Moon Song / Hotch x Reader

part one: you are sick

"I'll walk you home?" Hotch asks, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair.

This was not an uncommon occurrence, with the team's favorite bar just a ten-minute walk from my house. The first time Hotch offered, he made up a flimsy excuse about not wanting me to walk home in the dark even though we both know I'm armed and more than capable.

"Sure." I grab my coat and wrap it around myself tightly. We bid the team goodnight, making our way out into the brisk October air. It's still warmer than my hometown, but I'd grown accustomed to the Virginia weather in the few years I'd been here.

We walk in silence most of the way, Hotch glaring at every man who even so much looked my way. I lay a hand on his arm,

"Hotch, it's fine. They're not gonna try anything when you're here."

"The better not," he grumbled, "That wouldn't turn out well for them." I let out a light laugh – it's no secret that most people find Hotch intimidating. I found him intimidating at first too, not wanting his eyes to linger on me for too long in case he was going to criticize me. It took me a couple of months to realize that his eyes were lingering on me for a different reason. We arrive at my front door, and I unlock it, glancing back at him. His eyes are asking the question, and I nod. He follows me inside. He's on me as soon as I close and lock the door, crowding my body back against it. His lips are like a firebrand on my neck and when he nips my pulse point, I sigh, my hands coming up to rest on his biceps. He's quick to rid me of my coat and tank top, his lips marking their territory down my chest. His hands grab my waist, tapping lightly. I know this sign, and jump up, my legs wrapping around his hips. I laugh as he smiles at me, leaning in to kiss my lips. The kiss starts sweet but quickly turns into a standoff, with him winning by biting my bottom lip so hard that it splits.

"Hotch, really?" I whine as he sets me down on my bed. He just grins with my blood on his lips. The way he undresses is almost clinical – like everything in his life. I'm pushing my pants and underwear down my legs as I watch him. He finally joins me on the bed, hovering over me, hips resting between mine. I can feel him resting at my entrance, always waiting for my permission.

"You ready for me?" He asks thickly, and I can't nod fast enough. He slides forward slowly and we groan in tandem. When he's fully sheathed inside of me he stops, letting out a shaky breath as he searches my eyes for something he's too afraid to say himself. I dig my nails into his shoulders,

"Please," I gasp, "Please move. I can't wait any longer." At this, his self control snaps and he turns into a wild animal, rutting into me with no abandon. He picks up one of my legs, wrapping it around his waist so he can go deeper than before. I'm gasping for breath, my senses overwhelmed and all focused on the sensation between my legs. He wets his thumb, bringing it down to my swollen clit and I keen at the first swipe of his thumb. It's always like this with him – heady, overwhelming pleasure that I've never felt before.

"Come on baby, let it go, I'm right here." He encourages me, eyes boring into my own half-lidded eyes. All it takes is a few more swipes of the pad of his thumb and I'm gone, my knuckles turn white from gripping the bedsheets so hard and I feel like a meteor hitting the earth. I'm overwhelmed – overwhelmed by him, his attention, the sensation. As I start to come down, I try to squirm away, overstimulated, but he growls and pushes my hips down. "You're not going anywhere until I'm finished with you." I feel a few tears escape from my eyes tracking down the sides of my face. His calloused hand brushing them away is jarring in comparison to the way he's fucking me. He's chasing his own high now, and I feel my own orgasm building again. He moves one hand to push down on my lower abdomen, and the pressure is blinding. I scream out his name, shattering again, and he quickly follows, spilling his load inside me. I'm panting as I come around, feeling sticky and sweaty. "You with me, baby?" I nod into the hand he has rested on the side of my face and whimper as he slides out of me. He disappears into my bathroom and comes back a few seconds later with a warm, damp washcloth. I wince as he cleans me up, still sensitive. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He throws the washcloth in my hamper, helping me sit up. My head dips forward, almost falling unconscious at the switch in position. He rushes forward, my head dipping into the crook of his neck. "Hey, hey, I'm here. I've got you." I wrap my arms around his neck, taking deep breaths to steady myself. After a few minutes, I no longer feel lightheaded and I lean back.