CM Fic: "Nice Work If You Can Get It"
Disclaimer: No member of the Criminal Minds team belongs to me; they are the brain children of Gordon, Bernero and Erica Messer.
Rating: PG-13/FRT
Warnings: There be slightly porny waters ahead; nothing very explicit, mostly just schmoopy.
Genres: Slash, Romance, Post-Ep
Spoilers: Up to and including 7x01, "It Takes A Village."
Characters/Pairings: David Rossi/Aaron Hotchner
Notes: a) *waves at CM fandom* Hi! Haven't been around in a while but the season premier inspired me. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.
b) Title from the Frank Sinatra song.
b) Inspired by and written for my bb!girls kelachrome and melliyna , from our communal live-watching silliness. They wanted "Dave feeding Aaron a nice Italian dinner"; I added the sexin'. :)
Summary: Set sometime after/during the events of "It Takes A Village." Tomorrow, the work-a-day world starts again, but tonight Dave is going to see that Hotch gets fed properly and put to bed.
*****
Aaron snored softly beside him. Dave looked out from the bed, towards the kitchen. And then back at the furry head nestled crookedly under his arm.
He was going to have to get a new, non-dented mixing bowl. But Dave knew a guy, at Cardullo’s where he got his pasta. So he was cool with that.
Anyway, one dented mixing bowl was plenty worth the kind of action that that kitchen- scratch that, that house- had not seen in months. Dave would have fist pumped, but his aching body was a bit tired for that. He blamed Hotch’s younger and stronger libido.
He also blamed Pakistan, possibly. An evil lusty thought crossed his mind, that he needed to send his beloved off to a far desert more often. But that thought soon passed. It was replaced by a desire to take Aaron in his arms and never let him go.
Aaron’s home. Reid’s home. Emily....Emily is alive. That still threw him for a lovely loop. Emily’s home. It’s a miracle, so I’m going to milk it for all its worth; and damn if I’m going to let any of them out of my sight ever again.
Tomorrow, he knew, Aaron would credit what had happened to the cooking, the candlelight, the Sinatra playing on the stereo. But Dave knew better. He was a writer, and probably could have coined a better phrase, but the words “sexual tornado” seemed to spring to mind. Crude, yet accurate.
When Aaron lets go, he lets go all the way. It’s not that he doesn’t have an id; it’s that the id is locked up so much tighter than everybody else’s. The writer bit of his brain was bumping up against the profiler bit, and he shouted at the both of them to keep quiet.
Not that the cooking didn’t deserve a fair amount of credit. David Rossi was a man well-acquainted with his flaws, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t also rightfully proud where pride was deserved. There hadn’t even been that much talking for long bits of the meal; instead, just noises of appreciation, and even possibly moans of pleasure, from the man across the table.
Jack would be back from Pennsylvania tomorrow. Uncle Dave was looking forward to making the kid his favorite dish: rigatoni bolognese, with the peppers done “just right.” One thing he’d learned about Jack Hotchner: the kid was an excellent restaurant child, and destined to be much more of a foodie than his father.
But tonight? Tonight was about them, about the last three months apart, about Aaron and Dave. So he’d pulled out all the gustatorial stops. Antipastos, three kinds of sauce, cheeses, the whole nine yards. Honestly, he was afraid he might put Aaron into food coma, that they’d end up just cuddling on the couch while deconstructing old Law and Order episodes.
But when he saw...or maybe even felt, Aaron standing in the archway of his kitchen? That plan went right out the window. Dave had been putting the last dish into the dishwasher (he might be old-fashioned when it came to cooking, but not cleaning.) He turned around to find a tall, dark and handsome man …*leaning*, at him, was the best way to put it. Aaron had the last of a glass of cabernet sauvignon in one hand. But the other hand, the other index finger, was worrying at one belt loop; Hotch wasn’t quite meeting his gaze. This was a dance Dave knew very, very well.
But David Rossi (despite all reports to the contrary) wasn’t *that* easy. “Aren't you tired? It’s been a long day. Thought you might want to head to bed.”
Now Aaron bent his head slightly upward, and Dave could see the fire in his eyes. Hotch answered in a low, gravelly tone. “Not unless you’re coming with me.”
“But I still have all this cleaning, and the kitchen’s an absolute fright.” Dave had intentionally put his most teasing tone on that last bit. He moved in his most subtle (thus not really subtle at all) way across the kitchen.
“Leave it.” Aaron’s voice had gotten even impossibly lower; Dave kept meandering toward him.
“Was that an order, Aar- I mean, Unit Chief Hotchner? I know you like it when I use your full title.”
The desired response was produced. With a growl, Aaron...well- practically launched himself at Dave. Mouth grasping for his, biting, pawing, like he was trying to absorb all of Dave in one go.
The spirit was willing; the flesh was a bit creakier. One action produced an equal an opposite reaction, as Dave skidded back towards the kitchen counter.
“Oof!” The wind was knocked out of him just a bit, and in his attempt to keep himself upright, he knocked a mixing bowl off the counter. The clang echoed through the kitchen, and Aaron pulled himself back, panting, a little bit freaked out.
“Dave, fuck, damn it, I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” The passion in Aaron’s eyes was now slightly mixed with panic, fear that he’d broken Dave, that he’d ruined something.
Dave reached up to pet Aaron’s face, pull him back closer. “No, no, it’s all right. I’m not that fragile.”
Hotch’s breathing was still rapid. “Do you want to stop?”
“Not on your life.” And this time it was Dave launching himself at Aaron; grabbing downwards for the younger man’s tight little ass, pulling the two of them as close together as possible. Writhing together, they stayed like that for a while, until both of them were most definitely ready and raring.
This time, it was Dave being the responsible one. “Kid, you know I’m experimental, but I’m pretty sure neither of us is young enough for kitchen floor sex. So, nice comfy bed sex instead?”
Aaron seemed to have lost the power of speech by then, but he nodded hurriedly.
Somehow, pausing for intervening makeout sessions as they went, they reached the bed. Sex between the two of them had never been the most graceful thing in the world. Plus, Hotch had refused to shave off the beard just yet, so there was that interesting new sensation. But tonight, everything had clicked. Everything was warm, and safe, and god, he’d missed this, missed -him-.
Dave looked over at Aaron again; whatever he’d claimed, the man had been exhausted. He was out like a light. The comforter had been pulled down part way, exposing Aaron’s naked chest.
(When they’d finally gotten together (lost to the mists of time, but some point after Alaska), Dave had been so nervous. Aaron had noticed; Aaron noticed everything. The phrase “stop treating me with kid gloves” might have been uttered. But Dave was still nervous sometimes; he was so good at ruining these things, hurting people without meaning to. Hotch had been hurt by too many people, and Dave couldn’t bear to be one of them.)
He looked at Aaron, counted up and down. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8....9. All still there. Three months had been a long time to be apart, and it was a lot of time in which to forget things. But Aaron was home now, and Dave could start remembering things again, and learning new ones. He knew Aaron’s scars, and Aaron knew his.
Dave pulled the comforter up to cover both of them, and settled in beside Aaron, one arm gently wrapped around him. As if to reassure each of the other’s presence.
It was an odd thing, really; he’d spent those first few nights trying to get used to the sound of Aaron’s snoring.
But this summer, it had been equally hard to get to sleep without it.
*fin*
Rating: PG-13/FRT
Warnings: There be slightly porny waters ahead; nothing very explicit, mostly just schmoopy.
Genres: Slash, Romance, Post-Ep
Spoilers: Up to and including 7x01, "It Takes A Village."
Characters/Pairings: David Rossi/Aaron Hotchner
Notes: a) *waves at CM fandom* Hi! Haven't been around in a while but the season premier inspired me. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.
b) Title from the Frank Sinatra song.
b) Inspired by and written for my bb!girls kelachrome and melliyna , from our communal live-watching silliness. They wanted "Dave feeding Aaron a nice Italian dinner"; I added the sexin'. :)
Summary: Set sometime after/during the events of "It Takes A Village." Tomorrow, the work-a-day world starts again, but tonight Dave is going to see that Hotch gets fed properly and put to bed.
*****
Aaron snored softly beside him. Dave looked out from the bed, towards the kitchen. And then back at the furry head nestled crookedly under his arm.
He was going to have to get a new, non-dented mixing bowl. But Dave knew a guy, at Cardullo’s where he got his pasta. So he was cool with that.
Anyway, one dented mixing bowl was plenty worth the kind of action that that kitchen- scratch that, that house- had not seen in months. Dave would have fist pumped, but his aching body was a bit tired for that. He blamed Hotch’s younger and stronger libido.
He also blamed Pakistan, possibly. An evil lusty thought crossed his mind, that he needed to send his beloved off to a far desert more often. But that thought soon passed. It was replaced by a desire to take Aaron in his arms and never let him go.
Aaron’s home. Reid’s home. Emily....Emily is alive. That still threw him for a lovely loop. Emily’s home. It’s a miracle, so I’m going to milk it for all its worth; and damn if I’m going to let any of them out of my sight ever again.
Tomorrow, he knew, Aaron would credit what had happened to the cooking, the candlelight, the Sinatra playing on the stereo. But Dave knew better. He was a writer, and probably could have coined a better phrase, but the words “sexual tornado” seemed to spring to mind. Crude, yet accurate.
When Aaron lets go, he lets go all the way. It’s not that he doesn’t have an id; it’s that the id is locked up so much tighter than everybody else’s. The writer bit of his brain was bumping up against the profiler bit, and he shouted at the both of them to keep quiet.
Not that the cooking didn’t deserve a fair amount of credit. David Rossi was a man well-acquainted with his flaws, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t also rightfully proud where pride was deserved. There hadn’t even been that much talking for long bits of the meal; instead, just noises of appreciation, and even possibly moans of pleasure, from the man across the table.
Jack would be back from Pennsylvania tomorrow. Uncle Dave was looking forward to making the kid his favorite dish: rigatoni bolognese, with the peppers done “just right.” One thing he’d learned about Jack Hotchner: the kid was an excellent restaurant child, and destined to be much more of a foodie than his father.
But tonight? Tonight was about them, about the last three months apart, about Aaron and Dave. So he’d pulled out all the gustatorial stops. Antipastos, three kinds of sauce, cheeses, the whole nine yards. Honestly, he was afraid he might put Aaron into food coma, that they’d end up just cuddling on the couch while deconstructing old Law and Order episodes.
But when he saw...or maybe even felt, Aaron standing in the archway of his kitchen? That plan went right out the window. Dave had been putting the last dish into the dishwasher (he might be old-fashioned when it came to cooking, but not cleaning.) He turned around to find a tall, dark and handsome man …*leaning*, at him, was the best way to put it. Aaron had the last of a glass of cabernet sauvignon in one hand. But the other hand, the other index finger, was worrying at one belt loop; Hotch wasn’t quite meeting his gaze. This was a dance Dave knew very, very well.
But David Rossi (despite all reports to the contrary) wasn’t *that* easy. “Aren't you tired? It’s been a long day. Thought you might want to head to bed.”
Now Aaron bent his head slightly upward, and Dave could see the fire in his eyes. Hotch answered in a low, gravelly tone. “Not unless you’re coming with me.”
“But I still have all this cleaning, and the kitchen’s an absolute fright.” Dave had intentionally put his most teasing tone on that last bit. He moved in his most subtle (thus not really subtle at all) way across the kitchen.
“Leave it.” Aaron’s voice had gotten even impossibly lower; Dave kept meandering toward him.
“Was that an order, Aar- I mean, Unit Chief Hotchner? I know you like it when I use your full title.”
The desired response was produced. With a growl, Aaron...well- practically launched himself at Dave. Mouth grasping for his, biting, pawing, like he was trying to absorb all of Dave in one go.
The spirit was willing; the flesh was a bit creakier. One action produced an equal an opposite reaction, as Dave skidded back towards the kitchen counter.
“Oof!” The wind was knocked out of him just a bit, and in his attempt to keep himself upright, he knocked a mixing bowl off the counter. The clang echoed through the kitchen, and Aaron pulled himself back, panting, a little bit freaked out.
“Dave, fuck, damn it, I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” The passion in Aaron’s eyes was now slightly mixed with panic, fear that he’d broken Dave, that he’d ruined something.
Dave reached up to pet Aaron’s face, pull him back closer. “No, no, it’s all right. I’m not that fragile.”
Hotch’s breathing was still rapid. “Do you want to stop?”
“Not on your life.” And this time it was Dave launching himself at Aaron; grabbing downwards for the younger man’s tight little ass, pulling the two of them as close together as possible. Writhing together, they stayed like that for a while, until both of them were most definitely ready and raring.
This time, it was Dave being the responsible one. “Kid, you know I’m experimental, but I’m pretty sure neither of us is young enough for kitchen floor sex. So, nice comfy bed sex instead?”
Aaron seemed to have lost the power of speech by then, but he nodded hurriedly.
Somehow, pausing for intervening makeout sessions as they went, they reached the bed. Sex between the two of them had never been the most graceful thing in the world. Plus, Hotch had refused to shave off the beard just yet, so there was that interesting new sensation. But tonight, everything had clicked. Everything was warm, and safe, and god, he’d missed this, missed -him-.
Dave looked over at Aaron again; whatever he’d claimed, the man had been exhausted. He was out like a light. The comforter had been pulled down part way, exposing Aaron’s naked chest.
(When they’d finally gotten together (lost to the mists of time, but some point after Alaska), Dave had been so nervous. Aaron had noticed; Aaron noticed everything. The phrase “stop treating me with kid gloves” might have been uttered. But Dave was still nervous sometimes; he was so good at ruining these things, hurting people without meaning to. Hotch had been hurt by too many people, and Dave couldn’t bear to be one of them.)
He looked at Aaron, counted up and down. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8....9. All still there. Three months had been a long time to be apart, and it was a lot of time in which to forget things. But Aaron was home now, and Dave could start remembering things again, and learning new ones. He knew Aaron’s scars, and Aaron knew his.
Dave pulled the comforter up to cover both of them, and settled in beside Aaron, one arm gently wrapped around him. As if to reassure each of the other’s presence.
It was an odd thing, really; he’d spent those first few nights trying to get used to the sound of Aaron’s snoring.
But this summer, it had been equally hard to get to sleep without it.
*fin*