"I wasn't aware you were seeing anyone." Dave's dark brown eyes staring in concern at him from across his desk.
His office door is closed-has been since Dave burst in here a minute ago demanding to see him, to talk; and then only to sit and stare and now this.
"I'm not," Hotch says, more than vaguely uncomfortable at the intense look on Dave's unblinking face.
"Then what are these?" and abruptly Dave is beside him, pulling apart his tie and opening his collar to reveal the latest wounds given to him by Spencer's far too insistent mouth.
"Don't," Hotch tries to pull away, but Dave isn't listening.
None of them are, especially not himself.
"What's going on Aaron?" And that's just pure Dave; all worry and softness and ferocious tiger all rolled into one.
He can't help but smile at his friend, because fuck if he has a clue.
"Nothing," he tries to say, only to be reminded of his insistence that he is not gay, and how that doesn't seem to matter either.
"Doesn't look like nothing to me, Aaron," Dave says, opening his collar more and peering in at the top of his chest as well as his neck.
Hotch sighs and then, because he doesn't really feel like lying, not to Dave, he goes ahead and opens his shirt the rest of the way.
"Holy fuck Aaron," Dave exclaims breathily next to his ear; also reminding him of another whispered impact, but that one had been on his dick, and this one . . . no.
"Aaron," Dave's face is tight now, his hand on Hotch's shoulder, unwavering in its support of him-figurative and now literal as he slumps into Dave's side. "What's going on?"
And that's the question isn't it; the question they'd all like answered. Hotch has an idea, but it's not much beyond I'm Spencer's new drug of choice and fuck if he knows how to say that.
"It's-," he starts to say, only to be cut off with another look from Dave.
"Don't tell me this is nothing." Dave is staring and he should be uncomfortable-more uncomfortable than he is with it, but he's not; in fact, it's far too close to relief, what he's feeling now, and he really doesn't know how to answer.
Instead he puts his head in his hands and waits as Dave drags a chair around to his side.
Dave's hand on his face, pulling his eyes towards him, and Hotch lets loose a very unmanly sounding giggle before letting his face be buried in Dave's shoulder and suddenly he understands.
The memory of Spencer burying his own face there, biting and sucking, it's like a full body sob hitting him every time the other man touches him.
"Aaron Aaron," Dave is murmurring comfortingly in his ear, and isn't that just like Dave to offer him what he needs instead of what his body wants.
That's right, just a little wider . . . Perfect Hotch, just perfect Spencer's insistent voice in his ear as he opened his legs, slick finger pushing into him, ignoring his whine, ignoring the pleading quality of his voice.
"Sh, I've got you," Dave says as he begins to shake.
No, he thinks as one finger becomes two; as a mouth sucks lightly on the side of his cock; as his legs spread and tremble and he wants.
He's sweating, more than aware that his shirt is sticking to him obscenely like some scene out of a porno. Dave's arm is still on him as he rocks forward, not understanding the strange urge he's having to reach into his pants and jerk off here in front of Dave, consequences be damned.
The full body memory of Spencer finishing with his fingers and the sight of a hard slick cock about to push into him has him gibbering with more than just unintelligibility. It's fear and he remembers trying to pull away and not being able to. Spencer's hand on his hip is unmoving, his arm pulling him closer despite his protests.
"Aaron, what are you-?"
His trousers snapping open, he's pulling his cock out right here and the sound of a gasp beside him and he's not really sure if he's in the present or trapped in a memory.
Spencer's hand on his cock, dick pressing into him terrifyingly, a shuttered scream choking off in his throat-and the knowledge that he's harder right now than he's ever been in his entire life.
"Aaron, those are bite marks," is Dave's barely restrained voice cutting into his awareness as he begins stroking himself, the pain almost forgotten as his fingers push quickly over the increasing length before him.
"You need to see a doctor," Dave's hand catching his wrist and the feel of another hysterical giggle trying to make it past the obstruction in his throat.
"I need this," is Hotch's frightening answer and he wonders when Spencer took over his consciousness too.
"Aaron," and Dave's voice is more like a whine, pushing him back into his memory.
He can feel Spencer inside of his body, fucking his insides steadily into a new shape. It hurts and it's too much and he can't breathe, especially not with Spencer's finger right there on that spot behind his balls and it doesn't take long before he starts begging.
"Aaron," Dave's voice in his ear, hand on his wrist. "You're hurting yourself. Look down Aaron, please."
Please he had begged as Spencer's thrusts had sped up, as he had bent over in an incredibly limber move and sucked Hotch into his mouth, making him scream with the duality of sensations.
He stared uncomprehendingly down at his cock, at the now familiar bite marks adorning his flesh, at the sight of blood on his fingertips and palm.
There had been blood on Spencer's cock, after he had pulled free and Hotch had slumped backwards in bed, his own dick still twitching from the force of his orgasm.
It had taken until the next day for him to discover the bite marks. And another two days had passed before he had stopped bleeding with every bowel movement.
And now Dave was worried about a little blood on his dick?
"Aaron," brown eyes staring at him in an approximation of Hotch's own pleading gaze toward Spencer.
"Who's been hurting you? Please, tell me."
