Hotch had Reid spread out on his back, his wrists bound together and then tied against the headboard – he'd studied for ages the bindings that allowed for a quick release, too worried about binding Reid like this without ensuring he'd be able to get free as fast as possible. Reid was breathless, his stomach muscles fluttering and twitching as Hotch ground himself slowly up against him, burying himself as deeply in Reid as he could from the angle.

Reid preferred to take it on his hands and knees, and Hotch had thought at the beginning that it was just because of the angle, but that wasn't the only element – Reid felt more powerless on his back, less able to get away, and as Hotch looked down at him, he squirmed, letting out soft sounds now and then.

"Can I— Can I tell you…" He started, his cheeks bright red, and Hotch dragged his fingers over both of Reid's nipples – they weren't as sensitive as Hotch would have guessed, with how sensitive the rest of him was, but they were sensitive enough that when he took both between thumb and forefinger and rolled, Reid's eyes fluttered shut and his mouth opened in a silent moan.

"Please, tell me," Hotch said mildly, teasing, and then he slid one hand up and wrapped it loosely around his throat, squeezing. Reid immediately relaxed, flattening out on the bed and pressing his neck up into Hotch's hand, as if a chokehold was some sort of ecstasy that was hard to come by – and admittedly, in Hotch's case, it was, because he rarely indulged this specific kink of Reid's.

"You'll laugh," Reid said.

"Will I?" Hotch asked, tilting his head and squeezing tighter, feeling Reid's Adam's apple jump under his palm, watching him inhale, loving the slight struggle he had with the next one. "Would you like that, Spencer? If I laughed at you?" Reid's cock, which was hard between their bellies and wet at the head, gave a twitch of interest, followed by a minute thrust of his hips, trying to get more friction. With a cock ring at the base of him, wrapped around his balls, Reid couldn't possibly come, but he was desperate to, Hotch could see.

"I wish you could do it…" He kept talking, mumbled something Hotch couldn't make out, and Hotch leaned in, biting down at the juncture of Reid's neck and shoulder and feeling the way he arched into Hotch's mouth, crying out. Hotch was still rocking into him, easy, slow, and Reid said, "Please."

"Please what, Spence? What do you want me to do to you, huh?"

Reid's ass was so red it could stop traffic, and when Hotch pressed on the flesh, where his hand had smacked down again and again, until Reid had come the first time over his lap, Reid whimpered and gasped, shoving up and into him.

"Wish you could do it…" Again, a whisper.

"I can't hear you."

"Without a condom," Reid choked out, like it was humiliating, and Hotch stared down at him, surprised. He flattered himself to believe that he understood Reid better than a lot of people did, than most people did – he tried to see things from Reid's perspective where possible, but where it wasn't, he just tried to listen to what Reid felt was important, what he was passionate about, what he hated.

Usually, Reid was usually particular about mess. In his apartment, everything was perfectly in its place, organised at particular angles, books and papers set in alphabetical or numerical order – although Reid had confessed to Hotch himself that given his memory, he could place his books in any order he liked and still find them easily, which was why he refrained from re-ordering anything in Hotch's own home. When he and Hotch had sex, Reid liked the sheets changed immediately afterward, but he changed their sheets every night anyway – skin particles and dust mites, just the thought of them, unsettled him, and he was very sensitive to the smell and texture of sweat on his clothes and sheets.

There were some textures he liked, though. Hotch knew that he enjoyed the sensation of massage oil on his skin, even though the perfumed ones made him wrinkle his nose and pull away, and when Reid came and Hotch rubbed it into his belly, Reid always cried out and squirmed and spread his legs.

Barebacking was something different.

"That turns you on?"

Reid nodded, swallowing, his eyes wide, his lips parted. "Yeah, yeah, just— I just think there's something really exciting about the idea of you… inside me, because I know it's messy, and wet, but just the idea of you leaving something in me, and I'd be able to— I'd be able to feel like, and I wouldn't be able to hide it, and it'd be…" Reid trailed off, obviously embarrassed, and Hotch leaned in to kiss him.

The fact that something excited Reid was usually enough to draw Hotch in – Reid's enthusiasm, his excitement, over anything as basic as Hotch looming over him was exhilarating, let alone the way Reid responded in response to a little humiliation or a hard slap to his backside. And, as much as it thrilled Hotch to leave bites all over him, to bruise his hips, to leave his mark on him, it was nothing compared to watching the way Reid stopped and lingered in front of his mirrors sometimes, pressing on the marks, shivering.

More than once, on the jet home after a very difficult day, or when something was making him anxious, Hotch had noticed him subtly pressing down on one of his own hips, pushing on one of the bruises Hotch knew he'd left there, and then he'd relax, just slightly.

That was what this was, Hotch supposed – another mark of possession, another mark on Reid that Hotch had owned him, that Hotch had dominated him. Perhaps it would bother him, if Reid wasn't just as comfortable playing the other role, if Reid wasn't capable of taking Hotch by the hair and painstakingly turning him to putty. He thought about it, about what it would feel like to come inside Reid, to feel the wet heat he'd leave behind, pull back and see it drip out of him, slide down his thighs.

Hotch thrust his hips harder, and Reid shuddered, closing his eyes and holding tightly to the rope binding his wrists. "Please," Reid whispered.

"Please?" Hotch repeated, gripping tightly at Reid's hips and dragging them up slightly, changing the angle enough that Reid howled, writhing in his place. "Please what?"

"Please, let me come," Reid whimpered, and Hotch laughed, leaning in and dragging his teeth down the flat plane of Reid's sternum, dragging his tongue over one of Reid's nipples and then blowing on it, watching the sudden, sharp cold make Reid yelp. "Aaron, Aaron, please, please—"

"I don't think you've earned it yet," Hotch said in a sweet, low voice, even as he wrapped his hand around Reid's cock, and Reid shouted, his back bowing off the bed, the words almost entirely incoherent, although one very nearly sounded like Please. "You disagree?"

"Please," Reid said raggedly, heaving in a sharp gasp, dragging at his binds, trying to lurch up to kiss him, even as he wrapped his legs as tightly around Hotch as he could, locking his ankles at the small of Hotch's back to try to pull him closer. "Please, Aaron, I can't, I can't, I need—"

"Let me decide what you need," Hotch said softly, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the side of Reid's cheek, another to the side of his neck. "You trust me, don't you, Spence? You trust that I know what you need?"

The expression on Reid's face was one Hotch had seen before, his eyes huge, eyebrows raised, looking as if he was hanging on Hotch's every word – an expression of complete and utter trust, that he was giving himself over to Hotch. He inhaled, took in a small gasp of air, but then he nodded his head, and Hotch rewarded him with a kiss. Reid sighed blissfully into his mouth, and when Hotch twisted the hand he had on his cock, he whimpered – but didn't beg.

"Beautiful," Hotch said, and Reid squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "Colour?"

He didn't know how comfortable he'd feel doing this, if they didn't have the traffic light system Reid had suggested. Hotch had heard of safewords for this sort of play, but Reid had made a face when he'd suggested it, had started rattling off safeword suggestions and ruling them out in the same breath, citing linguistic elements that made a word easier or harder to say through a gag – the fact that Hotch told him he had no intention of using a gag, at any time, had done very little to persuade him. Once he'd broken down the stream of logic, Reid had admitted, squirming, that safewords ruined it – a traffic light system was a compromise. Reid had been reluctant, initially, but now? Now, he was more than enthusiastic.

"Green," Reid gasped out. "Green, green…"

He didn't make much sound as Hotch kept dragging his hands over Reid's chest, his hips, leaving bites and sucking lurid marks into the skin, only making a noise when the stimulation was particularly strong – it was only when Hotch pressed the button on the cock ring, setting it to vibrate while he kept his other hand wrapped wet around Reid's prick, that Reid started to lose control.

"Oh my God," he cried out, his breathing heavy, his chest rapidly rising and falling, and he dragged and pulled at the ropes. Gasping as he tried to break free, his cock jerked in Hotch's hand, and he could feel the vibration work its way through Reid's shaft, taking him to pieces. "Aaron, Aaron, please, please—"

"Not yet," Hotch murmured, and Reid sobbed. The tears were hot on his cheeks, streaming down, and Hotch inhaled, feeling his lips curve into a slight smile.

"Please, please, let me come, please, Hotch—"

"Nearly," Hotch murmured, kissing the side of Reid's jaw. "Nearly."

"Please, Aaron, I'll die, I'll die, I need to come, I need to—" The next sob was ragged, and something about it made Hotch's stomach suddenly twist.

"Colour?"

"Green, green, green," Reid gasped out. "But please, Aaron, please, let me, let me—"

"Sure? You can't last any longer?"

Reid sobbed. "I can, but I don't want to, please, Aaron, please, let me—" -go, let me go, please—

The image of Reid bound in a chair, sobbing, begging for his life, bloody and shaking, terrified.

There was a sinking feeling inside him, heavy and bitter-tasting, nausea hitting him with the force of a freight train, and he was rapid about the release on the cockring and the bindings both, feeling how Reid clenched around him when he came. It was messy, explosive, shooting up between their chests, but Hotch almost didn't notice as he gathered Reid up in his arms, dragging the rope from around his wrists.

Reid was gasping, his fingers twitching as he fisted them in the front of Hotch's shirt, but he was grinding himself down on Hotch's cock as he did, burying his face in Hotch's neck, and Hotch wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly.

Reid was shaking, and Hotch held him as tightly as he dared, trying to swallow down the sickening sensation inside him and focus on Reid. It took him a while to calm down, to go still and quiet, and then Reid shifted, trying to pull himself off of Hotch's cock. He pulled the condom free, tying it off, but then he looked at Hotch.

"Did you…?"

"No," Hotch said.

"Oh, sorry," Reid said, reaching for him, but Hotch caught his wrist, shaking his head.

"No."

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," Hotch murmured.

"No, you're not," Reid said, and he stood up, tossing the condom aside and reaching for the washcloth at the side of the bed, wiping Hotch down quickly, carefully. Hotch would normally insist on doing it, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to move, frozen in his place as Reid carefully wiped him down and wiped himself down before reaching for a blanket. "Turn around, Hotch. Now, back against the headboard."

Reid was guiding him as he went, and Hotch sat back against the pillows as Reid stacked them up.

"I'm fine," he said lowly.

"No, you're not fine," Reid replied again, reaching up and touching his face. "You're— you're shut down." He wrapped the blanket more around Hotch's shoulders, made to pull away, but Hotch reached for him, grasping at his hand and pulling him back. Reid didn't make him ask: he climbed into Hotch's lap immediately, wrapping his arms around Hotch's neck and letting Hotch rest his own hands on his lower back. "What's wrong? Was it something I did? I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Stop talking," Hotch said, and Reid sighed, but he leaned into him, rested his cheek against Hotch's shoulder and kept curled up tightly in Hotch's arms. Hotch closed his eyes, focusing on Reid's weight against his chest, on Reid's heartbeat. Reid was here, alive, and he trusted Hotch – he trusted Hotch wouldn't hurt him, and Hotch wouldn't, he would never.

He didn't manage to sleep, even to doze, and it must have been fifteen or twenty minutes when Reid tried to extricate himself from Hotch's arms.

"Don't," Hotch said.

"After a spike in adrenaline or endorphins, there's a period afterward where we can feel depleted or depressed," Reid said softly, reaching up and stroking his cheeks, his hair. "In the BDSM communities they refer to something as a drop which is characterised by feelings of guilt, numbness, and self-loathing, especially in the submissive partner, but it's not unheard of in the dominant. I need to get you a drink of water, and I need to get you something to eat."

"It's not that," Hotch said.

"Well, I'm hungry," Reid said, and it would have been convincing if it weren't for how he tried to tug Hotch up at the same time, the desperation in his voice. Hotch let Reid pull him up, pulled on Reid's heavier robe, which actually fit Hotch perfectly, and Reid swam in, but Reid enjoyed that, when it was cold, he said.

Reid didn't let go of his hand as he pulled Hotch into the kitchen, pushing him gently back to lean against the counter as he leaned past him, rifling through the cupboard for some Graham crackers. "Hotch."

"Spencer."

"We both know what a trigger is."

"Don't," Hotch said. "Please."

"We don't have to do that again," Reid said, spreading peanut butter on a cracker. "The, um, the bondage, or the vibrator, the—"

"It was the way you… begged," Hotch said. "The— the tone you…" He put his hand up, his hand over his mouth at the sudden wave of nausea, and he swallowed hard.

Reid turned to look at him, his face falling, and he let Hotch pull him close, falling against Hotch's chest. "I'm really sorry," he said softly. "Is that why you asked me twice?"

Hotch didn't say anything, but when Reid pressed a glass of water into his hand, he reluctantly took it, taking a few sips. They calmed the roiling discomfort in his stomach some, and he set the glass down again on the counter, keeping his other arm around Reid's waist.

"I'm okay," Reid murmured against his chest. "I'm safe. You didn't hurt me – if you did, if I was really struggling, I'd have said red. I didn't say red. I think, um— was it the idea that you were forcing me? Was that what did it? Because you weren't forcing me, I trust you, I like it when you push me to my limi—"

"Please, Spencer," Hotch said. "I won't tell you again."

Reid sighed, looking defeated, but then he held up the cracker. "Eat this."

"Let's— Let's just get takeout," Hotch said.

"I'm sorry," Reid said again.

"Don't be sorry," Hotch murmured. "It's not your fault."

"It's not yours, either," Reid said softly.

"Do you— Do you even have any takeout menus?"

Reid looked up at him for a moment, smiling sheepishly, and then he reached up, tapping the side of his own temple with two fingers. Hotch laughed, softly, disbelievingly. "I have a selection," Reid said softly. "What are you in the mood for?"

Hotch leaned in, pressing his lips to Reid's for a moment, and then he pulled back. "You're really going to recite me a menu from memory?"

"I can write it down, if you want."

"I love you, you know," Hotch said softly.

"Over takeout? Wow. I would have broken that out way quicker if I'd known," Reid murmured. "Chinese, Italian…? There's a Thai place around the corner that's really good."

"Thai sounds good," Hotch said quietly, and he didn't latch onto Reid avoiding a reply.

It was Reid that got dressed to go downstairs and pick their food up from the desk downstairs, and Hotch sat down on the couch, having already pulled Reid's television out of the drawer he kept it in, usually unplugged and away from anything else. Hotch still felt slightly tender, low, but he didn't feel as sick and numb as he had a few minutes ago, and the water really had helped - and now, he was hungry, genuinely hungry.

He was sat back on the couch, and Reid leaned over him, wrapping an arm around his neck and resting his chin on top of Hotch's head. "Hey, Aaron," he said softly.

"Yes, Spencer?"

"I, um. I think I love you too."

"You think?"

"I have a strong theory," Reid murmured.

"Not proven yet, huh?"

"Not quite yet. But a scientific theory isn't really something that can be proven or disproven, but instead a system of ideas or way of thinking about them intended to—"

"Is this your way of telling me you prefer your noodles cold?"

"I do," Reid murmured. "No thought about it."

Hotch smiled, reaching up and touching his shoulder, his arm. His tone was teasing as he said: "The noodles?"

"I'll be right back," Reid murmured after a breathless laugh, and kissed the back of Hotch's neck before he slipped away.