A/N: Hello All! Thanks for stopping by to see what I've done to take, what was going to be a one-shot, and potentially turn it into a little bit of a multi-chapter story. This story will very soon contain: graphic violence, sex, and possibly, language. If you made it through the first part of this you'll be just fine, I am sure. This is bound to be very angsty, sexy, bloody, and a whole lot of fun…or at least I hope so. If at anytime I, or you, dear readers, feel that I have gone AU-crackfic-crazy, I reserve the right to delete the adjoining chapters and revert this story back to a completed one-shot. So far, I have the next two chapters in the works so it's looking promising. Also, regarding updates, I am now gainfully employed full-time so that means writing will not be nearly as consistent as it was for say, 'Bait.' If that bothers you I suggest you wait until I get a few chapters ahead. That's about all I can think of to say or warn you about. Again, just as a courtesy to me, if you do find something wrong/offensive/erroneous/or 'off', please give me the chance to correct it or for us to resolve it before involving other parties. Take that as you will and please enjoy the following work.

The feeling of warm exposed skin jolted Spencer awake. He'd been turning in his sleep trying to find a comfortable place to settle where he wouldn't be aggravating the cuts, welts, or bruises on his skin. Spencer turned aware of the sleeping presence next to him. He sat up slowly, waiting for Aaron to stir. When Aaron Hotchner remained asleep, Spencer set his feet to the cold hardwood floor and walked toward the doorway and out into the hall bathroom. Spencer rationalized it as not wanting to wake Hotch but in truth he didn't want to be caught at what was really on his mind.

Spencer entered the bathroom without turning on the light, closed the door but did not lock or shut it tightly behind him. He closed his eyes tightly and flicked the light on, slowly he opened his eyes all the while preparing himself see to his reflection. He was bracing himself for the wave of panic to overtake him. It didn't take the power that his memory held to have the image of himself, fresh from Marshall Parrish, readily at hand. The old memories didn't overwhelm him once caught sight of himself in the mirror.

The first thing that he focused on was the space just below his collarbone and the deep scratches that had stopped bleeding and were now beginning to scab over. The dried blood made it difficult to decipher – he imagined one of his colleagues taking in the sight and trying to figure out the evidence littered all over his lithe form – he knew what it said though. He smiled, fascinated, and ran his fingers over the wound. As his right hand caressed the dried blood on his chest his eyes caught sight of the marred flesh on his forearm – deep black and blue finger prints that wrapped all the way around his arm with the thumb dead center of the inside of his arm.

Spencer toyed with the flecks of dried blood on his chest while staring intently at the bruise on the inside of his forearm. The wound would be covered easily by a suit jacket or long-sleeved shirt. Reid had been afraid of the involuntary recall of those old painful memories but instead he heard Aaron Hotchner's threatening tone in his ear, the feel of the firm mattress beneath him as he squirmed, rubbed, and did anything else that might help relieve his arousal, and the cool blade of the razor.

Spencer shivered at the memory of the straight-razor running down his back, the clean feeling as it cut through his skin, the burning sting that sent a white-hot jolt through his entire body. Spencer turned and angled the mirror on the medicine cabinet so he could still see his reflection with his back to the mirror. The feeling of distance and cool fixation washed over him, a small remnant of the peace he had felt so many hours ago. A weak smile graced his lips as he took it all in; the black and blue marks that stopped and started in elongated strokes, the cuts that acted as dried reddened highlights, and the handprints, bruises, and other marks, all seen from a different perspective.

It was the first time that Spencer had looked at a body in such a state and not felt overwhelmed with sadness and regret for not being able to intervene, prevent, or admittedly, to save.

Spencer was lost in the moment; his mind re-playing the events of the night slowly as his eyes went over each bruise, each cut, with loving detail. With the amount of endorphins and dopamine still running through his genius brain, Reid could not manage the sadness that he knew was inevitable. Whatever that was that had Hotch wrapping his hands around Reid, pulling him to bed, and begging to say; that would fade much faster than these reminders of the night.

Reid tried to think back to his words with Aaron after the… – Reid snickered to himself as he found himself thinking in the practitioners lingo – the 'scene' had come to an end. He knew he wanted Aaron. He could remember begging for Aaron as he slipped from his own body into that peaceful remoteness. Aaron had been kind to him afterwards. Reid had decided upon Hotch because he knew that he would care for him when Reid was physically unable to do so for himself. Aaron may mask it well with his inscrutable demeanor and daunting presence but everything about him led to the conclusion that he was a caregiver at heart. As the father, leader, provider, and sage; he'd made a few missteps and he tortured himself endlessly for it. Aaron Hotcher was not the kind of man to neglect responsibility.

It was all of these reasons and more that Reid ruefully chalked all of their physical intimacy up to some sort of transference, guilt, regret, or obligation…or maybe all of the above. Reid knew he couldn't expect….well, an of it, really. The marks Spencer craved would fade in a few weeks time, longer if he withheld or neglected certain vitamins and minerals. He and Hotch would resume they're well-defined roles at work and at home….well, at home wouldn't matter anymore than it had before. Reid would continue to take his grievances to the sympathetic JJ and Hotch…well, Hotch would be Hotch. His home-life, now that there wasn't a psychotic killer after him, would cease to be a concern of anyone at the Bureau…that included Reid, right?

Reid still stared down at his wrist, lost in thought and still caught by how easily accessible that detached state of being seemed to him, especially when he re-applied stress to his wounds.

Maybe it was the need for more sleep but Reid fought the urge to let his eyes roll back into his head and slip right back into that distant state of being. In Reid's mind's-eye he could see those moments playing out differently; Hotch wouldn't have kept his distance. He could have taken Reid completely unprepared, Reid thought, and the pain wouldn't have hit him until now. He could have lived with that considering the chances that it would ever happen again, gentle or rough, were ridiculously miniscule.

Another thing Reid knew for certain was that he could not mention this to anyone; telling his sponsor would only cause him unnecessary grief in justifying his actions as not those of an addict seeking yet another fix, obviously his coworkers had to remain in the dark, JJ and Morgan especially, but he laughed to himself when he considered that Garcia might be the one encouraging one of the bunch – the idea of her booking them the next flight to her hometown for the infamous September street faire was almost too much to take. Reid stifled his more earnest laughter for fear of waking Hotch. Reid knew if he could work himself around to laughter that it probably wasn't too soon to consider his departure either.

When Reid had returned to the bedroom, he looked onto Hotch's sleeping form with tinge of regret. Reid wished that he had the confidence, the misguided belief, that the guilt that Hotch felt for giving into Reid's request was somehow transferrable to an actual romantic relationship – not going to happen.

Reid gathered what he could without making too much noise and prepared to leave the apartment. Sure, he'd forgotten a few things but they weren't unique enough that they couldn't be replaced of made do without.

Reid looked down at his wrist before covering it and buttoning his cuff. That dark thumb print would fade but for now it was nice to imagine that Hotch still had him in his grasp.

#-#-#-#-#-#

6 AM came all too quickly in Dr. Spencer Reid's opinion. The added time it took to shower and dress given his state of exhaustion, and navigating and covering the bruises, had Reid already running late to catch his usual train into the city.

Once Reid had arrived at the office it was even worse; he was dropping things left and right, his badge didn't want to scan, and there was an inexplicable metal object that sent him through the metal detector and several wand-scans before he was allowed to continue to his ultimate destination – the coffee kiosk.

Thankfully, the transaction for the much-needed caffeine went smoothly. The coffee, for once, was perfect. Usually he resorted to making his own from the office kitchen but today he couldn't be bothered. As Reid felt himself get swept up in the tension of what was starting out to be a banner day, he paused and looked down at the cup holding his coffee, the hand, and more importantly the arm holding his coffee. The arm that had Hotch's deep purple thumbprint pressed into it. Reid took a deep breath as he fixated on the spot. He might as well have been naked for the level of self-consciousness he felt over his souvenirs from that evening. He tried to keep the dull ache he felt throughout his body out of his gait but it seemed impossible.

Just then Reid encountered a whole new complication to his day; up walked Derek Morgan and Aaron Hotcher engaged in light conversation and headed in his direction. Reid tried to keep his distance ahead of them but Morgan gained on him quickly, "What, Pretty Boy? No 'good morning'? Not even some long piece of useless information to share that you learned over our all-too-short time off?"

Reid fought the urge to scream when Morgan slung his arm heavily onto Reid's shoulders. Morgan felt him bristle under his touch, "Ah! Someone had a good night. Hot girl? Hot boy? Jury still out on that one, Reid?"

Reid turned to glare at Morgan as he continued in the direction that Morgan was now guiding him, through the glass door that lead to their workspaces. Before he and Morgan got any closer to their desks, and the ears of their coworkers, Reid mumbled just loud enough for Morgan to hear, "Why are you so drawn to the term 'pretty 'and why are you so fixated on my hidden sexual orientation…I do not think you'd need to be in the BAU to wonder if maybe there is something Derek Morgan wants to reveal?"

Morgan 's face went from a playfully triumphant smile to a look of shock and possible embarrassment. Reid smiled to himself as Morgan quickly removed his arm and stalked back to his desk, still searching for a good retort. It doesn't get much more intimidating than goading an already emotional, and armed, Aaron Hotchner, Reid thought. Morgan's little playful jabs and mocking needed to stop and putting Derek Morgan in his place was the least daunting thing he'd could think of.

Hotch had observed Reid and Morgan's exchange from a distance. Aaron had been picking at himself since he awakened and found Reid gone; what could he have done differently? Did Reid hate him now? Would Reid request a transfer? Would Reid avoid him entirely? Would Reid ask him to do that again?

The last idea Hotch knew he had to chalk up to fantasy, wild ridiculous never-gonna-happen kind of fantasy. Hotch wished he could say that he'd never considered what Reid had asked of him, he desperately wanted to say that seeing Reid laying in his bed, beaten, tear-stained, and overwhelmed with arousal from it all, was a lot less of an appealing idea than it actually was.

It should have come as no surprise to Hotch that Reid's analysis during their time together was spot on. Well, the bit about his father had been a bit over-blown but not by much. Reid had not been off-center one bit about seeing himself slipping into that role. Aaron could never, would never, raise a hand to Jack and that was something he never doubted about himself but the reality was that keeping his temper and mood in check was a constant battle at work and Reid was more-often-than-not the one who put Hotch's control to the test.

As Hotch settled behind his desk and put his paperwork to rights, he allowed his mind to entertain the possibilities of Reid's consent the other night. For just a moment, Hotch let his mind to drift back to the reddened and struggling Reid, handcuffed and secured, on his bed. He should have drug it out some. He should have tested Reid, to have seen how far Hotch could transgress before the genius would put an end to things.

Aaron was ripped from his thoughts when he saw Morgan sling a casual arm around Reid's shoulder. Simultaneously, while in a state of abject panic, Hotch attempted to talk himself out of the idea that maybe some of that panic was masking jealousy at someone, anyone, being that close to Reid. Aaron's mind could barely get that sentence to its conclusion before another voice interrupted, chastising Hotch, 'don't be ridiculous, Reid's body is like your own tell-tale heart, the reminder that only you can see but feel that everyone must be aware of. Besides, no way you'd ever be jealous of Morgan.' Nonetheless, Aaron felt his stomach lurch when he watched Reid turn to Morgan, his face pensive with annoyance, and then there it was-the look – the look that Spencer had fixed on him when Hotch had hesitated, hovering over Reid with that straight-razor.

Aaron berated himself for not considering the situation more fulsomely when they'd first discussed the subject. Yes, sure. It was true that the discussion was more foreplay and boundary setting than the questioning of it actually being done. At least looking back on the situation, it seemed more like an eventuality than anything up for debate. He could see Reid kneeling at his feet, reeling from the blow he'd just dealt him, and then to see him sitting down there, at his desk, flesh and blood; flesh that Aaron had marked in many varieties guaranteed to leave a lasting mark, and blood, the blood that still stained his sheets and that he'd washed from under his nails this morning. Yet there he was, Spencer Reid, just a few hundred feet away, and nothing….there was nothing.

#-#-#-#-#-#-#

"'Spence," A soft hand rubbed at Dr. Reid's back. Reid bristled but tried to mask his pain by plastering his face with his best impression of earnest readiness. "'Spence, are you okay?"

"Is there something you wanted to ask me?" Reid sighed when it came out more tersely than he had intended.

"Yes, sorry," JJ did her best at feigning the banishment of concern from her face, "Did you get a chance to look at those maps I'd sent you before we left on the last case."

Reid nodded. He hadn't even remembered that he had maps to review or a possible consultation or geographic profile or whatever this was going to be.

"Great! Thank you so much. I have a meeting with Hotch at ten, can I pull you into this meeting to share some of your ideas? Hotch isn't too keen on allocating physical resources to this case and I think what you'd have to say, with your expertise," JJ handed Reid, what he assumed was, printouts from the files JJ had emailed him a week ago, that he'd never reviewed before getting on the jet.

Reid interrupted, "JJ, I don't think I can…"

But JJ wouldn't let him even begin to back out of it. "Spence, please. I know that geographic profiling is more of your area of expertise but take a look at them again. I really think that, if what I'm seeing is correct, that we've got a really strong probability of success." JJ smiled sweetly at Reid, "Will you please consider coming to the meeting?"

Before Reid could reply JJ began to convince him again, "You know, Hotch really values your opinion, and more than that, if I am really seeing what I think I am; we'll be done, back home, and maybe even have a few days to ourselves." JJ returned her hand to Reid's shoulder, rubbing softly as she lowered her voice and spoke empathetically, "I know the last case is still bothering you. I can't get it out of my mind either."

Reid stood abruptly, his dress-shirt on his skin felt like sandpaper and somehow JJ was hitting all the points he hoped and prayed that she would avoid. He should have been a veritable dictionary of polite, firm, stern, sweet, and, most importantly, compelling words that would have gotten him out of the situation he was about to be thrust into. He should have been but he was no were near close enough to persuade JJ to send in someone else. Anyone else could deliver this information to Hotch. He should have used the angle that it was above his pay-grade. Technically, oh so very technically, Morgan was the one that should negotiate such high-level decisions. Surely, Morgan would be a better fit for the job. The idea of Hotch giving the verbal equivalent of what Reid had received not so long ago made Reid smile, especially after Morgan's treatment this morning.

Reid straightened his shirt, shifted his weight deliberately from foot to foot, and then looked into JJ's troubled visage, "Knee cramp thing - I've been getting them lately." Reid smiled and then sat back down to his work, shifting all of his apparent focus to the various pieces of information JJ had laid out on his desk. JJ smiled, thanked Reid, and headed off in the direction for her own desk for her end of the preparations.