Aaron Hotchner One Shots

Maybe a Little Tired

Warnings: a little talk about case violence and suggestive language, but other than that there's none (:

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Walking through the threshold into your shared home, Aaron sets his briefcase down and tosses his keys into the bowl by the door. Shrugging off his jacket, he walks into the kitchen and looks at the clock.

10:00PM

He sighs, turns on the coffee pot, and silently hopes he can finish the reports before you realize he isn't in bed yet.

While the coffee is brewing, he grabs his briefcase and retreats into his office, throwing his jacket over the chair. Taking the case files out, he sorts through them. One of them in particular made even Jeffrey Dahmer look tame - three women, brutally raped and tortured in Chicago with body parts that were sawed off antimortem and thrown into the Chicago River. Flipping through the file, Aaron realizes how thankful he is that you don't have to see the gruesome and disturbing parts of his world.

It's the harsh beeping of the coffee pot that finally pulls him out of his thoughts. He sits down the file, pads into the kitchen, and reaches for a coffee cup out of the cabinet.

He reaches too fast, hand brushing up against the scalding pot and he yelps, jerking back as his brows furrow further together.

He doesn't see you come out of the bedroom at the sound of his scream, and as you go to ask him what's wrong, he puts his hand on his forehead and scoffs. "Motherfucker, can you not?," he asks, sending a deep glare in the coffee pot's direction.

Still standing behind him, you can't help but laugh, and Aaron raises his eyebrows and turns around.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asks, crossing his arms and running his pointer finger and thumb over each other.

Still giggling, you walk towards him and wrap your arms around his torso. "Long enough to hear you shit talk an inanimate object."

Feeling of your warm body flush with his, he wraps his arms around you, rubbing circles on your back. "I've had a long day," he mumbles into your hair. "I couldn't help it. What was so funny? That stupid thing burned me."

Raising your chin to his chest, you look up at him with a grin. He looks so boyish like this - his jacket is shed, the tie he once had in pristine condition is now loose and wrinkled around his neck, there's a slight pout on his face from you making fun of him, and his hair is tousled like he had been running his fingers through it - he looked cute.

"It's funny because out of all the things you could curse at, you chose a coffee pot," you answer, raising up and giving him a soft kiss. "Honey, you go to work everyday saving lives and making sure the scum of the earth pay for what they do, even if that means you get hurt. I've seen you come home some days looking like you've been hit by a bus,"

He laughs, and leans down to kiss your forehead.

"You act like it's nothing and take it in stride. Hell, Aaron you've been shot at, blown up, stabbed," you emphasize the last word, feeling his grip become tighter around your body. "... and the coffee pot is what set you off? Of all things?"

He shrugs, pulls you tighter and buries his nose in your hair, kissing your scalp, "It was a reflex... and I might be a little tired."

"How about instead of doing paperwork, you come to bed with me and I'll get you out of that suit and into some comfy pajamas, hmm?," you whisper into his shirt.

He puts his head into your neck and growls, nipping at your throat while his hands move down your waist, grabbing your ass. "Mmm my sexy wife is going to undress me, huh?," he mumbles, taking your earlobe between his teeth, "I like the sound of that."