Losing Control

Summery: Rossi knows that everyone breaks eventually, especially in this line of work. So, when Hotch finally snaps, he is there to help pick up the pieces.

A/N: Apart from two embarrassingly simplistic typos that I can't figure out how to fix, I think that last part went well. So, here we go again. :) Get ready for some Hotch/Rossi slashiness. *Oh be still my beating 3!*

Disclaimer: I don't know how anyone can claim to *own* such brilliance and beauty as makes up Hotch and Rossi. It is not a claim I dare make, myself.

Part 2

Rossi's lips were pressed into a thin line. He glared at Hotch reproachfully, but Hotch took no notice. He was certainly a first-rate profiler, but right now, he was also very, very drunk.

"I'll never forget how furious you looked," Hotch was saying, trying to hold back laughter. "You were absolutely covered in mud and had dog shit all over those damn Italian leather boots you hadn't shut up about in two weeks. And then there was the supermodel, what was her name?" Hotch was waving his hands around amiably, scotch sloshing precariously in his glass. He had a huge grin on his face.

Rossi sighed. "Anna."

"Right. Anna. She just stared at you with her mouth open, and all you could do was sputter about your boots. It was a good thing we had the unsub in custody already or you would've ripped him apart."

"I liked those boots," Rossi muttered indignantly. "The supermodel wasn't bad either, if I remember correctly." He sighed again. "You know, I was trying to get you out of your blind homicidal rage, but chipper wasn't a possibility I had considered. I find it disturbing to say the least." Hotch snorted.

"Well, we all have surprising sides of ourselves." Rossi had to agree. If you only knew... He was about to reply when Hotch launched into another hilarious tale of a case mishap at Rossi's expense. So, he remained quiet, content to watch Hotch. He was draped lazily over the other end of the black leather sofa, bare feet propped on the coffee table. His tie was loosened, sleeves rolled up, collar unbuttoned. Rossi wasn't sure were the jacket had been discarded. He looked at the other man's hands. Usually still, they now flitted about the air propelled by the scotch, half telling the story themselves. Hotch's face tended to be stoney and his expression was commonly mistaken for anger. Now, Hotch was smiling and his eyes swam with alcohol and mirth. It was quite a change and it made it hard for Rossi to swallow his drink over the lump forming in his throat. Hotch's hair was a mess, bangs falling into his eyes. Rossi fought the urge to reach over and brush them away. No matter how drunk he was, he didn't think Hotch would approve.

Rossi didn't consider himself gay, though he'd had a few drunken nights of experimentation in college. Who didn't? Nevertheless, he couldn't deny what Hotch made him feel. He'd known that Hotch's marriage was failing almost as long as Hotch had, and watched helplessly as it had destroyed his friend from the inside out. Haley's affair had ruined Hotch who was, for all his faults, fiercely loyal. Rossi despised her for it. He found himself reaching out to Hotch more. He didn't make a big deal of it. There were both strong, independent men, after all, and Rossi disdained sentimentality. Since Haley's death, however, he'd been wrestling with himself not to just take Hotch in his arms. He'd always loved the man to some degree, but not like this. This was definitely new. It was stronger than anything he could remember. It threatened to turn Rossi's meticulous world upside down. It had overruled his logic and brought Hotch home with him tonight, despite his fear about not being able to keep his hands off the man.

He started as a hand dropped to his knee, sending shocks through his body and and causing his breath to hitch. Hotch noticed this time and looked at him quizzically.

"Dave?" Rossi cleared his throat feeling uncomfortably transparent. He studied Hotch for a moment and turned away, willing his heart to slow.

"Yeah, Aaron?"

"I asked if you were still seeing the girl from the restaurant." Rossi cleared his throat again, hyper-aware of Hotch's hand still on his knee.

"Nah. That ended a while again. Not what I was looking for." Rossi regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. They begged the question –

"What were you looking for?"

Yeah. That question.

Rossi looked back at Hotch, his defenses dissolving. He placed his hand over Hotch's, and regarded the other man intently. Hotch made no attempt to move his hand. His eyes were serious again, his jaw set in the familiar way, knowing despite the alcoholic fog that something important was happening here. Rossi took a deep breath and raised this other hand to brush Hotch's bangs out of his face.

"You. I was looking for you."

A/N: More?! O.o