sHe's waiting for it. The air is clotted with dread. Even Reid occasionally glances at him from his stack of paperwork, sympathetic but no less amused. Prentiss and JJ are standing in the small breakfast nook, refreshing their lukewarm coffee and talking low, but not low enough for Morgan not to hear them.
"So what exactly happened?" JJ is saying, blue eyes peering at Morgan over the rim of her mug.
"I don't know. All I know is Hotch thinks Morgan was out of line in the interrogation," Prentiss answers, shaking her head.
"What did he do?"
"I don't know. No one knows. We were all out in the field. When we got back Hotch was yelling at him in the middle of the precinct. I've never seen him so heated."
And their gazes travel to Hotch's office which currently housed Rossi and Hotch. Through the blinds they can see Hotch rigid at his desk while Rossi sits comfortably in a padded chair opposite him, offhandedly playing with a pen.
"Can you believe it Dave?" Hotch exclaims throwing his hands in the air, a barrel of hot hair angrily leaving his nostrils. "I leave him alone for two minutes, two, and he's… well he's practically in his lap when I get back."
The older man shakes his head in equal parts disbelief and amusement. "Oh Aaron I'm sure you're exaggerating," he says, replacing the pencil on the neat desk. "Besides, we profiled the UnSub as a homosexual white male in his late 40s early 50s targeting men of color. How could Derek not use that to his advantage?"
Hotch doesn't answer him, merely stares at Rossi with his dark eyes and absent-mindedly making a cage with his long fingers, lost in thought.
"Forgive me if I'm being unprofessional here Aaron but," and at this the unit chief swivels his dark eyes to meet those of his long-time friend, "but is this really about his conduct or more about your jealousy?"
And if it were anyone but Dave, Hotch would have never admitted it. Never admitted how jealous he was, how heated at the mere thought of Derek swooning, or even pretending to, over anyone else. But he huffs, feigning offence even as a self-conscious smile rests on his lips. "Why can't it be both?" he asks, and Dave shakes his head.
"Both sounds accurate."
"But I should still talk to him right? I mean if you could have seen him. He had the UnSub practically drooling," Hotch says, walking to his office window and peering out at him. Derek is filling out paperwork, leaned back but no less on edge, worrying the butt of his pen with his teeth. He seems aware that the storm has yet to pass and his uneasiness makes something in the unit chief stir with delight. His eyes travel to Reid who is now engrossed in a book, seemingly work free. His gaze then finds Prentiss and JJ who guiltily look away, caught in their gossip.
He sighs, touches the bridge of his nose. "Does everyone know?"
"Well you did yell at him in the precinct back in Georgia and blatantly ignored him on the plane ride back," Rossi says, staring at his friend's back. "But if you're asking if they know about you two, I doubt it. They haven't said anything in front of me at least." He rises, stretches. "But I should go and see if I can sucker Reid into doing some of my paperwork." He walks to the door, opens it, then says over his shoulder, "But when you talk to him try to remain calm and…quiet."
…
"Morgan can I see you for a moment?" Hotch questions from his office door.
They'd all been waiting for this, especially after Rossi exited the unit chief's office a mere ten minutes before. Reid's head rises from his book as Hotch disappears back into his office and closes the blinds.
"Maybe he's going to apologize for yelling at you," he offers and smiles encouragingly, though it's clear he doesn't believe it.
"I don't think so pretty boy," Morgan says, as he rises from his chair with a sigh. He remembers Hotch's anger when he returned to the interrogation room. Remembers the way his eyes looked when he saw him remarkably close to the UnSub, licking his lips, being coy. Never mind how his skin crawled at his own behavior. But they'd gotten their confession and that's all that mattered.
"I'm sure you won't be punished, at least not in writing," Prentiss pipes up.
He smiles at their encouragement and says, under his breath, "No, I certainly won't be punished in writing."
…
When he enters, Hotch is sitting calmly at his desk, reading over a file. He doesn't look up from it as Morgan closes and locks the door. Simply says, "Sit down," and continues with his work. This continues for several minutes, Hotch ignoring him, Morgan shifting uneasily in his seat as he waits to be acknowledged. The minutes bleed into each. His foot bounces in an uncharacteristic show of duress.
Finally he says, "Come on Hotch. You already let me have it in the precinct," because he knows a power play when he sees one. Because they've been piecing together a relationship for months now and if Derek has learned anything, it's that his lover liked having the power at all times.
Hotch doesn't respond. Derek sighs and rises, seating himself at the corner of his desk, crowding him, a power play that's worked in the past. "Was embarrassing me in front of a dozen cops really not enough man?"
Hotch calmly places the file back on his desk. "Derek, do you honestly not understand what you did?"
He pauses, unused to his first name coming from Hotch in this setting. The Unit chief stands and places his hands on either side of Morgan's waist, leaning in, turning his own move against him.
"I don't think I authorized my agent to seduce a serial killer for a confession."
Neither speaks of the way Derek's thighs part slightly under the weight of Hotch's hand, the way he grabs the skin there or the audible shudder that rakes through Morgan at the contact.
"Are you upset as my section chief or," Derek swallows, peers into his boss's eyes, then his Adams apple when the stare becomes unbearable, "as my boyfriend?"
And if anything Derek expected some amount of surprise at his words. He expects his boss to scold him for being unprofessional and out of line. He expects his lover to deny all feelings of possessiveness and jealousy. But Hotch's lips simply curve into a pleased smile, his brown eyes flashing almost auburn in the low light.
"Oh Derek," He says, amused, "We both know I only take as much as you offer me." And his hand caresses the thigh.
"Aaron," Morgan says, the vowels reverberating deep in his stomach, trying to stop the whine creeping up his throat. But then Hotch paws his hardening sex and he does whine, but then groans. As if to remind them both that he is man and he is willing to give himself to Hotch, that he is offering him something, nearly against his will. Or rather that he was offering him anything he wanted and it was up to Hotch to take it.
"You were practically in his lap Derek," Hotch growls. His subordinate grows hard at the sound. Didn't he see this coming? Didn't he know how much of a possessive bastard his lover could be?
"Come on Hotch," Derek says, hoping to regain a bit of control in this exchange. "I knew exactly what I was doing." At this, Hotch retracts his hands, Derek nearly moaning at the lack of contact. But he catches himself. He always does. The unit chief regards him coolly, raises a hand to his lover's cheek. But Derek seizes it and places two digits into his mouth. He can play this game as well.
"Shit," Hotch groans at the wet heat, the tongue swirling over the pads of his fingers. Their eye contact is pure want as Derek shamelessly moans around the fingers in his mouth before releasing them with a wet pop. His full lips glisten and he licks them hungrily.
"You really think I'd sit on anyone's lap but yours?" he purrs and pushes his boss back into his seat. He straddles his lover, moans appreciatively at the erection underneath his ass.
Hotch realizes that he is losing this battle as Derek kisses his neck, nips at his earlobe before whispering, "you know I'm your baby boy," into his ear.
The unit chief grabs his subordinate's ass, gives it a hard swat, swallowing at the whimper Derek lets out. "Yes I know. The question is, do you? Because lately you just haven't' been behaving." He lands another hard swat on his bottom, impressed, as Derek doesn't break eye contact even as he moans.
"I'm sorry," he says, "I was out of line in Georgia okay? That was my bad. Now could you please?"
"Please what?" Hotch asks, though they both know it'll probably take him bent over his desk, Aaron screwing him with reckless abandon, before the Derek Morgan would ever consider begging. Probably.
"Please," he repeats. "Please just fuck me or give me a verbal warning or write me up or spank me or whatever you want." He knows he's relenting, though he always seems to. He wonders what Prentiss or Reid would think if they could see him now: hard and wet and willing to let his boss do whatever he wanted with him.
Hotch smiles, kisses him sweetly. "That's it. You can go."
"I can go?" Derek says, looking shiftily towards the office door, "but Aaron. Do you really expect me to go back out there like this?"
"Like what baby?" Hotch asks, though his hands travel to Derek's crotch, fondling him through his pants. "You don't want to go out there and show the team how much of a slut you are for me? How much you want me to fuck you? You don't want them to see how hard you get for me? How much you want me to spread your legs right here on this desk? Who's to say that's not your punishment?"
By now Derek his dry humping him, whimpering and shuddering, so close but so far away.
"Aaron," he mewls, kissing and nipping anywhere he can reach.
"Nope," Hotch says, removing his hands from where Derek wants them most for seemingly the hundredth time. "You want to come, you have to do it yourself."
And Derek doesn't hesitate to unbutton his pants, his hard cock already leaking precum. He touches himself for Hotch, and humps his lap; bring both of them steadily closer to the edge.
"Good boy," Hotch pants, "that's it. You like touching yourself for me? If only the others could see how much of a slut you are for me. Do you want them to see?"
"No, no," Derek shakes his head, steadily stroking himself, before moaning brokenly, "Just want you to see. I'm your... Yours."
And wasn't this the truth? Did he not belong to this man staring at him wantonly? The man grabbing his ass and controlling his thrusts and kissing him hard enough to bruise?
"You wanna cum for me?" Aaron whispers into his ear and Morgan nods frantically, seemingly incapable of words. "You have to be quiet. Can you do that?" Again, more frantic nodding, his hand moving painfully fast over his cock but he won't come yet, not until Aaron says. Not until his lover, who pushed him against a wall in the interrogation room in Georgia, who hissed, "what the hell do you think you're doing?" in his ear, who is a jealous bastard and who loves him, says that he can.
He whispers the command into Derek's ear, swallowing his lover's moans with his mouth, even as his own orgasm rips through him. They settle. Hotch kisses his lover's temple, his neck, his licks.
"I love you, you jealous bastard," Derek pants out, curls into him grudgingly. Hotch chuckles, reaches for napkins in his drawer to clean them up, and rights his lover's clothing.
"I love you too," he says, "now don't do it again."
…
"Wow Derek's been in there for over twenty minutes," Reid says, gazing pensively at the closed office door.
"Yeah," JJ grimaces, "Hotch is really letting him have it."
"Wouldn't wanna be Derek right now," Prentiss agrees.
Rossi chuckles to himself as he walks to the coffeepot, says, "Oh I'm sure Derek's fine," and pours himself a mug.
They all shrug, return to their tasks, just happy that they aren't on Hotch's bad side for once.
…
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