See Chapter One for disclaimer.
Chapter Four: A lot of sex. A bit of plot.
Chapter Four
Pleasure is a sort of oblivion, a forgetfulness. Pain is remembrance.
-Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh
There remains another question, though, between them unasked.
Aaron feels uncertain and fumbling once more as he stands in the foyer of Spencer's apartment. There are no lights, save for the gentle wash of street lamps from below.
Spencer had coiled around himself on the ride over, running the fingertips of his left hand over the seatbelt. Body so tense with excitement he almost thrummed.
Now he turns, all grace and surety as he rests a hand on Aaron's waist, curls the other around Aaron's neck to pull him close for the first kiss that is about more than circumstance or opportunity.
A parting of lips makes Aaron answer, raising his own hands to Spencer's side, to run through the cropped hair and almost grip, almost pull. For a few breaths they share nothing more substantial than air.
"Spencer," he says, against the hands that lead him to a gentle thump against the wall, "Spencer, I need to ask you something."
"Of course, Aaron. Anything."
The uncanny parallel to the dream shivers on the back of his neck. "Can you-if you need to-can you say No?"
Spencer has dipped his head only enough to ghost his lips down Aaron's neck, and the muscles in his back twitch. A breathless laugh, not happy. "I don't know how to answer that."
The arch of his cheekbone brushes Aaron's right ear. "If I say yes, what does that show? If I say no to prove I can..."
For a moment they stand together in the dark, and breathe.
"The most honest answer is that I don't know," Spencer says. "You'll have to trust me. Trust yourself."
"I don't know if I can."
"Could you ever hurt me?"
With that answer, Aaron does what he has wanted to, push-pulls Spencer around until he and the wall are holding Spencer up, knocks Spencer's knees aside until he can press his thigh, hip, between Spencer's legs, and take.
Not the bite-kiss of his dream, but just as good. Almost. He dives into the cavern of Spencer's mouth, and there is a low groan as the other man's joints seem to loosen against him. Something-Spencer does something with his tongue that takes Aaron away from himself.
Want surges through him, hardens all his body. A sound escapes his throat as he mauls the jaw beneath his lips. The body pinned and fighting-
Instantly he pulls back. Spencer hangs and pants, hands gripping Aaron's shoulders as he lists against Aaron's front. Before Aaron can apologize, there is a low chuckle. "Why did you stop?"
"You were-"
"I liked it, Aaron." Wide dark pupils glance up, the wry quality to the quirk of Spencer's lips the only concession to the necessity of the explanation. "Hold me down."
Again unspoken, Don't let me go.
He tries not to be hesitant in his movement. His arms are abruptly awkward, seemingly superfluous limbs.
With another chuckle, tinged with a hint of surprise, Spencer takes more of his own weight. "But can we go to my bedroom? I really don't want to have sex with you for the first time on the hallway carpet."
Something tickles at the back of Aaron's throat. When he opens his mouth, a laugh surprises them both.
Together they clear books from the bed, a low affair covered with a pattern suggestive of the Middle East, and Spencer pulls him in after turning back off the lamp.
"I thought you were afraid of the dark," Aaron murmurs, between kisses that are polite once more. They have time, enough, and he helps Spencer pull his undershirt over his head. Shadow diminishes the scars Foyet left. Spencer's fingers ghost over them, catalogue them, move on to the rest of Aaron Hotchner.
"I am," Spencer responds with a snort. "I'm not going to let that fear define me."
If Aaron feels the swell of scars lumping the flesh over Spencer's back, he spares only a moment for fury at Peter Gabriel. Not now. He will have time for his fury tomorrow.
Spencer backs into the mattress, sitting and pulling Aaron with him. He bumps his chin against Aaron's until he turns.
This kiss is less polite. The mouth moving beneath his is firm, insistent, issuing protests if Aaron moves too far away.
Together they discover that while Spencer does like to be held down-a hard grip to his shoulder sparks a most intense result-he cannot have Aaron hold his left hand. There is no, Stop, or Don't, but Spencer tenses in a different way when Aaron presses the back of his left wrist into the pillow above his head.
"Shh," he says around the apologies. "Hold the headboard, or the sheet. Touch me. We're fine." Until the tension melts back into the aching almost-fight.
Every caress is a promise. I'm here, I'm not leaving, I will never let you go.
Spencer solves one problem by tucking his left hand under the pillow behind his head, and bites his lip when Aaron rises up, one hand pinning Spencer's right, his body forestalling movement from strong thighs. "Do you want this?"
A nod is the only response.
There is no teasing, only a thrust of a single finger.
Aaron's cock bobs, hard against his abdomen. He shifts for a better angle. With a careful searching he finds that bump of tissue, sensitive beneath his finger as he strokes.
A silent cry opens Spencer's mouth. He arcs back against the pillows, hips jerking, his knees bending as his body tries to twist farther into Aaron's touch.
Aaron fills that mouth, his tongue demanding, ravishing. He loves the breathless pants through Spencer's nose. He starts to grind against the angularity beneath him..
When he crooks his finger again, a high sound hums through Aaron's mouth. He swallows the cry, and pulls back to see Spencer's eyes, open, all pupil. "More," comes the low, hungry murmur.
Thus Aaron discovers a new want.
I want to know the joy of how you whisper More, now, again, for the rest of my life.
"Not yet," he whispers, because whispers are all that fit in this time and place. "I'm not ready to find out if pain is part of this equation."
Lips pressed in disappointment, Spencer watches him, watches the glint Aaron knows his eyes cast. "Let's-"
And because with this, at least, he is starting to feel safe, he tries the bite-kiss from his dream. Teeth scraping, clashing, until Spencer's mouth is his. When he catches Spencer's lower lip between his teeth and pulls, he knows he was right: another low call sounds, and Spencer turns his head to increase the pull of flesh.
Sweat is a slickness between them. The movements of Aaron's hips grow erratic, and he releases Spencer's hand to attend to both their cocks, twists his finger again in distraction.
Spencer reaches after him, grips his wrist and guides him to pin Spencer again.
Alright.
He drops all the weight of his body over Spencer, not moving the hand holding Spencer's wrist or the finger pressing inside, Spencer cannot move at all, the weight will be such that his chest will barely expand enough for breath.
"Aaron, Aaron, Aaron," come the pants, short, airless. Dazed eyes seek his, and Aaron takes his mouth again, pressing down, unrelenting.
His body shudders, once, twice, and he comes in white streaks over Spencer's chest.
Wanting to close his eyes, Aaron adds a second finger, no warning. The shock is enough for that pleasure-pain mask to flash across Spencer's face, the pleasure-pain of Aaron's dream, and Spencer is coming, streaks that mingle with Aaron's, and they fall together in a sated heap.