He was on fire, burning from the inside out. Screaming, he was screaming; mouth open and vocal cords straining. Why couldn't he hear anything besides the constant ringing in his ears. Colors danced before his eyes, swirling and twisting into one another until he couldn't distinguish blue from red. Was he breathing? His lungs were full of liquid, smothering him. Muscles taunt, he struggled to move; his tongue slipping into the back of his throat. It wasn't even possible to swallow your own tongue, yet his was immobile in his esophagus. He was dying, this was it. Panic washed through him, and he felt his fingers curl in, digging into what ever he was laying on. Every fiber of his being tingled and went numb, the feeling you get when you loose circulation. His speeding heart rate began to slow, and he felt his lips twitch into a smile, 'I'm coming Emily.'
Hotch tilted Reid's head back after he lowered him from the bed to the floor. His own heart was beating wildly in his chest while he pinned Reid's smaller body down, attempting to control the flailing limbs. This had happened before. Reid would have a a night terror, which morphed into a panic attack, resulting in a dangerous, seizure like reaction from Reid. The gurgling sound in Reid's throat alerted Hotch of another problem, and he gently pried the gritted teeth apart. "Spencer, wake up!" He was past comforting and straight out begging, resorting to shaking the fragile frame of his friend roughly. Reid sputtered, coughing as he pried his watery eyes open. Hotch let out a gush of relief, letting his head hang.
"Morgan? Morgan? Where's Morgan?" Reid asked unsteadily, and Hotch lifted his head to watch as Reid blinked away the blurriness in his eyes and scanned the room for his other friend.
"He left about an hour ago, would you like me to call him?" Spencer shook his head, letting his head drop back down to the floor with a thud. Hotch stared at him for a moment before slowly leaning back to give his friend space. Spencer's long, skinny fingers grasped his wrists suddenly, and Hotch leaned back down. "You need to sit up," he encouraged, tugging at Reid's arms.
"Aaron, I can't do this anymore. I need... I don't know what I need," Reid burst, frustrated.
"What are you-" Spencer's hands found his hair and he forcefully pulled Hotch's face down to his. Their lips crashed together with impossible force, his teeth breaking the skin of Reid's lip. The sudden pain made Reid jolt, a soft moan escaping him. Hotch was stunned, his lips unmoving against the desperate, persistent ministrations of the chapped ones. The kiss was inexperienced; the movements messy, harsh, and sloppy. Spencer wouldn't back down though, and he angled his face to get in closer; tongue pushed up against Hotch's clasped lips. The wet tongue wiggled and squirmed, begging for entry; an entry that Hotch wasn't sure he could grant. Reid didn't want this, he wanted relief. He wanted a distraction.
Reid growled in anger, breaking away from the kiss. "Fuck, just kiss me back." Hotch was far too shocked to reply, he just took in the wild look in the brown eyes below him. Spencer tried again, pressing their lips together while his fingers knotted painfully in Hotch's short hair. Uncertainly, Hotch slowly returned the kiss; allowing Reid's tongue to slowly explore his mouth. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but Hotch managed to stay responsive while Reid dragged in ragged breaths through his nose. Aaron tried to keep himself in check to avoid taking control of the situation, but when Reid wiggled underneath him; he felt Reid's desperate arousal straining against his thigh. The friction made Spencer break away with a gasp, exposing his neck perfectly for Hotch to bite into the pale flesh.
"Please," Spencer begged breathlessly, and Hotch's heart broke. This wasn't his friend who he had watch transform from an awkward, self-conscious, fearful boy to a trained, successful, strong, F.B.I. agent. This wasn't Spencer Reid, who was so innocent that he could do no wrong. That man would never beg, he would never curse; he would never need this to be okay.
"Please what?" Hotch's voice broke, his lips returning to sucking on Reid's long neck.
"Hurt me, fuck me, make me forget," Spencer moaned, his body curling against his. The words tore holes in Hotch's soul, and tears that hadn't fallen in years dripped from his eyes. Hidden in Spencer's neck, Hotch's rough bites turned to gentle kisses; as if they could replace the raw anguish that clung to Spencer like a second skin. Squirming, Spencer struggled to urge him along, but Hotch wouldn't budge.
"I can't do that, Reid," Hotch said after a minute, resting his forehead against the bony shoulder.
"Please," Reid squeaked, the rejection stinging his chest. He was willing to let Hotch hit him, grab him, bend him over and fuck him; and he was declining. He wasn't even good enough for that. Hurt fluttered in his belly, and he shoved at Hotch to role him away.
"I can't let you destroy yourself, Spencer. I'm your friend, and I love you. It has nothing to do with you, but under these circumstances, it wouldn't be right. I don't want to hurt you Spencer, and physical pain wont make this all go away," Hotch explained, sitting back as Reid struggled to his feet. "I'm not leaving you Spencer, and I'm not rejecting you; but you are not in the right state of mind."
As if he didn't hear him, Spencer hurried to the bathroom and shut the door, twisting the lock on the handle.