls your t-shirt off, unhooks your bra and kisses your throat, your chest, cups your breasts in his hands and teases your nipples with a pointed tongue. You let your head fall back, because it feels so good and you want to feel his tongue lower, wonder how he’d react to the taste of the slickness that’s been pooling in your panties since he slammed you up against that door.

“Fuck. Please.” He looks up at you from where he’s mouthing at your breasts, pulls off with a wet sound and rubs his hand up your chest to curl around your neck.

“You have to tell me what you want, sweetheart. I’m not a mind reader.” You whimper, and he presses his thumb into your mouth, lets you suck on it a moment before easing it out. “Always running your mouth, always disobeying me. Always have to have the last word. Where’s that mouthy girl now?” You stare up at him, say nothing, and he slaps your cheek, pushes two fingers into your mouth when it falls open in a moan.

He’s back to undressing one handed, stands while his fingers thrust over your tongue and pushes his pants down, his underwear. You moan when his cock springs up, big and full, and you bob your head a little so maybe he’ll get that you want to give him a sickeningly sloppy blow job.

“No, you don’t get this yet,” he says, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and spreading the wetness over the dark head of his dick. “You don’t get anything until I give it to you. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” you promise with a nod, and he pulls his undershirt off and works your pants open, drags them down your legs. He exhales deeply when presented with your panties—you’re certain they’re obscenely, visibly wet, and it’s confirmed when pulls them off and you can feel how messy you are, your sticky arousal coating your pussy, ass, and thighs.

He pushes your legs up, leans in, and swipes his tongue over you, from your opening to your clit, then over your inner thighs, and you moan, buck against him. Moving his hands to just behind your knees, he holds you tightly, lays his arms over the length of your pushed up thighs, presses down so you can’t move. You whimper at the restriction, and he presses harder, dives down to lick and kiss your pussy, to tug at your lips gently with his teeth.

“All this because of a little roughness?” he asks with a delicious jab of his tongue inside your aching hole. “Soaking your panties because I slapped your pretty face?” You pant, nod, and he rubs his tongue hard against your clit, gets you so close you can hear the change in your own voice as you moan, and then pulls back. “You’ve been needing someone to put you in your place for a while, haven’t you? Someone who can take hold of that smart mouth and render you silent. Do I have it right, baby?”

He has it exactly right and he knows it, only asks to hear you say the two words he probably never imagined he’d get out of you.

“Yes, sir.” It’s strained and weak, and he lays one forearm across your thighs, holds you down, and batters your clit with his tongue, rubs his huge hand over your hot, sensitive pussy until you come whining and trying desperately to move against him even though you can’t. “Oh my god, Hotch, fuck.”

He kisses you as soon as you sag against the sofa, groaning against your mouth, running his hands over your hips, and you are still trying to catch your breath when he gets his arms around you, scoops you up and carries you to his bedroom. From there, he tosses you roughly onto the bed, your body bouncing from the force, and then turns you over and wastes no time thrusting inside you, laying on top of you, his full weight all but guaranteeing you’ll come fast and hard.

“Does that feel good?” he grunts in your ear, pounding against your ass, and you whimper, claw at the sheets. He covers your hands with his, laces your fingers so you can't move them, pushes your hair off of the back of your neck with his nose. “Good girl, just lay there and take my cock. You aren’t the type to put up a fight, are you?”

That shouldn’t turn you on like it does, but you live to fight, and now that you have this incredible, sexy, strong man on top of you, dominating you the way you’ve only dreamed, it just comes naturally.

You try to buck back against his thighs but can’t because he’s so heavy, his thrusts so deep and rough. You try to get your arms free, whine when he holds your hands tighter, when he presses his biceps down against the backs of your arms so they can’t move at all. You thrash your head, moaning, loud, nearly primal sounds of pleasure, and he puts his mouth against the back of your neck, bites down hard like you’re an animal he’s forcing to submit.

“Settle, settle; just let me fuck you, let me come inside. You’re no match for me, sweetheart.” Your eyes roll back in your head as he speaks it into your ear, as he rocks his thighs against your ass, as you can feel the muscles of his stomach flex against your lower back. He uses your body, truly, every inch of it covered and compressed by the weight of him, forcing your breasts and clit to rub against the comforter; any one thing he’s doing would be enough, but all of it combined is almost too much, and you whimper, desperate, needy. “Too weak to do anything but let yourself be fucked, aren’t you? Whether or not we come is up to me.”

“Mmh, yes sir,” you breathe, and he leans in to bite the back of your neck again, possessive and rough. It sends a wave of arousal through your whole body, makes your pussy throb and ache. “Oh, god. Please, please make me come. Please use me to come.” Your voice is high, eager, so unlike you’ve ever heard it before that it somehow only adds to your pleasure.

“Using you, baby,” he groans in your ear, thrusting faster, harder, the fleshy smack of your thighs as he fucks and the wetness of your cunt as you take him in filthy and amazing. “I’ll make you come, I’ll come in you, if you promise to be a good girl for me. Are you a good girl?”

God, he’s really going to make you say this. Being a sweet, subservient girl is not in your nature, but it could be, for him. You’d be anything he wants you to be.

“Yes, sir,” you murmur, and he lifts one hand off of yours and puts it on the side of your head, pressing your cheek against the bed while he fucks you.

“Louder.”

“Yes, sir.” Your voice is louder, but less convincing, and he trails his lips over the curve of your ear, sinks his teeth into your exposed throat.

“Louder.” He punctuates it with a hard, almost brutal snap of his hips, and you can feel your orgasm so close, try not to become so focused on the feeling that you miss out on all the rest.

“Yes, sir, I’m a good girl. Please, please.” He picks up the pace, crushing you against the bed, beneath his weight, and you are sweaty, breathless, out of control—perfect.

“Yes you are, and you’re going to come for me.” Soft lips brush over the stinging bites he left on your neck, and he swipes his tongue over them, soothes them. “Who are you going to come for?”

“You, sir,” you gasp, body tensing, pussy clenching, and he groans.

“Who are you going to come for? I need a name, baby.” You whimper, moan, wish you could kiss him, taste him, and when you come it is violent, lengthy, gripping your whole body and dragging it somewhere you’ve never been.

“Aaron—oh, god, I’m coming for you, Aaron. Please, please.” Your eyes water as he fucks you through it, pumping deep until he spills inside you, panting that’s right, easy, just like that in your ear until he’s spent.

He settles on top of you, and the layer of sweat between you should feel disgusting, but it just makes you feel closer to him, like a good girl, like you earned the reminder of how hard you both worked, how hard you came.

He is all sweet kisses and gentle hands, asking if you are alright, praising your performance, your body; it feels so good, his velvet voice wrapping around you, his heavy body pressing down on yours.

You shower after that, so you can sleep; notorious insomniac that you are, he chuckles in your ear when you start to drift off in his arms almost instantly after he gets you both situated in bed. You wake to gentle hands sweeping over your body. You are bruised where he held you down, sore all over in the very best way; you hum at his touch, turn to face him so you can collect soft, sleepy kisses. You drape your arm over his stomach, bury your face in his chest, and he rubs his hand over the back of your neck where you are bitten and raw and claimed. It turns you on—the feel, the memory, the implication—and he lays you back against the bed, puts a pillow under your ass, then settles between your legs and kisses your mouth.

“Going to make you feel really good, baby. Just do as I say, be a good girl, and I promise I’ll make you come.” You nod, tired but horny and ready to do as he says, and he leans up over you, wraps his hands around your shoulders, hooks his chin against your neck. His weight is pressing down on you again, but this time it’s different, sweeter and more intimate. You smile softly, wet your lips.

He slides inside you, maneuvers your legs up over his thighs, and rocks upward, his pelvis lined up in such a way that it rubs right over your clit. You moan, wrap your arms around his back, roll your hips while he grinds against you, pumping shallowly inside but, more importantly, stimulating your clit with each stroke.

“Aaron,” you sigh, holding him tightly while he moves against you, and you throw your head back, gasp and groan while his heavy body glides over yours, while he breathes roughly in your ear.

“Yes, baby. Feels good? Want your sweet pussy to feel good, after I was rough last night.”

“Yes, sir, feels good.” It leaves your mouth as a groan as he humps against you right over your clit, as he tilts his head to kiss you softly below your ear.

“Not sir right now, just Aaron.” You hum, clutch him tighter, move against him, feel the tip of his cock come so close to slipping out just to have it pushed carefully back inside.

“Feels really good. I’m close.” He grinds a little faster, body rolling harder against yours, and you shudder, dig your nails in, and climax, easy and slow and delicious. He praises you even though, again, you didn’t do much, then leans up on his forearms and pushes in fully, thrusts quick and deep. “Mmm, yeah. Want your come.” You pull him close for a kiss, grip his shoulders hard while he fucks you fast, desperate.

You kiss his arms when he comes, panting and gorgeous over you, and when he collapses onto you you wrap your arms and legs around him, hold him tightly, and hum.

“What are you thinking about, baby?” he asks, knows that sound, and you press your lips to his shoulder.

“Just thinking how nice this is. How I like that last night isn’t all you want from me.” He makes eye contact, smooths your hair back, brushes a kiss against your mouth.

“I want anything—everything. I think we could be really good together, despite our differences… if that’s something you want.” You nod, smile softly, and he reciprocates, leans in for more easy kisses. “One thing, though: when I tell you to stay behind me, stay behind me.” Your smile melts into a scowl.

“You wouldn’t tell Derek to stay behind you!”

“Why are you comparing yourself to Derek? Why are you comparing at all, I told you—”

“I know what you told me, and it’s bullshit, so forgive me if I—”

“I don’t forgive you, actually, and if you keep talking back to me—”

“What are you going to do?” He demonstrates. It’s extremely effective. You still don’t stay behind him when he tells you to.

He overworks himself, that’s no secret to anyone who knows him, you just wish he wouldn’t work so hard all the time. He doesn’t take care of himself and because you live and work with him, you see it first hand – it makes you exhausted. That was one of the reasons you started this relationship to begin with; a contracted dom/sub relationship that had originally started strictly for pleasure – a stress reliever the both of you could benefit from. You took care of him, served him, and pleased him in ways you had both agreed upon, and in return, he guided you, protected you, and pleased you in ways you never thought possible.

Over time, this agreement between the two of you had led to some feelings you weren’t yet ready to admit to having. These feelings weren't for someone who was just your dom, but your Unit Chief as well, and that could be, well, complicated. This is how, one year later, you find yourself making the man you love a snack in your shared kitchen at 2AM because just like he takes care of you, you take care of him as well (since he doesn’t seem to do it himself).

You make his favorite - a small, simple charcuterie board with gouda, sliced apples, green olives, and salami, adding a glass of scotch to the side. Picking up the board, careful not to drop anything, you walk to the cracked door at the end of the hall and when you poke your head in, the sight before you makes your heart crumble into pieces - he really does work too hard. Aaron’s at his desk, brows drawn further together than you’ve ever seen before and his jacket is shed, draped over the back of his chair. His hair that was once gelled and in place, is now tousled from running his hands through it, and as he rests his head with his right hand, the other scrawls something down on paper. A puff of air escapes the frown on his lips and he shakes his head, muttering something under his breath when he sits his pen down, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“Knock, knock,” you whisper, pulling Aaron out of his thoughts.

The change in his demeanor is immediate when he looks up and sees you. A small smile replaces the frown that was once on his lips, and when you walk over to the edge of his desk, he gives you a questioning glance as you sit both the charcuterie board and scotch down in front of him.

You smile, seeing the question he didn’t have to ask in his eyes, the slight curve in one corner of his lips. “You’ve been in here a while. Thought I’d bring you a snack.”

“Thank you, angel. What are you up to?” he asks, moving his chair and giving you room to sit on his lap.

“Just taking care of you, Daddy,” you reply, feeling the strong muscles that strain against the fabric of his button up as you run your hands up his arms, around his neck. “It’s almost 2:30. Is everything okay?”

Leaning his head back he sighs, pulling you impossibly closer, and runs his hands up and down your back. “Yeah,” he says, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Yeah everything’s alright. I’m just tired and need to get this budget done. Thank you for the drink and snacks, sweetheart. I love you.”

“I love you too, Daddy.” Nuzzling your head into his neck, you kiss him there, taking in the warm scent of his cologne – amber and cedar mixed with a hint of vanilla – and relax, moving your arms around his midsection. His body is soft, comfortable, and though not overly muscular, it’s firm in all the right places.

Resting one hand on your hip, Aaron shifts and reaches for the glass of scotch you had placed on his desk moments before. The movement causes your hips to rotate, the material of his slacks brushing up against your soft cotton panties, and allows the faintest of moans to slip past your lips. Burying your face into his shoulder, you think he misses it, but when his grip tightens around your hips, there’s no mistaking he heard you.

He lifts your head up, his fingers wrapping gently around the base of your neck, and he holds you there, kissing your nose. “Don’t hide your pretty face from me, angel. If there’s something you want from Daddy, all you have to do is ask, okay?” He soothes, rubbing his thumb over your chin. “Are you feeling needy, sweet girl?”

You hum out a confirmation when Aaron sticks his thumb in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. Keeping eye contact, he pushes it deeper, and only stops when the heel of his thumb meets the tops of your lips. The groan he breathes out sends heat straight to your core, and as if your hips have a mind of their own, they start to roll, pressing into his, and seeking out friction in any way they can.

When you whine around his thumb, he takes it out with a soft ‘pop’, sending a trail of spit down your jaw. Cradling the side of your face, he drags his other hand down your back and squeezes your ass as he pulls you closer, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. “Feels s’ good, Daddy,” you whine against his mouth, the friction of his thick thighs under you sending pleasure straight to your core.

Aaron smirks against your lips before lifting the bottom of your - his - shirt over your head and discarding it on the floor, leaving you in only your white panties. Leaning back just enough to see your full form on his lap, he drinks you in as if he is committing your body to memory, and brushes the tendrils of hair out of your face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he coos before shifting his hips, the movement rolling your clit directly against his crotch. “So fucking beautiful, angel. You gonna come just like this?” He doesn’t wait for a response before he slides his hand up your chest, lightly pinching your nipple between his fingers. “Gonna make a mess on Daddy’s lap?”

Whimpering, you grip his shoulders to steady yourself and place your forehead in the crook of his neck, grinding harder against him. The fiery sensation in your lower stomach builds faster, and when it’s intensified by an abrupt smack to your ass, you almost come from the sting alone. “Slower, angel,” Aaron chids. “Daddy isn’t going anywhere.”

“Please, Daddy.” Your request comes out as strangled, muffled by the material of his dress shirt against your mouth. “Please, please let me come.”

Aaron groans at your words, half ignoring your plea and half trying to compose himself as you continue to rut even harder against him, and when he sees you looking down, he follows your line of sight to the wet patch on his cock - outlined and uncomfortably restrained by the fabric of his pants.

“You like that? You like seeing yourself ruin Daddy’s work clothes?” he asks, his voice still impossibly poised against your ear. Snapping the tops of your panties against your heated skin, he continues, “Even these pretty little panties can’t stop you from soaking Daddy’s lap, can they?”

“N-no, Daddy. Please, wan’ you so bad.” You’re whining and you know it, kneading your fingers harder into his shirt and closing your eyes – a measure you’re sure is a desperate attempt to ground yourself. Widening your legs across his lap, you force your hips down firm against him, and feel the softness of his stomach hit the top of your pussy. You grind against it, the gentle material of his button up sending slick straight down your leg and onto his pants.

“You do?” he asks, rotating his hips upward to meet yours. “Sit up and look at Daddy when you talk to him then. He wants to look at that pretty face of yours when you come all over him. Can you do that, angel?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you pant. Leaning up like he told you to, you grab his hand, wrapping it around your neck like he did before, and he squeezes gently. Closing your eyes once more, images start to quickly flash in your head of him hovering over you on your bed, his broad chest and shoulders naked and heavy above you as he fucks into you, only snapping out of it when he taps the side of your cheek, vaguely hearing him tell you to open your eyes.

He watches you in awe; the sound of your whines and the self-control you have to hold back and obey him – no matter how bad you want to come – is what nearly makes him come in his pants like a teenager as he watches you start to unravel above him.

“Oh! Oh I’m gonna come!” you whail, the noise coming out of your mouth sounding more like a choked sob than an actual moan. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come. Please, please Daddy let me come!”

Aaron takes pity on you as he watches the tears start to free-fall from your gorgeous eyes and stain the pretty skin underneath. Bringing your face to his lips, he kisses you, deeper than he had before, and groans into your mouth.

“Fuck you’re so beautiful when you make that sound. Come for Daddy, sweet girl. Let go.”

That’s all it takes for the dam to finally break, a strangled cry of what sounds like a mixture of ‘Daddy’ and ‘Aaron’ falling from your mouth together like a chant. When you finally fall limp against him, he holds you close and kisses your temple.

“I know, baby, I know,” he cooes, wiping the tears from your puffy cheeks. He kisses your forehead and gives you a few minutes to lay on him before he leans down, tilting your head and bringing your mouth to his in a warm, wet kiss.

“Do you want Daddy inside you now?” he asks, rubbing the pads of his thumbs against the soft skin of your thighs.

“Pl-,” the sound of your voice is hoarse and weak, your throat dry, and you lick your lips and try again. “Please, Daddy. ‘Need you.”

That’s all Aaron needs to hear before he starts moving the files he was working on; his tongue licking into your mouth as he lays you spread out for him on the desk.

“Good girl,” he purrs, undoing his belt, “because you’re going to look so pretty covered in my come.”

taglist: @wishuhadstayed, @dadbodhotch11, @unicornprancing, @spacecowboyhotch, @ashhotchner, @ssahotchsbitch, @heliotropehotch, @rexit-mo, @reidstyleshotch, @wheelsupkels, @cance1medaddy, @newlydevouthotchgirl, @hotchs-bitch, @aleck-cross, @14buddy22, @joshyybassett, @thebaileybugle, @anlin2058, @doyoumindifislytherin-1, @malindacath, @paintlavillered, @whoreslovehotch, @scarlet-widow-427, @mayasreadingnook, @ssahotchner, @criminallysuperhamilfan, @hotchaways, @alexxavicry, @sequinsmile-x, @angelmather1, @lazyflowercandy, @jordierama, @aerangi, @reidselle, @katiehall99, @rousethemouse

Opening them again, he saw you bite your lip with a frown on your face. He mentally slapped himself. You obviously translated his reaction as annoyance and not as a desperate attempt not to get hard in a random hotel lobby.

How was he going to survive sleeping next to you?

Aaron cleared his throat, pulling himself together.

“Come on, roommate,” he smiled, trying to show you that the idea of sharing a room with you was the last thing in the world that would annoy him. He thought that your frown made you look impossibly cute, but he still hated to be the reason you were upset.

- -

Aaron tried to fight with you when you walked in and found one bed instead of two, he really did.

He offered to sleep on the couch, but you argued that it was way too small for him. He offered to sleep on the floor, but you were worried he’d wake up with back pain the next day.

He ran out of excuses. And if he was being honest, he wanted nothing more than to share the damn bed with you.

“Hotch?” you said, opening the bathroom door.

“Hmm?”

“Do you maybe have a t-shirt I could borrow?” you asked, looking hesitant. “I didn’t know we’d all be sharing rooms tonight, so I don’t have anything… appropriate to wear.”

Were you trying to kill him?

“Sure,” he said casually, and thought he definitely deserved an Oscar for that performance.

Going through his suitcase, he found the t-shirt you were wearing when you were making love to him in his dream. He grabbed it and stared at it for a moment, licking his bottom lip.

“Here,” he offered it to you.

“Thanks, Hotch,” you smiled innocently, before disappearing behind the bathroom door.

How could he help himself from thinking of you in there? Of you taking off your shirt, slipping out of your panties and stepping into the shower with water running all over your body?

How could he help himself from thinking of his t-shirt that would soon be touching your bare skin?

Aaron felt himself getting hard and the thoughts wouldn’t stop from coming. The memories of your sweet moans and your delicious open mouth made him physically ache that he couldn’t touch himself at that moment. And mostly that he couldn’t touch you.

When he heard the door open, he quickly covered himself with the blanket so you wouldn’t see how much of a pervert your boss was.

“All good?” he asked, looking anywhere but you.

“Yeah,” you sighed, laying on your back, and from what he could tell you were not under the covers. Why were you not under the covers? Was the universe punishing him for having dirty dreams about his colleague?

“I needed this shower.” You moved closer and turned to your side to face him, but his eyes were glued on the ceiling. You smelled good.

Aaron didn’t respond.

“Are you mad at me?”

He didn’t expect that. And the sadness in your voice completely broke his heart. Not at all, sweetheart, he wanted to whisper sweetly.

“Of course not,” he replied instead.

“Then why have you been avoiding me all day? If I did something wrong, I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t mean it,” you said apologetically and he finally looked at you.

“You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s all me,” he said; his gaze frozen into your eyes so he wouldn’t see his t-shirt hugging your body in all the ways his hands couldn’t.

“So it’s not in my head. Something is going on,” you said.

“Please don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks, that helped a lot,” you said, making him laugh.

“I swear it’s nothing,” he tried to convince you. “Go to sleep.”

“Okay,” you gave up, clearly not convinced but maybe too tired to push the topic further.

He was ready to direct his gaze to that day’s most interesting part of the room: the ceiling; but he made the mistake of checking the rest of you out instead. His eyes travelled from your eyes down to your neck, and then your chest and then your thighs and he was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t notice how obvious he was being.

He quickly averted his gaze from your body and looked back into your eyes, only to find you smirking at him.

“Can I help you?”

“Sorry,” he said, but he really wasn’t.

“What’s going on with you?” you asked.

He couldn’t help but give you a smile by seeing your playful one. “You,” he said.

You furrowed your brows in question , but the smile hadn’t left your face yet.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” he continued.

“What can I do to help?” you asked reaching out for his hand.

He took it in his and intertwined your fingers. “You can come here,” he said patting his lap with his free hand.

Your smile got even bigger and you climbed in his lap, after getting the blanket that was covering him out of the way.

“Mmm…there’s my girl,” he sighed.

“God…” you said, feeling him underneath you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, worried about what you were thinking, finding him hard already.

“Don’t be. I wanna take care of it,” you said and finally leaned in to kiss him.

As the kiss got deeper you started moving back and forth on him, rubbing yourself against his crotch, in a completely self-indulgent way. The idea that you were moving just for your pleasure, turned him on even more than he already was.

“Aaron,” you moaned and broke the kiss.

“That’s exactly how my dream started last night,” he admitted.

“You dreamed about me?” you asked, grinding against him slowly; steading yourself with your palms on his broad chest.

“Mmm…”

“Show me what we were doing,” you asked and he oblidged.

He lifted your – no, his – t-shirt slightly to reveal your panties. “You’re so pretty, baby.”

You only moaned in response, clearly affected by his touch as much as he was.

“Can I please take them off?” he asked and you nodded.

He grabbed the side of your panties with his fingers and started to pull them down. You left his lap for a few seconds to completely take them off and returned on top of him.

You shifted, trying to remove your t-shirt too, but he stopped you. “Keep it on for now,” he said almost whimpering.

“With this on?” you asked him.

“Yeah.”

“Was I wearing it in your dream too?”

“The exact same one.”

“You pervert!” you laughed and kissed his mouth again. “And you made me wear it,” you said against his lips.

“You asked,” he smirked, before biting your lip.

“I need you, Aaron,” you said and it sounded like begging. Maybe you were just as desperate as he was. “I need you inside me.”

“Wait,” he said, and reached out for his wallet that was resting on his nightstand. He took out a condom and ripped it open with his teeth. He could feel your eyes on him the entire time. It made him feel desirable. And even more desperate.

“Let me,” you said and took it from his hand.

You moved yourself lower and carefully took him out of his boxers, rolling the condom on his cock. You left a little kiss on the tip of it and straddled him again.

That smile on your face was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “You’re perfect, do you know what?” he asked, bringing his hand between your legs.

He found you soaked, just like he expected. He used two of his fingers to stretch you open, but he could tell you were ready.

“Now, Aaron,” you begged him again and you didn’t need to ask a second time.

He grabbed you by the hips and before he knew it he was inside you. And it was magic.

“Fuck,” he moaned, surprising himself. He wasn’t usually the vocal type. “Fuck, it’s heaven.”

“Aaron,” you cried out, moving desperately; taking him deeper and deeper.

This, the real thing made the pleasure he felt in his dream completely fade in comparison. You looked like an angel on top of him, and all he could think about was you. Everything was you.

“I wanna feel you,” he heard you say, and felt your fingers touching the skin under his own t-shirt. “Take it off,” you whined, and of course he did. He knew he would never be able to deny you anything for the rest of his life. Anything you would ask, you could have it.

You lips were soon behind his ear, and your moans sounded even more delicious from that close.

“Aaron, it feels so good.”

“I know, baby,” he moaned back.

He helped you take off  your t-shirt too. It might have helped him complete the fantasy, but he needed to see all of you. And of course he adored every single inch.

“God, how are you real?” he whispered, running his thumb over your right nipple.

“Touch me, Aaron,” you cried out to him and he moved the thumb of his other hand to your clit, rubbing it softly in circles.

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

You didn’t respond in words, but the loud moan you let out let him know he was doing a good job.

It didn’t take long for both of you to finish and you laid your head on his chest, his hand travelling up and down your back.

You kissed any skin you could find under your lips and whispered, “That was perfect, Aaron.”

“I know,” he said and kissed the top of your head. “I know.”

“Was it as good as your dream?”

“As good? Baby, I’m not gonna let you sleep tonight,” he said and a second later you were on your back with him between your legs.

69 // Dirty Talk

A/B/O // Floor Sex

Anal // Glove Kink

Breath Play // Missionary

Breeding // Leather/Latex

Cockwarming // Morning Sex

Costumes // Sex Toys

Creampie // Voice Kink

Double Penetration // Stripping

Drunk Sex // Spanking

Erotic Photos // Rimming

Exhibitionism/Voyeurism // Hate/Angry Sex

Face Sitting/Fucking // Dry Humping

Fisting // Love Bites/Marks

Group Sex // Overstimulation

Bath/Shower Sex // Intercrural Sex

Licking // Pegging

Bondage // Lingerie

Boot Worship // Masturbation

Dirty Dancing // Mirror Sex

Nipple Play // Praise Kink

Object Insertion // Phone Sex

Food Play // Orgasm Denial

Outdoor Sex // Tender Sex

Pet Play // Sex Pollen

Sexting // Wax Play

Sensory Deprivation // Stockings

Formal Wear // Strap-Ons

Body Worship // Table Sex

Public Sex // Temperature Play

Aaron felt like a horny teenager, whipping it out as soon as he was given a moment's peace. The door had barely shut behind you and he was already fumbling with the zipper of his slacks, embarrassingly hard under the desk.

He failed to notice the phone you'd left on your chair, too intently focused on the memory of your chest pressing together or your thighs bouncing as he evaluated you. All he could think of was you, your voice, your gaze, your smirk as you'd teased him.

Of course, you had to bounce back in at the worst possible moment. Aaron had just slipped his cock out of his boxers, achingly stiff, when you bounded back through the door, already spewing your reasoning for being there.

"Sorry! I forgot my-" Your eyes flew down to Aaron's lap and he wasn't able to scoot towards the desk to cover himself in time. He sat there, wide-eyed, staring at you while you mirrored his expression.

"Phone." You finished, something darker in your tone as you shut the door behind you. Aaron watched with a churning stomach as you sat down in the chair once more, surely about to tell him off for inappropriate behavior in the workplace.

You licked your lips.

His dick twitched.

"You seem.. busy." You stated, caution lacing your words, "Do you want me to leave?"

Did he have a choice?

"You're not, um," He started, his voice gruff, "You're not going to run for cover?"

You debated making a stupid joke, something about 'the splash zone', but refrained, shaking your head silently.

"Not unless you tell me to. This is.." You hesitated, picking at one of your nails and pointedly avoiding eye contact, "This is all up to you, Hotch."

Aaron, he thought, You've seen my dick, you can use my first name. But he didn't tell you that, instead he bit the inside of his cheek.

"Are you uncomfortable?" He tried, his eyes eagerly monitoring your expression. He saw no shift, your face carefully set in a neutral expression, though your eyes swirled with an emotion he couldn't decipher.

"If I was uncomfortable, I wouldn't be sitting here." You leaned back into your chair, your legs spreading, "Well? Go on, then. You've got me here. What, you're afraid to ogle me now that I know what you're doing?"

'I don't-" He started lamely, but you cut him off.

"You don't ogle me? Explain that." You gestured at his hard-on, and he hated to admit that you're right.

"Come on," You urged, eyes flashing with desire, "Unless you want my help?"

It felt like a dream come true. A wet dream, albeit, but a dream nonetheless. He blinked once, his hand tightening around his dick, "You're going to help me?"

"Is that what you want?" You raise an eyebrow at him, giving him one last out.

“Honey,” Aaron murmurs as he sits on the sofa, both of you naked, with you perched in his lap. You brush your lips over his throat, humming at the scrape of stubble, and the corners of your mouth turn up in a smile he can’t see.

“Yes, dear?” 

He breathes a laugh you can feel as it ghosts over your ear, and it causes goosebumps immediately, a pleasant chill that travels quickly to your toes and back. It makes your body sing, alive and so sensitive to every touch, every sound he makes.

“I meant your lip balm. You smell like honey.” Leaning up, you press your lips to his once, twice, then to the dip above his upper lip, his chin; he breaks into a soft smile, more handsome than he has any right to be, five o’clock shadow and all. “Mmm. But that feels amazing, honey.” 

“Feels so good,” you agree, running your hands over his body, squeezing his chest, his stomach, his arms; he groans when your fingers press very hard, or very, very lightly. “Smells so good too. Especially right here.” He shivers when you press your nose to the hollow of his throat, where he smells like pure, warm, delectable man: Irish soap, cologne, whisky, linen. Heaven.

“Baby,” he groans, like he knows, just knows what you’re going to do next, and you suppose he does; it’s second nature for your teeth to sink into his skin now that you know how much he loves to be bitten, sucked, bruised during foreplay. You bite down on the thick cord of muscle in his neck, your fingers weaving into his hair, and when you release him you’re both panting, eager, desperate. “Oh, fuck.” 

“Fuck.” Pulling his mouth to yours, you catch him in a searing kiss, something wet and needy, more intense than it’s been all evening. Aaron smooths his hands over the curves of your body, only ceasing his exploration to dig his fingertips into your hips when you swipe your tongue over his chin and dive back down to bite at the other side of his throat. 

“How do you do this? Make me crazy,” he murmurs, his broad palm coming up to cradle the back of your head while you suck a bruise there. “I’m not like this, it’s just you.”

You want to bite harder when he says things like that, make your mark permanent, but you pull back to kiss his open mouth, claim him that way instead. 

“Say it again,” you all but beg, your hand in his hair, his hand in yours, and you feel him mumble against your lips because neither of you will pull back for anything different. “Yeah, it’s just me. Aaron, fuck me. Please fuck me.” 

You lean forward in his lap, breaking the kiss out of necessity, then glide a hand over his throat, putting pressure against the darkening bite you left on him. He slips on a condom procured from the side table drawer, presses up inside you, then thrusts up, filling your aching, wet pussy and making you gasp; your eye contact remains strong and unbroken as you move together, kissing and pulling him closer to you. 

It starts out smooth, rhythmic, but as your hands roam again the desperation becomes clearer in his eyes. He needed to be inside you, and now that he is he needs to claim you right back, to fill  you until you claw into his back and lose it with him buried deep inside—you know these things like you know your own desires, not because he’s ever said them aloud but because this is how the two of you end up every single time.

“Harder, harder, please,” you whimper, bouncing into his thrusts, clenching around his cock while his thick fingers find your waist and guide you up and down. Sweat collects at the nape of your neck while you ride him, on his forehead while he thrusts up with strong thighs to help you find the climax that’s been building since he took off his clothes.

“Yes, honey, just like that; god, yes,” he grits out through his teeth as you cum, tight like a vice, moaning and whining like there’s no end to the pleasure he brings. “Almost there, can you just–” 

You lean in to bite his shoulder, hard, and keep pumping your hips until he has nothing left to give, his hands holding you up behind your back and you melt into his embrace. The both of you pant, not quite kissing but close, your arm thrown around his neck, until you catch your breath; then, it’s all you can do not to kiss him like you never plan to kiss another man in your life. 

“Now you taste like honey and me.” It’s softly spoken against your cheek as he stands, carrying you to the bathroom to get cleaned up, and you thrill at the way his scent lingers in your nose: Irish soap, cologne, whisky, linen, honey. Heaven.