FIC: Failsafe (1/1) Criminal Minds
TITLE: Failsafe
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: Hotchner/Reid
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Reid learns about Beth, but that doesn't mean Hotch doesn't still have secrets.
CONTENT: D/s themes, typical CM viewing fare involving serial killers
DISCLAIMER: Criminal Minds and all the characters therein belong to people who are not me. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks toinlovewithnight for the beta. All mistakes are my own.
Spencer meets Beth when everyone else does. He hears about Beth when everyone else does. Everyone except Rossi, because Rossi apparently knows everything about Hotch’s life.
Well, everything else.
He sits up that night, waiting. He knows it’s stupid. There’s no way he’s coming over. No reason for him to. He has Jack and Beth and it’s late enough that Jack’s asleep and Spencer can guess everything else. Everything Hotch doesn’t have to keep tucked away because it’s dark and dirty and he hates that he has it as part of himself.
**
Spencer spends Sunday at the Smithsonian, burying himself in the research rooms. He’s not looking for anything in particular, just something to take his mind off of everything else. The problem being, of course, that his mind doesn’t work like that, so all Spencer sees between the lines of calligraphic prose is Hotch’s face when he sees her, Hotch’s relaxed stance around her.
Finally he shuts the book carefully and returns it to the proctor. He sits at the table and rubs his forehead. He knows his own arguments against starting this thing between them, and he knows Hotch’s as well. For the first year, all they talked about between cases and fucking was why they shouldn’t do it. After that, the knowledge that they shouldn’t be doing it kept lingering in everything, though they stopped pretending they were even close to being able to resist.
It’s dark when he gets home, but after two hours of trying to settle in the apartment, he grabs his coat and goes out, catching the Metro to Dupont Circle. It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, but he thinks maybe he’s earned the right to be stupid.
“Hey.”
He slows to a stop and turns his head, looking the guy over. He steps in closer and licks his lips. “I’m looking for someone a little rough.” The words sound ridiculous to his own ears, youthful and unassured in his thin voice. “You do that?”
“Sorry, darling.” His voice is deep and rough, and Spencer likes the way it washes over him. “Down that way about two blocks. Ask for Marcus.”
“Thanks.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and walks, knowing he should turn around and get back on the Metro. Instead he keeps going the opposite direction, finding Marcus on a bench a few blocks away.
Negotiations are easy and there’s a hotel close by. Before Spencer’s even undressed, Marcus’s hands are on him, hard and gripping, nails and fingers digging into Spencer’s pale skin. Spencer said that he didn’t want anything that might leave identifying marks, so marcus uses his hands, slapping and not-quite punching, fingers around Spencer’s throat until Spencer can’t breathe and is clenching the sheets in desperation, gasping for a breath that he can’t draw until the fingers are gone and his head is flooded with oxygen. Everything goes from black to red to blue to green to white as he comes all over himself, not feeling anything as Marcus turns him over and fucks him hard from behind.
He’s stiff and sore on the cab ride to the Metro, incapable of the walk, and he leans hard on the wall until he’s back in Virginia, stumbling into another cab to his apartment, to his bed, knowing there are too few hours before his alarm is going to go off.
**
The shower hurts; every drop of water reminiscent of the punches Tobias, as Charles, landed on him. He has to jerk himself off through the pain and he can feel the blood pulsing through the bruises rising up on his skin. He presses his head to the tile as he comes, holding himself up through sheer willpower.
He digs an old towel out from the shelf and dries himself off with the rough fabric. It’s too much sensation and he has to lean against the wall for a few minutes to get himself back under control. He can’t help thinking of the first night with Hotch, both of them hurt and angry and wild and dangerous, nails and teeth and being held down when it was all too much for them both, when they had to give in.
He dresses in whatever he can find - khakis and a white shirt, a vest and a tie and his glasses, and nothing shows. He works at his desk, rolling up his sleeves midway into the morning and pecking at the keyboard with one hand while he rubs his forehead with the other. He’s almost too tired to function. He prefers the tired that comes from working too hard and being close to catching someone than this ennui of frustration and agitation.
“Hey, pretty boy.” Derek sits on the edge of his desk and waves his hand in front of Spencer’s screen. “We’re going to lunch at the Thai place down the street. You should come with.”
“I’ve got work to do.”
“We all have work to do. But you need some fresh air.” His look says he’s not going to take no for an answer, no matter what complicated and esoteric excuse Spencer can come up with, so Spencer sighs and gets up, rubbing his eye under his glasses as Derek stands as well.
Derek drops his voice so it’s a low rumble between the two of them. “You okay?”
“Fine. Tired. I’m fine.” He tugs on his jacket and looks up toward Hotch’s office. The blinds are open and he’s at his desk on the phone. Smiling. Spencer’s stomach rolls and he swallows hard. “Let’s go.”
He’s quiet during lunch, but Derek and JJ are especially adept at coaxing him out of a mood, so he ends up smiling. The others walk on ahead and JJ falls back next to him. She wraps her arm around his waist and he sucks in a breath as her fingers find bruises. “Hey, JJ.”
“You okay, Spence?”
He remembers when his life was easy and he just had a crush on her. “Yeah.”
“I know we made a pact a long time ago, but I was wondering if I could break it.” She smiles up at him. “Because I have a friend...”
“No.”
She slides her lower lip out just a little, so it can’t actually be called a pout, but he understands the intention. “She’s really nice, Spencer. She’s a journalist, so she understands not being around all the time. She’s pretty.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to talk about this, JJ. I want you to drop it and honor the pact. That’s why we made the pact.” He shrugs away from her touch and steps away, keeping distance between them.
“If this is because you’re…” JJ breaks off awkwardly and ducks her head. Spencer stops walking and stares at her. She eventually stops as well and looks back. “Spence…”
“Shut up. Just…Just shut up. I’m not some charity case, okay? I’m a fully functional adult with all working parts and I don’t need to be set up or babied or humored. I have a photographic memory and I can gladly remind you of every slight, every insinuation and every possible insult that has ever come up in my life from enemies and friends alike. I can tell you every whispered word and secret I’ve heard in my entire life, JJ. I have an IQ that doubles the average person’s and I’m not stupid.” He shakes his head and takes another step back. “Tell Hotch I’m taking the afternoon off. Call me if I’m needed.”
He turns and takes off down the street, not running, but walking fast enough that he’ll have a lead should Derek and the rest of them find out what happened and come after him. He can’t outrun Morgan or Prentice, but he can’t really imagine them in hot pursuit.
He makes it all the way to Municipal Park and sits on one of the picnic tables, catching his breath. He stays there until dusk comes, then makes his way back to the Metro station. He buries himself in the mass of humanity at rush hour and locks the door to his apartment behind him.
His phone and doorbell remain silent or he sleeps through any noise they make. When he wakes up in the dark before his alarm, he lies there pressing on bruises until tears sting his eyes. He considers taking a sick day and he’s picking up the phone to call when it rings and Garcia’s telling him to get to the office quick, wheels up in forty minutes, briefing on the plane.
Derek, Rossi, JJ and Prentice are already at the table, so Spencer sits in a seat next to Hotch. Garcia’s on the screen and talking, the usual Quantico briefing strange in the air. Hotch tilts his tablet so Spencer can see it. Spencer reads it quickly, then moves away. He can feel Hotch tense slightly and then let it go, always good at keeping everything compartmentalized.
They hit the ground and Reid goes to the local FBI office, setting up the command center. He starts triangulating points on the map and then sets up the victim board. There’s a headache beating at the base of his skull, but there are four bodies with fractured skulls and ligature marks.
He jots down notes on William Bonin and Rodney Alcala, noting some similarities in the MO. The implements are indicative of weapons of easy access, but not so common that they don’t allow for premeditation. No matches on any other crimes involving the removal of several of the bodies large muscles, surgical or otherwise. Garcia’s at work on phone records and timelines and he focuses on determining the killer’s comfort zone.
“Reid?”
“Garcia’s going to be calling back with the phone records in about a half hour. I think I’ve got the comfort zone narrowed, and we’re looking at a pretty small field of operations.” He half-turns and nods at Hotch. “Maybe a thirty mile radius between drop points.”
“Good. Did the files come in from the locals?”
“Police reports are on the table. Rossi’s talking to the mother of one of the victims.” Spencer can compartmentalize just as well as Hotch. “The other three families are being staggered in by the local agents.”
“You want coffee?”
“No. Thanks.” He turns back to his map and draws a line. There’s something not quite right about it, and he can’t quite narrow it down, so he double-checks his coordinates.
“Reid.”
“I don’t want coffee, Hotch.” He looks up and holds Hotch’s gaze for a moment until Hotch drops his eyes. They widen and Spencer follows his line of sight to the dark purple bruise exposed on Spencer’s forearm. Spencer covers it with his hand, aware that he’s made it clear that it’s a thumbprint as it seems to brand the pad of his own thumb. “Thanks though.”
Hotch nods jerkily and strides out of the room, heading for the interview areas. The phone beeps and Reid talks to Garcia and Morgan on conference call, adding the new information to the notes he’s already compiled.
**
The map bothers him all night, and he’s in the hotel lobby at five in the morning, waiting for a cab to take him to the local office. He’s standing just inside the doors, huddled in his jacket against the air conditioning, holding his cup with both hands when the sliding glass doors open and Hotch jogs inside. He’s wearing a damp t-shirt and form fitting shorts for riding and he’s unshaven and smells like sweat and the threat of rain.
“Reid.”
Spencer swallows hard and lifts his coffee cup in salute. He glances out the doors, looking for his cab and then back at Hotch. “I had an idea. I was going in early.”
“Are you taking one of the SUVs?”
“No. Waiting for a cab.”
“I’ll drive you. Give me ten minutes to shower and change.”
“It’s fine.”
“Spencer.” His tone doesn’t brook any argument. It also sends a spike of heat down Spencer’s spine, straight to his dick. Its clear Hotch knows it too from the almost cruel twist of his mouth. “I’ll be right down.”
The cab shows up and Spencer’s tempted to get in it, but instead he just pays the guy for his time and waits for Hotch. He climbs into the passenger’s seat after Hotch unlocks the SUV, shivering a little in the cold morning air. Hotch’s hair is still damp and just finger-combed back, his tie and the top two buttons of his shirt undone.
“I wasn’t sure you’d wait.”
“I almost didn’t.” He wishes he hadn’t finished his coffee before Hotch came back down, so that he’d have something to occupy himself with. “Thanks for the ride. I think I figured out what’s been bothering me.”
“Oh?”
He starts talking about the map and the comfort zone. He realizes halfway through that Hotch hadn’t expected talk about the case. Spencer stops mid-sentence. “Anyway. The map is wrong.”
Hotch nods and pulls into the FBI office. The front windows are dark, but Reid knows it’s occupied. “Listen, Reid. About Beth…”
“No.” Spencer shakes his head. “We’re in the middle of a case and I don’t want to hear about how you’re moving on, finding a second chance at life after Haley. More power to you, Hotch, but spare me the details.” He opens the door and shoves at it as Hotch grabs his arm, keeping him in the car. “Let go.”
“Who did this to you?”
Spencer glances down at his arm, where Hotch’s hand is gripping it so close to the bruise. He knows it’ll soon have others from how hard Hotch is holding him. “None of your business.”
“It is my business.”
“No.” Spencer wrenches his hand free. “It’s not.” He slides out of the SUV and grabs his briefcase, hurrying into the field office. He buries himself in work, not contributing to the roundtable discussion or the briefing for the locals.
A fifth victim narrows the field, and he’s in the first car with Morgan and Prentice when they hit the unsub’s house. The walls are gray and the stench of old blood rises up from the basement even with the oppressively loud air conditioning units combating the normal California heat.
Morgan takes point down the basement stairs as Reid does the same to the second floor. The air’s like ice against the sweat beneath Spencer’s vest and he takes the corner slowly as one of the SWAT team covers him. He’s halfway up the second flight when he gets hit mid-stomach by something, sending him slamming down the stairs and into the wall. He tries to grab at it, unsure of what it is, and teeth sink into his palm, breaking the skin. He shouts at the sudden shock of it, and then again when a woman screams down the stairs, launching herself at Spencer and wrenching the creature away from him.
SWAT subdues them both and Spencer sits there dazed, staring at the woman and her feral child straining at their restraints before looking at the bloody mess of his palm. He hears Morgan and Prentice downstairs, and then he hears what may or may not be Hotch’s voice before he passes out.
**
He wakes up in a triage room with a needle pressing into his arm. He looks at her as she pushes the plunger and frees it from his arm with the pressure of a cotton ball before he tries to talk. “Tetanus?”
“Yes.”
He turns his head and Hotch is standing there. There’s something dangerous in his eyes, and Reid’s too out of it to tell whether it’s because he’s hurt or because he doesn’t have a shirt on and he knows that, though faded, every bruises is clearly demarcated on his skin. “What…what’d we find?”
“Basement was like a abattoir. Blood everywhere. Mother was feeding the kid human flesh.”
“No bite marks. Didn’t expect cannibalism.” He feels like maybe he missed something. “Mother was harvesting food.”
“Constant air conditioning and an industrial freezer.” Hotch reaches out and Spencer has to close his eyes at the movement. He hates how much he wants to be touched. Hotch’s hand stops, falling short. “Having Garcia check the spike in electricity usage was …”
“Don’t say nice things to me, Hotch. I’m not a child that needs parental approval.” He looks at the nurse. “Can I go now?”
“You need someone to watch you tonight, Mr. Reid.”
“Doctor.” He gets to his feet and the knot on the back of his head throbs painfully. Gripping the edge of the bed tightly, he steadies himself. “It’s Doctor Reid.”
“I’ll watch him,” Hotch assures her. Reid ignores him, and walks out of the room, signing the papers at the nurses’ station. He can feel Hotch following him as he goes down to the security office to sign for his gun, so he doesn’t let himself slow down or stop to lean against the wall to catch his breath. Apparently he’s faltering slightly because Hotch catches up to him easily.
“You didn’t fire your gun.”
“I did. There’s a bullet in the wall.” He feels even stiffer with Hotch beside him, like he has to stand up straight and undergo inspection. “I’ll write up the incident report on the way home.”
Security talk to Hotch rather than him as the chief unlocks the safe and they pull out Reid’s gun. He takes it out of the bag and inspects it, like Hotch taught him, making sure it’s in good shape, that it hasn’t been tampered with. He signs the form and puts it back in his holster, snapping it closed before picking up his vest.
“Let me.” Hotch takes the vest and Reid nods his thanks. There’s blood on the front of it, and it weighs more than Reid thinks he can carry right now. Hotch thanks the security guards and lets Reid proceed him out of the small room. “You feel up to dinner? There’s some clean-up to do here in the morning, and the rest of the team wants to see that you’re in one piece.”
“Two pieces,” Reid reminds him. “One of which is currently being digested.”
“That’s almost enough to put me off dinner.” Hotch’s mouth quirks and he puts a hand in the small of Reid’s back, guiding him toward a chair. “Wait here and I’ll bring the car around.”
“I’m not an invalid, Hotch.”
“No, but I bet your head hurts like hell and you’re tired, so just sit down and wait for me.”
Reid shivers when Hotch pulls the heat of his hand away, sinking down into the chair obediently. He closes his eyes and counts the pulse of his blood by the throbs of pain in his head and his hand.
“Reid.” Hotch’s voice is soft, private and Spencer opens his eyes, swallowing hard at how close he seems, how human. “Come on.” He hooks a hand under Spencer’s elbow and helps him stand. The other goes to the small of Spencer’s back again, guiding him out to the SUV and getting him into the passenger seat. His hands linger as Spencer settles in his seat, fingers grazing his thigh as his eyes look him over. It’s not the perfunctory look he gets on cases that Hotch uses to assure himself that Reid’s okay. It’s the heated look that comes later, the one from bedrooms and alleys and dark hallways.
“Where are we meeting everyone for dinner?”
“That place by the hotel.” Hotch pulls back and shuts the door, going around and levering himself into the car. They drive in silence and Reid stares out the window.
“You should have told me.”
“I know.”
“No. No, you don’t know, because if you did, that would be admitting that it exists, that it matters, and apparently it doesn’t.” He exhales, because he knows it’s not true. Because his head tells him it’s not and Hotch used to take him out of his head. “She seems nice.”
“She is.”
“Jack likes her.”
“He seems to, yeah.”
“I’ll make sure they don’t show.”
“What?” They’re at a red light, which allows Hotch to look at him.
“The marks. Bruises. I’ll make sure they don’t show from now on.”
He can see it cycling through Hotch’s brain. The words and then the meanings and then his meaning. “You’re going to…”
“What do you think?”
Hotch is quiet until they pull into the parking lot. “I think I don’t want to come into work one morning and find your face on my briefing.”
“Don’t worry, Hotch. If anything, I’ll be on the local police blotter.” He slides out of the car and heads for the restaurant, leaving Hotch to catch up.
He plants himself between Morgan and JJ and lets them all laugh at his expense. Hotch is quiet through dinner, drinking his way through two scotch and sodas.
They all leave together, and Spencer can feel the tension rolling off Hotch as he climbs in his SUV. Reid piles in with Morgan and they ride the short distance to the hotel. They take two elevators, and he sticks close to Morgan all the way to his room. The food’s steadied him, but his head and hand still hurt. He refused painkillers at the hospital, and the longing for something to alleviate the pain is almost as strong as the pain itself.
In a way, it’s a sign that he’s getting better - it’s been almost a week since the last thought of Tobias Hankel.
“Reid.”
He turns his head to look at Hotch. He looks aggressive. Angry. Reid’s blood starts pounding for a different reason altogether. “I’m tired.”
“No, you’re not.” Hotch grabs the wrist of Reid’s bandaged hand and herds him toward the stairwell doors, pushing him up against the bar and forcing him onto the eighth floor landing. There’s a small space wedged beneath the pipes where the fire hose connects are, and Hotch forces him back there, out of sight. “Are you?”
“No.” Reid swallows hard, arching to make contact with Hotch’s body. “No.”
Hotch curves a hand around Reid’s throat and holds him still, leaning in to bite a rough kiss against his mouth. Reid makes a desperate noise that nearly drowns out the rustle of Hotch’s belt and zipper being undone. Hotch’s thumb settles in the hollow of Reid’s throat and he pushes him down to his knees, breathing hard as Reid goes so easily and willingly, his non-bandaged hand curving at the base of Hotch’s cock as his mouth closes around it.
He sucks greedily at Hotch’s cock, hand tight around the shaft. It’s been too long since he’s felt the weight of it on his tongue, since Hotch has touched him and now that his hands are on Spencer’s head, he wants more. Hotch grabs Spencer’s hand and pulls it away, edging closer and pushing Spencer back against the wall. The cement makes pain blossom from the knot on the back of Spencer’s head and he moans, loud and desperate. It’s all that’s needed to make Hotch’s hips move, every thrust into Spencer’s mouth enough to send a fresh tidal wave of pain rushing through his veins.
Hotch comes without warning, no change in his rhythm and stroke, and Spencer’s shaking from pain and need by the time he swallows him down. Hotch grabs his throat again, thumb pressing hard this time, to make Spencer release him, dragging him up to his feet roughly. Hotch moves in close, and Spencer’s grateful, because he knows he can’t stand on his own, so he lets Hotch support him.
“There aren’t going to be anyone else’s bruises, Spencer.” His chest is hard against Spencer’s and his free hand is undoing Spencer’s slacks, barely pushing the zipper down before his fingers are wrapped around Spencer’s dick. “Are there?”
“Y-you don’t…”
Hotch starts stroking Spencer roughly, and somehow all the other pain is subsumed to the slide of skin on skin. Hotch digs his thumb down, pressing harder against Spencer’s throat and it’s a hollow ache that seems to fill him up. His blood is pounding under his skin and he’s all contact points - his head, his hand, his throat, his dick - and nothing in between, phantom body instead of phantom limbs. “No one’s bruises but mine.”
“I…” He can’t choke out any other words as Hotch presses harder and all he can think of is air, colors sparking behind his eyes. He beats his good hand back against the wall, until even that takes too much strength, too much effort. He’s ceased to exist except where Hotch’s fingers touch him, and everything has faded to black. He feels his head fall back because it’s too heavy, and then suddenly there is air and Hotch is wrapped around him, holding him close. Spencer’s covered in his own come and he feels like he’s high again, like somehow someone managed to shoot dilaudid into his veins.
“Mine.” Spencer doesn’t nod, but his head falls forward against Hotch’s shoulder in agreement. For all that Marcus and the others are good and give him what he needs, they’re never Hotch. No one else is ever Hotch. “C’mon. Bed.”
“But…”
“Reid.” Hotch’s voice is soft, different, and Reid knows what it means. It means that Hotch is going to date Beth and fall in love with her and probably have a family with her, and Reid will cling to the edges, taking what he can get. “You need your rest.”
Reid nods and lets Hotch get them to their feet, guiding him down the dim hallway to Reid’s room. Hotch unlocks the door and swings it open, and Reid stares at the distance to the bed. It’s only a couple of yards, but it feels like entirety of the Poughkeepsie bridge. “I…”
“Reid.”
Reid nods and goes, holding onto the wall to keep himself upright and sinking onto the bed as soon as he’s able. He glances toward the door, but it’s already closed behind Hotch, and he’s alone.
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: Hotchner/Reid
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Reid learns about Beth, but that doesn't mean Hotch doesn't still have secrets.
CONTENT: D/s themes, typical CM viewing fare involving serial killers
DISCLAIMER: Criminal Minds and all the characters therein belong to people who are not me. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks toinlovewithnight for the beta. All mistakes are my own.
Spencer meets Beth when everyone else does. He hears about Beth when everyone else does. Everyone except Rossi, because Rossi apparently knows everything about Hotch’s life.
Well, everything else.
He sits up that night, waiting. He knows it’s stupid. There’s no way he’s coming over. No reason for him to. He has Jack and Beth and it’s late enough that Jack’s asleep and Spencer can guess everything else. Everything Hotch doesn’t have to keep tucked away because it’s dark and dirty and he hates that he has it as part of himself.
**
Spencer spends Sunday at the Smithsonian, burying himself in the research rooms. He’s not looking for anything in particular, just something to take his mind off of everything else. The problem being, of course, that his mind doesn’t work like that, so all Spencer sees between the lines of calligraphic prose is Hotch’s face when he sees her, Hotch’s relaxed stance around her.
Finally he shuts the book carefully and returns it to the proctor. He sits at the table and rubs his forehead. He knows his own arguments against starting this thing between them, and he knows Hotch’s as well. For the first year, all they talked about between cases and fucking was why they shouldn’t do it. After that, the knowledge that they shouldn’t be doing it kept lingering in everything, though they stopped pretending they were even close to being able to resist.
It’s dark when he gets home, but after two hours of trying to settle in the apartment, he grabs his coat and goes out, catching the Metro to Dupont Circle. It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, but he thinks maybe he’s earned the right to be stupid.
“Hey.”
He slows to a stop and turns his head, looking the guy over. He steps in closer and licks his lips. “I’m looking for someone a little rough.” The words sound ridiculous to his own ears, youthful and unassured in his thin voice. “You do that?”
“Sorry, darling.” His voice is deep and rough, and Spencer likes the way it washes over him. “Down that way about two blocks. Ask for Marcus.”
“Thanks.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and walks, knowing he should turn around and get back on the Metro. Instead he keeps going the opposite direction, finding Marcus on a bench a few blocks away.
Negotiations are easy and there’s a hotel close by. Before Spencer’s even undressed, Marcus’s hands are on him, hard and gripping, nails and fingers digging into Spencer’s pale skin. Spencer said that he didn’t want anything that might leave identifying marks, so marcus uses his hands, slapping and not-quite punching, fingers around Spencer’s throat until Spencer can’t breathe and is clenching the sheets in desperation, gasping for a breath that he can’t draw until the fingers are gone and his head is flooded with oxygen. Everything goes from black to red to blue to green to white as he comes all over himself, not feeling anything as Marcus turns him over and fucks him hard from behind.
He’s stiff and sore on the cab ride to the Metro, incapable of the walk, and he leans hard on the wall until he’s back in Virginia, stumbling into another cab to his apartment, to his bed, knowing there are too few hours before his alarm is going to go off.
**
The shower hurts; every drop of water reminiscent of the punches Tobias, as Charles, landed on him. He has to jerk himself off through the pain and he can feel the blood pulsing through the bruises rising up on his skin. He presses his head to the tile as he comes, holding himself up through sheer willpower.
He digs an old towel out from the shelf and dries himself off with the rough fabric. It’s too much sensation and he has to lean against the wall for a few minutes to get himself back under control. He can’t help thinking of the first night with Hotch, both of them hurt and angry and wild and dangerous, nails and teeth and being held down when it was all too much for them both, when they had to give in.
He dresses in whatever he can find - khakis and a white shirt, a vest and a tie and his glasses, and nothing shows. He works at his desk, rolling up his sleeves midway into the morning and pecking at the keyboard with one hand while he rubs his forehead with the other. He’s almost too tired to function. He prefers the tired that comes from working too hard and being close to catching someone than this ennui of frustration and agitation.
“Hey, pretty boy.” Derek sits on the edge of his desk and waves his hand in front of Spencer’s screen. “We’re going to lunch at the Thai place down the street. You should come with.”
“I’ve got work to do.”
“We all have work to do. But you need some fresh air.” His look says he’s not going to take no for an answer, no matter what complicated and esoteric excuse Spencer can come up with, so Spencer sighs and gets up, rubbing his eye under his glasses as Derek stands as well.
Derek drops his voice so it’s a low rumble between the two of them. “You okay?”
“Fine. Tired. I’m fine.” He tugs on his jacket and looks up toward Hotch’s office. The blinds are open and he’s at his desk on the phone. Smiling. Spencer’s stomach rolls and he swallows hard. “Let’s go.”
He’s quiet during lunch, but Derek and JJ are especially adept at coaxing him out of a mood, so he ends up smiling. The others walk on ahead and JJ falls back next to him. She wraps her arm around his waist and he sucks in a breath as her fingers find bruises. “Hey, JJ.”
“You okay, Spence?”
He remembers when his life was easy and he just had a crush on her. “Yeah.”
“I know we made a pact a long time ago, but I was wondering if I could break it.” She smiles up at him. “Because I have a friend...”
“No.”
She slides her lower lip out just a little, so it can’t actually be called a pout, but he understands the intention. “She’s really nice, Spencer. She’s a journalist, so she understands not being around all the time. She’s pretty.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to talk about this, JJ. I want you to drop it and honor the pact. That’s why we made the pact.” He shrugs away from her touch and steps away, keeping distance between them.
“If this is because you’re…” JJ breaks off awkwardly and ducks her head. Spencer stops walking and stares at her. She eventually stops as well and looks back. “Spence…”
“Shut up. Just…Just shut up. I’m not some charity case, okay? I’m a fully functional adult with all working parts and I don’t need to be set up or babied or humored. I have a photographic memory and I can gladly remind you of every slight, every insinuation and every possible insult that has ever come up in my life from enemies and friends alike. I can tell you every whispered word and secret I’ve heard in my entire life, JJ. I have an IQ that doubles the average person’s and I’m not stupid.” He shakes his head and takes another step back. “Tell Hotch I’m taking the afternoon off. Call me if I’m needed.”
He turns and takes off down the street, not running, but walking fast enough that he’ll have a lead should Derek and the rest of them find out what happened and come after him. He can’t outrun Morgan or Prentice, but he can’t really imagine them in hot pursuit.
He makes it all the way to Municipal Park and sits on one of the picnic tables, catching his breath. He stays there until dusk comes, then makes his way back to the Metro station. He buries himself in the mass of humanity at rush hour and locks the door to his apartment behind him.
His phone and doorbell remain silent or he sleeps through any noise they make. When he wakes up in the dark before his alarm, he lies there pressing on bruises until tears sting his eyes. He considers taking a sick day and he’s picking up the phone to call when it rings and Garcia’s telling him to get to the office quick, wheels up in forty minutes, briefing on the plane.
Derek, Rossi, JJ and Prentice are already at the table, so Spencer sits in a seat next to Hotch. Garcia’s on the screen and talking, the usual Quantico briefing strange in the air. Hotch tilts his tablet so Spencer can see it. Spencer reads it quickly, then moves away. He can feel Hotch tense slightly and then let it go, always good at keeping everything compartmentalized.
They hit the ground and Reid goes to the local FBI office, setting up the command center. He starts triangulating points on the map and then sets up the victim board. There’s a headache beating at the base of his skull, but there are four bodies with fractured skulls and ligature marks.
He jots down notes on William Bonin and Rodney Alcala, noting some similarities in the MO. The implements are indicative of weapons of easy access, but not so common that they don’t allow for premeditation. No matches on any other crimes involving the removal of several of the bodies large muscles, surgical or otherwise. Garcia’s at work on phone records and timelines and he focuses on determining the killer’s comfort zone.
“Reid?”
“Garcia’s going to be calling back with the phone records in about a half hour. I think I’ve got the comfort zone narrowed, and we’re looking at a pretty small field of operations.” He half-turns and nods at Hotch. “Maybe a thirty mile radius between drop points.”
“Good. Did the files come in from the locals?”
“Police reports are on the table. Rossi’s talking to the mother of one of the victims.” Spencer can compartmentalize just as well as Hotch. “The other three families are being staggered in by the local agents.”
“You want coffee?”
“No. Thanks.” He turns back to his map and draws a line. There’s something not quite right about it, and he can’t quite narrow it down, so he double-checks his coordinates.
“Reid.”
“I don’t want coffee, Hotch.” He looks up and holds Hotch’s gaze for a moment until Hotch drops his eyes. They widen and Spencer follows his line of sight to the dark purple bruise exposed on Spencer’s forearm. Spencer covers it with his hand, aware that he’s made it clear that it’s a thumbprint as it seems to brand the pad of his own thumb. “Thanks though.”
Hotch nods jerkily and strides out of the room, heading for the interview areas. The phone beeps and Reid talks to Garcia and Morgan on conference call, adding the new information to the notes he’s already compiled.
**
The map bothers him all night, and he’s in the hotel lobby at five in the morning, waiting for a cab to take him to the local office. He’s standing just inside the doors, huddled in his jacket against the air conditioning, holding his cup with both hands when the sliding glass doors open and Hotch jogs inside. He’s wearing a damp t-shirt and form fitting shorts for riding and he’s unshaven and smells like sweat and the threat of rain.
“Reid.”
Spencer swallows hard and lifts his coffee cup in salute. He glances out the doors, looking for his cab and then back at Hotch. “I had an idea. I was going in early.”
“Are you taking one of the SUVs?”
“No. Waiting for a cab.”
“I’ll drive you. Give me ten minutes to shower and change.”
“It’s fine.”
“Spencer.” His tone doesn’t brook any argument. It also sends a spike of heat down Spencer’s spine, straight to his dick. Its clear Hotch knows it too from the almost cruel twist of his mouth. “I’ll be right down.”
The cab shows up and Spencer’s tempted to get in it, but instead he just pays the guy for his time and waits for Hotch. He climbs into the passenger’s seat after Hotch unlocks the SUV, shivering a little in the cold morning air. Hotch’s hair is still damp and just finger-combed back, his tie and the top two buttons of his shirt undone.
“I wasn’t sure you’d wait.”
“I almost didn’t.” He wishes he hadn’t finished his coffee before Hotch came back down, so that he’d have something to occupy himself with. “Thanks for the ride. I think I figured out what’s been bothering me.”
“Oh?”
He starts talking about the map and the comfort zone. He realizes halfway through that Hotch hadn’t expected talk about the case. Spencer stops mid-sentence. “Anyway. The map is wrong.”
Hotch nods and pulls into the FBI office. The front windows are dark, but Reid knows it’s occupied. “Listen, Reid. About Beth…”
“No.” Spencer shakes his head. “We’re in the middle of a case and I don’t want to hear about how you’re moving on, finding a second chance at life after Haley. More power to you, Hotch, but spare me the details.” He opens the door and shoves at it as Hotch grabs his arm, keeping him in the car. “Let go.”
“Who did this to you?”
Spencer glances down at his arm, where Hotch’s hand is gripping it so close to the bruise. He knows it’ll soon have others from how hard Hotch is holding him. “None of your business.”
“It is my business.”
“No.” Spencer wrenches his hand free. “It’s not.” He slides out of the SUV and grabs his briefcase, hurrying into the field office. He buries himself in work, not contributing to the roundtable discussion or the briefing for the locals.
A fifth victim narrows the field, and he’s in the first car with Morgan and Prentice when they hit the unsub’s house. The walls are gray and the stench of old blood rises up from the basement even with the oppressively loud air conditioning units combating the normal California heat.
Morgan takes point down the basement stairs as Reid does the same to the second floor. The air’s like ice against the sweat beneath Spencer’s vest and he takes the corner slowly as one of the SWAT team covers him. He’s halfway up the second flight when he gets hit mid-stomach by something, sending him slamming down the stairs and into the wall. He tries to grab at it, unsure of what it is, and teeth sink into his palm, breaking the skin. He shouts at the sudden shock of it, and then again when a woman screams down the stairs, launching herself at Spencer and wrenching the creature away from him.
SWAT subdues them both and Spencer sits there dazed, staring at the woman and her feral child straining at their restraints before looking at the bloody mess of his palm. He hears Morgan and Prentice downstairs, and then he hears what may or may not be Hotch’s voice before he passes out.
**
He wakes up in a triage room with a needle pressing into his arm. He looks at her as she pushes the plunger and frees it from his arm with the pressure of a cotton ball before he tries to talk. “Tetanus?”
“Yes.”
He turns his head and Hotch is standing there. There’s something dangerous in his eyes, and Reid’s too out of it to tell whether it’s because he’s hurt or because he doesn’t have a shirt on and he knows that, though faded, every bruises is clearly demarcated on his skin. “What…what’d we find?”
“Basement was like a abattoir. Blood everywhere. Mother was feeding the kid human flesh.”
“No bite marks. Didn’t expect cannibalism.” He feels like maybe he missed something. “Mother was harvesting food.”
“Constant air conditioning and an industrial freezer.” Hotch reaches out and Spencer has to close his eyes at the movement. He hates how much he wants to be touched. Hotch’s hand stops, falling short. “Having Garcia check the spike in electricity usage was …”
“Don’t say nice things to me, Hotch. I’m not a child that needs parental approval.” He looks at the nurse. “Can I go now?”
“You need someone to watch you tonight, Mr. Reid.”
“Doctor.” He gets to his feet and the knot on the back of his head throbs painfully. Gripping the edge of the bed tightly, he steadies himself. “It’s Doctor Reid.”
“I’ll watch him,” Hotch assures her. Reid ignores him, and walks out of the room, signing the papers at the nurses’ station. He can feel Hotch following him as he goes down to the security office to sign for his gun, so he doesn’t let himself slow down or stop to lean against the wall to catch his breath. Apparently he’s faltering slightly because Hotch catches up to him easily.
“You didn’t fire your gun.”
“I did. There’s a bullet in the wall.” He feels even stiffer with Hotch beside him, like he has to stand up straight and undergo inspection. “I’ll write up the incident report on the way home.”
Security talk to Hotch rather than him as the chief unlocks the safe and they pull out Reid’s gun. He takes it out of the bag and inspects it, like Hotch taught him, making sure it’s in good shape, that it hasn’t been tampered with. He signs the form and puts it back in his holster, snapping it closed before picking up his vest.
“Let me.” Hotch takes the vest and Reid nods his thanks. There’s blood on the front of it, and it weighs more than Reid thinks he can carry right now. Hotch thanks the security guards and lets Reid proceed him out of the small room. “You feel up to dinner? There’s some clean-up to do here in the morning, and the rest of the team wants to see that you’re in one piece.”
“Two pieces,” Reid reminds him. “One of which is currently being digested.”
“That’s almost enough to put me off dinner.” Hotch’s mouth quirks and he puts a hand in the small of Reid’s back, guiding him toward a chair. “Wait here and I’ll bring the car around.”
“I’m not an invalid, Hotch.”
“No, but I bet your head hurts like hell and you’re tired, so just sit down and wait for me.”
Reid shivers when Hotch pulls the heat of his hand away, sinking down into the chair obediently. He closes his eyes and counts the pulse of his blood by the throbs of pain in his head and his hand.
“Reid.” Hotch’s voice is soft, private and Spencer opens his eyes, swallowing hard at how close he seems, how human. “Come on.” He hooks a hand under Spencer’s elbow and helps him stand. The other goes to the small of Spencer’s back again, guiding him out to the SUV and getting him into the passenger seat. His hands linger as Spencer settles in his seat, fingers grazing his thigh as his eyes look him over. It’s not the perfunctory look he gets on cases that Hotch uses to assure himself that Reid’s okay. It’s the heated look that comes later, the one from bedrooms and alleys and dark hallways.
“Where are we meeting everyone for dinner?”
“That place by the hotel.” Hotch pulls back and shuts the door, going around and levering himself into the car. They drive in silence and Reid stares out the window.
“You should have told me.”
“I know.”
“No. No, you don’t know, because if you did, that would be admitting that it exists, that it matters, and apparently it doesn’t.” He exhales, because he knows it’s not true. Because his head tells him it’s not and Hotch used to take him out of his head. “She seems nice.”
“She is.”
“Jack likes her.”
“He seems to, yeah.”
“I’ll make sure they don’t show.”
“What?” They’re at a red light, which allows Hotch to look at him.
“The marks. Bruises. I’ll make sure they don’t show from now on.”
He can see it cycling through Hotch’s brain. The words and then the meanings and then his meaning. “You’re going to…”
“What do you think?”
Hotch is quiet until they pull into the parking lot. “I think I don’t want to come into work one morning and find your face on my briefing.”
“Don’t worry, Hotch. If anything, I’ll be on the local police blotter.” He slides out of the car and heads for the restaurant, leaving Hotch to catch up.
He plants himself between Morgan and JJ and lets them all laugh at his expense. Hotch is quiet through dinner, drinking his way through two scotch and sodas.
They all leave together, and Spencer can feel the tension rolling off Hotch as he climbs in his SUV. Reid piles in with Morgan and they ride the short distance to the hotel. They take two elevators, and he sticks close to Morgan all the way to his room. The food’s steadied him, but his head and hand still hurt. He refused painkillers at the hospital, and the longing for something to alleviate the pain is almost as strong as the pain itself.
In a way, it’s a sign that he’s getting better - it’s been almost a week since the last thought of Tobias Hankel.
“Reid.”
He turns his head to look at Hotch. He looks aggressive. Angry. Reid’s blood starts pounding for a different reason altogether. “I’m tired.”
“No, you’re not.” Hotch grabs the wrist of Reid’s bandaged hand and herds him toward the stairwell doors, pushing him up against the bar and forcing him onto the eighth floor landing. There’s a small space wedged beneath the pipes where the fire hose connects are, and Hotch forces him back there, out of sight. “Are you?”
“No.” Reid swallows hard, arching to make contact with Hotch’s body. “No.”
Hotch curves a hand around Reid’s throat and holds him still, leaning in to bite a rough kiss against his mouth. Reid makes a desperate noise that nearly drowns out the rustle of Hotch’s belt and zipper being undone. Hotch’s thumb settles in the hollow of Reid’s throat and he pushes him down to his knees, breathing hard as Reid goes so easily and willingly, his non-bandaged hand curving at the base of Hotch’s cock as his mouth closes around it.
He sucks greedily at Hotch’s cock, hand tight around the shaft. It’s been too long since he’s felt the weight of it on his tongue, since Hotch has touched him and now that his hands are on Spencer’s head, he wants more. Hotch grabs Spencer’s hand and pulls it away, edging closer and pushing Spencer back against the wall. The cement makes pain blossom from the knot on the back of Spencer’s head and he moans, loud and desperate. It’s all that’s needed to make Hotch’s hips move, every thrust into Spencer’s mouth enough to send a fresh tidal wave of pain rushing through his veins.
Hotch comes without warning, no change in his rhythm and stroke, and Spencer’s shaking from pain and need by the time he swallows him down. Hotch grabs his throat again, thumb pressing hard this time, to make Spencer release him, dragging him up to his feet roughly. Hotch moves in close, and Spencer’s grateful, because he knows he can’t stand on his own, so he lets Hotch support him.
“There aren’t going to be anyone else’s bruises, Spencer.” His chest is hard against Spencer’s and his free hand is undoing Spencer’s slacks, barely pushing the zipper down before his fingers are wrapped around Spencer’s dick. “Are there?”
“Y-you don’t…”
Hotch starts stroking Spencer roughly, and somehow all the other pain is subsumed to the slide of skin on skin. Hotch digs his thumb down, pressing harder against Spencer’s throat and it’s a hollow ache that seems to fill him up. His blood is pounding under his skin and he’s all contact points - his head, his hand, his throat, his dick - and nothing in between, phantom body instead of phantom limbs. “No one’s bruises but mine.”
“I…” He can’t choke out any other words as Hotch presses harder and all he can think of is air, colors sparking behind his eyes. He beats his good hand back against the wall, until even that takes too much strength, too much effort. He’s ceased to exist except where Hotch’s fingers touch him, and everything has faded to black. He feels his head fall back because it’s too heavy, and then suddenly there is air and Hotch is wrapped around him, holding him close. Spencer’s covered in his own come and he feels like he’s high again, like somehow someone managed to shoot dilaudid into his veins.
“Mine.” Spencer doesn’t nod, but his head falls forward against Hotch’s shoulder in agreement. For all that Marcus and the others are good and give him what he needs, they’re never Hotch. No one else is ever Hotch. “C’mon. Bed.”
“But…”
“Reid.” Hotch’s voice is soft, different, and Reid knows what it means. It means that Hotch is going to date Beth and fall in love with her and probably have a family with her, and Reid will cling to the edges, taking what he can get. “You need your rest.”
Reid nods and lets Hotch get them to their feet, guiding him down the dim hallway to Reid’s room. Hotch unlocks the door and swings it open, and Reid stares at the distance to the bed. It’s only a couple of yards, but it feels like entirety of the Poughkeepsie bridge. “I…”
“Reid.”
Reid nods and goes, holding onto the wall to keep himself upright and sinking onto the bed as soon as he’s able. He glances toward the door, but it’s already closed behind Hotch, and he’s alone.