Opening the doors of the BAU, one might expect to see Agents huddles over computers, their keyboards clacking noisily as they tried to type up the endless stream of reports that somehow appeared in their in-tray each week. Perhaps the rumble of the coffee machine, as caffeine addicted behavioural analysts clamoured to be the first to get a cup of the bitter - or in Doctor Spencer Reid's case ridiculously sweet - brew. Or maybe the teasing of Agent Derek Morgan, getting on the young Doctor's last nerve with unwelcome information of his latest exploits, and the young genius's, well... lack of. What Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner did not expect to see was... for want of a better word... this.

Gone were the desks and computers, the coffee machine was still there, but its familiar noise was replaced with that of what could only be described as eighties porno music blasting from the... was that a sound system and DJ in the corner! But what was really the elephant in the room was the cages. Yes cages. Contained within them was Agents Emily Prentiss and Jennifer Jareau, their clothing... could you call it that?... merely skimpy lingerie that more fitted some prostitute on the streets of Detroit. Not that it wasn't welcome - the sight of Prentiss's alabaster skin against the deep red made the normally stoic man think thoughts that would get him kicked out of a monastery quicker than someone could say Mississippi.

His eyes moving past this - he wanted to use the word barbaric, but really, the gyrating was getting to him - display, instead latching onto a scene that would fit into Freaky Friday. Morgan was sitting at his desk for a change, his nose buried in reports as he hurriedly typed - his was the only desk in the place - up a case. He was wearing a sweater vest, with a checked shirt. It was a far cry away from the normal jeans and t-shirt. Reid on the other hand was wearing a purple, silk suit, and grasped in his left hand was a black cane. He was standing in the corner with Anderson, with... Hotch wished he could scrub his eyes out with bleach and steel wire... Strauss, wearing a denim micro-mini, fishnet tights and neon pink tank top. Pink was not her colour. Internally shuddering, Hotch saw Anderson hand Reid what appeared to be a wad of bills, and accepting them, Reid handed Strauss over to him. Anderson smiled at her, Strauss batting her eyelids at this, before escorting her into the bathroom. It was official, Hotch did not want to know. His imagination was providing him with enough unwelcome material as it was.

"For ten bucks I'm yours, sir," growled Prentiss huskily, reaching out of the cage and grabbing Hotch's tie.

"Make it twenty, Prentiss," yelled Reid, dragging a scantily clad Garcia over to Morgan.

Finding himself pressed against the steel bars, Hotch gulped. What he had staring at him was two of Prentiss's... finer attributes. No... ignoring the lust he felt rising in his system (he was a perfectly normal heterosexual male, just because he never got any that often did not mean he didn't appreciate the female sex) Hotch wrenched his tie out of her grasp and headed up to his office.

Hiding in his sanctuary, he peeked through the blinds, seeing that JJ and Prentiss had now attracted quite a crowd, Hotch did not want to know how, but he guessed Prentiss had found another victim. Tuning out the woops and jeers, he tried to work through what had happened. Yesterday had been perfectly normal, they had stayed late working on case files, the usual. How could all these changes have happened overnight?

Out of nowhere, an idea nestled in his mind. It would explain the skimpy outfits, the pimping and Strauss being turned into a whore. However, it was something he had never wanted to happen. Something that logically couldn't happen, but then again logically the bullpen shouldn't be the equivalent of a strip club.

Reluctantly, he grabbed his cell, hitting speed dial. It took three rings before his suspicions were confirmed.

"Director David Rossi speaking, Aaron how can I help you?"

"What the fuck!" the expletive fell from his lips before he could help himself.

"Aaron?"

"What?"

"I didn't say anything. Hearing voices is the first sign of madness," commented Rossi dryly.

"Aaron?"

"I'm not mad, I'm not mad, I'm not-"

"Aaron, wake up!"

The words struck through his mind, and opening his eyes, he was presented with the face of David Rossi hovering in front of him.

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled sleepily.

"Aaron, it's been over ten years since you called me sir. I'm not complaining, but it could raise a few questions," teased Rossi.

Wait? Was that a dream then?

Glancing into the bullpen he saw that everyone was working, Reid had his nose in his files, his finger running quickly down the paper as he turned pages every few seconds. Morgan was predictably at the water cooler with Agent Peterson, the red head from counter-terrorism giving him a less than inappropriate look. Seeing Prentiss walk up to her desk, he saw that she was wearing her standard black suit, his face heating up as the image of her in the lingerie swimmed into his mind.

"Aaron, your blushing, do tell," the grin was evident in Rossi's tone.

"Shut up, Dave," growled Hotch.

"Defensive. Fine then, I don't want to know," laughed Rossi, leaving the office.

Sighing deeply, he ran his hands through his hair as he glanced once more out of the window. Seeing Morgan throw a paper airplane at Reid, he smiled slightly.

All was right with the world.

A/N: I really wanted to write a parody and the question of 'What would happen if Rossi was Director?' entered my mind... how could I resist *evil grin* Alice Wednesday helped with the... trickier aspects of this fic, I fully blame her for how peverted it became!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds, if I did I would include this in a dream sequence xD

I apologise for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes contained within this story.

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