Power Exchange (Criminal Minds, hard R, set prior to 4.23)
Written for CAYN, from a prompt at comment-fic.
Power Exchange
The pictures he’s seen of Japanese rope-binding intrigue Reid…the symmetry of knots and cords, the way they frame the body of the bound person…he imagines the act of binding to be like a meditation.
It appeals to his meticulous nature. He does the calculations: To create a pleasing design on an individual of a certain size…takes a surprising amount of rope, he finds, which only increases the challenge, and therefore the allure.
He’s elated when Hotch says yes. Reid procures what they need, heart hammering as he stands in line at the hardware store, ready with a story about learning macramé if he’s asked. He’s not. No wonder UnSubs are rampant, when it’s so easy to get supplies.
At first, the lengthy ropes are unmanageable. He’s measured them, knows how they should go, and has allowed a few feet more than he thinks he’ll need, just in case-but for the first half-hour, he feels like he’s battling an octopus.
The rope is cheap cotton, the stuff of clotheslines everywhere, nothing decorative, because the fancier rope tends to be nylon, which is less pliable, could chafe and would be tougher to cut if there was an emergency.
Hotch stands patiently. As the ropes encircle him, his cock slowly responds, until Reid has to make a decision: To bind it down, or not to bind it? Not, he decides, so that he can fondle it in passing. A knot secured behind his balls helps hold it stiffly upright.
Gradually, as the knots are placed, the ropes grow shorter and easier to manage. Reid’s confidence grows, and as he gazes at the cage of cords he’s constructed around his lover, he’s gripped by a rush of something that is decidedly not Zen.
Hotch may be his boss, but right now, Reid is the one in control. Completely in control, because the way he’s tied, Hotch is at his mercy. If he had it in himself to be an UnSub, Reid would have the power of life and death over him. The thought telegraphs itself to his cock, which has been quiescent until this point in the proceedings. It leaps to attention.
Reid circles his victim, marveling at the trust which has allowed him to bind his arms to his sides, ropes criss-crossing his shoulders, diamond shapes knotted from his collarbones to his crotch, each knot crafted with careful precision.
For a few minutes, he just looks without saying a word. He really could do whatever he pleases. If he wanted to force Hotch to his knees and have his way with him, he could. Nothing easier. There are only two lines across his back, one spanning his shoulder-blades, the other across the top of his hips, certainly nothing to impede access for sodomy. Reid could take him as forcefully as he liked, grab the shoulder ropes for leverage and fuck like a madman….
He won’t, of course, because he’s not a madman-but he could, and Hotch knows it as well as he does.
“How does it feel?” he whispers, standing behind Hotch, admiring his knotted artistry.
“Like I’m going to explode,” Hotch replies, voice raspy. “Like the ropes are the only things holding me together.”
This is not what Reid expects to hear. He's read about the power dynamics inherent in bondage play, but he never expected Hotch to relish it this much. He steps closer, rubbing his cock against Hotch’s buttocks. The head of it just barely grazes the rope across the hips. His own desire is an odd blend of fraught possibility and the imperative of control.
Yes, right now he is firmly in control of Hotch, and that’s heady. It isn’t enough, though. He needs to be in control of himself. Making Hotch lose control, yes, that’s his goal, he affirms, but he won’t let himself go.
Hotch groans, the gutteral sound penetrating his reverie. Reid moves to stand in front of Hotch. He’s beautiful, Reid thinks, appreciating the view.
His eyes are a little out-of-focus. There’s a faint shine of perspiration on his skin, echoed by the runnel of precum on his cock. Reid is thankful for his eidetic memory, because he never wants to forget this afternoon.
The contrast of white cotton cord and bare skin is enticing. There are knots placed midway between Hotch’s neck and the outer curve of his shoulder. Reid extends his right hand, caressing the curve of bicep, down to the knotted cord just above his elbow.
For a few minutes, he traces lines at random, fingers combing through the dark pelt on the other man’s chest, skating past a rigid nipple, stroking a diagonal across the pelvis, close to his pubes, but never coming into contact with his cock.
“Who’s in control?” he asks, standing close and allowing his cock to brush against Hotch’s thigh.
“You are,” Hotch says, his breathing erratic. “You’re in control.”
He needs to take a step back, needs to collect himself. Reid’s eye is caught by the extra package of rope on the bed. It gives him an idea, and he tears open the plastic and begins to unwind it.
“That’s right,” he says with approval. “I’m in control.”
Hotch’s dark eyes are fixed on the rope as if it’s a serpent stalking him, and in a way, it is.
Reid holds the rope loosely. It dangles from his hand in loops and whorls, and he allows the hempen handful to glide against Hotch’s straining cock.
Hotch shudders. He’s close, Reid is sure of it, and he anticipates the moment of release, that ultimate vulnerability. He twists his wrist, shaking the rope, giving the cords a life of their own. He’s not trying to cause pain, quite the opposite: light, teasing sensation is what he’s aiming for.
“You’re powerless,” Reid says softly, watching his captive. Hotch may not even be aware that his hips are jerking with each frisson of the rope, but Reid notes the growing torment with satisfaction. “You feel what I want you to feel. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes.” It’s almost a sob.
“It’s so much feeling, isn’t it? Every knot in the rope, binding you, holding you, making you mine…”
“Yes!”
“That wasn’t a question,” he scolds mildly, As punishment, he withdraws the rope, retracting the stimulation. He allows it to graze against his own shaft, a bolt of sweet sensation. He hasn’t touched himself at all until now; mastering the urge for the sake of control.
“Please!”
“Please? Please, what?” He feels playful, powerful, strong. “Please touch you some more? Please let you finish? You’ll have to be a little more specific.”
Reid tries to hide the grin that wants to take over his face. Hotch is quivering with tension, cock twitching as if it’s begging for more.
“I can’t hear you….”
“Whatever you want. You’re in control.”
It takes all Reid’s control, at that moment, not to climax. He carefully holds the rope at arms’ length, because the slightest touch right now would do it.
“Very good,” he breathes, letting the loops of rope just barely slide across Hotch’s cock. “You want more of this, don’t you?”
“Yes, please-!”
He has the rope in his right hand. He licks the tip of his left index finger and rubs it against Hotch’s right nipple. He’s rewarded with a gasp.
Hotch has been so good; it’s time to reward him, to reward himself with the complete surrender that is so, so close. He reaches down, and with his left hand, catches hold of the end of the rope that’s knotted behind his balls.
The loose ropes dance against the hyper-sensitive skin. He lets them swish and swing, not striking, just feather-light jiggling and stroking against the rigid flesh. He gets a loop around it, dragging it along the underside of the shaft, More gasps, low whimpering noises, almost there….
“God! I don’t-! I can’t hold-!”
Reid gives the loop a little squeeze, much as he might squeeze him manually. He leans close to Hotch and growls, “You feel what I want you to feel. You’re not in control.”
Hotch’s face contorts and his hips buck. His release fountains in gushing plumes, and Reid tugs the knotted rope, quick short jerks that coax more spatters of sperm from his balls.
By the time he’s through, Hotch is sagging. Reid tries to steady him, but in the end, Hotch is on his knees, head back, gulping in great lungfuls of air.
He feels rather light-headed himself. He isn’t aware that he’s dropped both ropes. He stares down at Hotch, feeling a sense of triumph.
After a moment, when Hotch has caught his breath, his gaze focuses on Reid’s upthrust erection, and he leans forward.
“No,” Reid says firmly. “I’m still in control.”
“I understand,” says Hotch, and bows his head.
The ropes come off a lot more easily than they went on. Reid coils them carefully so they’ll be ready for the next session.
He wonders what he’ll learn when it’s his turn to lose control.
***
.
Power Exchange
The pictures he’s seen of Japanese rope-binding intrigue Reid…the symmetry of knots and cords, the way they frame the body of the bound person…he imagines the act of binding to be like a meditation.
It appeals to his meticulous nature. He does the calculations: To create a pleasing design on an individual of a certain size…takes a surprising amount of rope, he finds, which only increases the challenge, and therefore the allure.
He’s elated when Hotch says yes. Reid procures what they need, heart hammering as he stands in line at the hardware store, ready with a story about learning macramé if he’s asked. He’s not. No wonder UnSubs are rampant, when it’s so easy to get supplies.
At first, the lengthy ropes are unmanageable. He’s measured them, knows how they should go, and has allowed a few feet more than he thinks he’ll need, just in case-but for the first half-hour, he feels like he’s battling an octopus.
The rope is cheap cotton, the stuff of clotheslines everywhere, nothing decorative, because the fancier rope tends to be nylon, which is less pliable, could chafe and would be tougher to cut if there was an emergency.
Hotch stands patiently. As the ropes encircle him, his cock slowly responds, until Reid has to make a decision: To bind it down, or not to bind it? Not, he decides, so that he can fondle it in passing. A knot secured behind his balls helps hold it stiffly upright.
Gradually, as the knots are placed, the ropes grow shorter and easier to manage. Reid’s confidence grows, and as he gazes at the cage of cords he’s constructed around his lover, he’s gripped by a rush of something that is decidedly not Zen.
Hotch may be his boss, but right now, Reid is the one in control. Completely in control, because the way he’s tied, Hotch is at his mercy. If he had it in himself to be an UnSub, Reid would have the power of life and death over him. The thought telegraphs itself to his cock, which has been quiescent until this point in the proceedings. It leaps to attention.
Reid circles his victim, marveling at the trust which has allowed him to bind his arms to his sides, ropes criss-crossing his shoulders, diamond shapes knotted from his collarbones to his crotch, each knot crafted with careful precision.
For a few minutes, he just looks without saying a word. He really could do whatever he pleases. If he wanted to force Hotch to his knees and have his way with him, he could. Nothing easier. There are only two lines across his back, one spanning his shoulder-blades, the other across the top of his hips, certainly nothing to impede access for sodomy. Reid could take him as forcefully as he liked, grab the shoulder ropes for leverage and fuck like a madman….
He won’t, of course, because he’s not a madman-but he could, and Hotch knows it as well as he does.
“How does it feel?” he whispers, standing behind Hotch, admiring his knotted artistry.
“Like I’m going to explode,” Hotch replies, voice raspy. “Like the ropes are the only things holding me together.”
This is not what Reid expects to hear. He's read about the power dynamics inherent in bondage play, but he never expected Hotch to relish it this much. He steps closer, rubbing his cock against Hotch’s buttocks. The head of it just barely grazes the rope across the hips. His own desire is an odd blend of fraught possibility and the imperative of control.
Yes, right now he is firmly in control of Hotch, and that’s heady. It isn’t enough, though. He needs to be in control of himself. Making Hotch lose control, yes, that’s his goal, he affirms, but he won’t let himself go.
Hotch groans, the gutteral sound penetrating his reverie. Reid moves to stand in front of Hotch. He’s beautiful, Reid thinks, appreciating the view.
His eyes are a little out-of-focus. There’s a faint shine of perspiration on his skin, echoed by the runnel of precum on his cock. Reid is thankful for his eidetic memory, because he never wants to forget this afternoon.
The contrast of white cotton cord and bare skin is enticing. There are knots placed midway between Hotch’s neck and the outer curve of his shoulder. Reid extends his right hand, caressing the curve of bicep, down to the knotted cord just above his elbow.
For a few minutes, he traces lines at random, fingers combing through the dark pelt on the other man’s chest, skating past a rigid nipple, stroking a diagonal across the pelvis, close to his pubes, but never coming into contact with his cock.
“Who’s in control?” he asks, standing close and allowing his cock to brush against Hotch’s thigh.
“You are,” Hotch says, his breathing erratic. “You’re in control.”
He needs to take a step back, needs to collect himself. Reid’s eye is caught by the extra package of rope on the bed. It gives him an idea, and he tears open the plastic and begins to unwind it.
“That’s right,” he says with approval. “I’m in control.”
Hotch’s dark eyes are fixed on the rope as if it’s a serpent stalking him, and in a way, it is.
Reid holds the rope loosely. It dangles from his hand in loops and whorls, and he allows the hempen handful to glide against Hotch’s straining cock.
Hotch shudders. He’s close, Reid is sure of it, and he anticipates the moment of release, that ultimate vulnerability. He twists his wrist, shaking the rope, giving the cords a life of their own. He’s not trying to cause pain, quite the opposite: light, teasing sensation is what he’s aiming for.
“You’re powerless,” Reid says softly, watching his captive. Hotch may not even be aware that his hips are jerking with each frisson of the rope, but Reid notes the growing torment with satisfaction. “You feel what I want you to feel. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes.” It’s almost a sob.
“It’s so much feeling, isn’t it? Every knot in the rope, binding you, holding you, making you mine…”
“Yes!”
“That wasn’t a question,” he scolds mildly, As punishment, he withdraws the rope, retracting the stimulation. He allows it to graze against his own shaft, a bolt of sweet sensation. He hasn’t touched himself at all until now; mastering the urge for the sake of control.
“Please!”
“Please? Please, what?” He feels playful, powerful, strong. “Please touch you some more? Please let you finish? You’ll have to be a little more specific.”
Reid tries to hide the grin that wants to take over his face. Hotch is quivering with tension, cock twitching as if it’s begging for more.
“I can’t hear you….”
“Whatever you want. You’re in control.”
It takes all Reid’s control, at that moment, not to climax. He carefully holds the rope at arms’ length, because the slightest touch right now would do it.
“Very good,” he breathes, letting the loops of rope just barely slide across Hotch’s cock. “You want more of this, don’t you?”
“Yes, please-!”
He has the rope in his right hand. He licks the tip of his left index finger and rubs it against Hotch’s right nipple. He’s rewarded with a gasp.
Hotch has been so good; it’s time to reward him, to reward himself with the complete surrender that is so, so close. He reaches down, and with his left hand, catches hold of the end of the rope that’s knotted behind his balls.
The loose ropes dance against the hyper-sensitive skin. He lets them swish and swing, not striking, just feather-light jiggling and stroking against the rigid flesh. He gets a loop around it, dragging it along the underside of the shaft, More gasps, low whimpering noises, almost there….
“God! I don’t-! I can’t hold-!”
Reid gives the loop a little squeeze, much as he might squeeze him manually. He leans close to Hotch and growls, “You feel what I want you to feel. You’re not in control.”
Hotch’s face contorts and his hips buck. His release fountains in gushing plumes, and Reid tugs the knotted rope, quick short jerks that coax more spatters of sperm from his balls.
By the time he’s through, Hotch is sagging. Reid tries to steady him, but in the end, Hotch is on his knees, head back, gulping in great lungfuls of air.
He feels rather light-headed himself. He isn’t aware that he’s dropped both ropes. He stares down at Hotch, feeling a sense of triumph.
After a moment, when Hotch has caught his breath, his gaze focuses on Reid’s upthrust erection, and he leans forward.
“No,” Reid says firmly. “I’m still in control.”
“I understand,” says Hotch, and bows his head.
The ropes come off a lot more easily than they went on. Reid coils them carefully so they’ll be ready for the next session.
He wonders what he’ll learn when it’s his turn to lose control.
***
.