Disclaimer: Y'all know the drill...
A/N: This is dedicated to the Hotchateers. Hope this lives up to the shenanigans! I love you, my Hotch sisters. Oh, and this hasn't been beta-d so any mistakes are mine.
Hotchness Shenanigans
You sit slumped on the couch, staring mindlessly at the TV before you. There is nothing of interest on, but it beats finding something else to do. You're still in the slinky dress you'd had chosen to wear for dinner. Your hair hangs in loose curls, held back with invisible bobby-pins.
You're annoyed at being stood up. You were looking forward to a night out. You stretch you feet out, wriggling your toes in the shaggy carpet, your killer heels laying discarded somewhere. There is a knock at the door. You groan and hope it is not your date, wanting to apologize and grovel. Being stood up once was one thing, but tonight was the last straw.
Standing at the door, you peer through the peep-hole. It's too dark, and rainy to see anything other than a tall, dark silhouette. Mind full of curses, you fling open the door...
... Only to see the person you'd least expect. There stands Hotch, soaking wet, water running rivers from his hair down his face. His eyes are bright and there's an apologetic look upon his face.
"Hi," you manage to squeak out, taking in how the the white button up shirt, clings to his muscular frame. Real original, you think, mentally slapping yourself.
"Hi," he answers back, amused. You wonder what he is doing on your door step when it clicks to you he is drenched.
"Here, come in," you say, ushering him out of the pouring rain. "Let's get you out of those wet clothes." You pause, realizing what you have just said. You stare at him, horrified. Hotch laughs, a deep sound that sends warm shivers down to your toes.
"I, I-" you stutter.
"I know what you meant," he says, still laughing.
"Bathroom's this way," you say, face blazing. You show him where everything is then hightail out of there, determined not to make more a fool of yourself. Before shutting the door you tell him, "Just pass your wet stuff out and I'll put them in the dryer." He nods and starts stripping, making quick work of the front buttons.
Seconds later the door opens, and a hand is thrust out, a pile of wet gear in it. Glancing at the mirror, the sight of strong back muscles and the hint of ass makes you swoon.
The door shuts but the image remains. You imagine running your nails down those muscles to cup Hotch's ass. You body molds to his as you wrap your hands around him. His hands run down your back in a similar fashion. The hot water cascades around you both, and your body becomes slippery with soap. Kneading his ass, you feel him grow hard. Breaking apart ever-so-slightly, he is about to enter when –
– BANG – something is dropped in the bathroom and your eyes flash open. You realize you have been standing, staring at the door.
Blushing, you leave and quickly change into more comfortable jeans and a tee shirt. Realizing you hadn't eaten, since your dinner plans had been canceled, you open the fridge. Spying left-overs from last night's dinner, you decide to heat them up, hoping Hotch would be okay with spaghetti bolognas.
"Your clothes shouldn't take too much longer," you say, hearing the bathroom door open. You pray that he wouldn't be able to read the thoughts in your mind.
"Great. Thanks," Hotch answers, walking into the room. Sniffing deeply, he comments, "Something smells nice."
"It's just left-overs. Spaghetti bolognas. Take a seat and I'll- Shoot!" you swear, as the room darkens. The storm must have knocked out the power.
"Where are your torches?"
"Uh, bottom drawer." The drawer opens, and there is a click of a switch. Soft light illuminates the room again. By torchlight, you quickly dish up the leftovers into two bowls.
"Head back to the lounge room. I'll start up the fire," you say, grabbing cutlery.
The fire is lit and for the first time, you take in exactly what Hotch is wearing. Or not wearing. Only the olive fluffy towel wrapped around his hips prevents him from being completely nude. You blush, thinking of the moment you had not long ago. The lack of clothing doesn't seem to phase Hotch. He takes the offered bowl, and settles back against the couch, long legs stretched out in front. Taking a leaf from his book, you stretch out beside him, tucking into your own spaghetti.
A comfortable silence fills the room, accompanied by the rain pelting the windows and the snap and crackle of the fire. Spoons scrape on the bottom of the bowls before anyone speaks.
"So I bet you're wondering why I was on your doorstep in the rain," Hotch begins.
"I was a little curious," you reply, turning to face the man beside you. He places the two bowls on the coffee table, then speaks again.
"It wasn't a coincidence I ended up here," he says, voice low. You subconsciously lean in, entranced. Only a hairs breath separates the two of you.
"Really?" you breathe.
"Uh huh." His breath is warm and sends tingles down your spine. Staring deep into his eyes, you feel like you could drown in the rich chocolate orbs. Your lips meet and instead of sparks, a sense of naturalness over come the you. It feels so right. He pulls back and you pant, slightly breathless.
"Wow..." That is the only coherent word you are able to form. He doesn't smirk, but copies your breathless grin. Okay? His eyes seem to ask. In response, you lean forward, capturing his lips.
More than okay, your body responds.
Quiet moans and groans fill the air, drowning out the sounds of the rain. Sweaty bodies grind against each other in passionate embrace. The fire dies down to red embers, casting black shadows over the two.
He rolls off you, and you mourn the lost of complete body contact. Both panting, you lay side-by-side, lost in your own thoughts. The lights flicker on, making you groan. He laughs and you poke him in the side, pouting. He kisses the edges of your frown, ever-so-delicately, making you smile.
Standing up, you tug on Hotch's hand, leading him to your bedroom. You shiver as you move away from the heat. In the doorway he stops, pulling you into his embrace and in for a deep kiss. Standing on tip-toes, you lean in for more. Effortlessly, he lifts you so your legs are now wrapped around his waist.
Slowing, he moves forward so that your butt brushes the top of the bed. Unceremoniously, he drops you onto the bedspread and abruptly pulls away, leaving you surprised and cold. The opening and closing of drawers makes you look around.
"What are you doing?" you ask, seeing him open one bedside drawer then another.
"Searching," he answers simply.
"For what?" Your curiosity is peaked. Leaning on elbows, you watch him move, liking what you see. He pauses for a moment, turning to face you.
"Your toys." With a wicked grin, he pulls out a box from beneath your bed. "Well, well, well."
You blush, torn between wanting to die from embarrassment and being defensive. Trying to act cool, you raise an eyebrow and stare back at him. "I like a little action."
"Uh huh." He smirks and pulls out a pair of fluffy handcuffs, nudging the box back beneath the bed. Leaning forwards, he kisses you again. You feel the fluffiness of the cuff encase your wrist.
"I know what you're trying to do, mister," you mumble against his mouth as the other cuff closes.
"Maybe," he says, giving you another kiss. "But you'll still have to see." He climbs off, leaving you still attached to the bed.
"Hey! Where are you going?" He doesn't answer, and you can't help but watch his ass as he leaves the room. Wondering if you should slip out of the cuffs, you decide to wait patiently. Of course, that is easier said than done. You begin to tug on the cuffs when he walks back into the room, a can of whipped cream in one hand and a box of strawberries in the other.
You raise one eyebrow, but make no comment. Sitting near you, but not touching, Hotch proceeds to spray a dollop of cream onto a large, juicy red strawberry. Delicately, he takes a bite, slowly licking the cream away from his lips. Groaning, you feel the familiar heat rush to your groin. He finishes up a second strawberry, taking slow, small bites, before looking up at you.
"Would you like one?" he asks in all innocence.
"Yes, please." He readies a strawberry, but holds it mere inches from your mouth. You narrow your eyes at him. You are not going to beg. He laughs and feeds you the fruit, ensuring the cream made it everywhere except for your mouth. You go to lick it off but his tongue stops you, leaving a warm, wet trail behind.
"You know, two can play this game," you say once you have been de-creamed.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Well, fortunately for me, you seem a little tied up for now." He smirks holds the bottle over your body.
"You wouldn't." Before you can voice any more protests, he places a large strawberry into your mouth, forcing you to focus on not choking.
Whipped cream is sprayed over your body, and Hotch's tongue quickly follows. Your body shudders and only the pressure of the cuffs keeps you from completely melting. Focusing on that pressure and not the man currently running his mouth all over your body, you click open the catch on the cuffs.
You groan as Hotch nears further and further to your groin. Spurred on by your sounds, he moves faster, dropping the can, and spreading your legs. Spying the can, you wriggle away from the man and his tongue, holding the cream in front of you like a weapon. Hotch sits up with a cocky grin.
"You wouldn't," he says.
"Wanna bet?" You spray the cream at him, simultaneously jumping off the bed. You laugh as the cream hits him directly in the face.
"Score!" you yell, doing a victory dance. Spotting movement out the corner of your eye, you spin, spraying as you go. The can splutters and dies. Your face falls as you realize you're out of ammo. Hotch smirks. He tackles you onto the bed, his long fingers nudging into your sides.
"Stop. Stop," you giggle as he tickles you. "Uncle, mama, whatever, - that tickles!"
"Say 'Aaron is the best in the world.'"
"Geez, narcissistic much?" you joke.
"Say it." He digs in harder.
"Okay, okay. Aaron is the best in the world," you repeat, gasping. The tickling stops and you wipe the tears away, breathing heavily. Catching your breath, you turn to him.
"My turn," you say with an evil grin.
Giggles echo around the room as two bodies meet, whipped cream and strawberries forgotten.
You wake alone, wondering if last night truly happened. The slight soreness of your body tells you otherwise. Yawning, you stand and stretch. Catching a sight of yourself in the mirror, you move closer. Your skin is surprisingly clear save for the tell-tale mark of a hickey on your collarbone where Hotch marked you at some point last night. Your hair is another situation all together.
You run your hands through your hair, hoping to dispel some of the tangles. Once it has been flattened somewhat, you search for clothes. Not bothering with your own, you remember Hotch's shirt in the dryer. Smirking, you slip it on, inhaling smell that is purely Hotch.
Stepping into the kitchen, you nearly moan. It is almost too good of a sight to see. Hotch moves nakedly around the room, expertly flipping pancakes in a pan. Freshly squeezed orange juice sits in a glass jug on the counter top along with the bottle of real maple syrup. Your mouth salivates, whether at the homemade food or at a naked Hotch, you don't know.
"Well, are you going to stand there, or come in and eat?" Hotch asks, turning around with a plate full of pancakes.
"What, no whipped cream?" you ask innocently, as he arranges the food on the breakfast table. Shaking his head ruefully, he dribbles the maple syrup over a couple of pancakes and places them in front of you.
Thanking him, you take a bite and moan. You've never tasted something quite so amazing. Continuing to moan and groan, you're finished before you know it.
"More?" Hotch asks, finishing his own pancakes more slowly. You shake your head and lean over to kiss him. "What's that for?"
"Nothing. Everything." You kiss him again. He pulls you onto his lap, in for a deeper kiss. You break away gasping for air. Catching a sight of the time, you say ruefully,
"I supposed I better grab your clothes, since they'd definitely be dry by now." He doesn't comment but merely stands when you do. You lead him out of the room, pausing only to grab his keys, wallet and sunglasses on the way.
"Shades of Justice," you murmur as you help Hotch gather his clothes, reluctantly slipping out of his shirt.
"Pardon?" He turns to face you, minus his usual tie, and his shirt only half-buttoned. You reach up and tap the side of his sunglasses.
"Shades of Justice," you repeat. "Makes you all that much more hotter and more mysterious."
"Really?"
"Uh huh," you mumble as he kisses you.
"You know, I could stay a little longer," he murmurs into your neck. You gasp.
"Really?"
"Uh huh." He echoes you.
"Well, then, Mr Hotchner, feel free to stay as long as you want," you say seductively, unbuttoning his shirt.
Hope y'all like.
Monkeywand