Crying Lighting (Hotch x Reader)// ✔

19. Make up your mind

Summary:

The truth comes out in unexpected ways

Notes:

Hey all!

TW: ~spice (and filthy a bit) and the start of ANGST

title from the song by Florence and the machine

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It's very different in daylight. You're extremely aware of yourself – your movements around the kitchen, your light footsteps as you go from picking up two cups from the cupboard to the coffee machine – which you turn on right away. Most of all you're acutely aware of Hotch's presence and tall figure.

Hotch – who is quiet and lingering by the door – because both of you know this isn't about coffee at all. And although you're quite experienced in that respect - being forward and bold at inviting people over – you feel like you've relinquished all control to him as soon as he stepped inside your house.

"Rossi said you knew Patrick" he says, leaning on the doorframe, following your fluent movements around the room.

Maybe you feel this way because Hotch still has that stern look on his face that's synonymous to his agent behavior.

"No. I said met"

He nods, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"He introduced himself to me." You continue, "Said he conducted business with my husband"

You hadn't said this to Agent Rossi, but maybe it's the shock of the night making you talk.

"We identified all three of them" He moves towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the garden.

The coffee machine stops whirring, the first cup now full.

There's an unspoken question in his statement that leaves you vulnerable.

"I didn't know any of them apart from Black, Hotch."

He nods, and the second cup fills up too. You pick up both and walk to him, stopping near the kitchen island. When you offer him a mug, he gives you a strange look, eyebrows furrowing slightly, questioning if he's misread your invitation, but he doesn't say anything aloud as he takes the mug. You place yours over the kitchen island, and draw open the glass doors, letting the hot summer air inside. Opening up windows from one room to another had turned into a ritual and it helped at not letting the house feel stuffed and smell rotten.

It's the month of June and this entire day has felt like the hottest day of the season even though you'd spent most of it inside. You'd felt this same warmth last night, on the yacht, but the ocean air had helped dissipate it.

Now, in the afternoon, there's little respite from the heat – the air moist and far from fresh, but enough to allow you to breathe with more ease than in the morning. The glare from the sun reflecting from the tiles outside is bright enough to hurt your eyes.

The leaves of the trees and plants in the garden remain unmoving, the only sounds are the buzzing of bees and the loud and dull chirping of crickets amongst the high grass – for which you have to remember to hire someone for.

Your skin feels hot and your lungs can hardly fill up with needed oxygen – and it all increases exponentially when you feel Hotch move behind you.

He'd watched you almost come undone in his SUV, with just a touch of his fingers over your thigh, and a soft kiss brushed over your neck. He'd faintly smelled the sea on you in the enclosed space of the car and he's wanted to taste the salt lingering on your skin – that had been the only thought rattling around in his brain.