FIC: Hair Trigger, Hotch/Reid, NC-17
Title: Hair Trigger
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Rating: NC-17, definitely
Word Count: Yes, I did write 4,350 words of porn.
Warnings: Can be found here.
Summary: Just your normal, run of the mill practice-trip to the firing range.
Note: Beta'ed by innerslytherin, extended again by me after, so all remaining mistakes are mine.
The orgasm hits me hard enough to have me arching up off the bed, stealing my dreams and my breath in one fell swoop and leaving me sweaty, limp and sated. My breath comes in fits and bursts, every nerve in my body is over sensitized and I can't help the whimpers that I'm making, but I don't think Aaron minds. He continues to thoroughly lick me clean as I get soft, nuzzling affectionately at the sensitive skin just under my balls.
Aaron snakes his way up my body, running one hand through my sweaty hair and tilting my head up for a hungry kiss. "Good morning Spencer," he breathes, fondling and petting me still.
"Mmm. Indeed," I return, squirming slightly. Aaron's got this satisfied smile that makes me smile too. "What brought that on?"
Aaron's smile widens wickedly and he ducks his head for another kiss as he quickly and expertly locks me into a familiar restraining piece.
My whole body shudders and I'm already trying to get hard again. I'm well aware that today is still a weekday, and I refuse to look down or I'm going to be useless for the rest of the day.
"Aaron?"
Aaron hums a response, tonguing and kissing the sensitive skin just below my ear and running a hand from my hip up over my side and back down again.
"Did you just lock me into the chastity device?" We're both going to ignore the way my voice just cracked.
Aaron tugs lightly on the moulded rubber rings covering my prick and hums again, claiming my mouth in a hungry kiss. It leaves me breathless, and I'm panting again when he lets me go. "We have to work today."
Aaron continues to pet me languidly. “We do have to work today. We should shower before we go.”
Working and showering are the last things I want to do; I'd much rather stay in bed and take care of Aaron's arousal. I'm reaching for him almost before I've made the conscious decision. “But what about--”
He catches my hands and kisses them. “I can wait.”
“But--” Aaron looks at me and my jaw closes with audible snap. He's got that look on his face that says he's just waiting for me to protest; and as enjoyable as getting into trouble would be, I'd rather avoid it if I'm expected to be productive later. Aaron’s lips twitch as he get out of bed. I follow him obediently, leaning against the wall and enjoying my view.
Aaron’s gaze is warm and approving as he turns the taps. He gets in and soaps up quickly and efficiently; waiting for steam to fill the bathroom before he helps me under the water.
Used to this, I wait patiently, relaxing into the circle of Aaron’s arms as he lathers a washcloth and begins running it over me. He drops a sweet, reverent kiss on my shoulder, making me smile and melt more fully against him. He turns me and I steal a kiss. We've been doing this for months now and it still fills me with awe and wonder to know he cares for me this much.
The first time Aaron broached the subject of bathing me, he’d explained that it chafed, not being able to consistently nurture and protect me the way he felt I deserved. This time together is Aaron’s way of reassuring us both that we are together and that he loves me. He is an inherently romantic man, and though he has no problems telling me, this is one way that Aaron's actions speak louder than words.
I'll admit that at first I was uncomfortable with the intense scrutiny; with what I felt was an implication that I needed to be taken care of. After a while, though, I came to understand that it wasn’t a matter of needing it. It was a matter of Aaron wanting it, and my wanting to make him happy. Over time, I've come to crave the reassurance and reverence in my lover’s touch, the small kisses and the crooked little smiles that are mine alone.
In public, at work, decorum dictates we act as nothing more than coworkers and dedicated team mates. But here at home, we are free to be as affectionate as we please. We take advantage of it, kissing and caressing as we pass in the hallway, foregoing dinner in pursuit of other, more carnal activities.
Every aspect of our relationship is incredible, and it all feels good. But my favorite part is the kissing. Aaron has this focused, intense way of mapping my mouth that makes my head cloudy and my thoughts short-circuit. He kisses with the same passion and dedication he brings to everything else in his life. They are the kinds of kisses that make the world fall away, and every morning begins the same: Aaron will crowd me up against the shower wall, frame my face with his hands and kiss me until I am relying on the wall to hold me up. It is my favorite way to start the day.
Aaron turns the water off and helps me out, drying me off with a minimum of teasing touches and sending me into the bedroom to get dressed. We'd learned quickly not to dress in front of each other; I am incapable of keeping my hands to myself, and I am pleased to announce he's incapable of resisting me.
I dress carefully. I'm hyper-aware of my body, the way my clothes cover my skin, the feel of the chastity device wrapped snugly around my prick and brushing against my thighs. I want to touch myself, but know I'm not allowed. My hands are trembling a little; I'm fighting arousal and we haven't even left the house yet. We've used the Gates of Hell before, but never on a work day. Clearly my productivity is going to take a hit today. I find myself curious over what Aaron has planned for us, but I already know asking will be pointless.
The rest of our morning continues as usual, and it's not until we are in the elevator at work that Aaron speaks.
“Spencer.”
The bell sounds even as I turn to look at him.
“Try to finish up before three. We’re going to the gun range this afternoon.”
And with that he sweeps out of the elevator and up to his office; never once looking back at me and the way I'm leaning against the elevator wall, fighting the sudden crash of arousal and trying to look like he didn't just shoot my composure all to hell and back. Only habit propels me forward, my movements stilted and jerky as I push open the doors to the bullpen and stumble into my desk.
***
“Pretty boy, what is up with you?” Morgan demands, setting his pen down and linking his hands behind his head.
I think my heart seizes. “Nothing! What do you mean? I’m fine!” I glance at the clock and catch a sigh, slouching back into my chair and then shifting minutely. “What?”
“Got a hot date tonight?”
“What?” A quick glance at Emily shows me she's paying attention, too. “No! Why would you ask me that?”
“You do seem to have an unusual fixation with the clock today,” she points out, trying and failing to hold back a smile.
I'm scowling already. “Target practice.”
Recognition dawns in Morgan’s eyes and he drops his hands. “Ouch. Sorry, kid.”
"Yeah." I hate the firing range. I never do well there. I'm always clumsy and awkward and I hate that.
"What time?" Emily asks sympathetically.
I glance at the clock again and make a face. "Two hours."
Morgan looks at my relatively clear desk. "And you're already done, huh?"
"Yeah." It takes me four hours to do what it takes everyone else eight, which usually means I'll either take extra work, or come in late or leave early. But if I have to wait for Hotch to get done, then I've got two hours to stress about what will happen later.
"Why don't you take off," he suggests. "Go sit in on a lecture or something until you have to leave."
It's tempting. "I don't know. I should do...something."
"You should leave." Morgan repeats firmly. "Because kid, if you keep fidgeting like that I will beat you myself."
Heh. "Right." I put my desk back in order and then get up and back away slowly. "I'll just go tell Hotch..."
I climb the stairs slowly and rap on Hotch's open door before I poke my head in. He's surrounded by files and he's got his game face on, and as usual, I want to kneel under his desk and suck him off. There's a reason why I never go all the way into his office if I can help it.
"I'm done," I tell him.
He glances at the clock and looks at me. "What are you going to do until three?"
Well, due to certain accoutrements, my choices are certainly limited, aren’t they? “I think I’m going to find a lecture to sit in on.”
He nods. “Be back in a few hours.”
Like I have a choice! I wave at him and then head out, looking for something to keep my attention for the next little while.
My thoughts really start wandering as I make my way out of the building. I’m acutely aware of the Gates of Hell; my thoughts haven’t really strayed far from there since Aaron put it on me this morning. I know now why he did it, of course. Aaron knows I have a difficult time concentrating when I am around guns. Which is not entirely accurate, actually. I only have a difficult time concentrating when I’m around him and guns. He exudes this aura of cool competence every time he gets a weapon in his hands. It's very intoxicating. I love to watch him, the way he spreads his legs and sets his shoulders to absorb the recoil. And oh, those hands.
I spend the next hour in the back of a lecture hall fantasizing over my lover, grateful for the chastity device that keeps me from getting hard. Oh, I've been trying since this morning, but the rubber rings enclosing my prick are not conducive to free blood flow. But I can still walk, and as three o'clock approaches I'm slipping out of the hall and walking back into the bullpen, my steps not unlike those of a prisoner on death row.
Thinking about carnal pleasures has at least distracted me from worrying about going to the gun range. I'm not really a bad shot, not when it counts. Ever since I switched from the Glock to the .38, I've had no problems with my accuracy. The smaller revolver has less of a recoil, which means my scrawny frame is better able to handle it. When we requalify, I have to use the semi-automatic, which I hate; but when we're in the field or firing for practice, I get to use the .38. I'm just not comfortable with a bigger gun, I feel like I have less control. Aaron tries to work with me on it, but it's just difficult to concentrate around him.
Today looks to be a standard target practice, though. It's not busy at the range, but we're not alone, either. Aaron signs us in and leads me to a stall a little away from the others. The smell of gunpowder is strong in the air, and it's loud. Aaron shoots me a look as he loads a target, I purposely take a step back and let him take the first one. I always do. I'll admit I enjoy watching him shoot.
Aaron takes off his jacket and rolls his sleeves up, revealing strong, ropy forearms. He spreads his legs and settles into his stance. His weapon comes up and I can see the breath he takes, the way those broad shoulders relax just an instant before he pulls the trigger, all smooth competence and sexy confidence.
Well, damn. The breath leaves me in a rush and I'm cursing the Gates now. I step forward as he brings his target back, and don't bother looking at it. He'll have made his marks. He sets another target up and sends it out, and steps behind me to allow me room to move.
My hands curl into fists against my will, my palms are sweaty and I wipe them against my trousers before picking up my gun. My head is a cacophony of thoughts, emotions and memories. They roll around in my head, and then settle when Hotch steps right up behind me and directs me into my stance. Feet shoulder width apart, weight settled, arms up, elbows soft. Deep breath in, relax the shoulders, aim, and fire.
Every round discharged sends a thrill through me, Hotch is close enough that I can feel the heat of his body radiating along my spine. Fleeting hands touch my shoulders, my elbows, making minute adjustments as I fire. His voice is in my ear; this pleased grumbly purr that makes me want to curl up into him and fuck for hours. Gentle, discreet hands on my hips move me out of the way and I'm leaning against the wall again, watching all that masculine strength move.
We'll be here for a while, I can already tell by the way Aaron settles in. I don't mind, especially when we switch off and he starts crowding me again. My body sways back just a little, secure in the fact that my lover will brace me and hold me up. The feel of his erection brushing against my ass is elusive, and not nearly enough for me.
I want nothing more than for him to push me over the counter we stand behind; for him to pull down my pants and fuck me. I can already feel those long, strong, ruthless strokes; the ones he makes when he's looking to torture me for what feels like hours on end.
Aaron's hands cover my hips and he digs in just a little, ostensibly holding me steady but in reality, purposely turning me on enough to considerably throw off my aim. He makes a soft sound behind me, almost lost in the din of the weapons firing in the rest of the range.
"Come on," he chides, words hot against my neck. "You can do better than that."
Yes, but do I have to? "What do I have to do," I ask, turning to look at him from the corner of my eye, "to get you to take me home?"
Aaron's hands tighten a little, his smile small and satisfied. "If you can make three perfect sets," he tells me, "We'll leave and I'll make it worth your while."
There's nothing like a little positive reinforcement to get me to focus. I roll my head from side to side, trying to get rid of the lingering feeling of Aaron's breath on my neck, and settle back into my stance. Resolutely, I set about ignoring the man and fire, my entire focus narrowing down to the revolver in my hands and the target in front of me. When my chambers are empty I step back and let him call the target back, soak up the approval in his gaze. Now I only have to do this twice more, and hope he's not feeling like distracting me.
While I wait, I watch him shoot and think about loosening his tie. Helping him unbutton his shirt and getting to touch all that hot, solid flesh...right, so it's entirely possible I'm not going to need him to distract me, when I can do it all on my own. I know he knows, too, if the look he's sending me is any indication.
Ten minutes later, I'm hurrying to the car, stumbling and then throwing a dark look over my shoulder at his poorly smothered laugh. I'm in the car and fastening my seat belt almost before he's managed to fully swing his door open, slouching down and squirming to find a position that will offer me some relief.
"Hands." Aaron demands, turning the key and pointing us towards home.
I wasn't touching myself. I pull my hands out of my pockets and set them clearly on my thighs, so that I'm not tempted on the ride home. It's amazing how fifteen minutes can turn into fifteen hours when I'm squirming and my mouth is watering. It feels like we're catching every red light between the range and his house; which is entirely possible, actually, given that he seems to be slowing down on purpose.
Then he hits another red light and casually reaches over to my lap. I swear, if it weren't for the restraints I've got on, I'd shoot off right now. Aaron unzips my trousers, his fingers brushing against the very sensitive flesh underneath. The light turns green and he drives again, both hands disappointingly on the steering wheel. Now I'm alert, watching for another red light, and when it comes, I am not disappointed.
Aaron's fingers find their way unerringly inside my zipper and through the opening of my underwear to circle teasingly over the head of my prick. I grit my teeth and try not to show any reaction; I know if I can't behave, he'll stop. I'm watching the cross-light; not wanting to be unprepared for when he has to drive again. So it comes as a shock because I'm not paying attention; the way he releases the first ring on the Gates of Hell.
Oh, holy fuck. He's going to kill me before we even get home. The blood rushes even harder to my groin and I refuse to look down, I already know what I'll see. I can't help the noises that escape the back of my throat, though, the next time he touches me. He's fondling me again, playing with the next ring and staring resolutely ahead. Jerk.
Three rings are gone by the time he pulls into the driveway and once we hit the door, I waste no time in paying him back for the exquisite torture he's put me through.
I push him into the door, using his body weight to slam it closed. I'm attacking his mouth with mine, kissing him fiercely, biting and sucking on that gorgeous mouth while I begin to divest him of his clothes. My hands are trembling as I unbutton his shirt, lust and adrenaline a heady mix that he must be feeling as well, if the way he meets me with the same abandon is any indication.
We're stumbling in the direction of the stairs and I push him down onto them, too impatient to get to the bedroom once I have access to those beautiful hard nipples. I latch onto one, then the other, tonguing and biting his chest as I reach for his belt.
He's got his hands in my hair and he's pushing me down even as I'm unbuttoning his trousers and pulling his boxers just far enough out of the way to get to my prize.
My mouth has been watering all day, just thinking about this. Aaron is hard and hot in my hand, and foreplay is really just beyond me at this point. I swallow him from tip to root, relaxing the muscles in my throat and groaning at the way his hands tighten in my hair. He smells amazing, and tastes even better. He's guiding me firmly, just the way I like it, and I am never more grateful for my eidetic memory than now, when I can pull out all of my considerable knowledge of how to drive him crazy.
Aaron likes a hint of teeth, especially along the sensitive underside of his cock, and I am happy to oblige. I also take a moment to pay attention to his balls, sucking them into my mouth and swirling my tongue around them in a manner similar to what I do with his cock. He's groaning and muttering epithets, forcing me to swallow him deeper as I moan happily around him.
He lets me continue for a while; my jaw aches and saliva coats his red cock by the time his balls start to tighten. I'm not surprised, then, when he pulls me off of him. I still can't help the whine I make; I love to suck him. I can and have done it many times in one night.
Aaron stands and pushes me against the wall, kissing me until I'm clinging to him and begging incoherently. He grins and turns me in the direction of the bedroom, swatting me on the ass and pushing me up the stairs.
"I want you naked by the time I get up there!" he calls to me, and I put some heat on it, knowing he's right behind me and it's in my best interests not to make him wait.
Aaron comes up behind me and throws me onto the bed. I bounce a little and grin up at him, so happy to finally be back where we started our day. One hand pushes on the center of my chest as he admonishes me to be still. Fat chance of that any other way, especially when he reaches toward my mostly hard prick with his other hand and starts gently easing off the remaining two rings that are keeping me from getting fully erect.
He goes almost painfully slow, and I’m keening and writhing by the time he’s done. He’s fast, his other hand catches my balls and twists firmly enough to keep me from coming then and there. I’m panting, great heaving breaths into my lungs, it’s too much and it’s not enough and he’s finally, finally covering my body with his and he’s kissing me and pulling me back from the edge, slowly, a little bit at a time.
“Still with me?” he murmurs, catching my ear between his teeth and tugging gently. My hands clutch at strong biceps and I’m nodding breathlessly. Now comes the good part.
He lets go of my balls and strokes almost reassuringly over my prick, before reaching over for the lubricant we keep on hand. Aaron tries to turn me over, but I must be making more noises than I’m entirely aware of, because he looks at me and then settles, spreading my legs further and drawing one knee up so he has easier access.
He’s kissing and petting me even as he’s opening the lube and circling teasingly over my hole. My hands are everywhere, touching everything within reach. Tweaking nipples and sliding over his back, through his hair and down his arms. Two fingers breach me easily, then three. I love the accompanying burn that comes with rushing prep. I’m moving back into his hands easily, whining when he won’t go faster.
“Bossy,” he mutters, hiding his face in my neck and scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin there. “Impatient.” he announces, looking at me in that way that says he’s pleased when I snatch the lube from him and slick him up myself.
One of those rolls Morgan taught me and suddenly I’m on top. I spare a moment to shoot him a quick grin as I grab his dick and direct it into me, sinking down steadily and hissing at the burn. Oh, this is good. Hands come up to hold me steady and I roll my hips experimentally, testing to see how ready he is.
Aaron hisses out a curse and I can’t help the satisfied grin as my head drops back and I start moving. He’s ready. And even if he’s not, he’s going to take it. Teasing me like that, leaving me half hard and wanting all damned day. Serves him right to have to put up with a little payback.
It won’t last long, I know. I’ve been wanting this so much that now that I have it, it’s a struggle to maintain my equilibrium. Aaron’s already swearing at me for going slower than he’d like, and I know soon -- there, right now, he rolls us again and takes over, thrusting deeper and finding the angle that sends sparks through me.
Fuck! Judicious use of teeth has me crying out, incoherent babbling that I’m aware of but not any coherent thoughts I’m controlling. Nothing beyond more, and please and desperate sounding keening. Aaron reaches for my prick and starts tugging and then even thought is beyond me.
I’m lost in sensations, full body shivers and fireworks that start with my ass and end in my prick and I’m close; I know holding off on orgasm is not an option, especially when Aaron leans down and bites me on the shoulder, the hotbrightpain mingling with the ruthless pleasure and firing off an orgasm that sends me straight into oblivion.
Aaron follows soon after; he’s gathered me up into a hug when awareness makes a gradual return. He pets and cuddles me for a bit, freely offering praises that make me smile even as I hide in his arms.
I know he’s squeezing me and looking for a response to the question he just asked me about a bath, but I’m tired and I’ve had a long day and I am entirely too comfortable where I am.
This calls for a nap; right here, still connected to him and listening to the way his heartbeat slows. We can bathe after my nap, and then I will make dinner. I like these plans, and I announce them quietly, but determinedly. I am also going to ignore the way he chuckles at me, after I poke him in the ribs.
After all, it's been a long, trying day and he started it. He can just lay here with me and help me finish it.
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Rating: NC-17, definitely
Word Count: Yes, I did write 4,350 words of porn.
Warnings: Can be found here.
Summary: Just your normal, run of the mill practice-trip to the firing range.
Note: Beta'ed by innerslytherin, extended again by me after, so all remaining mistakes are mine.
The orgasm hits me hard enough to have me arching up off the bed, stealing my dreams and my breath in one fell swoop and leaving me sweaty, limp and sated. My breath comes in fits and bursts, every nerve in my body is over sensitized and I can't help the whimpers that I'm making, but I don't think Aaron minds. He continues to thoroughly lick me clean as I get soft, nuzzling affectionately at the sensitive skin just under my balls.
Aaron snakes his way up my body, running one hand through my sweaty hair and tilting my head up for a hungry kiss. "Good morning Spencer," he breathes, fondling and petting me still.
"Mmm. Indeed," I return, squirming slightly. Aaron's got this satisfied smile that makes me smile too. "What brought that on?"
Aaron's smile widens wickedly and he ducks his head for another kiss as he quickly and expertly locks me into a familiar restraining piece.
My whole body shudders and I'm already trying to get hard again. I'm well aware that today is still a weekday, and I refuse to look down or I'm going to be useless for the rest of the day.
"Aaron?"
Aaron hums a response, tonguing and kissing the sensitive skin just below my ear and running a hand from my hip up over my side and back down again.
"Did you just lock me into the chastity device?" We're both going to ignore the way my voice just cracked.
Aaron tugs lightly on the moulded rubber rings covering my prick and hums again, claiming my mouth in a hungry kiss. It leaves me breathless, and I'm panting again when he lets me go. "We have to work today."
Aaron continues to pet me languidly. “We do have to work today. We should shower before we go.”
Working and showering are the last things I want to do; I'd much rather stay in bed and take care of Aaron's arousal. I'm reaching for him almost before I've made the conscious decision. “But what about--”
He catches my hands and kisses them. “I can wait.”
“But--” Aaron looks at me and my jaw closes with audible snap. He's got that look on his face that says he's just waiting for me to protest; and as enjoyable as getting into trouble would be, I'd rather avoid it if I'm expected to be productive later. Aaron’s lips twitch as he get out of bed. I follow him obediently, leaning against the wall and enjoying my view.
Aaron’s gaze is warm and approving as he turns the taps. He gets in and soaps up quickly and efficiently; waiting for steam to fill the bathroom before he helps me under the water.
Used to this, I wait patiently, relaxing into the circle of Aaron’s arms as he lathers a washcloth and begins running it over me. He drops a sweet, reverent kiss on my shoulder, making me smile and melt more fully against him. He turns me and I steal a kiss. We've been doing this for months now and it still fills me with awe and wonder to know he cares for me this much.
The first time Aaron broached the subject of bathing me, he’d explained that it chafed, not being able to consistently nurture and protect me the way he felt I deserved. This time together is Aaron’s way of reassuring us both that we are together and that he loves me. He is an inherently romantic man, and though he has no problems telling me, this is one way that Aaron's actions speak louder than words.
I'll admit that at first I was uncomfortable with the intense scrutiny; with what I felt was an implication that I needed to be taken care of. After a while, though, I came to understand that it wasn’t a matter of needing it. It was a matter of Aaron wanting it, and my wanting to make him happy. Over time, I've come to crave the reassurance and reverence in my lover’s touch, the small kisses and the crooked little smiles that are mine alone.
In public, at work, decorum dictates we act as nothing more than coworkers and dedicated team mates. But here at home, we are free to be as affectionate as we please. We take advantage of it, kissing and caressing as we pass in the hallway, foregoing dinner in pursuit of other, more carnal activities.
Every aspect of our relationship is incredible, and it all feels good. But my favorite part is the kissing. Aaron has this focused, intense way of mapping my mouth that makes my head cloudy and my thoughts short-circuit. He kisses with the same passion and dedication he brings to everything else in his life. They are the kinds of kisses that make the world fall away, and every morning begins the same: Aaron will crowd me up against the shower wall, frame my face with his hands and kiss me until I am relying on the wall to hold me up. It is my favorite way to start the day.
Aaron turns the water off and helps me out, drying me off with a minimum of teasing touches and sending me into the bedroom to get dressed. We'd learned quickly not to dress in front of each other; I am incapable of keeping my hands to myself, and I am pleased to announce he's incapable of resisting me.
I dress carefully. I'm hyper-aware of my body, the way my clothes cover my skin, the feel of the chastity device wrapped snugly around my prick and brushing against my thighs. I want to touch myself, but know I'm not allowed. My hands are trembling a little; I'm fighting arousal and we haven't even left the house yet. We've used the Gates of Hell before, but never on a work day. Clearly my productivity is going to take a hit today. I find myself curious over what Aaron has planned for us, but I already know asking will be pointless.
The rest of our morning continues as usual, and it's not until we are in the elevator at work that Aaron speaks.
“Spencer.”
The bell sounds even as I turn to look at him.
“Try to finish up before three. We’re going to the gun range this afternoon.”
And with that he sweeps out of the elevator and up to his office; never once looking back at me and the way I'm leaning against the elevator wall, fighting the sudden crash of arousal and trying to look like he didn't just shoot my composure all to hell and back. Only habit propels me forward, my movements stilted and jerky as I push open the doors to the bullpen and stumble into my desk.
***
“Pretty boy, what is up with you?” Morgan demands, setting his pen down and linking his hands behind his head.
I think my heart seizes. “Nothing! What do you mean? I’m fine!” I glance at the clock and catch a sigh, slouching back into my chair and then shifting minutely. “What?”
“Got a hot date tonight?”
“What?” A quick glance at Emily shows me she's paying attention, too. “No! Why would you ask me that?”
“You do seem to have an unusual fixation with the clock today,” she points out, trying and failing to hold back a smile.
I'm scowling already. “Target practice.”
Recognition dawns in Morgan’s eyes and he drops his hands. “Ouch. Sorry, kid.”
"Yeah." I hate the firing range. I never do well there. I'm always clumsy and awkward and I hate that.
"What time?" Emily asks sympathetically.
I glance at the clock again and make a face. "Two hours."
Morgan looks at my relatively clear desk. "And you're already done, huh?"
"Yeah." It takes me four hours to do what it takes everyone else eight, which usually means I'll either take extra work, or come in late or leave early. But if I have to wait for Hotch to get done, then I've got two hours to stress about what will happen later.
"Why don't you take off," he suggests. "Go sit in on a lecture or something until you have to leave."
It's tempting. "I don't know. I should do...something."
"You should leave." Morgan repeats firmly. "Because kid, if you keep fidgeting like that I will beat you myself."
Heh. "Right." I put my desk back in order and then get up and back away slowly. "I'll just go tell Hotch..."
I climb the stairs slowly and rap on Hotch's open door before I poke my head in. He's surrounded by files and he's got his game face on, and as usual, I want to kneel under his desk and suck him off. There's a reason why I never go all the way into his office if I can help it.
"I'm done," I tell him.
He glances at the clock and looks at me. "What are you going to do until three?"
Well, due to certain accoutrements, my choices are certainly limited, aren’t they? “I think I’m going to find a lecture to sit in on.”
He nods. “Be back in a few hours.”
Like I have a choice! I wave at him and then head out, looking for something to keep my attention for the next little while.
My thoughts really start wandering as I make my way out of the building. I’m acutely aware of the Gates of Hell; my thoughts haven’t really strayed far from there since Aaron put it on me this morning. I know now why he did it, of course. Aaron knows I have a difficult time concentrating when I am around guns. Which is not entirely accurate, actually. I only have a difficult time concentrating when I’m around him and guns. He exudes this aura of cool competence every time he gets a weapon in his hands. It's very intoxicating. I love to watch him, the way he spreads his legs and sets his shoulders to absorb the recoil. And oh, those hands.
I spend the next hour in the back of a lecture hall fantasizing over my lover, grateful for the chastity device that keeps me from getting hard. Oh, I've been trying since this morning, but the rubber rings enclosing my prick are not conducive to free blood flow. But I can still walk, and as three o'clock approaches I'm slipping out of the hall and walking back into the bullpen, my steps not unlike those of a prisoner on death row.
Thinking about carnal pleasures has at least distracted me from worrying about going to the gun range. I'm not really a bad shot, not when it counts. Ever since I switched from the Glock to the .38, I've had no problems with my accuracy. The smaller revolver has less of a recoil, which means my scrawny frame is better able to handle it. When we requalify, I have to use the semi-automatic, which I hate; but when we're in the field or firing for practice, I get to use the .38. I'm just not comfortable with a bigger gun, I feel like I have less control. Aaron tries to work with me on it, but it's just difficult to concentrate around him.
Today looks to be a standard target practice, though. It's not busy at the range, but we're not alone, either. Aaron signs us in and leads me to a stall a little away from the others. The smell of gunpowder is strong in the air, and it's loud. Aaron shoots me a look as he loads a target, I purposely take a step back and let him take the first one. I always do. I'll admit I enjoy watching him shoot.
Aaron takes off his jacket and rolls his sleeves up, revealing strong, ropy forearms. He spreads his legs and settles into his stance. His weapon comes up and I can see the breath he takes, the way those broad shoulders relax just an instant before he pulls the trigger, all smooth competence and sexy confidence.
Well, damn. The breath leaves me in a rush and I'm cursing the Gates now. I step forward as he brings his target back, and don't bother looking at it. He'll have made his marks. He sets another target up and sends it out, and steps behind me to allow me room to move.
My hands curl into fists against my will, my palms are sweaty and I wipe them against my trousers before picking up my gun. My head is a cacophony of thoughts, emotions and memories. They roll around in my head, and then settle when Hotch steps right up behind me and directs me into my stance. Feet shoulder width apart, weight settled, arms up, elbows soft. Deep breath in, relax the shoulders, aim, and fire.
Every round discharged sends a thrill through me, Hotch is close enough that I can feel the heat of his body radiating along my spine. Fleeting hands touch my shoulders, my elbows, making minute adjustments as I fire. His voice is in my ear; this pleased grumbly purr that makes me want to curl up into him and fuck for hours. Gentle, discreet hands on my hips move me out of the way and I'm leaning against the wall again, watching all that masculine strength move.
We'll be here for a while, I can already tell by the way Aaron settles in. I don't mind, especially when we switch off and he starts crowding me again. My body sways back just a little, secure in the fact that my lover will brace me and hold me up. The feel of his erection brushing against my ass is elusive, and not nearly enough for me.
I want nothing more than for him to push me over the counter we stand behind; for him to pull down my pants and fuck me. I can already feel those long, strong, ruthless strokes; the ones he makes when he's looking to torture me for what feels like hours on end.
Aaron's hands cover my hips and he digs in just a little, ostensibly holding me steady but in reality, purposely turning me on enough to considerably throw off my aim. He makes a soft sound behind me, almost lost in the din of the weapons firing in the rest of the range.
"Come on," he chides, words hot against my neck. "You can do better than that."
Yes, but do I have to? "What do I have to do," I ask, turning to look at him from the corner of my eye, "to get you to take me home?"
Aaron's hands tighten a little, his smile small and satisfied. "If you can make three perfect sets," he tells me, "We'll leave and I'll make it worth your while."
There's nothing like a little positive reinforcement to get me to focus. I roll my head from side to side, trying to get rid of the lingering feeling of Aaron's breath on my neck, and settle back into my stance. Resolutely, I set about ignoring the man and fire, my entire focus narrowing down to the revolver in my hands and the target in front of me. When my chambers are empty I step back and let him call the target back, soak up the approval in his gaze. Now I only have to do this twice more, and hope he's not feeling like distracting me.
While I wait, I watch him shoot and think about loosening his tie. Helping him unbutton his shirt and getting to touch all that hot, solid flesh...right, so it's entirely possible I'm not going to need him to distract me, when I can do it all on my own. I know he knows, too, if the look he's sending me is any indication.
Ten minutes later, I'm hurrying to the car, stumbling and then throwing a dark look over my shoulder at his poorly smothered laugh. I'm in the car and fastening my seat belt almost before he's managed to fully swing his door open, slouching down and squirming to find a position that will offer me some relief.
"Hands." Aaron demands, turning the key and pointing us towards home.
I wasn't touching myself. I pull my hands out of my pockets and set them clearly on my thighs, so that I'm not tempted on the ride home. It's amazing how fifteen minutes can turn into fifteen hours when I'm squirming and my mouth is watering. It feels like we're catching every red light between the range and his house; which is entirely possible, actually, given that he seems to be slowing down on purpose.
Then he hits another red light and casually reaches over to my lap. I swear, if it weren't for the restraints I've got on, I'd shoot off right now. Aaron unzips my trousers, his fingers brushing against the very sensitive flesh underneath. The light turns green and he drives again, both hands disappointingly on the steering wheel. Now I'm alert, watching for another red light, and when it comes, I am not disappointed.
Aaron's fingers find their way unerringly inside my zipper and through the opening of my underwear to circle teasingly over the head of my prick. I grit my teeth and try not to show any reaction; I know if I can't behave, he'll stop. I'm watching the cross-light; not wanting to be unprepared for when he has to drive again. So it comes as a shock because I'm not paying attention; the way he releases the first ring on the Gates of Hell.
Oh, holy fuck. He's going to kill me before we even get home. The blood rushes even harder to my groin and I refuse to look down, I already know what I'll see. I can't help the noises that escape the back of my throat, though, the next time he touches me. He's fondling me again, playing with the next ring and staring resolutely ahead. Jerk.
Three rings are gone by the time he pulls into the driveway and once we hit the door, I waste no time in paying him back for the exquisite torture he's put me through.
I push him into the door, using his body weight to slam it closed. I'm attacking his mouth with mine, kissing him fiercely, biting and sucking on that gorgeous mouth while I begin to divest him of his clothes. My hands are trembling as I unbutton his shirt, lust and adrenaline a heady mix that he must be feeling as well, if the way he meets me with the same abandon is any indication.
We're stumbling in the direction of the stairs and I push him down onto them, too impatient to get to the bedroom once I have access to those beautiful hard nipples. I latch onto one, then the other, tonguing and biting his chest as I reach for his belt.
He's got his hands in my hair and he's pushing me down even as I'm unbuttoning his trousers and pulling his boxers just far enough out of the way to get to my prize.
My mouth has been watering all day, just thinking about this. Aaron is hard and hot in my hand, and foreplay is really just beyond me at this point. I swallow him from tip to root, relaxing the muscles in my throat and groaning at the way his hands tighten in my hair. He smells amazing, and tastes even better. He's guiding me firmly, just the way I like it, and I am never more grateful for my eidetic memory than now, when I can pull out all of my considerable knowledge of how to drive him crazy.
Aaron likes a hint of teeth, especially along the sensitive underside of his cock, and I am happy to oblige. I also take a moment to pay attention to his balls, sucking them into my mouth and swirling my tongue around them in a manner similar to what I do with his cock. He's groaning and muttering epithets, forcing me to swallow him deeper as I moan happily around him.
He lets me continue for a while; my jaw aches and saliva coats his red cock by the time his balls start to tighten. I'm not surprised, then, when he pulls me off of him. I still can't help the whine I make; I love to suck him. I can and have done it many times in one night.
Aaron stands and pushes me against the wall, kissing me until I'm clinging to him and begging incoherently. He grins and turns me in the direction of the bedroom, swatting me on the ass and pushing me up the stairs.
"I want you naked by the time I get up there!" he calls to me, and I put some heat on it, knowing he's right behind me and it's in my best interests not to make him wait.
Aaron comes up behind me and throws me onto the bed. I bounce a little and grin up at him, so happy to finally be back where we started our day. One hand pushes on the center of my chest as he admonishes me to be still. Fat chance of that any other way, especially when he reaches toward my mostly hard prick with his other hand and starts gently easing off the remaining two rings that are keeping me from getting fully erect.
He goes almost painfully slow, and I’m keening and writhing by the time he’s done. He’s fast, his other hand catches my balls and twists firmly enough to keep me from coming then and there. I’m panting, great heaving breaths into my lungs, it’s too much and it’s not enough and he’s finally, finally covering my body with his and he’s kissing me and pulling me back from the edge, slowly, a little bit at a time.
“Still with me?” he murmurs, catching my ear between his teeth and tugging gently. My hands clutch at strong biceps and I’m nodding breathlessly. Now comes the good part.
He lets go of my balls and strokes almost reassuringly over my prick, before reaching over for the lubricant we keep on hand. Aaron tries to turn me over, but I must be making more noises than I’m entirely aware of, because he looks at me and then settles, spreading my legs further and drawing one knee up so he has easier access.
He’s kissing and petting me even as he’s opening the lube and circling teasingly over my hole. My hands are everywhere, touching everything within reach. Tweaking nipples and sliding over his back, through his hair and down his arms. Two fingers breach me easily, then three. I love the accompanying burn that comes with rushing prep. I’m moving back into his hands easily, whining when he won’t go faster.
“Bossy,” he mutters, hiding his face in my neck and scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin there. “Impatient.” he announces, looking at me in that way that says he’s pleased when I snatch the lube from him and slick him up myself.
One of those rolls Morgan taught me and suddenly I’m on top. I spare a moment to shoot him a quick grin as I grab his dick and direct it into me, sinking down steadily and hissing at the burn. Oh, this is good. Hands come up to hold me steady and I roll my hips experimentally, testing to see how ready he is.
Aaron hisses out a curse and I can’t help the satisfied grin as my head drops back and I start moving. He’s ready. And even if he’s not, he’s going to take it. Teasing me like that, leaving me half hard and wanting all damned day. Serves him right to have to put up with a little payback.
It won’t last long, I know. I’ve been wanting this so much that now that I have it, it’s a struggle to maintain my equilibrium. Aaron’s already swearing at me for going slower than he’d like, and I know soon -- there, right now, he rolls us again and takes over, thrusting deeper and finding the angle that sends sparks through me.
Fuck! Judicious use of teeth has me crying out, incoherent babbling that I’m aware of but not any coherent thoughts I’m controlling. Nothing beyond more, and please and desperate sounding keening. Aaron reaches for my prick and starts tugging and then even thought is beyond me.
I’m lost in sensations, full body shivers and fireworks that start with my ass and end in my prick and I’m close; I know holding off on orgasm is not an option, especially when Aaron leans down and bites me on the shoulder, the hotbrightpain mingling with the ruthless pleasure and firing off an orgasm that sends me straight into oblivion.
Aaron follows soon after; he’s gathered me up into a hug when awareness makes a gradual return. He pets and cuddles me for a bit, freely offering praises that make me smile even as I hide in his arms.
I know he’s squeezing me and looking for a response to the question he just asked me about a bath, but I’m tired and I’ve had a long day and I am entirely too comfortable where I am.
This calls for a nap; right here, still connected to him and listening to the way his heartbeat slows. We can bathe after my nap, and then I will make dinner. I like these plans, and I announce them quietly, but determinedly. I am also going to ignore the way he chuckles at me, after I poke him in the ribs.
After all, it's been a long, trying day and he started it. He can just lay here with me and help me finish it.