(no subject)
Title: Getting Lucky
Author: Becky_H
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters: Reid/Hotch
Genre: PWP. Established Relationship.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Mild BDSM.
Word Count: 1,100 exactly.
Summary: Sex? Set post-Nameless, Faceless.
Author’s Notes: I wrote this in my journal, in 100 word chunks to try to get myself writing again. So, it’s divided up into a series of drabbles, It has *Not* been beta'd, and for that reason is not being posted to fic comms. Expect to see errors in this.
Sex doesn’t fix anything.
It doesn’t heal, doesn’t cure, and it won’t erase the roadmap of scars seared across their skin and psyches.
The only thing sex accomplishes is sex, and they both know it. Neither expects a transcendental experience, the earth to move, or to fall into the most perfect love ever loved.
They’re not teenagers. They’re not stupid.
They’re just tired, turned on and pissed off.
They’re just people.
They expect to get off and, if they’re lucky, maybe the physical effort and endorphin release will buy them a few hours of relatively peaceful sleep.
If they’re lucky.
--------------------------------
It’s awkward as hell, and it’s painful for both of them.
Not emotionally or metaphorically or because anyone’s a virgin or having an emotional breakdown at the idea of sex with another man. It hurts because Reid’s knee is fucked up and Hotch’s stomach’s had more muscles cut than he knew his stomach had.
It doesn’t stop them, just slows them down. Between Hotch’s stubbornness and Reid’s problem-solving skills the biggest real hurdle is getting over their fear of reallyhurting each other, and they respect each other too much not to accept the other’s word that they’re okay for this.
--------------------------------
Reid’s a biter.
His teeth sink into Hotch’s shoulder at the same time his dick sinks into Hotch’s ass.
The brighter, sharper pain from Reid’s teeth is a welcome distraction from the realization that being fucked on his side might be saving his stomach and Reid’s knee, but it’s not doing his ass any favors.
The sound Hotch makes is soft, trapped at the back of his throat and between a grunt and a growl. Inelegant, maybe, but honest. Even while that sound escapes him he’s pulling one knee up, rolling forward and pushing his hips back all at once.
--------------------------------
There’s a pause once Reid’s full inside him. Just long enough for them both to settle, take a breath and to make those minute adjustments that go a long way toward keeping awkward and painful from becoming something that will do more than slow them down.
In near perfect unison Reid splays his hand across Hotch’s stomach with enough pressure to provide support for not-quite-healed muscle, and Hotch’s lower leg goes back between Reid’s. The weight provides just enough immobilization to keep the knee as safe as it can be kept.
It’s twisted up and still awkward, but it works.
--------------------------------
The awkwardness doesn’t begin to fade until Hotch loosens up. Not physically, but mentally. Position and physical limitations demand Reid have both control and Hotch’s cooperation.
Hotch is self-aware enough to recognize he’s being influenced by social conditioning. Reid’s younger, smaller, and physically weaker. Every bad romance and porn movie made for the past sixty years says that means Reid should be the one getting fucked.
It still takes time and a conscious decision before he can work with Reid instead of fighting against him.
They’ve played this game before; Reid gives Hotch the time and waits for the decision.
--------------------------------
Hotch curls his fingers around Reid’s wrist. His grip’s solid, but it’s not tight and he’s not using it to move Reid’s hand away from his stomach. He’s definitely not using it to control Reid.
It’s a traditionally dominant gesture. But not here, not now, and not with Reid.
It is what it is, and Reid recognizes it for that. His palm presses gently in against Hotch’s stomach in acceptance and recognition of what Hotch is telling him just before he starts to move.
Hotch isn’t trying to control anyone or anything. He’s holding on so he can let go.
--------------------------------
At first all Hotch does - all he can do - is hold onto Reid and let it happen. Gradual stages of relaxing, accepting Reid’s rhythm and then surrendering to it as arousal grows. Arousal replaces discomfort - from his stomach, from his still twisted position and of being fucked.
It doesn’t take long for instinct to take over and for him to start moving *with* Reid, active rather than passive cooperation in the pursuit of what they’re both after. Awkwardness fades, movement becomes fluid, and want turns into need.
His hand tightens around Reid’s wrist, Reid bites down harder.
--------------------------------
Reid’s teeth don’t break skin and Hotch’s grip isn’t quite bruising. Both hurt, but this is a superficial kind of hurt that they’re accepting from each other. It’s a decision, it’s deliberate, it’s done out of… not love, exactly, but respect and friendship.
Nothing slows down again. It just keeps speeding up as need turns into something that’s almost frantic with an undeniable edge of desperation.
Reid growls against Hotch’s shoulder and Hotch echoes that sound with a soft snarl. Reid moves his hand down from Hotch’s stomach to wrap around his cock. Hotch keeps his hand on Reid’s wrist.
--------------------------------
Reid’s hand on his cock is moving faster than Reid’s fucking him, and Hotch isn’t even thinking about using his grip on Reid’s wrist to slow it down.
For all their care with each other, this isn’t making love; nothing here is gentle. It’s aggressive, frustrated and angry. Even in the awkward position, with their physical limitations, it’s almost violent.
It’s what they both need.
It‘s silent, painful and hard, and silent, painful and hard is how Hotch comes.
Without the sticky heat spilling over Reid’s hand, he never would have noticed Hotch had come; Hotch still isn’t slowing down.
--------------------------------
He stays with Reid right to the point of climax. When Reid stops moving, Hotch also freezes in place, holds his breath and doesn’t realize he’s doing it, and shudders through the aftershock of his orgasm while Reid’s coming.
The tableau holds until Reid exhales with a rush. The second Reid stops biting, Hotch let’s go of Reid’s wrist. Hotch’s head drops forward, chin toward his chest and Reid rests his forehead against the spot between Hotch’s shoulder blades.
Neither speaks or disengages any further than that, yet. They just breathe, and try to crawl back into their own skin.
--------------------------------
They stay put until their breath and hearts slow, and sweat begins to cool on their skin. Then they separate.
It’s easier than coming together. Reid’s arm lifts from around Hotch, Hotch rolls forward onto his stomach, his leg coming off Reid’s as he does. Reid eases onto his back.
Hotch pulls a pillow from under his head and passes it to Reid, who shoves it under the braced bend of his knee.
“Do you feel better?”
Hotch replies by unfolding one of his arms and dropping it over Reid’s waist, heavy and warm. “Go to sleep.”
They got lucky.
Author: Becky_H
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters: Reid/Hotch
Genre: PWP. Established Relationship.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Mild BDSM.
Word Count: 1,100 exactly.
Summary: Sex? Set post-Nameless, Faceless.
Author’s Notes: I wrote this in my journal, in 100 word chunks to try to get myself writing again. So, it’s divided up into a series of drabbles, It has *Not* been beta'd, and for that reason is not being posted to fic comms. Expect to see errors in this.
Sex doesn’t fix anything.
It doesn’t heal, doesn’t cure, and it won’t erase the roadmap of scars seared across their skin and psyches.
The only thing sex accomplishes is sex, and they both know it. Neither expects a transcendental experience, the earth to move, or to fall into the most perfect love ever loved.
They’re not teenagers. They’re not stupid.
They’re just tired, turned on and pissed off.
They’re just people.
They expect to get off and, if they’re lucky, maybe the physical effort and endorphin release will buy them a few hours of relatively peaceful sleep.
If they’re lucky.
--------------------------------
It’s awkward as hell, and it’s painful for both of them.
Not emotionally or metaphorically or because anyone’s a virgin or having an emotional breakdown at the idea of sex with another man. It hurts because Reid’s knee is fucked up and Hotch’s stomach’s had more muscles cut than he knew his stomach had.
It doesn’t stop them, just slows them down. Between Hotch’s stubbornness and Reid’s problem-solving skills the biggest real hurdle is getting over their fear of reallyhurting each other, and they respect each other too much not to accept the other’s word that they’re okay for this.
--------------------------------
Reid’s a biter.
His teeth sink into Hotch’s shoulder at the same time his dick sinks into Hotch’s ass.
The brighter, sharper pain from Reid’s teeth is a welcome distraction from the realization that being fucked on his side might be saving his stomach and Reid’s knee, but it’s not doing his ass any favors.
The sound Hotch makes is soft, trapped at the back of his throat and between a grunt and a growl. Inelegant, maybe, but honest. Even while that sound escapes him he’s pulling one knee up, rolling forward and pushing his hips back all at once.
--------------------------------
There’s a pause once Reid’s full inside him. Just long enough for them both to settle, take a breath and to make those minute adjustments that go a long way toward keeping awkward and painful from becoming something that will do more than slow them down.
In near perfect unison Reid splays his hand across Hotch’s stomach with enough pressure to provide support for not-quite-healed muscle, and Hotch’s lower leg goes back between Reid’s. The weight provides just enough immobilization to keep the knee as safe as it can be kept.
It’s twisted up and still awkward, but it works.
--------------------------------
The awkwardness doesn’t begin to fade until Hotch loosens up. Not physically, but mentally. Position and physical limitations demand Reid have both control and Hotch’s cooperation.
Hotch is self-aware enough to recognize he’s being influenced by social conditioning. Reid’s younger, smaller, and physically weaker. Every bad romance and porn movie made for the past sixty years says that means Reid should be the one getting fucked.
It still takes time and a conscious decision before he can work with Reid instead of fighting against him.
They’ve played this game before; Reid gives Hotch the time and waits for the decision.
--------------------------------
Hotch curls his fingers around Reid’s wrist. His grip’s solid, but it’s not tight and he’s not using it to move Reid’s hand away from his stomach. He’s definitely not using it to control Reid.
It’s a traditionally dominant gesture. But not here, not now, and not with Reid.
It is what it is, and Reid recognizes it for that. His palm presses gently in against Hotch’s stomach in acceptance and recognition of what Hotch is telling him just before he starts to move.
Hotch isn’t trying to control anyone or anything. He’s holding on so he can let go.
--------------------------------
At first all Hotch does - all he can do - is hold onto Reid and let it happen. Gradual stages of relaxing, accepting Reid’s rhythm and then surrendering to it as arousal grows. Arousal replaces discomfort - from his stomach, from his still twisted position and of being fucked.
It doesn’t take long for instinct to take over and for him to start moving *with* Reid, active rather than passive cooperation in the pursuit of what they’re both after. Awkwardness fades, movement becomes fluid, and want turns into need.
His hand tightens around Reid’s wrist, Reid bites down harder.
--------------------------------
Reid’s teeth don’t break skin and Hotch’s grip isn’t quite bruising. Both hurt, but this is a superficial kind of hurt that they’re accepting from each other. It’s a decision, it’s deliberate, it’s done out of… not love, exactly, but respect and friendship.
Nothing slows down again. It just keeps speeding up as need turns into something that’s almost frantic with an undeniable edge of desperation.
Reid growls against Hotch’s shoulder and Hotch echoes that sound with a soft snarl. Reid moves his hand down from Hotch’s stomach to wrap around his cock. Hotch keeps his hand on Reid’s wrist.
--------------------------------
Reid’s hand on his cock is moving faster than Reid’s fucking him, and Hotch isn’t even thinking about using his grip on Reid’s wrist to slow it down.
For all their care with each other, this isn’t making love; nothing here is gentle. It’s aggressive, frustrated and angry. Even in the awkward position, with their physical limitations, it’s almost violent.
It’s what they both need.
It‘s silent, painful and hard, and silent, painful and hard is how Hotch comes.
Without the sticky heat spilling over Reid’s hand, he never would have noticed Hotch had come; Hotch still isn’t slowing down.
--------------------------------
He stays with Reid right to the point of climax. When Reid stops moving, Hotch also freezes in place, holds his breath and doesn’t realize he’s doing it, and shudders through the aftershock of his orgasm while Reid’s coming.
The tableau holds until Reid exhales with a rush. The second Reid stops biting, Hotch let’s go of Reid’s wrist. Hotch’s head drops forward, chin toward his chest and Reid rests his forehead against the spot between Hotch’s shoulder blades.
Neither speaks or disengages any further than that, yet. They just breathe, and try to crawl back into their own skin.
--------------------------------
They stay put until their breath and hearts slow, and sweat begins to cool on their skin. Then they separate.
It’s easier than coming together. Reid’s arm lifts from around Hotch, Hotch rolls forward onto his stomach, his leg coming off Reid’s as he does. Reid eases onto his back.
Hotch pulls a pillow from under his head and passes it to Reid, who shoves it under the braced bend of his knee.
“Do you feel better?”
Hotch replies by unfolding one of his arms and dropping it over Reid’s waist, heavy and warm. “Go to sleep.”
They got lucky.