Archive of Our Own

It’s something Aaron has always known, a fact as simple and intrinsic as the sun rising in the East every morning; Dr. Spencer Reid does not like to be touched.

It’s something they all picked up on rather quickly after Reid’s then-controversial recruitment to the team, one of his many quirks that became less of a reservation for the rest of them the more Reid proved his own capabilities, the more he solidified himself as a necessary part of the team. Once the rest of them had time to figure him out, circling him like street dogs sniffing out a new unfamiliar creature in their space, it wasn’t so hard to adjust. 

Besides, it’s not like all of them are the most touchy people on Earth; besides Garcia, who Aaron thinks, fondly, would do well as a human teddy bear with how cuddly she is. Beside the occasional pat on the shoulder or a hug if something big happens, Aaron keeps his affections quiet and implied, erring on the side of caution as the Unit Chief. An attempt to let his team know he cares without pushing it too far. 

From what he can tell, it doesn’t go far beyond that with the rest of the team, either. Besides Garcia, JJ seems to be the least cagey about touch, affectionately ruffling hair or hanging off Garcia and Prentiss when they’re out together for fun. Prentiss and Morgan each express it in their own ways, trading playful punches more often than gentle touches, but they convey the same message, the same genuine care. 

With Dave it depends on the day, how many glasses of Scotch he’s had, how hard he’s leaning into his Italian heritage. Some days he’ll kiss the cheeks of anyone who so much as fetches him a coffee; others he’s glaring daggers sharp enough to slice at anyone who breathes too loudly in his direction. 

But Reid has always been the least tactile of them all, though he rarely directly objects. Aaron’s always found it fascinating, how nonconfrontational Reid can be while also occasionally being the most hard headed, defiant person on the team. Aaron’s pretty sure it’s something to do with authority specifically, how Reid hisses and gnashes his teeth the second someone dares to challenge his intellect with an assertion of power, an insistence on political positioning. 

But when it’s just his friends pushing his tolerance beyond his comfort zone, people he knows are well intentioned even if they cling too much, Reid is far less combative, usually resorting to squirming awkwardly but silently like a cat trying to escape its owner's overbearing hold. Whether it’s casually shrugging off any hands on the shoulder or swerving out of the way of tender nudges, he doesn’t make his qualms known, simply smiles at his friends and bears what he can. 

Garcia is the only person Aaron’s ever seen Reid readily accept physical affection from, but again, it’s no surprise; she’s respectful enough that she still gives him a choice, a split second pause before she engulfs him in a bone crushing hug or pinches his cheeks, always enough for him to move away if he really wanted to. But he never does, probably at least partially because he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings, but also, Aaron suspects, because hugs from Penlope Garcia are just that good.

The only thing Aaron’s ever seen Reid physically react to no matter the situation is his neck; any touch to his neck- or spine in general, if Aaron thinks about it- has Spencer rearing back as if he’s been shocked, always a drastic flinch and a sharp inhale as he moves away. Aaron could pathologize it if he wanted to, form an entire thesis on why it’s a perfectly natural reaction to have with such a vulnerable area, soft flesh of an animal, but he’ll leave the evolutionary theory to the genius himself.

Aaron doesn’t push it. He and Reid have always had a mutual understanding that Aaron cherishes, an unspoken synchronicity between them that’s always made them an effective pairing in the field, and part of that understanding is that Aaron tries not to encroach on Reid’s quirks whenever he can help it. He doesn’t try to initiate touch he knows Reid will dislike but won’t openly speak against, he tries not to cut off Reid’s enthusiastic, long winded lectures unless the clock necessitates. 

He even adheres to Reid’s God awful coffee order whenever he fixes a cup for the genius, piles of sugar so thick it could make a damn syrup if he reduced it long enough; it’s atrocious, but Aaron goes along with it because Reid is far more than worth the affront to the history of coffee as a delicacy. 

So Aaron doesn’t touch, and Reid doesn’t seek it. It’s how it’s always been, and Aaron’s never thought to question it. 

Lately, though, he’s starting to wonder if he should. 

He doesn’t know when it starts or why, can’t pinpoint a specific event that sparks it; it just appears in his mind one day, wholly unbidden. It’s this quiet little interest in him, somewhere deep behind his sternum where he doesn’t feel the need to acknowledge it most of the time, that wonders what would happen if he did touch Reid. 

The few times he can recall were either initiated by Reid- how he’d all but collapsed in Aaron’s arms in Georgia– or what Aaron considers to be extenuating circumstances; near death scenarios where Aaron has to at least offer a heavy hand on a boney shoulder, can’t convince himself that Reid is safe and alive unless he feels it for himself. But he keeps those short, a cursory touch just to confirm what his eyes are seeing, to slow his own heart rate. Reid hadn’t resisted those, but then again, Aaron’s not sure he would even if he were uncomfortable.

That’s what piques his curiosity the most; would Reid melt into Aaron’s touch like he does with Garcia, an exception to the rule? Or would Aaron’s touch be just as unwelcome as anyone else’s, nothing but a prickling sensation to endure until it’s over? 

Would he flinch and slither and squirm away from Aaron’s hand, or would he stay still, move closer?

Aaron’s not really sure why, but as of late, he’s been fixated on the possibilities. A burning curiosity, he supposes. A behavioral theory he’s too hesitant to test. He doesn’t want to bother Reid, doesn’t want to push too far and become someone Reid dreads interacting with, someone who makes him uncomfortable.

But even so, as wrong as he knows it is, Aaron can’t resist wondering. 

Wondering doesn’t last long, though it’s not like he’s looking for an excuse; their job just happens to produce more than enough of those extenuating circumstances, and Aaron is just so curious.

A bomb set off in a church after a multi-day stand off with a cult certainly feels like a candidate for an exception to the rule. 

He’s busy shepherding the frightened cultists away from the building for far too long, heaving breaths filled with ash escaping his parted lips as he directs people out and frantically peers through the smoke for familiar faces. 

It’s only so relieving when he sees Prentiss stumble out, bruised and battered but alive.

Alive and alone. 

He doesn’t let out a full breath until he sees Morgan and Reid emerge from the flames and smog, coughing and covered in soot but alive. The release of seeing all his team members alive and relatively unharmed loosens him so quickly he might just keel over right then and there, only the stiff leather and hard metal of his belt biting his stomach keeps him upright and focused on the task at hand. 

He catches a glimpse of Reid and Prentiss’ reunion hug out of the corner of his eye as he ushers out the last of the survivors, and he smiles quietly to himself at the image, writing off the burning sensation in his eyes to the fire still raging to his left. 

Eventually Morgan pulls Prentiss off toward the ambulance with all the barking urgency Aaron knows comes from pure anxiety and concern, practically dragging her away from Reid to get treatment for the bruised ribs Cyrus beat into her, the torture they all got the unwanted privilege of listening to. 

Aaron looks around for any more survivors lingering near the compound, anyone else to lead away or handcuff, but all he sees is Reid trudging his way toward him with an exhausted, but sincere, smile.

Aaron drops everything to meet him half way, racing up the few remaining stairs to hover around Reid in case he collapses. He’s fawning around Reid immediately, looking him up and down for any shrapnel injuries that aren’t immediately apparent, any broken bones or bloody wounds.

“Are you alright?” He asks urgently, and he can’t resist the urge to hold Reid steady with a soft grip on his shoulder, just enough to hold him in place while Aaron glances him over with his multi-day build up of worries, “Are you hurt?”

And Reid doesn’t pull away, doesn’t flinch, just dazedly allows himself to be held and observed as Aaron does his own anxious triage. All things considered he looks alright, a little dizzy but generally normal; for once Aaron thinks Reid might be lucky enough to make it out of this with little more than a concussion.

“By explosion standards, I think I’m doing alright,” Reid makes an attempt at humor that falls flat with the carbon monoxide choking his vocals, but the intent is there, and that’s certainly a good sign.

Reid still makes no move to pull away from his touch; he’s not sure if that’s a good sign or not. 

“It’s not fun, is it?” Aaron mutters with the same monotone humor as he slowly leads Reid down the remainder of the staircase, his hand never leaving the sturdy bones of Reid’s shoulder; and maybe he’s just stressed out and sleep deprived, but Aaron can’t help thinking Reid feels more fragile now than he does normally. 

The thought only makes him huddle closer for the rest of the way down.

“I certainly wouldn’t give it a raving review,” Spencer scoffs as they reach level ground once again, stumbling on the last step and smiling thankfully when Aaron is already at his side to catch him with one hand clutching his shoulder and the other shooting out to grab at his waist. 

And he doesn’t know what pushes him to do it, whether it’s the overwhelming surge of emotions or the hypothesis in the back of his mind driving him, but looking at Reid, covered in blackened ash and highlighted by the glowing light of a raging fire, Aaron can’t resist pulling him closer. His hand threads through the messy strands of hair gathered at the nape of Reid’s neck and uses the leverage to tug him into Aaron’s shoulder, enveloping him in a hug that feels almost a little too intimate even to Aaron. 

A part of him is expecting Reid to pull away, to accept the touch for a split second before he worms his way out of it, but he makes no such attempt to escape Aaron’s hold. He goes stiff for a moment when his forehead connects with Aaron’s shoulder, his hands hanging limply at his sides, but then, then, against all odds, he melts. 

His muscles turn to jelly in Aaron’s hands as he leans all his weight into Aaron’s sturdy form, trusting Aaron to hold him up with the hand still gripping firmly at his nape and the arm wrapped securely around his waist, curling close into Aaron as exhaustion bleeds through his every pore. 

Aaron didn’t expect to get this far, but then, none of them expected a routine interview to turn into a modern Waco, so he figures the regular order is out the window for now. He allows himself to have this comfort, to hold onto Reid and know, feel, that he is safe and alive for another day, that even homicidal cult leaders can’t take Reid away from him. It’s almost possessive, the way he pulls Reid tighter against him at the thought, like he’s spitting in Benjamin Cyrus’ face for trying to take his team member from him.

Member s. Plural. He means it for Prentiss, too, obviously. Of course.

It’s a miracle they made it out of Cyrus’ ego trip alive. 

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he murmurs next to Reid’s ear, only for him to hear, and he can swear Reid melts just a little more at the sound of his voice. 

They stand like that for as long as Aaron can justify it, Reid letting Aaron carry his weight as Aaron rubs a slow path up and down his back, careful not to drag directly over his spine. Extenuating circumstances don’t mean that he just ignores everything about Reid’s touch aversion; he’s as mindful as he can be with his hand plastered over the nape of Reid’s neck as he cradles him close.  

Eventually, when Aaron’s starting to run out of excuses, Reid pulls away, a weak nudge against Aaron’s arms to loosen his grip before Reid steadies himself on his own two feet again.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, sincerely, a tiny noise Aaron almost can’t hear in the ear shattering chaos of the crime scene, “I needed that.”

Aaron smiles softly, a crowded feeling blooming in his chest that feels like smoke curling in his lungs, feels like a deep breath of freshly purified oxygen at the same time. 

“Of course, Spencer,” he murmurs tenderly, squeezing Spencer’s shoulder one last time before he takes his hand back for himself; a part of him worries that he’ll never stop touching if he doesn’t stop now.

“Any time.”

By the end of the month Aaron is self aware enough to realize he’s definitely stretching the definition of extenuating circumstances. After that first touch he can’t shake away the itch just beneath his epidermal layer that screams for more, the borderline uncomfortable tingling sensation whenever he has to resist the urge to reach out for Spencer again. 

At first it’s only life or death situations, close calls that are all too frequent in their profession. It’s passable this way, an excuse to touch that no one else thinks to question because they’re all equally distraught. 

An unsub stages an elaborate game just to attempt to kill the team in a strike at satisfying revenge, and Aaron practically pats Spencer down to ensure not a single drop of acid has touched him. Spencer talks a mentally unstable unsub down from the precipice of killing her father, and Aaron holds Spencer still by the shoulders while he debriefs with him afterwards as if Spencer had been the one held at knifepoint. 

Spencer gets trapped in a mad scientist’s house with anthrax circulating the vents, and Aaron spends time by his hospital bed rubbing at his arm and brushing his hair out of his face. 

No one stops their worrying long enough to send him a second glance, too busy getting their own physical confirmation that their beloved genius is still fully intact. 

It’s too much, and Aaron knows it’s too much, but he’s just so curious. 

He feels not unlike an addict, the way he seeks out the feeling of flesh and bone beneath his hands, thinks about in endlessly repetitive circles, restlessly craving more more more. 

And it’s not the touch itself that strikes him so deeply, not the sensation, but Spencer’s reactions. To others, to Aaron. The way he purses his lips and accepts it when the others are hovering over him, the way he blinks hard and resigns himself to their panicked pampering because he knows they mean well even when they’re crowding him so much he might just be suffocating. But with Aaron- 

Everything is different. 

Spencer leans into his hands like he’s never felt gentle touch before, like he wants it just as bad as Aaron does. Looks at him with doe eyes wide as saucers, long eyelashes framing big brown eyes like a porcelain doll and watches Aaron’s every movement, makes no attempts to stop him, gives no indication he’s uncomfortable. Let’s out this subconscious, happy little hum that makes Aaron want to chase its echo for the foreseeable future.

Even on the few occasions Spencer habitually flinches at the touch he settles immediately when he realizes that it’s Aaron touching him, and the feeling that reaction sparks in Aaron’s gut might as well be the dictionary definition of addictive. 

The part that thrills Aaron the most, the part that keeps this flame of mild obsession lit, is that Spencer seeks him out in return. 

As averse to touch as he is in general, Aaron is learning that it’s not touch itself that makes Spencer anxious, but rather the energy behind it, perhaps the person as well. Spencer craves touch the same way any living breathing human does, he just has more reservations, stricter guidelines for how and when he wants to be touched. 

Spencer may not know those guidelines himself, may not know how exactly to put them into words, but Aaron meets those requirements somehow, and he certainly doesn’t take that for granted. He studies Spencer like a textbook, catalogues the movements that make him loosen, the spots that draw that satisfied little hum from the back of his throat, the pressure he likes when Aaron hugs him close. 

With no one at home to take care of him, so used to always being the one to comfort himself because Spencer’s always had a hard time accepting care and affection, Aaron thinks that he’s more than happy to fill that role. 

Spencer carries his exhaustion like Atlas carries the globe, dragging himself to Aaron’s side when a case has taken a toll on him, never quite initiating but looking at Aaron with those same wide eyes that tell him exactly what Spencer wants, what he needs. 

Aaron meets him with open arms every time, pulling him closer to tuck him into the space where Aaron’s neck and shoulder meet, a hand on the back of his skull to keep him there so Spencer doesn’t have to worry about when he’s supposed to pull away, how long he’s allowed to indulge. It’s as rewarding for Aaron as it seems to be for Spencer. 

Over the months of this slow, developing change in their dynamic, Aaron is finding that he wants nothing more than to give Spencer what he needs. 

Extenuating circumstances spiral from life or death to cases that are even slightly upsetting to random, pointless touches just for the sake of it faster than Aaron can control. 

At first it’s walking a little too close to Spencer when they’re in the field, their shoulders occasionally bumping, an exchange of apologetic smiles even as neither of them make any moves to widen the space between them. Then it’s passing contact in the office, patting his shoulder when Aaron goes out of his way to fetch Spencer’s coffee for him in the mornings, grazing Spencer’s waist whenever he passes behind him.

He tries to keep it casual, tries not to brush Spencer’s neck or spine with any of his fleeting touches because those always seem to be the spots that startle him the most even when he immediately settles at the sight of Aaron being the one behind the touch.

But a part of him that he tries not to lend too much thought to zeros in on that forbidden strip of skin at the nape of his neck, always peeking out from beneath Spencer’s buttoned up collars. It’s tantalizing, thinking about the first time he crossed that line, the only time he’s crossed that line, pushed that specific boundary. 

He’s already pushing enough, tries his hardest to work within the bounds of this amorphous thing between them, but he can’t deny that he’s curious, tempted. 

Spencer hadn’t jumped when Aaron held him by the neck in front of a burning church in Colorado; Aaron is damn near dying to know if it was just circumstantial or yet another boundary that doesn’t apply to him and him alone. 

He won’t push it intentionally. 

That doesn’t mean his subconscious will follow suit.  

A rarity in their ever chaotic careers, it’s an off day at Quantico. They don’t have any pending cases, no prison interviews or lectures to give. It’s the type of precious, fragile down time they get to fill with nothing but busy work and afternoon snacks, where they finally get to catch up on their never ending back log of paperwork. 

For Aaron with his mountains of paperwork from every case file, after case review, evaluation, and inter-office communication, it’s a small treasure he doesn’t take for granted.

For the rest of the team, specifically the younger members, this much down time leaves them restless and antsy. Like pent up 2nd graders kept for inside recess on a rainy day. 

The bullpen is loud on most days, filled with dozens of tired desk workers and anxious interns and bored field agents alike. 

Today, however, it’s a little louder than usual. 

“-and there’s no way in hell I’m payin’ up when you cheated,” Morgan huffs louder than is strictly necessary, crossing his arms over his chest and turning up his nose like he's offended by the premise.

Aaron sighs to himself from where he's stopped on the catwalk at the top of the stairs where he's just exited Dave's office, keeping his face neutral to hide his amusement at his team's antics.

“It’s not cheating just because I already knew it,” Spencer rolls his eyes as he rocks himself side to side lazily in his desk chair, and Aaron is almost impressed at how the action is perfectly tailored specifically to piss Morgan off.

It works exactly as intended.

“You were hustlin’ again you little weasel,” Morgan scoffs as he leans forward in his chair and points an accusatory finger at Spencer across the aisle, and Aaron should probably put a stop to this spat before the entire office work flow is disrupted, "you only took the bet ‘cause you knew you’d win!”

Aaron steps through the office silently, down the stairs and through the bullpen to come up behind Spencer's desk as he throws his arms up and shakes his head, flabbergasted at Morgan's argument.

“That’s how bets work-”

“What is going on here,” Aaron interrupts commandingly but not loudly, exasperated as his palm lands flat and firm against that tantalizing strip of skin before he can think otherwise, lightly gripping the nape of Spencer's neck like he's scruffing an unruly kitten.

He realizes what he's doing when Morgan's jaw clicks shut and his eyebrows shoot up, and for a split second Aaron stiffens, mortified that he's not only pressed a boundary without thinking but also managed to do it very publicly.

He's about to pull his hand back and apologize profusely, to swear off the high he gets from these hits of potent touch, but right as his hand twitches to pull back, he feels it against his palm.

The cords of Spencer's muscles liquidate in seconds, his arms dropping from where he was surely ready to launch into a long winded argument and his shoulders loosening completely. His head lolls back into the touch as he takes a sharp little breath in, but he doesn't tense, doesn't seem uncomfortable.

He melts under Aaron's touch like a flame held up to candle wax, his eyes fluttering as he leans his head back to get a glimpse of Aaron standing tall behind him.

"U-uhm, we were just," he stumbles breathily, blinking hard and shaking his head minutely to force himself back to lucidity, and Aaron is watching his every movement like a hawk as he keeps his hand firmly planted where it is, "arguing over a- eh, a bet we made. Over the weekend."

Spencer licks at his lips and swallows with a click of his adam's apple, mindless movements that are nothing short of fascinating to Aaron.

Does Spencer like this?

And more importantly, does he like the touch itself, or does he like that it's Aaron touching him?

"A bet?" He arches an eyebrow with a disapproving look only partly undercut by the smile lifting the corners of his lips. It's hard to hide it when Spencer is looking up at him like this, like there's no one else around them, like they're the only two in the world. Like the physical connection gives way to a mental one, too.

Seemingly realizing he's being spoken to a few seconds behind pace, Spencer nods, slowly at first than more assured, like he has to pull himself out of the depths before he fully processes the question.

"Yes," he confirms obediently, his voice still wispy and his expression still dreamy, "a bet."

Aaron can't help the smile on his lips from widening affectionately, squeezing the back of Spencer's neck approvingly before glancing over to Morgan for an actual in depth answer to his question. As soon as he stops staring at Aaron's hand where it's still resting on Spencer's neck, Morgan seems to realize he's being prompted.

"I bet the kid he couldn't strategize a hockey game," he explains with an agitated frown digging into his definited cheeks, drumming his hand against the arm of his desk chair and gesturing at Spencer with sharp, jagged movements, "little did I know, this little shit's already done it before!"

That finally seems to snap Spencer out of his touch induced hypnosis, judging by the amused puff of a laugh he lets out as he finally looks away from Aaron, back to his catty self the second Morgan's voice reaches his ears.

"You're always saying I know everything, it's not my fault you assumed otherwise for this one specific thing," he taunts, and Aaron's grip tightens as he lets out a disapproving hum from the back of his throat.

Spencer shrinks momentarily, simpering up at Aaron with a feigned innocence he knows better than to believe.

"First of all, I've never said that, secondly, you left out vital information!" Morgan fumes, immediately riled up the second Spencer challenges him, "That's cheating by omission!"

Aaron is very quickly losing control of this spat, he thinks as he sees the agents at the surrounding desks turning to see where the commotion is coming from. No one gets under Morgan's skin the way Spencer does, and Spencer enjoys few things more than this.

The genius leans forward with a mischievous smile, his movements only briefly stuttering when Aaron's grip just beneath the base of his skull tightens in a silent warning.

"You're just making up rules because you're mad you underestimated me and lost-"

Morgan glares daggers across the aisle, and Aaron should definitely put a stop to this now.

"I'll show you underestimating-"

"Enough," he cuts through Morgan's irritated hissing with a mirthful roll of his eyes as he gently tugs Spencer back into his chair, trying not to pay any mind to the thrilled little twist in his gut at the quiet gasp that leaves Spencer's lips at his grip, at the display of easy power, "what have I told you guys about bets on company time?"

The teasing in his tone is unexpected going by the look Morgan is giving him, and maybe he's being more lenient than normal, but he can't help but soften when Spencer is readily leaning into his touch like this, can't help but melt in return.

Spencer leans all his weight back into Aaron's hand, pleading up at him with puppy dog eyes and a whine poised just behind his lips.

"But Hotch-"

"Get back to work," Aaron interrupts his drawling plea with a grin that betrays his amusement, squeezing the back of Spencer's neck again and greedily soaking up the details of Spencer's reaction; the way his eyelids grow heavy and his chin drops an inch, so relaxed he can barely hold it up. 

Aaron inhales deep through parted lips and forces himself to pull his hand away before it permanently welds itself to that spot on Spencer's neck, fitted so perfectly to the gap in his palm like it was made to rest there.

Spencer frowns at the loss. Aaron can hardly breathe as he clears his throat and fidgets with the buttons on his suit jacket, turning back to Morgan to escape the amber desire flickering in those cinnamon brown eyes.

"And Morgan, he's from Vegas," Aaron admonishes playfully, nudging Spencer's chair to send him spinning, "stop making bets with this one if you're not prepared to lose."

He sees the way Spencer perks up at his wording and knows immediately that he's misstepped severely.

"So you agree that I won!"

Aaron holds his hands up in surrender and shakes his head, turning away and refusing to get roped back into their squabble. He makes his way back to his office to the sound of overlapping bickering, a permanent smile pulling at his lips and a new found piece of information tucked snuggly behind his ribs.

Aaron's getting a hint that he might be an exception to more rules than he thought. 

The day has been excruciatingly long, more tiring than any of them could properly express. They got their unsub, but there’s not much to celebrate; they were too late to save the last victim, arriving only moments after the killing blow was administered, catching the unsub in the act but at a cost much too great to justify. 

The plane ride home is silent, though none of them are capable of sleeping after a case like that.

Most of the team make no attempt to come back to the office, going straight to their cars to carry them back home as soon as possible. 

To no one’s surprise, Aaron heads back to his office as per usual, forcing himself to slog through as much paperwork as he can manage before he drags himself back to the dreary, lifeless husk of his apartment. He spends as little time there as possible, most days. 

His office feels more like home these days with the warm amber glow of the lamp light, filled with pictures of Jack and drawings he made at pre-school just for Aaron, the couch that they’ve offered to replace several times since he took over the office but he insists on keeping; it’s worn down but it’s been worn by him, fits the contours of his body well on the nights he’d rather nap here than go home to the quiet dark. 

The office isn’t so lonely, anyhow. Especially not when Spencer slumps through the doorway, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his satchel and his head hanging low. Aaron stops where he’s standing behind his desk shuffling files, looks up at the ghost of a man in front of him, watches him carefully as he closes the door and lingers aimlessly.

“Spencer?” He prompts quietly when Spencer makes no move to speak, just stands in the middle of the room with one arm crossed over his stomach and the other picking at a loose thread from the sweater he changed into on the plane. 

He’s got an insistent frown pulling down on those bitten lips of his, his eyebrows pulling taught as he searches for his words. 

Aaron sets down the files in his hand. He takes one cautious step to the side, not quite leaving his desk but coming out from behind it, removing the barrier between them.

He waits.

“I need…” Spencer trails off there, looking down and away as warm red embarrassment kisses his cheeks, his hands flexing open and closed around nothing as he does his best to force the words out. The task seems to frustrate him. 

He looks restless, like he’s so exhausted that it’s worked its way back around to feeling wired, so tired that he couldn’t sleep if he tried. A paradox of too many things at once. A man too tired to stand and too awake to sleep, a man who can’t tolerate touch but craves nothing more.

He doesn’t have to get the words out. Aaron knows what he needs, and he’s more than happy to give it to him. Maybe Aaron needs it, too. 

He crosses out in front of his desk, patiently leaning back against it and giving Spencer space to come to him, to make the final choice on what he wants from Aaron, what he needs. Spencer sees the open body language as the invitation it is, taking one step forward almost shyly at first, then another, and another, gaining confidence until they’re stood toe to toe in front of Aaron’s tall mahogany desk. 

Aaron sees Spencer’s hesitance to close the final gap, meets his anxieties with ease.

He holds his hands out wide, opening his arms to beckon Spencer closer, and even when he’s expecting it, it still knocks the wind out of him when Spencer surges forward. 

He buries his head in Aaron’s shoulder the second their bodies make contact, his arms folded up between their torsos because he wants to be held in the purest form, cocooned by the safe circumference of Aaron’s arms around him. 

Aaron holds him close and tight the way he’s learned Spencer likes, one arm wrapped securely around his waist and the other coming up to hold him by the back of the neck, a harness to keep him in place. Spencer sinks into him like ink in water, heavy and saturated as he seeps into Aaron’s every pore, the barely there brush of his lips permanently staining the pale skin peeking out from Aaron’s stiff dress shirt collar. 

Aaron holds him for so long he thinks they might just fuse into one, his fingers absent mindedly carding through the hairs at the base of Spencer’s neck, gently toying with the strands there. This is the longest he’s ever seen Spencer’s hair, feathered just barely past his jawline. It suits him, Aaron thinks. Frames his high cheekbones and sharp jaw, softens him, rounds him out. 

He’s pretty like this, but then, Aaron thought he was pretty with short hair, too. 

Spencer’s just like that, he supposes. Pretty. Delicate, almost, but only at first glance. One of the strongest people Aaron knows, behind the presumed fragility. Strong enough to come to Aaron when he needs help. Strong enough to allow himself to be held.

He takes Aaron’s breath away without even trying.

At some point Spencer tries to express his gratitude, grunts out a thanks where his face is still obscured by Aaron’s shoulder, though with the muffling of cotton and flesh it comes out more like a jumbled ‘fank oo.’ Aaron only smiles to himself and keeps about his ministrations, tracing shapes in Spencer’s hip bones and mindlessly twirling caramel curls around his fingers.

They stay like that for some unknown time, breathing each other in, taking solace in the physicality. Spencer’s nose grazes his jugular every now and again, his lips hot and feather light against Aaron’s throat, barely there, never quite enough. Aaron’s grip on him is strong and steady but not prohibiting, enough slack that Spencer could easily pull away if he really wanted to.

Judging by the way his feet shuffle closer in an attempt to fold even further into Aaron’s embrace, Spencer won’t be pulling away any time soon. Aaron is more than content with that. 

But even peaceful content isn’t enough to stomp out the burning embers of curiosity glowing in his stomach. 

“You don’t do this with the others,” he says after a long while, a statement more than a question, an objective fact spoken to the empty office air. Spencer tenses at his words and Aaron’s grip on him tightens in response, tells him through touch alone that Aaron isn’t upset with him, doesn’t want him to move away. 

His grip only softens when Spencer does, his shoulders slowly releasing the more he realizes Aaron’s innocent intent. He turns his head to get just enough space to speak, his cheek smushing up against Aaron’s shoulder as he speaks into the thin skin of Aaron’s throat instead. 

“… no,” Spencer murmurs, his hands pressed flat between their chests. 

Aaron nods to himself as the hand at the back of Spencer’s neck drags down, readjusting to cage Spencer’s waist between wide palms.

“Just with me?”

He knows the answer already, but he can’t resist the urge to hear Spencer say it. Spencer nods against his sternum, unruly curls brushing the underside of Aaron’s jaw.

“Just you.”

Even if he already knew the answer, hearing it out loud is a whole different kind of thrill.

Aaron hums somewhere in the back of his chest at the confirmation, wonders if Spencer can feel the vibration conducting through his ribcage. Wonders if Spencer can hear his heart hammering relentlessly as his hands tighten around Spencer’s waist.

He pulls back just enough to catch a glimpse of Spencer pressed up against him, his hands rubbing up and down Spencer’s side in a preemptively soothing motion. If Aaron wants answers, he needs to make sure Spencer’s comfortable, that he doesn’t feel cornered or mocked. He needs to be gentle.

“Will you tell me why?” He prompts with a curious lilt to his graveled tone, his voice worn rough from a day far too long, a night shaping up to be even longer. Here, holding Spencer close in the middle of his dimly lit office, is the first time all day Aaron’s felt any sort of relief.

Spencer doesn’t respond immediately, and now that he’s moved back just slightly Aaron can see the frown pulling at his lips as he reaches up to fiddle with Aaron’s tie. 

“Only if you tell me, too,” Spencer acquiesces after a moment, long thin fingers tugging at the knot of Aaron’s tie until it loosens, “you don’t do this with the others, either.”

Aaron smiles, making no move to stop him as Spencer unties the knot and pulls the tie free from his collar, setting the bundle of satin in a pile on Aaron’s desk.

“No,” Aaron agrees, affection leaking into his tone like flood water, “I don’t.”

Spencer watches him with wide eyes for a moment, clearly waiting for him to elaborate, to go first so Spencer can get a gauge of what he’s supposed to say, but Aaron doesn’t budge. He wants to hear Spencer say it in his own words, doesn’t want to give him anything to feed off, any clues he can cling to if he feels the need to tone himself down. Aaron wants his true, unfiltered reasoning, free of outside influence. 

He could spend decades picking Spencer’s brain if he wanted to; he’d be delighted to, if Spencer would let him.

Realizing that Aaron’s not about to explain his side any time soon, Spencer purses his lips, his eyes falling somewhere lower, somewhere less intimidating. His hands, cold even through the layers of Aaron’s dress shirt, float restlessly over Aaron’s chest, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles over and over again.

“It’s… grounding,” he mutters after a moment, his gaze only ever flicking up to meet Aaron’s for a split second at a time, gone faster than it came.

Aaron tilts his head in interest, leaning back to try and catch Spencer’s eye again.

“Grounding?”

Spencer nods, his hands coming up to grip at either side of Aaron’s shirt collar, not enough to undo the buttons, just to hold.

“It makes my mind go quiet, like- like I don’t have to worry about anything,” Spencer’s talking quietly under his breath, and he sounds almost embarrassed, but Aaron can’t help the sharp inhale he sucks in through his teeth, the way his hands twitch on Spencer’s sides at the idea that Spencer feels so safe with him, “it just feels… right, when it’s you.” 

Spencer pauses there, biting at his lip like he has more to say but he’s unsure if he should say it. Aaron squeezes at his waist encouragingly, rubs his thumbs in circles against Spencer’s sides and patiently waits for Spencer to keep going. 

Spencer fidgets with Aaron’s collar like he’s straightening it, a repetitive motion just to keep his hands busy. He still won’t meet Aaron’s eyes, his gaze fixed lower around Aaron’s strong chin, his angled jawline, his lips.

“The pressure, how you hold me, just… you,” Spencer breathes after a moment, his hands tightening around Aaron’s collar, tugging him impossibly closer, “it’s good. Grounding.”

Aaron smiles softly as he watches Spencer’s nervous movements, his left hand leaving Spencer’s hip to tuck itself under his chin instead. With his thumb and forefinger Aaron tilts Spencer’s head up until their eyes meet; he wants Spencer to see his sincerity for himself, wants to bare his emotions to Spencer’s scrutiny. He wants to be seen, and he wants to see Spencer in return.

“Good,” he praises with his voice low and tender, his hand sliding up to cup Spencer’s blood warmed cheek in his palm, thumb swiping across flushed red skin, “do you want to know my reason?”

Spencer’s eyes flutter as he molds to the touch like softened clay, shaped by Aaron’s meticulous sculpting. Aaron brushes a loose curl away from Spencer’s eyes, tucking it back into place just behind his ear, hand returning to its place on Spencer’s cheek as soon as the job is done.

“Tell me,” Spencer whispers, his tone thin and shaking and full of awe, darkened amber eyes tracking Aaron’s every movement, every breath.

Aaron’s hand traces the line of Spencer’s jaw until it comes back to his squared chin, pressing his thumb into the corner of Spencer’s lips.

“Because I can see that you need it,” Aaron murmurs, his thumb dragging Spencer’s bottom lip down until it springs back just to see how far Spencer’s willing to bend for him, how much he can take, and christ does he take it beautifully, “and I like that I’m the only one that can give you what you need.”

It comes out lustful and rough and more honest than he means to be but it’s the truth whether he wants to admit it or not; Aaron loves being the only one Spencer seeks out like this, the only person who can give him this kind of release. It strikes that same possessive, animalistic urge in him that he’d felt outside Benjamin Cyrus’ burning church, the urge to fold Spencer in until he’s tucked safely away in Aaron’s ribcage, the urge to keep Spencer all for himself.  

As much as he wishes Spencer weren’t always in such dire need for relief, Aaron can’t deny the deep seeded satisfaction that only he can provide that solace for him. 

Spencer whines high in his throat, needily nuzzling into the hand on his cheek as his hips restlessly roll forward.

“A-Aaron-“

“And that,” Aaron groans as their hips meet, his forehead bumping Spencer’s shoulder as he drops his head at the sensation, “the way you melt for me…”

He traces his lips up the column of Spencer’s throat, never firm enough to constitute a kiss, a torturous tease. Spencer is practically shaking in his hands, and Aaron can hardly think past the boiling hot want simmering in his stomach. 

“God, Spencer, you have no idea what your reactions do to me,” he confesses his sins against the satin skin of Spencer’s throat, his hands tightening around Spencer’s hips, fingers hooking into his belt loops.

“I can’t help it,” Spencer stutters, panting out heavy breaths as his hands tighten around Aaron’s collar, tempting him closer still. 

Spencer hesitates, licking his lips.

“I like…” he swallows, and Aaron feels the movement of his adam’s apple, “I like the way you touch me.”

With the desk supporting his weight Aaron lightly kicks Spencer’s feet apart and pulls him forward by his belt loops, wedging his thigh between Spencer’s and relishing in the sharp gasp Spencer lets out at the maneuver. 

Spencer whimpers and attempts to roll his hips again, desperate for any kind of friction on the growing erection straining his pants, but Aaron holds him still with an iron grip on his hips that makes Aaron feel powerful.

“Do you need it?” He teases as he noses at Spencer’s jaw, and it’s a little mean to make Spencer beg when he’s so obviously worked up, but Aaron needs to be sure.

“Please,” Spencer whines, and Aaron couldn’t deny him any longer if he wanted to.

The kiss they fall into is feverish and messy, hands roaming over every inch of muscle available and teeth clicking together as they find their own rhythm. It’s an artful push and pull, a delicate give and take and christ Spencer takes it all so well, whines such pretty noises with every touch and lick and bite Aaron can give him. 

If he thought Spencer’s reactions were addictive before Aaron is a goner now, wasted on Spencer’s pitched moans as Aaron sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of his lip, his neck, his collarbones. He drags his teeth across every strip of exposed skin he can reach, guiding Spencer’s hips into a steady rhythm as he grinds against Aaron’s thigh. 

Bless his heart Spencer tries his hardest to keep up, hands braced on Aaron’s shoulders for dear life as they meld into one, as Aaron sets about his mission of devouring Spencer down to the bone. The most he can do is meet Aaron whenever he comes up for air, capturing Spencer’s lips every few moments like he needs it to breathe, spearing his tongue down Spencer’s throat because the noises it spurs from Spencer are intoxicating. 

He’s so caught up in making the most of their time together that he almost doesn’t realize how close Spencer is, his head thrown back and his hips stuttering even as Aaron controls their movement, rutting against Aaron’s thigh and panting like a dog.

“A-Aaron- fuck- ‘s so much-” Spencer gasps, hands tangled in the fabric of Aaron’s dress shirt as he does his best not to cum in his slacks, and the realization of just how close he is snaps Aaron out of his lust-drunken haze.

There are far too many things he wants to do to Spencer for this to end so quickly.

If he wants to push Spencer’s buttons much more, Spencer needs time to cool off.

Aaron can think of plenty for him to do in the meantime. 

With an iron grip he stills Spencer’s movement completely, pushing him back as Aaron stands to his full height again. 

“No I- please-“ Spencer cries in protest, clinging to the fabric of Aaron’s shirt as he tries and fails to regain that delicious friction, “I- I was so close I need-”

“I’m not done with you yet,” Aaron cuts him off with a low authoritative rumble, and Spencer shrinks under his gaze, his direction, wide eyes looking up at Aaron like he’s the most important thing in the world, “be good for me, hm? I wanna see how pretty you are on your knees.”

Spencer’s chest heaves from his heavy breaths, his cheeks flushed darker than merlot, whimpering meekly at the order as he wavers unsteadily on his feet.

“You want- here?” He whispers when his mind finally catches up to Aaron’s request, and Aaron can hear the hesitance in his tone as he glances around the office, but he can also see the lust in his eyes as they trace Aaron’s belt, can feel Spencer’s hands twitching against Aaron’s chest with the urge to follow directions, “the door…”

Spencer hadn’t locked it when he came in. Aaron can’t find it in him to care enough to move and fix it at the moment.

“It’s just us, everyone else has gone home,” Aaron soothes, informative but not insistent, gentle enough for Spencer to know it’s okay if he doesn’t want to, “but if you want to wait-”

“No, I want- I want it,” Spencer rushes out with a strain that makes him sound almost desperate for it, and Aaron bites back a smile at the urgency in his tone, “I want…”

Spencer’s voice dies there as he steps back, glancing at Aaron for reassurance one last time before he sinks to his knees obediently, pawing at Aaron’s dress pants as he looks up at him with a glistening plea in his eyes. It takes everything in his power not to groan at the sight.

“I want to feel you,” his breath is hot against the fabric making a sharp tent in Aaron’s slacks, and he can’t resist anymore, tipping his head back with a pleased groan as Spencer noses at his crotch needily.

“Good boy,” Aaron breathes, leaning back against his desk again as he brings his right hand to rest on the crown of Spencer’s head, his left pulling at the leather of his belt, “you can have whatever you want when you ask like that, angel.”

Spencer keens at the name and leans his cheek into Aaron’s thigh, practically drooling under his control as he waits patiently for Aaron to unzip his slacks and pull his aching cock out. 

“Open up,” Aaron rasps as he taps the rosy tip against Spencer’s plump lips, his hand tightening in Spencer’s hair, light enough not to hurt him, just enough to guide him. Spencer’s jaw drops with no argument, his tongue flat as he looks up at Aaron with sparkling eyes veiled by heavy lids.

Christ, he’s getting too old for his heart to be beating like this.

He sinks into the wet warmth of Spencer’s mouth slowly, steadily, feeding his cock past Spencer’s lips with ample time for him to adjust. Spencer moans around it with eyes closed like it feels just as good for him as it does for Aaron, and Aaron sucks a sharp breath through his teeth at the idea of making Spencer cum just from this, humping against Aaron’s leg as he takes him deep into the back of his throat. He thinks he could, too, with how Spencer squirms in place, his hips twitching as his hand comes up to wrap around the base of Aaron’s cock where his lips can’t quite cover. 

Aaron rests his full weight against his desk and lets Spencer take control, content to watch how Spencer eagerly bobs on the upper half of his cock as his fist works the bottom, hungrily lapping at the tip every time he comes up for air and moaning like a pornstar as he does it. Fuck it feels good, meticulous as Spencer is with everything else, but it’s almost doing more for Aaron just seeing how downright enthusiastic Spencer is, mewling every time Aaron bucks up into the sensation, sending vibrations straight down to the base of his pulsing cock. 

“Fuck, baby, taking it so well,” Aaron grunts as his stomach tightens dangerously, panting as he struggles to regain control of himself when Spencer looks like that at his feet, “so gorgeous on your knees like this, just for me.”

Spencer groans around a mouthful of flesh and saliva, coming up for air and breathing quick and heavy as precum and spit drips from his lips.

“You can- use me,”  Spencer stumbles through his mind turned to slush, dragging his lips up the shaft as Aaron shivers from the sensation, “please.”

Aaron’s hand tightens in Spencer’s hair, using his grip to tilt Spencer’s head back as he whines in displeasure, interrupted in his mind numbed worship of Aaron’s cock. Aaron brings his free hand up to cup Spencer’s cheek, smearing a line of spit across his lips, his cheek, a mess just for Aaron.

“You want me to take over for you, baby?” Aaron coos gently, and Spencer nods dazedly as he practically purrs at the contact, his pupils blown wide and hanging off Aaron’s every move, “Need me to take control?”

Spencer gasps and pitches forward to bury his nose in the collection of coiled black hairs at the base of Aaron’s length, muttering incoherent pleas that make him sound almost drunk off the aphrodisiac of Aaron’s attention.

“Don’t worry baby, you don’t have to think at all,” Aaron smirks to himself as he guides Spencer’s lips back to the flushed head of his cock, breaths stuttering as Spencer kitten licks at it, “just listen.”

Spencer nods, nothing but pure trust and compliance behind his eyes, and Aaron’s sure he’s never been this turned on in his life.

“Hands on my thighs,” he orders, and Spencer follows directions beautifully, snapping to attention, “if you need a break, tap three times, understand?”

Spencer nods obediently, his mouth opening and closing as he works the words out; Aaron waits patiently with a raised eyebrow, because he needs to hear Spencer say it.

“U-understood,” Spencer manages as his hands mime the action against Aaron’s thighs, and Aaron hums a pleased good boy before he can’t make himself wait any longer.

He fucks into Spencer’s mouth softly at first, shallow thrusts not attempting to go further than Spencer had on his own. But Spencer’s mouth is hot and silky against sensitive skin, velvety tongue coming up to lave over the vein that runs along the underside, and Aaron can only stay strong for so long. 

With an awed swear under his breath he tips his head back and gives himself away to the feeling of it, hips pistoning into Spencer’s mouth so quickly he can feel his balls hitting Spencer’s chin, can feel the dribbling spit spilling out the sides of Spencer’s stretched lips as he moans blissfully and takes it. 

Aaron fucks his mouth in earnest now, can’t hold back when it feels this good, when Spencer looks so happy to be taking it. With both hands bracing the sides of Spencer’s skull Aaron thrusts into the back of his throat with punched out grunts of pleasure, indulging as long as he can before he cums because God does it feel good. It feels powerful, controlling Spencer’s movements, his breathing, intoxicating that Spencer wants him to, takes it so beautifully.

When Aaron glances down through heaving breaths at Spencer, eyes closed as tears roll down his cherry red cheeks, a peaceful bliss on his face like this is where he belongs, on his knees for his superior, Aaron can’t help the semi-arrogant, breathless chuckle that bubbles out of him.

“God, you love this, don’t you baby?” Aaron taunts as he pulls Spencer off of him by the roots of his hair, high off the adrenaline and worship, “Can’t even speak, you’re so melted for me.” 

Spencer gives a brainless moan that proves his point and tries to duck back in to take Aaron back into his throat, whimpering pathetically when Aaron tugs him back again.

“No thoughts in that beautiful brain of yours at all, huh?” Aaron wonders aloud, wiping away the smudged streaks of tears on his ruddy cheeks, “Just a pretty face for me to fuck.”

Spencer keens and dips his head, one hand falling over his groin to palm at his neglected erection, rutting into his own hand as he noses into the fold where Aaron’s thigh meets his hip.

“Yes sir,” he whimpers, and Aaron groans outright at the honorific so filthy in this context, “need- need you.” 

Spencer Reid kneeling at his feet and too cock drunk to speak a coherent sentence is a sight Aaron never even dreamed he’d have, and the rush of ego to his head and blood to his cock is almost dizzying.

“You have me doll,” he smirks, softly playing with the spun gold locks of Spencer’s hair even as he teases him so cruelly. He loves giving Spencer exactly what he needs, and he will, but the stuttered begging is just too erotic to pass up.

“No I- inside,” Spencer pleads as he ruts into his own hand, voice pitchy and desperate as more tears well up, “please, want it so much.”

Aaron hums so low it’d better be described as a growl, petting at Spencer’s hair to soothe him, calm him before he works himself up too far. 

“I don’t have anything to prep you, darling,” he replies mournfully with a shake of his head, cock twitching at even the idea of stretching Spencer open, “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Spencer’s openly pouting before Aaron even finishes his sentence, but after a brief second for his muddled mind to catch up, his eyes light up.

“I have- ehm, I have lube in my- my go bag,” he stutters timidly, his voice graveled and worn from Aaron’s rough use.

Aaron grins like the cat that got the canary.

“Dirty boy,” he admonishes playfully, the hand on Spencer’s cheek falling back to his own cock instead, lazily stroking it as he leers at his subordinate beneath him, “need to be full so bad you bring it with you on cases? How often do you use it?”

He can’t help the curiosity, even as Spencer burns with embarrassment, floundering for his words.

“I- ehm- masturbation is- is a good stress reliever-”

“Oh I’m sure, sweetheart,” Aaron cuts off his rambling before the humiliation feels too real, careful to keep him exactly where he wants him both in mind and body, “do you think about me when you’re fingering yourself open? How good I’d make you feel?”

Spencer’s eyes track the movements of Aaron’s hand fisting his cock like he’s starving for it, hardly able to keep track of Aaron’s words.

“Yes,” he admits shamelessly, any trace of embarrassment gone at the prospect of Aaron taking him apart.

Aaron smiles down at him, cupping his chin to tilt his line of vision up to Aaron’s face instead.

“Go get your lube, angel,” he instructs firmly, the same kind of authoritative tone he uses in the field because he knows it’ll cut through the thick fog around Spencer’s brain at the moment, “since you need it so bad.”

It takes him a moment to process what Aaron’s saying, but soon enough Spencer’s stumbling to his feet, struggling to readjust himself in his pants in an attempt to make his near painful looking erection any less apparent- and failing, for the most part. Aaron watches with a satisfied smile and a hand slowly tracing his cock as Spencer awkwardly waddles to the door, peeking out onto the floor to make sure they’re truly alone before jetting out into the bullpen towards his desk, making sure to softly close the door behind him. 

He’s gone for approximately two minutes before he’s skipping back into the office as quickly as he can manage on unsteady legs, closing and locking the door behind him this time as he shoulders his go bag. 

Aaron watches patiently as Spencer digs through his bag before he’s even crossed the room again, pulling out a small travel sized bottle of lubricant and tossing his go bag on the couch. Finally glancing up at Aaron for the first time since he re-entered the room, he gives a bashful smile and holds up the spoils of his effort before crossing the room to make his way back to Aaron, standing in front of him with flushed cheeks and cloudy eyes.

“Got it,” he murmurs, holding out the bottle like he’s unsure of what to do next.

Aaron is more than happy to take the reins. 

“Such a good boy,” he mutters as he pushes himself off his desk and takes the bottle from Spencer’s hand, addicted to the way Spencer softens at the slightest praise, “so obedient for me.”

The effect it has is instantaneous, the way Spencer’s eyes widen and his lips part, sucking in a quiet breath as Aaron approaches. So well behaved, the way he tries his best to keep his eyes on Aaron’s face, failing every time his gaze falls to Aaron’s cock bobbing in the air as he cages Spencer’s hips with his hands.

“Turn around,” Aaron mutters as he dips to taste Spencer’s lips again, keeping the contact brief as he starts to physically turn Spencer, “hands on the desk.”

Spencer does exactly as told without a question, bracing his hands on the front of Aaron’s desk and even wiggling his hips as he sticks his ass out toward Aaron behind him. Aaron hums his approval as he stalks up behind him, gingerly placing the bottle on his desk before gripping Spencer’s hips and grinding up against his ass through the slacks still hiding him away. Spencer mewls and pitches forward, his arms collapsing momentarily as he struggles to hold himself upright. 

Aaron takes his time observing Spencer like this, bent in half and so vulnerable for him, turning himself over completely to Aaron’s whims. He’s beautiful, Aaron thinks, even from here. He pushes one hand up beneath the oversized sweater swamping his figure, sliding his palm onto the bare skin of Spencer’s spine as he gasps and twitches under the touch. 

Aaron keeps going, pushing the sweater out of the way as his hand skates up every individual notch of Spencer’s spine, hand spread wide across the thin frame of his ribs and shoulder blades.

Spencer’s trembling beneath Aaron’s touch by the time his hand stills at the nape of his neck, breathing heavy between whimpers like he’s already fucked out and boneless.

“You’re so sensitive,” Aaron smiles as he folds himself over Spencer’s back, the hand on Spencer’s nape coming around to rest innocently on his throat while his other wraps around his hips to palm at his aching cock.

“It’s a l-lot,” Spencer stutters as he grinds into Aaron’s hand, his head dropped between his shoulders.

Aaron hums as he traces his lips along every bit of Spencer’s throat he can reach, nipping at a spot just below his ear that makes Spencer’s breathing pick up every time, his entire body shaking beneath Aaron.

“That okay?” Aaron speaks into his throat, momentarily pausing all his movements to give Spencer a second to breathe.

Spencer doesn’t seem to need it, immediately nodding his fervent approval.

“Yeah it’s- it’s okay,” he assures through tight vocals, and the strain makes Aaron pause, brows furrowing.

“Are you sure?” Aaron asks worriedly, pressing gentle kisses to Spencer’s shoulder through his sweater, peppering them across his neck.

Spencer nods again, a pitchy whine at the back of his throat as he insistently grinds his hips back against Aaron’s cock and forward against his hand.

“Yes just- intense,” he pinches out between moans, shamelessly grinding against Aaron’s hand now. Aaron grins against his throat, gripping the bulge in Spencer’s slacks and chuckling to himself as Spencer moans brokenly at the sensation. 

“Mm, intense, huh?” Aaron teases, bringing the hand on Spencer’s throat down so he has both hands free to undo Spencer’s slacks, “You like it?”

Spencer pushes his hips back impatiently as Aaron gets his slacks open, gasping loud as his entire body jerks forward when Aaron shoves his hand down his boxers.

“Yes,” Spencer whines it like a plea as Aaron pushes his slacks down past his ass, finally baring him to Aaron’s whims, “please, A-Aaron, need you.” 

Aaron plants one more kiss to his cheek before standing upright again, growling low in his chest as he palms a handful of Spencer’s ass, kneading the plush muscle as he pulls it to the side to reveal his puckered hole.

“My sweet boy, so pretty for me,” he coos, plucking the bottle of lube from his desk and audibly flipping the cap, smirking at Spencer’s reactive gasp, “I’ll give you exactly what you need baby.”

He pours the lube over three of his fingers, licking his lips as he decides not to warm it; he has a feeling Spencer will react beautifully to the cool sensation. He brings his hand down to start rubbing over Spencer’s hole as it clenches around nothing, making no effort to hide his smile when Spencer gasps and jolts forward, blurting out a shaken moan.

“Don’t try to hide those noises, baby,” he coos as he starts teasing a finger in, “you know I love your reactions.” 

Spencer can only give a jerky attempt at a nod as Aaron pushes his finger in, groaning at how easily it sinks deep into Spencer, well trained from how often Spencer does this to himself. He thrusts his finger in with slow, deliberate strokes, crooking his finger every few strokes just for the sharp gasps and moans it pulls from Spencer every time.

It’s not long before he’s working in a second finger, letting out pleased moans himself at just how well Spencer takes it, his hole greedily sucking in anything Aaron can give it. He speeds up his thrusts now, pistoning his fingers in just to watch the way Spencer falls apart under him, nothing but stuttered moans and incoherent begging.

“Mo-re need, fuck, more- please sir-” 

Spencer can barely get out full words, and Aaron’s pretty sure he could cum just like this, watching Spencer completely fall apart because of him.

“Almost there, angel,” he soothes at Spencer’s panicked whine when he pulls his fingers out all the way, pouring more lube over his hand and dripping some directly over Spencer’s hole, “you’re doing so good for me baby, so perfect.”

He kneads at Spencer’s ass as he works three fingers in carefully, slower now that he’s getting actual resistance from Spencer’s body. Spencer cries out as his fingers finally reach the bottom knuckle, his arms finally giving out as he collapses to bring his chest down to the surface of the desk, his face buried in his arms muffling his moans. Aaron rubs a calming hand up Spencer’s back, holding him by the back of the neck again because the way Spencer loosens tells him exactly how much he needs it. Grounding. 

Aaron can hardly restrain himself now, grinding his weeping, painfully hard cock against Spencer’s ass as he takes the time to properly stretch him open, growing impatient even as he forces himself to be as meticulous as he can be. He’d rather ache from his own hard on than risk hurting Spencer.

When he can fuck his fingers in with no resistance, when Spencer is pushing his hips back so hard his legs are shaking with the effort, Aaron decides they’ve both waited long enough. 

In a series of swift movements he pulls his fingers out and pulls Spencer upright, messily clearing off a space on his desk before turning Spencer to face him and pushing him back against the desk. Spencer goes easily, nothing but a mindless ragdoll for Aaron to manhandle as he hikes Spencer’s hips up, tears his pants off the rest of the way, and wraps Spencer’s legs around his waist, his ass hanging in the air as Aaron strokes himself.

Spencer stares in awe as his mind catches up to everything that just happened, tipping his head back against the hard wood and letting out a long moan as his hands shoot out to grab at Aaron’s shirt, haul him in for a sloppy kiss. 

“Been waiting for this for so long,” Aaron pants against his lips as he lines himself up, feeling like a wild animal as he grunts and presses the tip in, “gonna take such good care of you honey.”

Spencer doesn’t get a chance to respond, only letting out a long, drawn out moan as his hands claw at the fabric of Aaron’s shirt as Aaron straightens his posture and pushes in. 

He pushes in slow, steady, working his cock in inch by inch as Spencer writhes beneath him. 

“So- so big,” Spencer stutters, his face pinched at the discomfort, hands scrambling for purchase on the edge of the desk, “too m-much- too much-”

“Shh, shh, just take it baby, let me fill you up,” Aaron soothes through gritted teeth at the restraint it’s taking to remain slow, pushing Spencer’s sweater up and out of the way just so he can splay a wide, flat palm over the expanse of Spencer’s stomach, “taking me so well angel, fuck, so pretty like this.”

Spencer groans with his entire chest at the praise and thrashes his head side to side as Aaron bottoms out, his cock twitching against his belly. Aaron wraps his free hand around it, not stroking but pulsing his fist around the base, enough pleasure to take Spencer’s mind off the adjustment in his ass. 

Soon enough Spencer’s wiggling his hips and whining desperately, his hand clutching Aaron’s wrist where his hand has slowly worked its way up Spencer’s chest, toying with his pert pink nipples and reveling in the reactions it gets.

“Move,” Spencer manages through bruised red lips and heavy breaths, and Aaron doesn’t need to be told twice. 

He pulls out halfway before sinking back in again with measured pace, repeating the motion and pulling out further and further each time. He speeds up his movements gradually, cautiously observing Spencer’s reactions to make sure it’s still comfortable for him as he picks up the pace, putting more and more force behind each thrust. Spencer has absolutely no objections, taking it all just as beautifully as Aaron knew he would, his head thrown back to bare the long, pale expanse of his throat as Aaron fucks into him. 

“There we go baby,” Aaron grunts as he lets himself lose control, hiking Spencer’s legs up over his shoulders and thrusting in with abandon, “feel so fucking good on my cock, so gorgeous.”

Tears bead down Spencer’s cheeks as he screams out a moan at the change in angle, and Aaron grins like a madman as he aims for the same spot every time, his hands roaming aimlessly up every inch of skin at his disposal. 

“S-so fu-ull Aaro- fuck!” Spencer tries and fails to get a sentence out, every syllable punched out and jumbled by the force of Aaron’s thrusts, his jaw permanently fallen as an unbroken string of moans sings from his throat. 

“Aw, my sweet boy, having trouble speaking?” Aaron gives a breathy laugh as he tightens his hands around Spencer’s thin waist, using the leverage to fuck him harder because he knows his boy can take it, “Did I fuck your brains out already?” 

Spencer’s eyes roll back in his head at the taunting, his back arching off the desk and his throat so worn his moans have become silent hiccups. Aaron feels drunk with the power as his gut starts to tighten, how intensely Spencer reacts to his every word, praise and teasing alike. 

“God, if you could see yourself,” Aaron grunts, his eyes trained on the bobbing of Spencer’s adam’s apple as he moans mindlessly, “Dr. Spencer Reid, so cock drunk he can barely speak.”

Spencer can barely process his words, letting out the same pathetic noises and nodding along to anything Aaron says like the obedient toy Aaron’s making him into, happily taking anything Aaron will give him because the loss of control is the point. Seeing how absolutely wrecked Spencer is Aaron’s unable to resist the urge to cage his hand around Spencer’s throat again, not to restrict his breathing but to hold him down, to see how he squirms under Aaron’s hand.

He leans in as close as he can manage with Spencer’s thighs to his chest, folding Spencer in half and groaning at just how flexible Spencer is, bending to Aaron’s will.

“Not so smart now, are you doll?” He murmurs before standing straight and pistoning in with as much force and speed as he can manage, using the hand still on Spencer’s hip to pull him into every thrust. 

It doesn’t take long for his orgasm to build in the base of his stomach like this, watching Spencer cry and beg and moan as he takes everything Aaron gives, so gorgeous even when he’s been completely dissolved down to nothing but base wants and needs, an incoherent mess under Aaron’s ministrations, his mercy. His balls slap against the plump meat of Spencer’s ass every time his hips make contact, a loud unmistakable slap-slap-slapping that would give them away in seconds if there were anyone else still here. 

When Aaron can tell he won’t last much longer he wraps a hand around Spencer’s cock where it’s been neglected, stroking in time with his thrusts as Spencer screams and digs his nails into the wood grain of Aaron’s desk. The fleeting thought that they’re leaving evidence of their debauchery does absolutely nothing to slow Aaron as he works Spencer to an orgasm, huffing out every filthy thing he can imagine because Spencer’s reactions to his voice are enough to drive him insane. 

“Fuck, Spence, need you to cum with me baby,” he grunts when he feels his balls tighten dangerously, knowing that Spencer’s just as close by the way his face has tightened and his moans have gone silent, “make a mess while I cum in your ass.”

With that Spencer is gone, obedient even in complete incoherency as his cock twitches and spurts ropes of milky white cum all over Aaron’s fist. Aaron groans at the image of Spencer completely losing himself, his hips stuttering as the white hot heat of his orgasm builds and builds until he can do nothing but pitch forward and bury himself as deep as he can manage, biting harshly into the meat of Spencer’s thigh as he spills into Spencer’s fucked out hole.

It takes him a moment to regain his breath, hunched over with Spencer’s legs still hauled up over his shoulders as he rides out the last of his orgasm. When he comes back to himself he lowers Spencer’s legs back to his hips, immediately bending to capture Spencer’s lips once again. 

“So good for me baby, took me so well,” he murmurs against Spencer’s lips as he brings up his clean hand to wipe away the tear streaks staining his cheeks, peppering soft kisses to his lips and cheeks and forehead to soothe him, “so gorgeous, my sweet boy, so perfect.”

Spencer’s too far gone to give a verbal response, nodding along to Aaron’s words and leaning into his kisses instead as soft whimpers bubble up from his throat. They stay like that for some time before Aaron’s back twinges in protest, the cooling cum on his fist growing more uncomfortable by the moment. If he’s feeling it the ache already, he knows Spencer must be feeling it too.

As carefully as he can manage he stands back to his full height and slowly pulls out to Spencer’s disapproval, gently soothing his displeased begging as he leaves his boy empty and used. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, baby,” he murmurs as he lowers Spencer’s legs back to the ground, worming his hands under Spencer’s torso and wrapping his arms around him to slowly lift him back to his feet. 

Spencer stumbles while he adjusts to standing on his own two feet again, his legs wobbling like jelly as Aaron holds him up with a smug smile. Spencer’s hair is more of a mess than it usually is, his eyes cloudy and his face flushed, his lips swollen and red and shining with sit.

It’s perhaps the most gorgeous he’s ever looked, and Aaron is more than happy to tell him this multiple times as he sets about cleaning the cum off Spencer’s softening cock and ass, smiling at Spencer’s vacant hums in response, still taking his time to come back to himself.

By the time Aaron is working his boxers and slacks back up his legs and fastening them for him, Spencer seems more present, watching Aaron work with a small, timid smile. Aaron grins when he sees it, dipping in to peck at Spencer’s lips with his own giddy smile.  

“Thank you,” is the first thing Spencer says when Aaron pulls away, his voice hoarse with the evidence of his undoing. Aaron smiles at him and brings a hand up to cup his cheek, softening at the way Spencer’s eyes flutter and he leans into the touch, so sensitive to the smallest things even now. 

“Any time, baby,” he murmurs, lovingly swiping his thumb across Spencer’s cheek one last time before backing away, reaching over his desk for his own go bag, “c’mon, let’s get you home. It’s getting late.”

He takes a few steps toward the door when he notices Spencer’s not following him, halting in his stride to turn around with a worried, questioning gaze. Spencer’s fiddling with his thumbs as he chews on his lip, his eyebrows pinched in concern.

“Uhm, was- was this…” he cuts himself off when he realizes he’s not sure what he wants to say yet, taking a deep breath before finally glancing up to Aaron, “what was this?”

It’s Aaron that melts this time at the uncertainty in his voice, pacing back across his office to stand in front of Spencer again. When Spencer fixes his gaze to the floor and bites down hard on his lip, Aaron curls his hand under his chin, tipping his head up until Spencer reluctantly meets his steady gaze.

“It’s whatever you need it to be, Spence,” he promises sincerely, giving a small, soothing smile as he uses his thumb to free Spencer’s bottom lip from the brutality of his teeth, “how about I take you home, pick us up some dinner, and we can talk about it. Okay?”

Spencer observes him carefully for a moment, hesitant to believe it could all be that easy, before his lips break out into a giddy smile, his cheeks rounding out as his eyes glisten in the low light. 

He presses a syrupy sweet kiss to Aaron’s thumb, and Aaron thinks this is where they were always meant to end up.

“Okay.” 

It’s something Aaron has learned, a revelation that feels as obvious and natural as the sun setting in the West every night; Dr. Spencer Reid only likes to be touched by him.