Keep the Suit, Lose the Nickname: A Criminal Minds AU
Part 9: Aftermath of Strange Arrangements
Author: Kuria Dalmatia
Characters/Pairing: Hotch/Reid, Season 1's BAU
Ratings/Warnings: FROA/R (sexual situations, adult content, profanity)

Summary: Three days ago, Hotch had sex with his boss. Not only does he have to deal with that when they all return to the office, but Hotch has to the Team in the aftermath of the events in Tennessee.

TIMELINE: Immediately follows the events in Part 8: Spen-Sir

COMMENTS: See Intro for additional comments, archiving info & disclaimers.

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For the next three days, Aaron vacillated between horror (Oh God, I sexually assaulted my boss on my couch and he's going to fire me!) to giddiness (I had sex with my boss on my couch and he wants to do it again!) to humiliation (The only reason your boss had sex with you on your couch was because you're pathetic and he felt sorry for you.)

He didn't have nightmares about the BAU, just explicit dreams about sliding down Spencer's tight-fitting boxer-briefs and sucking him off while in the middle of his living room. Then there was the dream where he bent Spencer over the back of the couch and fucked him hard until they were both spent. Oh, and the one where a bare-chested Spencer knelt before him and Aaron stroked his cock until he gave his boss a pearl necklace and Spencer came without being touched.

And Aaron's cock did ache because when he woke up from those dreams, he couldn't help but jack off. He masturbated more in the past three days than he could remember in years. The orgasms were all good, leaving him breathless and shaky.

What caught in his mind the most was Spencer's simple statement of: If this is a one time thing, then so be it. If, however, if it is something you would like to continue, I am interested. Chivalrous, of course, because over the last ten months of working closely with Spencer Reid, it was a description that immediately came to mind. Spencer wasn't aloof, just careful with his interactions.

So during the waking hours, Aaron did everything he could not to think about the fact that, well, his boss could also very well become a fuck buddy.

Not that Aaron ever had one. And he didn't want Spencer strictly as the 'go to hand' when things went bad. No. He wanted … He stopped himself.

Compartmentalizing was always one of Aaron's greatest strengths. Therefore, that was what he did with Spencer.

Aaron used the three days off to get caught up on the mundane things, like bills, cleaning and groceries. He was even able to get in two rounds of golf at Little Bennett municipal course. The company during his golf outings was less than stellar; Aaron didn't have a regular golfing partner yet and his schedule really didn't allow him much time to be a course regular. So, he was paired up when he went since the course didn't allow single players to have tee times. When asked what he did for a living, he answered with the vague, "I'm an analyst with the FBI," since the last thing he wanted to do on the links was discuss serial killers.

Regardless, golf was a way for him to relax. It was the serenity he found on the links that he took with him to the office on Tuesday morning, his first day back after the Harringtonville case. The bullpen was quiet, the B and C teams out in the field working serial arson and rapist cases, respectively. Hotch allowed himself a single glance towards Gideon's office, noting the door being closed the blinds drawn. He wondered what Reid had told the other teams, if anything. While the BAU had a rumor mill, it wasn't nearly as active as Hotch had expected.

Still, the second-in-command being on a leave of absence or vacation or however Reid termed it to the rest of the unit …

Hotch mentally shook himself. He couldn't dwell on it. He knew better.

"Please tell me Connick didn't make the coffee this morning," Morgan said as he entered the kitchenette where Hotch was pouring his own cup.

"He's in upstate New York on that arson case," Hotch told him as he held up the carafe. "I made this batch, so no bitching."

"I never bitch about your coffee, Hotch," the other agent shot back. "Hell, yours is the reason we have eight a.m. shadows." He fished out a mug from the cabinet and held it out.

Hotch chuckled as he poured. He was about to make a teasing comment about razors when a silver travel mug was suddenly next to Morgan's ceramic one.

Reid's partially empty mug. Reid's pleased tone as he declared, "Could you top me off, please?"

Hotch could feel the embarrassment burn his cheeks as his mind went straight to the gutter. I'll top you any day of the week. How about in your office in ten minutes?

All the pep talks Hotch gave himself over the past three days, how he would not allow what happened in his apartment—I had sex with my boss on my couch!—to affect his performance, all went out the window.

"Yes, sir," he managed to get out, gaze focused exclusively on the two coffee cups in front of him. It took enormous amount of willpower to keep his hand steady as he filled Reid's mug, watching as the black liquid swirled with the light beige contents. He knew Morgan was teasing Reid about his habit like Morgan did every morning and Reid threw out some odd statistic as usual, but the roar in his ears drowned out the words.

"Thanks," Reid said warmly.

"You're welcome, sir," he replied as he finished pouring the cup. He stepped back, turned and slid the carafe back on to the burner.

"Roundtable at eleven," Reid told them and by the slight squeak of his Chuck Taylors, Hotch knew the man had retreated to his office.

Morgan stayed.

Shit.

Because Morgan was nosey as hell and wouldn't let up until he got the answers he wanted.

When Hotch turned back around, Morgan took a step closer. "You know he won't judge you, right?" Morgan asked, voice pitched low. "What happened in Tennessee … he's not going to hold that against you. Hell, none of us are. You've got to believe that. We got your back."

It was a bit insulting to be told something that obvious, but it was an out Hotch was willing to accept. He still couldn't bring himself to meet the man's eyes. If he did, he knew that Morgan would figure out the source of his embarrassment wasn't necessarily what happened in Tennessee. "I know."

"Good." There was a long pause before Morgan clasped his shoulder. "Look, our AL is coming up in two months. Don't know if you've made any plans or anything, but a friend of mine is offering sick rates at this Jamaican resort he manages. Four-stars. Lots of single ladies in teeny bikinis. Elle's already in."

"Whoa-whoa-whoa," Elle interrupted as she breezed into the kitchenette. Hotch looked up at the sound of her voice and wondered just what the hell she had witnessed. Hopefully, not his reaction to Reid's 'top' comment. She wasn't as nosey as Morgan, but she was far more likely to draw the right conclusions. "You promised me men, Morgan."

"There are men. Men and women. Lots of lovely single people," he clarified as he stepped away from Hotch. "Private beaches and late night dancing and those crazy drinks with umbrellas in them."

"You're getting a kickback on this, aren't you?" Elle asked suspiciously. She fetcher a cup and both men moved so she could get to the coffeemaker. "The more people you get to go along, the bigger your discount."

"Nothing like that, Miss Elle," Morgan waggled a finger at her. "Just saying we all could use some vacay where the most we worry about is what drink to order next."

While Hotch knew his AL was approaching and knew that Reid made the effort that each team was off together at the same time, he hadn't really thought about what he'd be doing. He thought about spending time with his little brother, who was in his final year at Georgetown. Knowing Sean, he would be scoffed at; even being in the same city, the two rarely crossed paths. Still, Hotch struggled to remember the last time he had an honest-to-God vacation that didn't involve him moving to a new place to live.

He glanced over to Morgan. "Do they have golf?"

Morgan's mouth dropped open. "I'm talking about beaches and bikinis and you're thinking about golf?"

"So he likes to swing something else around besides his dick, Morgan," Elle shot back as she stood next to Hotch. Hotch couldn't help but laugh. Elle could be as foul-mouthed as any hardened LEO, but she rarely let it loose in the BAU. She looped her arm through his. "C'mon, Hotch. I've got the website bookmarked."

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The day's roundtable meeting was simply a review of consults they were working on. Maybe because Gideon had been gone for those months after Boston that JJ, Morgan, Elle and Garcia acted as if Gideon not being there was normal. Aside from the embarrassing encounter in the kitchen that morning, Hotch skillfully avoided any one-on-one conversations with his boss.

He knew it was only a matter of time when Elle and Morgan were going to call him on it, for them to realize it was something more than Gideon's verbal attack in Tennessee that made Hotch flustered around the unit chief.

Got to get over it, he scolded himself.

Reid certainly acted like nothing untoward had happened between them. Then again, Reid's poker face was legendary within the BAU. Reid only allowed people to see what he wanted them to see.

Sighing inwardly, Hotch logged of his laptop and began packing up for the day. It was almost six, and while the BAU really didn't have set office hours, most people called it quits at five-thirty. Elle was already gone and Morgan was probably lurking in Garcia's lair like he usually did before he headed home. Hotch decided to get a run in at the Bureau's facilities before he headed back to his apartment. Exercise always helped him focus.

The men's room wasn't particularly crowded, so Hotch went directly to his personal locker. He spun through the combination for his padlock, 11-6-8. It was the modified release date of his favorite Beatles album, and also a pattern of numbers that it would be difficult to guess. After all, most people chose mundane things like birthdays and anniversaries. The release date of an album? Not so much.

The lock clicked open and he swung open the door. When Hotch looked inside, he was stunned to see a pair of neatly folded gray sweatpants in a dry cleaning bag and sitting on top of his running shoes.

Hotch only owned one pair of heather gray pants.

The pair that he'd given Reid four nights ago.

The night that, You're not the only one with fantasies, Aaron, was scorched in his mind.

Hotch's mouth went dry.

He closed the locker door. He put the padlock back on.

He gathered up his things and went back to the office, knowing that Reid always worked until at least seven on the first day back after stand-downs. The bullpen was deserted when he arrived, but Reid was still there. The chief's door was open as were his blinds.

Aaron wasn't sure what possessed him to march up the ramp and enter Reid's office without knocking or even asking permission. He closed the door, dropped his briefcase by it, crossed his arms over his chest, and demanded, "How the hell did you know my locker combination?"

Reid looked up from the mess of paperwork around him and then blinked slowly. He was wearing his glasses, which he must have put on after everyone left for the day. Hotch would never classify Reid as being vain, but he did know the chief rarely wore his glasses in public. Reid set his pen down and leaned back in his chair.

"It takes an average twelve seconds to crack a standard combination padlock," the chief replied.

Whatever he was expecting Reid to say, it certainly wasn't that. Aaron stared. "Twelve seconds."

"It's a basic recovery method," Reid explained light-heartedly. "Now, I could have used a straight edge razor, aluminum can, a Sharpie marker, and scissor to make a shim, but usually the twelve-second method works especially with older locks. Actually … I can do it in about eight." He grinned a little. "I can do the math in my head." Then, his expression turned serious as did his tone. "I apologize for violating your personal space, but I wasn't sure how else to, well, return your clothing without drawing too much attention." He shrugged. "Handing them to you in the bullpen was out of the question."

For a moment, Aaron glowered. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation although, "The execution of your plan is unnerving."

"I do apologize," he said earnestly. "It wasn't meant to embarrass or unsettle you."

Aaron was forced to look away, because he could see the honesty as well as the regret in Reid's face, even at this distance. "I … know." He frowned. "It's just that …" He wasn't sure he could explain, so he fell silent.

"Given what we do, having an article of clothing show up unexpectedly in what you perceived as a secure location isn't the best way to end the day. Or start it. Or anytime, really, for that matter."

There was something in Reid's tone that washed away Aaron's anger over the padlock and uncertainty about their professional relationship. Reid was always so upfront about possible triggers in their line of work, perhaps so that they would be able to recognize them for what they were: a byproduct of the constant exposure to the worst of the worst.

It was that which made him tease, "Actually, I was going to say you were showing off."

Reid snorted with amusement. "So, you're not going to arrest me for breaking and entering?"

"I'll let you off with a warning this time."

"Thank you kindly, Agent."

"Don't let it happen again," Aaron warned, using his best authoritative voice.

"I believe I have learned my lesson."

"Good."

There were a few beats of silence before both of them snickered a little. "Have a good evening, Aaron."

"You're not heading out?"

"Budget reports," Reid answered as he gestured to the file on his desk. "Justifying the use of a private jet usually requires an avalanche of numbers." He picked up his pen. "Some days, I think I should get a degree in accounting and pass the CPA exam so I don't have keep answering, 'Are you sure these numbers are right?' from the panel."

"Do you need help?" he asked, surprising himself with making the offer. From angry to helpful in two seconds, he thought ruefully. You have it so bad for him. He briefly wondered if budgeting was something that Gideon usually did. Aaron mentally shook himself; Gideon wouldn't stoop to do something as mundane.

The chief's smile grew warm and appreciative although he declined with, "Thank you, but no. I'm almost done anyway."

"Good night, sir."

They stared at each other.

Aaron could almost hear the correction Spen-sir. He swallowed hard and tried to sound normal as he said, "See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, then."

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