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You didn’t expect it to be like this. That beneath all the quiet reserve, the romantic dates planned with easy grace and care, the soft kisses, twirling his fingers in your hair to give a gentle tug as he smiled and said goodnight. All of that shouldn’t translate into this.
“ Watch yourself, look how well you take me” that voice, the deep vibratory hum as he pulled you upright, his arm wrapping around your torso, gripping your jaw to force your face towards the mirror, seeing him behind you like a mythic god as the room filled with the sound of him, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin as he bit into your shoulder to muffle the deep groan.
Aaron Hotchner wasn’t supposed to fuck you like this, wasn’t supposed to dismantle you with teeth on skin and that same sweet grin turned primal as he unspooled you like thread.
His phone call tonight had been a surprise, you knew he was away on a case, sporadic text messages here and there, asking you about your day, telling you nothing about his own as he worked through horrors you’d only heard about in true crime podcasts. You thought your life seemed boring by comparison, he had squeezed your hand and told you how much he liked that.
It was late, a glass of semi decent red wine and bad television your company as you relaxed in the knowledge of having nothing to do but laundry for the coming days, your work completed, your body relaxed. You weren’t expecting to hear from him, weekends were precious to him, reserved for his son, an adorable blonde boy who you weren’t yet ready to meet. Aaron didn’t push, Aaron never pushed.
“I want you to come for me, I want to feel it, fucking soak me, you’re so beautiful” you weren’t much more than a mass of pleasure at this point, your nerve endings scraped raw by his relentless pursuit of your release. He brought you there twice already, stars not quite receding from your vision as he manipulated your body like an instrument, half begging, half praising in that sinful deep voice, his hands everywhere on your skin.
There was something different in his voice over the phone, a kind of electricity beneath his measured demeanour as he asked what you were doing. You could hear his smile as you laughed, asking what he thought you would be up to at 10pm on a Friday night. He told you he had just landed, dropping things at the office as you gave a light scolding for working too late.
“What else am I supposed to do?” he teased, the creak of his office chair in the background as you laughed.
“Come over”
It was impulse really. He had dropped you off, picked you up, kiss at the door, a hand held down the stairs as he led you to his car. But it hadn’t gone further. Not for lack of want, but lack of timing. He had his son, you had your work, and he was out of town more than he was in it. It was easier to determine it as casual, despite the way he kissed behind your ear and set your skin on fire with the way he fit behind you in embrace. It would happen when it happened, a lazy river of contentment you were happy to meander down, no destination in mind, just enjoying the ride.
He was at your door within a half hour, your favourite candy from the gas station nearest your house in offering. When you asked, his cheeks flushed and he said they didn’t have flowers. The ones he had brought you for your last date were still fresh in a vase on your counter.
He indulged in a glass of wine, sitting with you on the couch as he scrunched his nose at questions about work, pivoting to a book you had on your coffee table, something boring that you thought you were going to like, finding it dry and uninspiring before returning to your usual trashy romance. He had laughed then, the irresistible dimple in his cheek making its first appearance of the night.
You weren’t sure how you ended up kissing, your legs over his lap as he stroked your cheek like you were made of precious glass, delicate and beautiful in a way that made your chest flush with heat. His hand slipped under your shirt, wide fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin as he searched your eyes for permission, finding it in the parting of your swollen lips, a sharp inhale as you chased his mouth.
It felt inevitable, the gentle roll of the tide, like everything else in your relationship with Aaron so far, that this was the next step, a low simmer in your stomach as he wrapped arms tighter around you, buried his face in your neck to plant soft kisses on your exposed skin.
There was a routine, a rhythm, a step by step instruction for this part. Not boring, but predictable, you’d kiss, you’d undress, he’d take you in the dark underneath the sheets until you crashed into a pleasant release, followed by his own. Maybe he’d stay the night, maybe not. It was like watching a movie you’d already seen, the ending set in stone but no less satisfying. Just a new partner to do it with.
It had set a tingling desire under your skin, an itch that wanted scratching, his broad frame pressing you into a mattress, whispering sweet words into your skin in the dark. It would be foolish to say you hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t wanted to since the first time you parted your lips to accept his deeper kiss, the way he covered you completely with that strong frame spoke of confidence, an unspoken promise that he knew what he was doing, that you would be sated, satisfied when he finished.
When he bit your bottom lip all hell broke loose.
Aaron Hotchner went off script, pulling you closer with a possessiveness you would have only guessed existed, his hands, so gentle before turning feral, pressing deep into your skin, the muscles of your shoulder as he pulled you firmly onto his lap. His touch, like worship turned primal, a beast before a god as he nipped along your jaw, encouraging you to shed your clothing with something approaching religious fervour.
And then he started to talk.
His voice was attractive, always had been a draw, making you miss the days of long phone conversations discarded for texting, each time he met you with a grin and a hello your stomach had done a pleasurable flip. It set your skin on fire when he scraped his teeth across your ear and whispered, something husky and deep in your ear that made your hips jerk, involuntary in their need for friction, his arms, still clothed somehow as they pulled you, pliant and willing further into his embrace.
“ You’re so fucking pretty baby” He sucked bruises into your shoulders, hands travelling beneath your underwear, swiping through the sudden gush of arousal with a rumbling groan. He lifted you like you weighed nothing, your back on the couch as he wedged himself between your spread thighs, his suit jacket disappearing from those broad shoulders as he ran hands across the curve of your waist, hitching a thigh around his own.
You were out of breath from it’s intensity, his affection so consuming it made you dizzy, his hands everywhere as he kissed your exposed skin, seemingly indecisive on which parts of you he wanted to touch first, taste next, as he flicked his tongue across the hollow of your throat. You could feel him smile as you whimpered.
“Can I taste you gorgeous girl? You smell like heaven, I want to bury my face in you until you scream for me”
Jesus Christ where did this come from? It wasn’t supposed to be like this, a frenzied scraping of nails on skin as he drags your underwear over your hips, spreading your legs wide with his shoulders, his palms, warm and smooth running up the interior of your thighs, enough to part your folds and look. Stare at you in a way that makes you want to squirm away, some hook of preconceived shame tugging at your stomach before he swears again and puts his mouth on you.
Then nothing seems to matter anymore. Nothing but the flick of his tongue, the soft groan that vibrates through your folds as he wraps his arms around you, locking you in place as he pulls you harder into his mouth, his body hunched over on the couch, a wild animal with a carcass, possessive and feral, lips, tongue, the barest hint of teeth as you squirm, trying to arch into and away from his relentless assault.
“God, you taste like fucking candy, how do you taste like candy”
You hear it murmured into your skin, feel his touch turn needy as your whimpers turn into moans, your hands carding through his hair as you arch and twist into him, cramping low in your stomach as an orgasm comes from nowhere, blinding you to everything except his hiss of approval, the fingertip bruising surely on your thighs as he bites softly at your skin, waiting for you to come down.
Aaron’s chin is coated in you, his face shining as he looks from between your thighs, watching your chest heave as you struggle to tangle threads of reality in your fingers, focused only on the dimple in his cheek as he kisses your stomach, making his way back towards your mouth with a look of satisfied glee on his face.
“W-Wait” you manage to gasp, his movement stilling above you instantly as you turn your face away. “Your pants”
He’s dangerously close to you, looming over you like a storm cloud, somehow fully dressed, his tie dragging along your stomach as you try to move away, not ruin his clothing with the heat you feel between your legs. He laughs, that same smile devastating as he kisses you, sharing your taste across your lips, salt tang and girl in a way that makes your brain fuzzy.
“Sweet girl, the only thing I'm concerned about with my clothing right now is getting them off” he says, biting lightly at your lip as you grin.
He follows you into the bedroom, discussions of safety in-between kisses to your shoulder (birth control, both of you clean and not seeing others, agreement and another kiss) before you’re tugging at his tie the cuffs of his shirt in an effort to slake your curiosity.
You’ve wondered, of course you have, how could you not with a man that uses his body like a shield, what would press against you, seeming comical in the moment as you both ignored the obvious sign of his arousal. It was impossible to ignore now, hard and throbbing, pressed against you in the half light.
His skin is littered with scars, silver lines that you are sure tell stories of pain and loss and perhaps a victory or two. He lets you trace the ridges across his collarbones before catching your hands, a brief kiss to your fingertips a promise that he would tell you, just not right now.
Right now, is for pulling covers from your bed, laying you on sheets as his hands travel the curves of your thighs, intent in spreading them, wide enough to see the soaked and swollen folds hidden beneath, a hungry sigh on his lips.
Sensing he was about to be distracted you wrapped yourself around him like a clinging vine, whimpering and whispering pleas into his ear as you felt his underwear come free, the velvet heat of him as he slipped through your folds, making you whine as you scraped teeth along his jugular.
It was a stretch, not painful but present. Undeniable in the way each inch of him nudged you open, filling your brain with thoughts of only him. The briefest flash of memory, wondering what to watch with a previous partner, in the after. Aaron allowed none of it, the low rumble of his voice, the squeeze of his hands in yours as he chased your lips, pressing his hips flush with yours as he licked below your jaw, watched your staccato breathing as you adjusted to his length.
“Move, Aaron, please move” You’d never heard your voice so high, so broken and wrecked as he filled you, slow and aching, pulsing deep inside you as you felt his fevered skin, ran your hands across the breadth of his shoulders, the damp hair at the base of his neck.
He broke you apart within minutes, slow rolls of his hips grinding deliciously against you, ragged breathing and his hands twisted in yours with a smile against your lips.
Your limbs were useless when he flipped you, pulling you onto your knees with ease, like you were a toy, his to use for pleasure, his to fill and conquer . The raw power as he slammed back into you, his hand twisting in your hair, not enough to hurt, enough to expose your neck, your pulse for his teeth as he slammed into you, brutal and unforgiving, his pace never faltering as you felt his sweat slicked skin.
“Watch yourself, look how well you take me” His voice is liquid sin in your ear now, his hand around your jaw to steady you as you watch in the mirror, two figures you don’t recognise, their skin shiny with sweat, lips bitten and swollen, a jewel line of bruises from his teeth across your chest.
“ Can I come inside you?” It’s a whisper, half hidden between his mouth on your neck, the press of his hand, flat across your belly as he pushes, enough to make you contract against him “Right here?”
He has you begging for it in seconds, his palm splayed wide enough to brush against your clit, the rhythmic swelling of your abdomen against his hand as he makes you watch the way his knuckles turn white, the corded muscle of his neck, the jump in his bicep.
When he comes it’s glorious, a deep groan that rattles somewhere under your lungs, his grasp turned desperate as he pulls you closer, his mouth messy on your neck as he chants your name, calls you beautiful, calls you perfect, whispers “ mine”
It takes a long time for the room to return to focus. Your pillows are everywhere, his clothes have landed on your dresser. There’s steam on your window and you resist the urge to drag your fingers through it, play-act a fantasy of Rose in the Titanic as you hear him take deep breaths. His fingers never leave your skin, his mouth a ghost across your neck as he trails light circles across your arms, your chest, circling bruises he left there as though in awe.
“Wait here” He leaves you, soaked in sweat and half trembling for a moment, returning with a damp cloth and a glass of water, holding the latter to your lips as you take a long drink. He’s quiet as he cleans you up, soft and gentle strokes, wincing when you flinch from overstimulation, your body wrecked.
You watch as the tips of his ear's flush red, the dimple in his cheek accompanying a frown as you sit upright.
“You don’t know what to do now do you?” Your voice is light, delighted by his awkwardness as he half shrugs and grins.
“Not sure the protocol, no” he admits, dragging his teeth across his bottom lip in a way that makes you want to kiss him. So, you do, and feel the smile on his lips as he twirls his fingers in your hair.
“Do you have to go?” You ask, letting your fingers play across his jaw, the beginnings of stubble mere texture beneath your fingers.
“No, no... Jack’s with Jessica until lunchtime. I can stay... if you want me to stay”
He’s just rendered you boneless, your limbs a syrupy mass of sated pleasure, still humming their delight at his actions. But he blushes when he says it, as though he’s shy, as though he didn’t call you sweet girl, perfect girl, beautiful girl, and render you incapable of speaking anything but his name.
“I want you to stay”
He helps you change the sheets, the sweet tang of sex lingering in the night air as he climbs beneath the covers with you, immediate in the way his arms wrap around your waist. This at least you had predicted. Aaron Hotchner cuddles after sex. He draws patterns on your palm in the darkness, nosing behind your ear as you let the steady rhythm of his breathing lull you closer to sleep.
“I like this” he whispers, just before you drift away.