Criminal Minds Fanfic

by spinner

Dressing Down

“Any thoughts, team?” Hotch asked. 

“Clearly this unsub hates ugly stripes,” Reid called out impishly.   Hotch dropped his file on the table and glared at Spencer.   

“What?  Seriously?  Are you twelve, Reid?”

“Were any of the victims dressed in clothes not their own?”

“There are no indications that any of the victims had their clothes changed after they were abducted and before they were dumped,” Morgan interjected.

“There you are.  The unsub does not like horizontal stripes.  He or she killed the victims because of their lack of fashion sense,” Reid tossed back at Hotch.  He declared this with an arrogant certainty that pissed Hotch off.

“Only a complete idiot would look at the evidence and see that!”

“So now I’m an idiot AND I’m juvenile?”

“That’s not what I said!” Hotch bellowed.

“The hell it isn’t!” Reid shouted. 

“I think we should discuss this in private,” Hotch said, grabbing Reid’s arm and dragging him from the conference room.  Reid wibbled and whined the entire way to Hotch’s office, because Hotch had a tight grip on his upper arm, and he was leaving finger marks.  The office door slammed behind them.  

Behind closed doors, Aaron was screaming at Reid at the top of his lungs about daring to contradict him in front of the team.  The entire bullpen evacuated as if the fire alarm had sounded.   Everyone suddenly needed to be somewhere else—desperately. 

Hotch’s team stayed where they were though.  JJ peered out of the conference room in concern.   Prentiss stood up, took her arm, and pulled her back inside.  Emily was shaking her head no.  She left the door ajar and returned to her seat to wait. JJ reluctantly sat back down too. 

Strauss came out of her office because she heard Hotch screaming.  She frowned in the direction of Hotch’s office, then looked towards the conference center.   The BAU team stared back at her.  Strauss was pretty quick to note who was in the round table room and who was not.  Her face warmed with deviant amusement before she went back in her office and closed the door.   The team heard her cackling before the sound of slow jazz music increased.  Strauss had raised the volume on her stereo in order to not be disturbed again.  Morgan whistled softly.  JJ fussed with her file pages.  Prentiss tapped a pencil on her notepad and waited.  Garcia cleared her throat and moved to stand up.

“Maybe I should….um…”

“No,” Prentiss said, shaking her head.  “Let Hotch get it out of his system.  Better in private than in here.”

“Yeah, but poor Reid,” Garcia whispered. 

“He was the one who baited the bear.  Let him feel the claws,” Rossi said. 

After the initial outburst and subsequent fireworks, it was almost quiet in Hotch’s office for several minutes.  Almost.  If anyone had been close enough, they might have heard Aaron’s desk chair squeaking rhythmically.  They did hear items spilling off the top of Hotch’s desk and onto the floor, but they all assumed Hotch was  making a dramatic, angry point.  Reid was probably cowering in the far corner of the office down beside the big couch. 

If anyone had been close enough, they might have heard Reid moaning and whispering hotly against Aaron’s neck, murmuring the very things that would burn straight through Hotch and make him hard as iron.

“Now…oh, please…. want you….need you…..make me….”

If anyone had been close enough, they might have heard Hotch’s sultry, breathless reply.

“Love you….my baby…..so good…..that’s it……come for me…..my angel…..”

Everyone clearly heard Reid sobbing pitifully, whimpering like a child.  No one in their right mind was going to interrupt Reid’s dressing down when they heard Reid making noises like that.   If Hotch was angry enough to make Reid cry, then it would be madness to intercede and make oneself the object of that anger, even if it did mean Reid was facing the brunt of the fury alone. 

A complete hush fell in the conference center.  No one wanted to look at anyone else, but Emily was truly ducking everyone’s gaze.  Prentiss caught her breath and squirmed around.  Morgan wondered what she had heard, or what had occurred to her that no one else had considered.   She was either trying not to cry in sympathy, or trying not to laugh her butt off.  Morgan couldn’t decide which.   Her chin was wiggling, whatever that meant. 

Five minutes after Reid stopped making sobbing noises, Hotch and Reid returned to the conference center.   They were a study in contrasts. 

Hotch was immaculate, perfect, unreadable.  He was so calm and neutral that he made Switzerland look aggressive and devious.  There wasn’t a wrinkle on the man.  He didn’t have so much as a hair out of place.  He cleared his throat and stood at the front of the room, picking up his copy of the case file and measuring everyone with a dead-serious stare. 

Reid, on the other hand, gave the entire game away.    His shirt and slacks were wrinkle-free, owing to having the foresight to remove all his clothes before wrapping his arms and legs around Hotch, his chair, or his desk.  Reid, however, was not as tidy as his clothes were.   From the frazzled hair, to the wide-blown pupils, to the swollen-bitten lips, Reid was a shambles, truly a fucked-up mess.   

One look at Reid, and everyone was wondering what had happened in Hotch’s office.  It was possible that Hotch had turned Reid over his knee for speaking out of turn, and he had spanked a smack too far, and Reid had spunked in response to the rough treatment.   Nothing worse than wet, sticky underpants.  But it was much more likely that Hotch had rung Reid’s bells while they were splayed naked over the top of Hotch’s desk.   Both the exact amount of fantastic-quick sex or the flat of Hotch’s hand could have made Reid climax, then sob and whimper like an upset toddler.   But which had it been?   

The wobbling Bambi Legs were but another tantalizing clue.  Reid managed somehow to sit down in his chair without missing his seat, but it was a near thing.   When he sat down, it was at the wrong angle (or the right one?).  He gasped softly, made a small ‘o’ face, and then tightened his limbs together as his eyes glazed with residual pleasure.   He licked his lips and struggled to control himself. 

Hotch stared at Reid.  For a split second, Aaron’s mask fell, and his eyes widened in concern and amusement.  Reid met those dark eyes and offered a tiny, quirky half-smile of apology.   Aaron put his mask back on.  Reid flipped open his copy of the case file, scooted closer to the table, and gazed down into the pages studiously.   He straightened his tie and shyly cleared his throat. 

Reid’s attempts to be casual under scrutiny only drew more attention from the rest of the team.  Garcia pressed her fingertips over her mouth and the tip of her nose in a wide-spread fan that did nothing to cover her knowing smile.   Mirth warmed her face.  JJ coughed up one snicker and then bit her mouth closed when Hotch glared right at her.   JJ looked to Prentiss, whose face popped open with a pert grin.  Hotch glared at her too. 

“Upon further review,” Hotch said, straightening his own tie in echo of Reid’s movements, “I’ve decided that there may be something to Dr. Reid’s theory about the unsub having a fixation on the wardrobe of the victims.   For the moment, I will retract my unwarranted comments on his intelligence and maturity level.  I have asked him to look into his theory once we arrive in Florida.” 

“Has anyone ever done a study as to why there are more serial killers living in Florida than any other state?” Morgan asked.  Prentiss was smiling at Derek, glancing down at his shirt and back up, down at his shirt and back up again.  Morgan looked down to make sure his own tie was straight and that all of his shirt buttons were closed.  His head popped back up suddenly, and his eyes fixed first on Hotch before moving over to Reid.  Then he too was fighting a smile. 

“Warm weather, beautiful scenery, constant supply of anonymous tourists for a potential victim pool,” Reid offered quietly.   He watched Morgan watching his tie, and then he took a good long stare down at his own chest. 

Reid got it finally.  He closed his eyes and bit his mouth.   One could almost hear him saying, 'oh fuckery'.   A careful smile teased half Spencer’s mouth to one side.  Morgan grinned.  Rossi was frowning.  Nobody said a word though.   Aaron remained oblivious. 

“Wheels up in twenty,” Hotch commanded, closing his file and gathering up his attaché from beside his chair. 

JJ sped out of the conference room and back into her own office, where she closed the door.  Garcia and Prentiss raced after JJ, went inside her office, and shut the door again.  There was a moment or two of unbridled cackling before they could hush themselves.  

Morgan followed Reid back to his desk, watching the sway of Spencer’s slender hips, and wondering not for the first time what it was about Reid that he could bend Hotch to his every whim with the promise of whatever was hidden inside those dark slacks.   Morgan bent down behind Reid at his chair and blew teasingly into his ear.  Reid gasped out, blushed bright red, and brushed Morgan impatiently away.   Derek withdrew to his own seat, but kept watching Reid, wondering all the while what he might be missing.   

Rossi passed Hotch on the way back to his own office, shaking his head at Aaron and giving him a stern, disapproving frown.   That was all Dave really needed to say, wasn’t it?

The awkward situation with the ties did not dawn on Hotch until they were all comfortable on the plane and in the air.  Hotch was nestled back into his seat.  Reid’s black suit jacket was lying in the seat next to Hotch’s seat.  Aaron stroked the material and wondered where Spencer was.  He looked around.    

Reid was standing in the galley, stroking his tie and staring at the coffee machine like Uri Geller trying to bend a spoon with his mind.    Reid was trying to make the machine brew faster, using his willpower alone.  More to the point, Hotch realized that Reid was stroking the tie that he, Hotch, had left the house wearing two hours ago.  Reid was in black slacks and a white shirt, and he was wearing Hotch’s dark red tie. 

Hotch glanced down at himself to confirm what his eyes were telling him.  Yes, he was wearing gray slacks, a white shirt, and Reid’s dark purple tie.  Hotch adjusted his gray suit jacket.  The purple tie didn’t look bad with it, but it didn’t feel right.   Hotch wanted his own tie back.  He stared at Spencer again. 

Reid’s beautiful, graceful fingers traced up and down and around the red tie in a manner most delicious and teasing.  Hotch’s expensive silk necktie was getting stroked and caressed in a manner that was making Aaron’s cock jealous.

Really, wasn’t that what men's' ties were?  They were an outward decoration and an expression of a man’s personality, true, but they were also a visible reminder of his hidden sexual part, a socially-acceptable manner in which to show the world what he was concealing in his trousers.   What did it say about Reid that he was over there in the galley, fingering up Hotch’s tie? 

Hotch caught his breath as pleasure and arousal rushed through his veins.  He had a flashback to the case in Kansas City, where the team had interviewed the denizens of the inner city slums where the unsub had been roaming for his victims.  Hotch remembered all-too-vividly how every prostitute that Reid and he had interviewed had petted or touched Reid’s tie while offering the young agent everything from a quick hand-job to a rowdy group-grope. 

Reid was petting Hotch’s tie again.  Because it was Hotch’s tie, was that tantamount to him jacking Hotch off in public?  Or, because Reid was wearing the tie at the moment, did stroking it that way mean Reid was actually masturbating in front of the team?   Did Reid have any idea the message he was sending to the team, doing what he was doing over there?!  Panic seized Aaron’s soul, and he shot to his feet. 

Hotch hurried over to Reid, but the crisis was already averted.  The coffee pot was done brewing.  The sugar-fiend was tipping white crystals into his favorite mug.  Hotch stood behind Reid and took another mug down out of the cabinet.  He set it on the counter, reached around Reid with his arms, and poured himself some coffee too.  Reid stirred sugar into Hotch’s coffee as Hotch reached for the milk in the fridge.  Aaron poured milk in both cups, shadowing Reid’s body, arms around him again to reach the cups on the counter.  He was breathing over Reid’s shoulder, remembering the coffee and sugar on his tongue, the smell of soap and cologne on his body, the tautness of his long thighs, the clutching desperation of his tight arms, the tickle of body hair, and the unyielding strength of the desk under them, the way Reid had sobbed out uncontrollably when he orgasmed, and the way his face had twitched and washed over with pleasure.   Aaron brushed his nose to the back of Reid’s right ear, and Spencer tensed skittishly against the counter. 

“You are wearing my tie,” Hotch murmured low and soft. 

“Indeed I am,” Reid whispered back.  "Oops."

"You are stroking my tie," Hotch whispered, "in front of God and everybody."

“I like it.  It’s nice.  Feels good.  Feels expensive.”

A glance to the side revealed that every member of the team was watching them together again.   Hotch didn’t know what to do with all those profilers profiling themselves into a frenzy over there. 

“I could take it off,” Spencer offered, his playful eyes rising to meet Hotch’s dark gaze.  Was it wrong that those eyes alone could make Hotch hard with desire?  Aaron wondered for a second if he said yes, if Reid would stop with just taking off his tie?  Would Reid keep going until he was completely naked again? 

“No.  It looks good on you.  You should wear more red,” Hotch whispered back.  He slid a thumb and forefinger around the red tie and ran his digits slowly down the silken length before patting Reid's tummy.  He wanted to let his hand drop lower, but he didn’t dare.  Couldn’t dare.  Wouldn’t dare.   But he wanted to.  Oh, how he wanted to, especially when Reid closed his eyes, bit his bottom lip, and tilted his head back to touch Aaron’s shoulder in a manner so erotic and submissive that Hotch was an inch from sucking on his neck in reply.   Spencer breathed against Hotch's ear, and Aaron's mouth went right to his jugular vein. 

“You two better goddamn well draw the curtain,” Rossi called out.

“Uncle Dave, you are such a spoil sport,” Prentiss teased.  Morgan laughed loudly. 

“No,” JJ said.  “Rossi is right.  Either draw the curtain, or sit down and behave.” 

Reid picked up his mug of coffee and turned to dart back to his seat.  Hotch raised a brow, took away the mug, and closed the galley curtain.  He put his arms around Reid and nuzzled his nose, then gave him a gentle kiss.  Reid was giggling shyly, ducking down and sideways.   Morgan let out a loud wolf whistle, and Prentiss began to clap. 

Reid drew the curtain away again, grabbed his coffee, and sprinted to his seat.  Hotch picked up his coffee, and followed in Reid’s wake, feeling Dave Rossi’s glare burning his ass the entire way down the aisle. 

more to come

main cm index