Chapter 2 – Discombobulated

A few weeks later . . .

Hotch was sitting in a meeting with his team, sitting and talking about the latest group of victims, when he felt Spencer's leg against his own. Just a touch, just a brief, seemingly arbitrary touch—except for the very real fact that it's not, not anything of the sort, really.

And that's all it takes, all it takes to send him back to his apartment, to the memory of their previous night. He can feel the hand shaped bruise on his right side, just under his ribs, from where Spencer pushed him down on the floor and held him down as he attacked his spine with his mouth.

The very real sensation of another man's weight holding him down, keeping him stationary as a wet mouth trailed up and down against the length of his back, his body tense as he remembered the last time he had been held down in this very apartment.

"Sh," Spencer's mouth had whispered against his neck, sending chills through him, as he had realised that his fears had been a little more obvious that he would have preferred.

That has nothing to do with why he's still allowing Reid—Spencer—to be here, to do things like this to his body. He still hasn't consented, not verbally. He still hasn't offered to do anything of the sort in return to Spencer, but it doesn't actually seem to matter.

At least, not to Spencer.

He shakes his head as he comes out of the memory, trying to focus on the information that Dave is giving, trying to focus on something other than the feel of Spencer's warm hand sliding down his thigh in an approximation of the way it had slid the previous night. And he'd really like to tell Spencer off for distracting him, he'd really like to shout at him and draw attention to his completely inappropriate action here in the fucking office, but mostly he'd really like Spencer to get down on his knees and suck him down again, their audience be damned.

And fuck, he can remember Spencer's voice, urging him to spread his legs more, urging him to let himself be manipulated, be opened up wide. He remembers the first feel of Spencer's tongue pushing into his ass and the utter shock as his mind completely slid to a halt and his body just felt and took as his mouth begged for more and less and everything in between.

Prentiss is talking and he can't make himself care. There are pictures of mutilated bodies up on the plasma and he can't make himself care. In fact, he can feel his nausea just pushing the electric feeling in his nerves higher, and he doesn't know whether to feel sick or not. He's not sure if he's just crossed the line into demented or maybe he crossed it awhile ago, but damn, suddenly he's no longer certain whether he can make it for the rest of the meeting or not without coming in his damn pants like a teen.

And he can remember Spencer's face pushing against his ass, his brain and body revved so high that he's practically humping the carpet, pushing against the hand being held at the base of his cock, trying to get free to come, to explode, to be done with this uncomfortable stretch of his ass, this uncomfortable stretch of his mind and his sensibilities and fuck.

Spencer's hand around his hand, just under the table, and he very clearly remembers how it felt to whine with his face into the floor of his apartment, not giving a damn about the neighbours, barely aware that there's a hand trailing down the back of his leg. Suddenly the tongue in his ass is gone and he can feel the other man's cock pushing up, pushing up higher, rutting against his backside, getting off on the spot where his legs come together. There is open wet heat emanating from his cleft, made all the worse by Spencer's previous insistent tongue fucking.

The hand on his leg is moving down, wet fingers wedging between his toes, pressing into a pressure point, making his leg sing out with a sharp bolt of white hot pain. He wants Spencer off and he wants to get off and suddenly there is a cock shallowly thrusting into him, all burn and bare tip and terror in his throat at the unwanted intrusion.

He tries pulling away, but the fingers between his toes suddenly pinch down even harder than before, and there's a hard thrust in and he drops his head to the side, gasping as he desperately tries to find his breath, desperately tries to find his centre of gravity, his beginning his middle—it's all muddled. Spencer leans up and bites down on his shoulder, where the corner touches his neck; all tension and trembling muscle.

The hand at the base of his cock abruptly releases and strokes him hard; more nail and hard squeezes than what he thinks he needs. The cock in his ass pushes even more in, breaking his breath inwards and shoving a painful sensation into the base of his spine; the teeth in his shoulder splitting his skin, revving him still higher, and it hurts and he doesn't want it, except for the thumb insistently grinding against the tip of his fucking weeping cock.

He barks out an epithet as the pain-pleasure mix hits the edge of his nerves and then he's thrust forwards on his knees as his mind explodes and his cock comes with a ferocity he's never yet experienced. Warm heat floods his backside, some going inside—inside, damn it—but most just dripping down the back of his shaking legs, mixing with his own, sinking into the carpet.

His face is pressed against the rough threads of the carpet, and he can smell a mixture of dust and dirt and cleaner, and he'd really like to get up, remove his face from the floor, but he can't make his limbs work, can't make Spencer get off of him, can't do anything except fall to the side and curl up carefully around his softening cock, around the puddle of cum that can't quite disappear into the not-so-soft carpet under them.

Harsh breaths being pelted into his backside, hair sticking to his skin, and a hand resting possessively on his cum slick stomach combining into a whirlwind of discombobulated feelings and sated limbs desperately trying to force him into something resembling unconsciousness.

A tongue working its way over his neck, over the bite marks that are already turning purple against his skin and the knowledge that Spencer is still unmarked—at least physically.

And he wonders when he completely lost control of the situation.