It felt so good at first.
It had a rubbery resilience that was strangely soothing, but…odd. He couldn't imagine what it was.
It walked its way from the hollow under his collarbone to his nipple, rubbing itself against him until his breath quickened and the nipple stiffened. It was teasing him. He reached a hand up to press it more tightly against himself, but it felt…wrong…against his palm…repellant.
I like what it's doing, but whatever it is, it's just…not…right…
When it moved lower and started sliding its way around his navel, he raised his head to see what this…thing…was.
Oh, God…no...NO!
Hotch woke with a start, heart pounding, chest slicked with nightmare sweat. He groaned and curled onto his side.
It was the third time this week that he'd had the same bad dream. He'd tried to psychoanalyze himself; tried to find the root of whatever was causing this disturbance in his subconscious, but to no avail. He'd thought maybe it was a sign of sexual frustration coupled with guilt or some deep-seated anxiety. So he'd tried masturbating throughout the day and especially before going to sleep. He'd done it ferociously, with purpose. At work, meetings had been delayed; looks had been exchanged when the Unit Chief emerged from the bathroom with glassy, post-orgasm eyes. He'd done it until he was exhausted; until he was limp and sore and spent. But, although that was its own reward, the dream-thing had still found him.
When all was said and done, Hotch wasn't a coward. Even in the dream, he'd known this time he had to confront the thing making its rubbery way down his body. He knew where it was headed. And he dreaded thinking about the time when he might not be able to wake up…when he'd raise his dream-head and see the thing settle over his cock and move its repulsive texture up and down the most sensitive part of his body. The very thought made his balls pull up a little higher in terror-filled protest.
Nausea roiled through his stomach. He'd seen it this time. He didn't know what it meant, but he'd seen the hideous, bloated, unnatural thing creeping across his body…trying to own him…trying to nibble him into submission.
How could such a thing possibly be?! How could it exist and MOVE independently like that?!
He swallowed the tiny bit of vomit that had risen up into his throat and vaulted off the bed, headed for the bathroom. He had to rinse his mouth, and take a shower long enough and hot enough to burn away the memory of the thing's passage over his body. He scrubbed until his skin stung and burned. It was better than the feeling of …it. He toweled himself off roughly and stared at his naked reflection in the full length mirror mounted on the bathroom door.
Why am I dreaming of this…thing? What does it mean?!
Hotch shuddered and dressed for work, wincing as fabric touched the tender spots he'd scrubbed extra hard…the spots where the thing had lingered most. That one nipple was practically bleeding from his efforts.
xxxxxxx
Hotch felt better once he reached his office.
There were things that demanded his attention. Things that took his mind away from the dreaded moment at the end of the day when he was home, when he'd eventually doze off and risk the thing coming for him again. Or worse, ME coming …it MAKING me come…INTO it….
Hotch shook off his revulsion and turned to the matter at hand: a replacement for Agent Prentiss.
The Unit Chief was scrupulous about hiring based on merit alone. So when Strauss had brought him a sheaf of applicants, wanting his input, he'd discarded the photos clipped to the front of each resume. He did think a woman would be best. There were situations where a female presence greatly enhanced the possibility of success and he couldn't see placing the entire load on J.J.'s shoulders.
But other than female, he was open to the hiring process. He knew Rossi would look at each photo and Morgan would browse them with interest. Their comments about appearance wouldn't have any effect on who Hotch voted on to fill the vacancy.
xxxxxxx
By the end of the day, Hotch had made his selection: Alex Blake.
Her background was solid. There had been a rough patch on her professional path, but it had been years ago. Hotch's nose for office politics sniffed a set-up, so he didn't hold it against her. When he submitted his feedback on the applicants to Strauss, it was an unequivocal thumbs-up for Agent Blake. The final decision would be Strauss', but she had made it clear that she'd take Hotch's opinion into serious consideration.
He felt good about that.
In fact, he felt pretty darn fine overall. Work had occupied him to the point that the dream-thing hadn't impinged on his thoughts for hours.
Maybe this time it's over. Maybe it's run its course.
Hotch called it a day and went home with high hopes for a restful night's sleep. Still, he thought it would be a good idea to make a conscious effort to relax and shed the day's tensions before hitting the sheets.
His apartment complex had some luxurious amenities; one of the reasons he'd opted to live there. The fully-equipped gym, the sauna, the pool…But this evening, it was the hot tub that called to Hotch. He wanted that extra, little assurance that his body was at ease, in hopes that his mind would follow.
It was late when he got home. Using the key provided to each resident when they moved in, he went down to the recreational building and let himself in.
Hotch was pleased that he'd have the entire facility to himself; no one else was present at this hour. He'd changed into trunks and a robe, and he'd brought a towel. Now he wished he'd thought to pour himself a glass of wine. But food and beverages were forbidden in the building. The maintenance staff didn't appreciate having to empty the tub or swab out the sauna because someone had spilled a careless mess while eating or drinking.
So, Hotch obeyed the rules. Shedding his robe, he lowered himself into the bubbling, steaming water and let the currents buffet his body. Head resting against the rim, he closed his eyes and let himself float, concentrating on…nothing.
xxxxxxxx
Hotch moaned at the unexpected pleasure.
The stimulation of warm water pounding around his dick, moving it slightly from side to side added to the intense squeezing and rubbing of whatever had fastened onto it was…compelling. Slippery and wet, it was working on him as though it would devour him.
Wake up! Wake up! You KNOW this is a dream! You KNOW what that thing sucking you looks like now! WAKE UP!
His head rolled from side to side, but it wasn't enough to pull him out of it. This time the thing had him and it wouldn't let him go.
"No…please…no…" His normally strong voice a gravelly whisper, begging for release.
Release is what he got. Just not the kind he'd hoped for.
The rubbery grip pressed and pulled, glorying in finally having its way with the long, full cock caught, trapped…growing with each stroke.
Hotch wasn't a vain man. He didn't flaunt his natural physical attributes. But he knew what they were. He'd never put himself forward as a stud, but he knew his genitals were…lavish…extravagant. He'd never regretted his length when he'd found himself pounding into a willing partner. But what happened next made him wish he were a…lesser…man.
With a strangled, guttural cry, he was catapulted from sleep by the force of his own orgasm.
Hotch's eyes flew open only to see the end of his fully extended cock, long enough to poke its way out of the frothing water by a good four inches, geysering more cum than he thought he had in him. The milky, viscous liquid added insult to injury, rocketing up high enough to splash into his horrified face.
With a cry, Hotch doubled over, rinsing the hot spurts of semen off with water cupped in both hands. He had to get out. The hot tub was a roiling mixture now of water and cum. Repulsed, gasping, he dragged himself up and out. He whimpered as he looked down. His dick, although going flaccid, was still sticking out of the waistband of his trunks.
But what sent ice flowing through his veins were the tiny almost-bruises spotting his shaft. He knew what had made them. The rubbery, insistent horror that wouldn't leave him alone.
Tears of defeat and shame pooling in his eyes, Hotch made his way back to his apartment…limping, hand cupped over his crotch to protect it from something he couldn't understand or define. Something so hideous he began to consider the possibility of supernatural forces in its creation.
One thing he knew for certain: it had nothing to do with being human. Not in any way, shape, or form.
And, judging by his abused cock, it was beginning to cross the division from dream world into reality.
xxxxxxxxx
For the next few days, Hotch was distracted at work.
The team noticed his baggy eyes and knew he wasn't sleeping. In truth, he was so terrified of the dream-thing making a return visit, he began setting his alarm clock for fifteen minute intervals throughout the night. He felt like hell, but it was better than getting his penis bruised and mauled again.
When Friday rolled around, he knew he'd have to get some sleep over the weekend. But at least he'd have some time to pull himself together if…when…the thing came for his dick again. He forced himself to trudge through a mountain of paperwork with the aid of endless cups of coffee.
When J.J. tapped on his door and said that Strauss had brought the replacement for Emily Prentiss down to the conference room and wanted the team to gather for a mini meet-and-greet, he was relieved for the break.
xxxxxxxx
Alex Blake had made her peace with Erin Strauss…albeit a tentative peace. Erin had tried to apologize for her behavior years ago. Alex had agreed to an uneasy truce. It would take time before she could actually even think about using the word 'trust' in relation to Strauss.
Nonetheless, she'd been granted the opportunity to work with the illustrious BAU. For that, she'd put up with a lot.
Now, Strauss had brought her down to meet the rest of the team.
One by one, they introduced themselves. Their demeanor was friendly, but wary. After all, they'd be trusting her with their lives in the field, just as she'd have to trust them with hers. There was a general sizing up of each other. But all in all, Blake felt good about everyone. The only one left was the Unit Chief, the man who would be her boss. Agent Jareau had gone to fetch him. Blake liked that the man was obviously a hard worker and not someone who delegated the lion's share of the paperwork to his subordinates.
She used the time while J.J. was gone to chat and answer questions.
Her back was to the door, but she knew when he arrived. All eyes in the room lifted and focused in his direction. J.J.'s voice interrupted the conversation.
"Alex Blake…I'd like you to meet our boss-man, Aaron Hotchner."
Lifting her chin, Blake turned…
xxxxxxx
Hotch rubbed his tired eyes and followed J.J. out of his office.
She led him to the conference room where he could hear the others making polite small talk. He entered the room and saw the new agent, Blake, from the back. A slender frame with somewhat disheveled, long, dark hair in a pantsuit. J.J. brought him up to the new member of his team.
"Alex Blake…I'd like you to meet our boss-man, Aaron Hotchner."
Hotch kept his 'business glare' on as the woman began the turn to face him. He wasn't the overly friendly type with newcomers. And he wanted to imprint the new agent with his work persona.
She turned, lifting her chin…
xxxxxx
He couldn't help the whimper that escaped. He couldn't keep his glare. He knew the others were staring at him. At the horror in his unnaturally wide eyes and his sudden loss of color.
She lifted her chin and the light caught her lips.
There…on Alex Blake's face…were two obviously artificially-enhanced, fleshy slabs.
Hotch couldn't tear his gaze from her mouth. There, in waking reality, was the rubbery, thick, dream-thing that had tortured his life and his dick.
The thing spread in a hideous facsimile of a smile. "Hello. I'm Blake. Pleased to meet you."
Aaron Hotchner's nightmare had just begun….