"The Devil You Know"
Pairing: Hotch/Reid (established)
Rating: R
Summary: Office shenanigans. Borderline crack.
The sound of his office door opening jars Hotch’s attention away from the paperwork he’d just been pouring over. He looks up, expecting JJ, only to frown in confusion at the sight of the team’s youngest member slipping past the threshold and shutting the door behind himself, mannerisms almost... stealthy.
“Reid,” he says curtly.
“Shh,” the younger man hisses. Reid takes a step over to the window and reaches a hand out to close the blinds.
Hotch’s heart rate does not pick up at the sight.
“I see this is yet another morning where your manners are failing you,” he says lowly, turning his attention back to the task at hand. Clearly the best course of action is to just ignore Reid until absolutely impossible. Besides, he needs to have these ready to go for Strauss in-
Hotch is suddenly distracted yet again when he finds Reid suddenly standing right next to him behind his desk. “Reid-“
The younger man shushes him again, but it’s what else he’s doing rather than the noise he makes that shocks Hotch speechless. Reid leans, puts a hand on each arm of his chair, and pushes. Then the genius-who Hotch can tell has clearly gone insane at this point-demonstrates his need for the action by crawling under Hotch’s desk.
“Spencer,” Hotch snaps, because this is the textbook definition of inappropriate behavior for the workplace, except if this sort of situation were ever printed in textbooks there would be FBI agents being fired left and right. Reid doesn’t respond, and instead pulls the chair back to where it had been. Still silent, the slender man goes to work at unbuckling Hotch’s pants with deft fingers.
Hotch bucks so hard he nearly knees Reid in the head. He starts to slide his chair back, but Reid grabs him by the leg, and this is ridiculous.
“Aaron, stop,” Reid says, speaking for what is technically the first time since he’d walked in the door. “Let me do this.”
The older man stares down at him, utterly bewildered. “Do you have any idea-“
And it’s like he just isn’t meant to get out a complete sentence this morning, because at that moment, several things happen. The first is that Reid’s hand moves up from where he’d grabbed Hotch by the calf to slide up to his thigh. The second is that the younger man simultaneously undoes Hotch’s fly with his teeth-his teeth, for God’s sake-and Hotch realizes that yes, Spencer Reid has absolutely every idea. Maybe even more than he has. The third event, however, is a cataclysm of epic proportions.
Strauss chooses that moment to walk in.
Aaron Hotchner has talked serial killers armed with a myriad of weapons out of murder, stared cold-blooded killers in the eye unflinchingly-and yet right now, he can’t remember ever being more scared in his life. Unless you count every single time Reid’s crossed paths with danger, but that’s not exactly a mental path he’s prepared to trek through right now.
But Strauss doesn’t appear to notice a thing as she requests the paperwork he’d been going through before Reid entered his room bearing whatever disastrous intent that could be about to ruin both of their lives. And if the rush of adrenaline he’s feeling makes his hand shake as he’s signing the last of those papers, it must be pretty slight, because Strauss doesn’t address that either. He makes no attempt to rise as he hands them over to her, acutely aware of Reid’s presence, and hopes to God or whoever’s out there that of all the days, this will not be one when Erin wants to talk.
It is.
He can’t really focus on what she’s saying for long, because it appears that Reid has either gotten impatient or is simply suicidal. It may be both: the younger man has his head leaned against Hotchner’s knee, and is drawing circles idly with an index on the shin of his other leg. And then Reid shifts, and Hotch can feel Reid’s breath puff right against his inner thigh.
If one of the other members of the team had told him the evening previous that in the morning he’d be sitting 10 feet away from Erin Strauss with an untamable erection, he might have threatened to suspend them on the spot. But now he can feel himself starting to sweat, and if this woman doesn’t get out of here soon, he might just lose his mind.
Hotch is able to reassure himself that there is indeed a God when Strauss notes the time and abruptly excuses herself.
He counts down from ten inside his head before he allows himself to speak.
“Reid.”
That one syllable, and he still sounds like he’s just spent a week in the desert.
Reid lets out a sigh, and wow, who knew something like an exhale could be such a problem. “I started to get up as she was coming in, but you pushed me down by my head,” he murmurs, and even though Hotch can’t see him, Reid’s voice contains what he recognizes as a mixture of arousal and amusement. When Hotch remains silent, the younger man’s mirth increases. “You don’t even remember.”
Vaguely, Hotch recalls the feel of Reid’s soft hair in his hand as he’d looked up to the sight of Strauss coming through the door. “Past the near-paralyzing fear? No.” He means to sound much more reproachful than he actually does.
“I’m sorry,” Reid says quietly. “Let me make it up to you.” The implication alone is enough to make Hotch’s stomach clench tightly, a coil of heat returning from where it had just begun to die down.
“Spencer Reid, you are evil.”
“Better the devil you know,” Reid quips lightly, and then adds. “So, are you going to let me do this?” Hotch thinks he hears the barest trace of hesitance in the other man’s voice. And he should probably let him off the hook (and definitely not press their luck), but at this point? Reid kind of owes him.
But the younger man doesn’t even wait for a response before he’s releasing Hotch from the confines of his boxers and diving in. Hotch, who had totally not been expecting that, can only clutch the edge of his desk and hold on. Pretty soon he can’t even keep his head up, leaning to cradle it in one hand while continuing to grip the wood with the other.
He’s still sitting like that when JJ walks in a minute later.
“Sorry Hotch, but we’re-Hotch?”
Hotch looks up into the concerned blonde’s face and swears he hates his life, because this is visitor number two, but this time Reid isn’t stopping. “Yeah,” he grunts.
“We’re-we’re briefing soon. Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he grates, putting his head back down. He loves this woman, really he does, but she needs to go away.
Reid chooses then to do something particularly spectacular with his tongue, and yeah, make that now.
“Okay,” she says hesitantly, watching as Hotch rubs the hand shading his eyes from his forehead to his mouth and back again. “Hey, where’s Reid? I haven’t seen him, and he’s usually here by now.”
“I don’t know,” Hotch grinds out, and finally, finally, their media liaison gets the point and high-tails it out of there.
This time Hotch doesn’t even make it to ten: he comes as soon as the door is closed, leaning down to press his face into his arm to muffle the agonized groan that can’t be fought down.
As soon as his outburst is over, the room is filled with hushed silence. And then he hears the sound of Reid’s high-pitched moan that usually only means one thing. The wave of lust that shoots through Hotch punches the breath right out of him, and if he hadn’t just climaxed, he would now.
“You didn’t,” he breathes. With legs that feel akin to Jell-O, he finally rolls his chair back.
Reid’s responding laughter is shaky, and he looks almost embarrassed, but Hotch knows better. “I did.” As he emerges from under the desk, Hotch notices that he’s already put himself away. The younger man tucks Hotch back in and makes sure to zip and buckle him up before standing.
“So you do have your manners today,” Hotch remarks, helping him up and standing with him.
“They come and go.” Reid leans up to kiss Hotch chastely before making his way to the door. Hotch finds himself wishing the exchange had lasted longer-he wants to know what Reid’s mouth tastes like right now. He’s never had the desire before, but it’s not quite enough to be strange. Almost everything is acceptable with Reid now.
Almost everything. This, he knows, can never happen again.
He misses it already.
“Don’t be late,” he calls to Reid, assuming the younger man is about to go clean up.
“We already are,” Reid says, stopping to send a small smile over his shoulder as he opens the door.
Shaking his head, Hotch watches Reid leave, unable to keep from smiling back.
Rating: R
Summary: Office shenanigans. Borderline crack.
The sound of his office door opening jars Hotch’s attention away from the paperwork he’d just been pouring over. He looks up, expecting JJ, only to frown in confusion at the sight of the team’s youngest member slipping past the threshold and shutting the door behind himself, mannerisms almost... stealthy.
“Reid,” he says curtly.
“Shh,” the younger man hisses. Reid takes a step over to the window and reaches a hand out to close the blinds.
Hotch’s heart rate does not pick up at the sight.
“I see this is yet another morning where your manners are failing you,” he says lowly, turning his attention back to the task at hand. Clearly the best course of action is to just ignore Reid until absolutely impossible. Besides, he needs to have these ready to go for Strauss in-
Hotch is suddenly distracted yet again when he finds Reid suddenly standing right next to him behind his desk. “Reid-“
The younger man shushes him again, but it’s what else he’s doing rather than the noise he makes that shocks Hotch speechless. Reid leans, puts a hand on each arm of his chair, and pushes. Then the genius-who Hotch can tell has clearly gone insane at this point-demonstrates his need for the action by crawling under Hotch’s desk.
“Spencer,” Hotch snaps, because this is the textbook definition of inappropriate behavior for the workplace, except if this sort of situation were ever printed in textbooks there would be FBI agents being fired left and right. Reid doesn’t respond, and instead pulls the chair back to where it had been. Still silent, the slender man goes to work at unbuckling Hotch’s pants with deft fingers.
Hotch bucks so hard he nearly knees Reid in the head. He starts to slide his chair back, but Reid grabs him by the leg, and this is ridiculous.
“Aaron, stop,” Reid says, speaking for what is technically the first time since he’d walked in the door. “Let me do this.”
The older man stares down at him, utterly bewildered. “Do you have any idea-“
And it’s like he just isn’t meant to get out a complete sentence this morning, because at that moment, several things happen. The first is that Reid’s hand moves up from where he’d grabbed Hotch by the calf to slide up to his thigh. The second is that the younger man simultaneously undoes Hotch’s fly with his teeth-his teeth, for God’s sake-and Hotch realizes that yes, Spencer Reid has absolutely every idea. Maybe even more than he has. The third event, however, is a cataclysm of epic proportions.
Strauss chooses that moment to walk in.
Aaron Hotchner has talked serial killers armed with a myriad of weapons out of murder, stared cold-blooded killers in the eye unflinchingly-and yet right now, he can’t remember ever being more scared in his life. Unless you count every single time Reid’s crossed paths with danger, but that’s not exactly a mental path he’s prepared to trek through right now.
But Strauss doesn’t appear to notice a thing as she requests the paperwork he’d been going through before Reid entered his room bearing whatever disastrous intent that could be about to ruin both of their lives. And if the rush of adrenaline he’s feeling makes his hand shake as he’s signing the last of those papers, it must be pretty slight, because Strauss doesn’t address that either. He makes no attempt to rise as he hands them over to her, acutely aware of Reid’s presence, and hopes to God or whoever’s out there that of all the days, this will not be one when Erin wants to talk.
It is.
He can’t really focus on what she’s saying for long, because it appears that Reid has either gotten impatient or is simply suicidal. It may be both: the younger man has his head leaned against Hotchner’s knee, and is drawing circles idly with an index on the shin of his other leg. And then Reid shifts, and Hotch can feel Reid’s breath puff right against his inner thigh.
If one of the other members of the team had told him the evening previous that in the morning he’d be sitting 10 feet away from Erin Strauss with an untamable erection, he might have threatened to suspend them on the spot. But now he can feel himself starting to sweat, and if this woman doesn’t get out of here soon, he might just lose his mind.
Hotch is able to reassure himself that there is indeed a God when Strauss notes the time and abruptly excuses herself.
He counts down from ten inside his head before he allows himself to speak.
“Reid.”
That one syllable, and he still sounds like he’s just spent a week in the desert.
Reid lets out a sigh, and wow, who knew something like an exhale could be such a problem. “I started to get up as she was coming in, but you pushed me down by my head,” he murmurs, and even though Hotch can’t see him, Reid’s voice contains what he recognizes as a mixture of arousal and amusement. When Hotch remains silent, the younger man’s mirth increases. “You don’t even remember.”
Vaguely, Hotch recalls the feel of Reid’s soft hair in his hand as he’d looked up to the sight of Strauss coming through the door. “Past the near-paralyzing fear? No.” He means to sound much more reproachful than he actually does.
“I’m sorry,” Reid says quietly. “Let me make it up to you.” The implication alone is enough to make Hotch’s stomach clench tightly, a coil of heat returning from where it had just begun to die down.
“Spencer Reid, you are evil.”
“Better the devil you know,” Reid quips lightly, and then adds. “So, are you going to let me do this?” Hotch thinks he hears the barest trace of hesitance in the other man’s voice. And he should probably let him off the hook (and definitely not press their luck), but at this point? Reid kind of owes him.
But the younger man doesn’t even wait for a response before he’s releasing Hotch from the confines of his boxers and diving in. Hotch, who had totally not been expecting that, can only clutch the edge of his desk and hold on. Pretty soon he can’t even keep his head up, leaning to cradle it in one hand while continuing to grip the wood with the other.
He’s still sitting like that when JJ walks in a minute later.
“Sorry Hotch, but we’re-Hotch?”
Hotch looks up into the concerned blonde’s face and swears he hates his life, because this is visitor number two, but this time Reid isn’t stopping. “Yeah,” he grunts.
“We’re-we’re briefing soon. Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he grates, putting his head back down. He loves this woman, really he does, but she needs to go away.
Reid chooses then to do something particularly spectacular with his tongue, and yeah, make that now.
“Okay,” she says hesitantly, watching as Hotch rubs the hand shading his eyes from his forehead to his mouth and back again. “Hey, where’s Reid? I haven’t seen him, and he’s usually here by now.”
“I don’t know,” Hotch grinds out, and finally, finally, their media liaison gets the point and high-tails it out of there.
This time Hotch doesn’t even make it to ten: he comes as soon as the door is closed, leaning down to press his face into his arm to muffle the agonized groan that can’t be fought down.
As soon as his outburst is over, the room is filled with hushed silence. And then he hears the sound of Reid’s high-pitched moan that usually only means one thing. The wave of lust that shoots through Hotch punches the breath right out of him, and if he hadn’t just climaxed, he would now.
“You didn’t,” he breathes. With legs that feel akin to Jell-O, he finally rolls his chair back.
Reid’s responding laughter is shaky, and he looks almost embarrassed, but Hotch knows better. “I did.” As he emerges from under the desk, Hotch notices that he’s already put himself away. The younger man tucks Hotch back in and makes sure to zip and buckle him up before standing.
“So you do have your manners today,” Hotch remarks, helping him up and standing with him.
“They come and go.” Reid leans up to kiss Hotch chastely before making his way to the door. Hotch finds himself wishing the exchange had lasted longer-he wants to know what Reid’s mouth tastes like right now. He’s never had the desire before, but it’s not quite enough to be strange. Almost everything is acceptable with Reid now.
Almost everything. This, he knows, can never happen again.
He misses it already.
“Don’t be late,” he calls to Reid, assuming the younger man is about to go clean up.
“We already are,” Reid says, stopping to send a small smile over his shoulder as he opens the door.
Shaking his head, Hotch watches Reid leave, unable to keep from smiling back.