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They have the unsub cornered in a dimly lit warehouse with no chance of escape. So far there's no sign of the bastard, but they know he's here, hidden somewhere amongst the crates and boxes stacked everywhere, and he's outnumbered five to one at the moment, so they will find him. He's been drugging his victims with something new that has recently hit the underground drug scene - something that will ensure they have no choice but to practically enjoy the torture he forces them to endure, that they get off on their own eventual death. It's disgusting; there have been six victims in eight days, and they are absolutely sick of this guy.
The team makes their slow sweep around the crates, quiet careful movements, eyes and ears open for any sign of movement that isn't their own. It isn't until one of the crates all but explodes somewhere to the left of Reid and Hotch, sending a cloud of fine white powder into the air next to them, that all hell breaks loose. The sounds of gunfire and voices fill the previously silent building in rapid succession.
"Get them out of here!" someone shouts, Morgan, Reid thinks, but he's not sure over the sudden pounding in his ears because no, not again.
"Find out what that is!" Hotch calls back as he ushers Reid directly out of the building and into the night air, his firearm tucked back into its holster. "Did it get you? Are you okay?"
"I-I'm not sure. I don't think so? I mean, I didn't feel anything. It was a few feet away from us, wasn't it? Did it get you?" Don't panic. Do not panic.
"I didn't feel anything, either, but that doesn't mean we didn't inhale it. We can't be sure."
Reid's eyes widen slightly, and he swallows hard against a lump forming in his throat. Do. Not. Panic. God, why is it always him with the drugs and unknown substances? "What do we do?"
Hotch is quite for a few moments, contemplating, thinking, because this? A little bit out of his realm of expertise. He's about to speak again, isn't sure what he's going to say exactly but he's good at improvising, when Rossi's voice interrupts.
"Are you two alright?"
"We're fine," Hotch answers. "I think we were far enough away that it missed us."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Did you get him?"
"Good as done."
Hotch nods, and it's all he can do to not cough, not clear his throat, because now, now he's starting to feel something. There's a warmth spreading through his body, a tickle in his throat, and he can feel his heart rate beginning to pick up speed, and oh god, fuck, what is his life?
He looks over at Reid, who's practically squirming now, and he can see the rising panic in the young man's eyes, can see the way he's breathing just a little bit faster, but he's trusting Hotch at this moment to handle it, so that's what he's going to do. He pulls Dave to the side, his voice quite. "I'm going to get him out of here, make sure he's okay. It's just his luck that he could potentially be hit with another unknown substance, and I think he's having flashbacks to Maryland and the Anthrax case. Can you guys wrap this up?"
Rossi eyes the two of them for a moment, then nods, turning to head back inside. "You got it. Take care of him. You know where we'll be if you need anything."
***
Reid's panic really begins to set in when they get into the SUV, sweat breaking out on his skin. "Hotch. What do we do? What do we do, what do we do, what do we do…"
"Reid."
Reid is ripping at his Kevlar vest because he feels like he can't breathe. He sucks in a huge breath once it's off, pulling at his tie next, the buttons on his shirt, his blood practically burning as it courses through his veins.
"Reid, I swear to God, if you strip in the car…"
"I'm not! How are you so calm right now?!"
"Because I have to be!" That doesn't mean he's not sweating through his clothes, that his heart isn't racing and his head isn't buzzed, his hands aren't shaking where he's gripping the steering wheel. That doesn't mean he doesn't want nothing more than to pull over right there and fuck Reid through the front seat. It just means he can't lose control. Not yet. Not until they're safely behind closed doors.
"Are we going to the hospital?"
Reid gets his answer a few minutes later when they bypass the exit that clearly says Hospital and keep going, faster than before, and if anyone can get away with speeding, it's Hotch. He feels like he can barely walk by the time they get back to the hotel, and Reid is embarrassed when he slides out of the car because he's hard, god he's so painfully hard, and if he is, that means Hotch must be, too, and he can't help but groan at the thought.
"Reid?"
"Inside," he says, his voice harsh, almost desperate. "Now, Hotch. Insideinsidesinside."
They manage to make it inside without incident, but as soon as the door to Hotch's hotel room is closed, Reid is on him in a flash, can't help it, can't stop it, arms around Hotch's neck, mouths pressed together. All it takes is a few quick rolls of Reid's hips and he's shaking, shuddering, coming in his pants, and Hotch swallows the groan that escapes Reid's throat because that? Holy fuck.
"Oh my god, I'm still…" Reid pants, and he can't pull himself away, his hands tugging at Hotch's shirt, untucking it from his pants.
"It's the drug," Hotch replies, and his voice wavers just slightly, his hands on Reid's hips to hold him still, and really, he should probably start thinking of him as Spencer now, right?
"Oh my god, we're going to die," Spencer says, hands trembling as he pulls at the knot on Hotch's -- Aaron's -- tie, quickly abandoning it when it won't cooperate quickly enough, going for shirt buttons instead. Skin, he needs skin.
"We're not going to die. The drug isn't what killed those people, Spencer. It was the man who forced them to take it," Aaron reminds him, and wow, okay, that's perfectly sensible, isn't it? He makes them take a few staggering steps towards the bed because he's about five seconds away from coming in his pants the same way Spencer did, and he's entirely too old for that, drugs coursing through his system be damned.
Finally, finally, Spencer gets his hands inside Aaron's shirt and finds slick, overheated skin, and it's glorious, the way it feels beneath his fingertips, silky smooth and wet with sweat. There's a small part of Aaron's brain telling him that he should be trying harder to fight this, that he shouldn't be enjoying the slide of Spencer's hands on him as much as he is, that maybe he should put a little bit of distance between them and set some boundaries and talk about this before things get too out of control. But Spencer is practically purring against his ear and Spencer's hands won't stop moving, tracing hard lines and skipping over scars, and he's like a fucking cat with the way he's rubbing himself against Aaron's body. So when Aaron kisses him again, his tongue steadily fucking into Spencer's mouth, Spencer's hips rock and grind and Aaron is too far gone to stop the orgasm that rushes through him, his teeth sinking into Spencer's bottom lip, his grip on Spencer's hips hard enough to bruise. He knows, can feel it in the way Spencer is trembling, can hear it in the slightly pained whimpergroan that Spencer makes that he's coming again, too. As he pants into the kiss, all Aaron can think is they have got to get rid of their clothes or this is just going to get disgusting.
Aaron pulls himself away, pries Spencer off of him and it really is a little disturbing that he's still hard -- too old for this -- and makes quick work of ridding Spencer of his sweater and shirt, the young man's chest flushed so deliciously red already. Spencer stumbles out of his shoes, pulls off his mismatched socks before he takes off the sticky mess that are his pants and boxers, and oh, oh that's so much better.
He reaches for Aaron, finally pulling the tie off, pushes his shirt off of his shoulders, his eyes slightly glazed, pupils blown wide. "You have to feel this," Spencer says, because the air on his skin is phenomenal, and he can only imagine what it's going to feel like to have skin on skin. Can only imagine, cannot wait to find out.
They work together on getting Aaron's pants unbuckled, down and off, shoes and socks discarded in the process, and yeah, he understands what Spencer means. The burn is still raging there, but his clothes made it feel like a suffocating itch. Naked, the flames are just curling all around him, and when he looks, he almost expects to see the orange glow of fire enveloping him like a blanket.
"Aaron."
Spencer's voice snaps him out of his momentary trance, and Aaron has to reach for him, a hand on the back of that beautiful neck, pulling Spencer closer and crushing their mouths together. Then Spencer steps up, slides his arms around Aaron's waist and presses their bodies together, and it's so unlike anything either of them have ever felt before, senses heightened, arousal pushed to its extreme.
Aaron slips a hand between them, calloused fingers wrapping around the silky hard flesh of Spencer's cock, and if he had the ability to think about this, Aaron might consider how not strange this is between them, how that can't just be the drugs, can it? Spencer groans into the kiss and thrusts into Aaron's grip, and he wants, he wants so much, a shiver running down his spine as Aaron's hand moves with quick, steady strokes. His arms tighten around Aaron's body, fingers digging in as he tries to grip sweaty skin because his legs are threatening to give out, but then the bed is right there, thank god. Aaron pushes him back onto it, climbs up over him, his hand never letting go and as soon as Spencer is settled, as soon as Aaron's thumb presses against that sensitive spot just beneath the head of Spencer's cock, he's coming again.
"Oh my god," Spencer sounds completely breathless and broken and clearly not finished yet, not by a long shot because he's still hard.
Aaron gives him a moment to recover, takes care of his own desperation with the spunk coating his fingers, a few quick strokes and opened mouth kisses pressed to Spencer's neck. He wonders idly how long this is going to last, if he might have a heart attack before the effects of the drug wear off, but then Spencer stretches, drags his fingers through Aaron's hair, and then all he can think is that god, he wants to fuck him. Wants to bury himself so far into that body, he might never come out, and he knows, knows how tight it'll be, how scorchingly hot, and the thought alone makes his toes curl. He lets out a groan, frustrated, almost angry, because jesus fuck, this is almost cruel, they need supplies that they don't have, who would have thought?
Rolling over onto his back, Aaron throws an arm over his eyes because he needs a second, needs to just fucking breathe. He clenches his jaw and fights to ignore the way his skin almost crawls, no, rolls in waves, his blood molten as it pumps through his veins. He doesn't look when he feels the weight on the bed shift, doesn't look when he hears rummaging, but his arm does move when Spencer is suddenly right there, climbing over him and straddling his waist, a small bottle of lotion in hand.
"This is the best I can do," he says, "unless you have something else?"
"No."
"Then we make do with what we have," Spencer replies before he leans down, hands on either side of Aaron's head, presses their lips together again, swollen and bruised, but still oh so sweet. Sweet until he murmurs, "fuck me," against Aaron's mouth, his tongue plunging inside to emphasis his point, and Aaron would have never guessed, probably should have considering how much he could talk, that Spencer was this good at kissing.
"I don't have--"
"I'm clean, I know you're clean. I trust you, Aaron. Please," Spencer says and it's so hard to argue with that mouth, especially when it keeps whispering please between deep kisses, when their hips rock together in a way that feels so fucking right, so fucking perfect it makes him dizzy.
Aaron groans out loud and pushes, flipping them until he's on top, and he forgets about the task at hand because suddenly he's stretched out on top of a very naked, very eager Spencer Reid and that mouth becomes the focus of his attention again. He can't seem to get enough of those full lips, of that wicked tongue, their kisses nothing less than demanding, possessing. It isn't until Spencer hooks one of his legs around the back of Aaron's thigh, the other wrapping around Aaron's waist, that Aaron remembers the lotion and he makes quick work of coating his fingers with it. Spencer writhes beneath him before he even has anything inside of him, but once he does? Oh, it's beautiful, the sounds he makes on Aaron's fingers alone, the way he rocks back against them, his lips parted, cheeks beyond flushed, unruly short hair plastered down and soaked with sweat. He comes on Aaron's fingers, and that's it, Aaron can't take it, knows he's going to explode as soon as he's inside of Spencer, but he'll just have to keep going, ride it out, and that's exactly what happens. At that first push inside of Spencer's body, he shatters completely, falters for only a few moments until he gets his bearings back, keeps pushing, fucks through the aftershocks. He finds one of Spencer's hands, hooks their fingers together where he pins it to the bed above Spencer's head as he thrusts into him, and it's strangely one of the most intimate gestures of the evening because neither of them let go, squeezing and holding on for dear life.
***
The shrill sound of the phone ringing pierces through the fog in Aaron's brain too early the next morning and he reaches out, blindly slapping at the receiver to make it stop. There's a clatter as it falls onto the bedside table but he manages to pick it up, bring it to his ear, only to curse when he realizes it's his wake-up call. His head is pounding like he's wrought with a hangover, his body is sore in ways he can't even begin to describe, and his left arm is numb with the weight of another body on top of it.
"I know you're awake," he says, wincing slightly at the rough sound of his own voice.
"It hurts to move," Spencer mumbles, but he finally does shift a little, enough for Aaron to free his arm.
They lay there in silence for a few long moments, waiting for the awkwardness to set in, which it has, sort of. But they're both adults, professionals when it comes to compartmentalizing, so they can handle this. Right?
Aaron flexes his hand, his fingers, feels the unpleasant rush of pins and needles. "We need to get moving."
"Yeah."
They both groan as they force themselves to actually move, sit up, face what's to come. Spencer holds his head in his hands, massages at the throb in his temples. He's so focused on that that he doesn't realize Aaron has even moved from the bed until he feels a hand on his shoulder, and he jumps slightly at the touch, startled. Crazy, really, considering. He looks up and sees Aaron standing before him, clad in a pair of boxer shorts, holding out a bottle of water and Tylenol.
"Thanks," Spencer says weakly and takes them both, chugging half the water down in one go, watching out of the corner of his eye as Aaron does the same. "I don't even have clothes," he realizes suddenly, and this sucks, man.
"I don't have much, but you're welcome to anything I do have," Aaron says, checking his cell phone. He lets out a snort and shakes his head, dropping it back down on the table. "How many messages do you think you have?"
"Uh. I don't know. I haven't really thought about it. Why, how many do you have?"
"Ten."
"Oh. Oh, oh god. They're all going to know. We're going to get fired. You're going to get fired! I'll tell them it's my fault, I made you do it, Hotch, really, you can't--"
"Spencer!"
Spencer's vision is suddenly filled with Aaron, there in his personal space, and it's comforting to have that hand on his shoulder this time, because he has no idea what's going to happen now, how they're going to walk away from this room and have everything be normal again. He isn't even completely sure he wants everything to go back to normal, whatever that might be.
"We will handle it, okay? Regardless of what the team may or may not know, do you think they would put our careers in jeopardy over something that was beyond our control? Do you think they wouldn't trust us to… take care the situation to the best of our abilities? You trusted me last night. I trusted you. Has that changed?"
Spencer thinks about that for a second, swallows hard, and believes because this is Hotch -- Aaron, now -- and he has always believed him, always trusted him. Always will. "No, that hasn't changed."
Aaron looks at him, searches that face and there's something in those eyes left over from the night before, and he knows it's still there reflecting back in his own. He knows Spencer can see it, too, so he doesn't hesitate when he leans in and presses a soft kiss to Spencer's abused mouth. Affirmation, comfort, support. Trust.
"We need chapstick," Spencer says with a slight smile when Aaron pulls away, licking his lips.
"And a shower. Desperately. C'mon."
Spencer nods, getting up to follow Aaron into the bathroom and dragging the sheet from the bed with him. He winces as he crosses the room because god, he hurts in places he didn't even realize he had, his muscles protesting with every move he makes, the steady throb in his temples intense. He stops short when he catches sight of himself in the mirror and can't help but stare at the marks decorating his skin left behind by lips, teeth, and stubble - burned and branded by the fire that consumed them both the night before. Aaron notices and steps up next to him, tugging the sheet down a little to reveal the bruises on Spencer's right hip, knows that there's a matching set on the left. Spencer can't resist touching them, fingertips covering the spots perfectly, a slight twinge of pain and heat when he presses against them.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you."
Spencer looks up and catches Aaron's gaze in the mirror before he turns to look him in the eyes, shaking his head. "No. You didn't. I… I think I like them."
Aaron smiles faintly at the hint of a blush that begins to cover Spencer's cheeks, reaching up to brush his fingers over one of the larger marks, standing out red and proud below Spencer's collarbone where his teeth had sunk into flesh. "Me too. Shower before my head explodes."
"Yeah. And I think there may be rats in this hotel."
"What makes you say that?"
"Have you seen my hair?"
Aaron laughs at that as he turns on the water in the shower, can't help it, then grimaces a little when pain makes itself known again. Only Spencer, he thinks, and that thought makes all the sense in the world in that moment.