Hotchniss One-Shots

classic one - bed trope

The motel had that particular brand of small-town decay that even darkness couldn't hide. Neon letters flickered over the peeling stucco exterior, buzzing against the night. The team shuffled into the lobby like ghosts, travel-worn and case-drained, the kind of exhausted that settled deep in the bones.

Rossi leaned against the counter while the night clerk squinted at the reservations list. "You'd think saving the county from a serial killer would warrant an actual hotel."

"Budget cuts," JJ muttered, balancing her go-bag on one hip.

The clerk cleared his throat. "I, uh, have good news and bad news."

 braced himself. It was nearly two in the morning. There was no such thing as good news at this hour.

"The good news is, I've got rooms for almost all of you," the clerk continued, typing with the speed of someone who had never faced six FBI agents before. "The bad news is, we only have five rooms available. There was a... plumbing incident."

Emily, standing just behind Hotch, bit back a smile. He could feel the amusement radiating off her, even before she spoke.

"Five rooms, six agents. Sounds like someone's bunking up."

"Fine," Morgan said, already reaching for his key. "Reid can room with me. I'll make sure he doesn't stay up all night with those medical journals."

Reid opened his mouth to protest but caught Morgan's grin and closed it again. JJ claimed a key next, then Rossi, leaving two left.

The clerk slid them forward, apologetic. "Sorry about the mix-up. Only one's a double. The other's... well. One bed."

Emily's eyes flicked to Hotch's. For the briefest moment, the corner of her mouth curved.

Rossi raised an eyebrow, his smirk just this side of inappropriate. "Guess that leaves the boss man and Prentiss."

"Fine," Hotch said quickly, taking the key before anyone could comment further. "We'll manage."

Emily grabbed her bag, head down, but he caught the flash of humor in her eyes.

They made it to the elevator in silence. The doors slid shut, cutting them off from the others, and only then did Emily let out a laugh she'd been holding back.

"Subtle," she said, her voice low. "Very smooth. No one will ever suspect a thing."

Hotch gave her a sidelong glance. "You think Rossi didn't notice?"

"Rossi notices everything. He probably already wrote us into his memoirs." She bumped her shoulder against his as the elevator climbed. "Still—congratulations. You've officially survived your first one-bed situation as my secret boyfriend."

The words landed somewhere warm in his chest. Secret boyfriend. It sounded both absurd and perfect.

The room wasn't much. A double bed with a floral bedspread, a nightstand with a chipped lamp, and a television bolted to the wall. It smelled faintly of bleach and stale coffee.

Emily tossed her bag onto the chair and surveyed their kingdom. "Romantic."

Hotch set his down by the bed. "We'll make it work."

"We always do," she murmured.

For a few minutes they moved around each other in silence, the rhythm of two people who'd been doing this dance for longer than they'd admitted. Emily disappeared into the bathroom to change, emerging in worn cotton shorts and a black tank top. Her hair was loose, brushing over her shoulders.

Hotch tried not to stare. Failed.

"What?" she asked, tugging at the hem of her shirt.

"Nothing." He cleared his throat, loosening his tie. "Just... nothing."

She grinned, climbing onto the bed and sitting cross-legged. "Careful, Aaron. Someone might think you like me."

He arched an eyebrow. "You're insufferable."

"And yet—" she leaned back on her hands, smirking— "here we are."

Hotch finished unbuttoning his shirt, folded it with unnecessary precision, and set it on the chair. Emily watched him the whole time, amusement softening into something quieter.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice losing its edge.

He sat on the edge of the bed, exhaling slowly. "I should be. We closed the case. Everyone's safe. But..."

"But safe doesn't always feel safe," she finished for him.

He nodded.

Emily reached out, her hand brushing his. The touch was casual, but her thumb traced his knuckles, grounding.

They sat like that for a while, the hum of the motel's ancient AC unit filling the silence.

Finally, Emily said, "You realize we're terrible at this, right?"

"At what?"

"Pretending. Rossi's suspicious. JJ's going to notice sooner or later. Morgan already asked me if I was seeing someone."

Hotch turned to her, alert. "What did you say?"

"That I am. Which, technically, is true." Her lips curved. "I just didn't mention it was you."

He shook his head, but a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. "You're going to get us caught."

"Maybe. But if we do, at least we'll get a good story out of it. 'Remember that time the FBI's most stoic unit chief got outed because he couldn't hide his bedroom eyes?'"

Hotch groaned, dropping his face into his hand. Emily laughed, tugging his arm down.

"I'm kidding. Relax." She softened. "I like it this way. Just us. No explanations. No labels."

"No witnesses," he added dryly.

"Exactly."

They lay down eventually, the mattress dipping under their combined weight. Emily stretched out on her side, facing him, hair falling into her face.

"You know, if this were a movie, this is the part where the couple fights over the blanket," she whispered.

He pulled it over both of them evenly. "We're adults. We can share."

"Practical as ever." She smiled, but her eyes were softer now, searching his face in the dim light. "You ever think about how strange this is? You and me. Like, of all the people, of all the jobs, it's this. Us. Together."

"All the time," he admitted. "And I still can't decide if it's improbable or inevitable."

Her breath caught, just slightly. "That's... surprisingly romantic for you."

He leaned closer, brushing her hair back. "Don't tell anyone."

She kissed him then, slow and steady, the kind of kiss that carried the weight of every near-miss and every moment they'd hidden. His hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

When they parted, she pressed her forehead to his. "We really are terrible at pretending."

"Then we just won't pretend," he murmured.

She smiled, her eyes closing. "Deal."

Morning would come too soon. The team would notice. Rossi would smirk, JJ would ask quiet questions, and Morgan would tease until Reid accidentally gave away more than anyone wanted to know.

But for now — in the dim, stale-smelling motel room, with Emily tucked against his chest and her breath evening into sleep — Hotch let himself forget the complications.

For once, it was simple. Just them.

One bed. One room. One secret worth keeping.

AN: I'm starting a new book!!! 

stay tuned 👀