all I need from you

Tag Problem on H/R Fic Archive + Temporary Solution

Sat, 15 Sep 2012 18:34:32 GMT

To all H/R fic readers, in case you missed this in my reply on tumblr two weeks ago, I'll make a proper post here.

As some of you already know, for weeks Delicious has been a pain and won't let us navigate the tags with a dash/dashes (-) such as episode-tag, hurt-comfort, etc. I have sent them messages about this, but nothing have been done so far. Fortunately, I have found a way to cheat the system.

All you need to do is fix the tag in the address bar:

for example, change “episode-tag” or “episode__-__tag” to “episode_-_tag”

Just make sure that there is ONE underscore between the words, not none or two.

So for example, change “delicious.com/bowie28/episode-tag” or “delicious.com/bowie28/episode__-__tag” to “delicious.com/bowie28/episode_-_tag”

This works with all tags with dash(es) between the words.

Let’s hope Delicious gets around to fix this problem soon because I really, really don't want to rename all the tags, or even worse, change the website altogether.

Fic : Catatonic (Hotch/Reid, PG)

Wed, 08 Aug 2012 16:13:51 GMT

Title: Catatonic
Author: bowie28 (Bow)
Pairing/Characters: Hotch/Reid
Rating: PG
Warning: 2nd person narrative, hurt/comfort, fluff
Word count: 1,135
Beta: None. I hope I didn’t make too many mistakes.
Spoiler: Reid’s story arch in season 6.
Disclaimer: FICTION

Summary: Spencer Reid is a man of habit.

Author’s Notes: I felt this one had to be done, and fortunately it fits into drabbles_by_v's prompt ‘C for Catatonic’ on my long overdue H/R alphabet memes as well. Yay! I hope it doesn't suck.

Catatonic

It’s Friday night and you’re unlocking the door to his apartment as quietly as possible. Save the lights from the streets, the room is in complete darkness. This doesn’t alarm you but it confirms your concerns. You take in your surrounding before using your familiarity with the place guide you to him without bumping into things and making a racket.

The curtains in the bedroom are half drawn, most likely in haste. You can see him there, barely, lying on his back, legs stretched out along the bed, arms by his sides, eyes close, perfectly still. Catatonic, you wince. You remember the first time you saw him like this. The panic you felt. It wasn’t something you ever wanted to feel again. But that was before. You now know better. You tell yourself he does this on purpose, because it helps him shut out everything. Shut out the world. Which includes you.

You take a step, then another, and you’re by the bed, looking down, weighing your options.

You take the riskier one, the one you might regret taking, but it’s also the one you know you’ll regret not taking.

You take a seat by his side, careful not to touch his arm. “How bad is it?”

The reply comes after a long exhale. “Not as bad as you think.”

His eyes remain close, his body as still as a corpse.

“But bad enough to cancel on us.”

That stirs a reaction. A grinding jaw. A tick you’ve picked up on for some time now.

“Jack doesn’t need to see this.”

The reply shouldn’t still hit you in the guts, but it does. Because no amount of understanding, affection, sex or therapy will ever make the memory, no matter how distant it has become, any less real. Especially for someone who can’t forget.

You want to say something. Something nice. Something comforting. Something like “You’re not your mother” and “You’re not subjecting Jack to your childhood,” but you can’t, because you don’t know for sure if that’s true. And because he knows you know that.

So you say the only thing you can say. “What can I do?”

A sigh comes softly, slowly. You can feel the relief, the gratitude. “An ice pack is known to help.”

It still overwhelms you, after all these years, when Spencer Reid doesn’t completely turn you away. He won’t ask for help; his psychological makeup won’t allow him. All this you know, and you’re fine with it. For the most part. But when he actually gives you an opening, like he is doing now, it shows how much trust he puts in you not to think less of him afterward.

“Okay.” You say the word softly because that’s how you want to touch him.

You leave the room and navigate through the kitchen. The refrigeration is virtually empty except for a box of orange juice and a container of Jessica’s lasagna she insisted he took home the night before. You quietly reprimand yourself for not picking up actual food before coming here.

When you find your way back to his bed with the ice pack, you can’t help but stand there and watch him. It’s a little unsettling that a man who normally can’t keep still for five seconds hasn’t moved a muscle since you left the room.

“Where do you want it?” you ask finally.

“On the forehead is fine.”

You sit down, closer this time. Without thinking you reach out and brush his hair out of the way. You don’t realize what you’re doing until his head moves into your touch. Another opening. It leaves you a little vindicated. So you place the ice pack carefully on his forehead before tracing his cheek with the back of your fingers, willing him to open his eyes.

When he does, this is what you tell him. “You scare me when you’re like this.”

He leans into your touch more and closes his eyes briefly. “It’ll go away eventually. It always does.”

“Until the next time,” you say, because it’s what you both are thinking, only this time you decide not to let it go unspoken.

“And I don’t mean just this,” you add before he can protest. “Every time something’s bothering you, you’re gone.”

Now you wait for a response, but all he does is looking resigned and exhausted. Suddenly you feel like an asshole for doing this when he’s obviously already in pain.

“I’m trying,” he manages, closing his eyes again.

You run your thumb along his cheekbone, wishing you could do more, because he deserves it, because despite everything else he is telling you the truth—that he is trying. And at the end of the day, it’s all you could have hoped for.

“I know you are,” you reassure him with your voice and your touch. “And I know it’s not easy. But here’s why you have to keep trying.”

You want him to look at you, and he seems to sense it. He opens his eyes.

“I meant it when I said it while we made love, and I mean it when I say it now. I love you. And I want to love you the best way that I can.”

He looks at you like you’re speaking a foreign language, the one he doesn’t know.

“Doing what we do, I don’t get to show you that as often as I’d like, but the one thing that our jobs allow me to do is taking care of you. So let me. Even when you think I won’t be of any use.”

His eyes soften and you feel he’s leaning into your hand again as if to draw your strength through the touch. It makes you wish you possessed healing powers.

“You will always be of use to me,” he says, closing his eyes. He makes a humming sound and lets out a breath of relief. You adjust the ice pack and press it gently. This makes him hum again.

“Does this help?”

“A little. Thank you.” He smiles, eyes flutter, fighting sleep.

“You’re welcome.”

“And thank you for saying that. I knew you meant it. But it’s nice to have it confirmed.”

This makes you smile. “Glad I could help.”

You watch him close his eyes, and for a moment it looks like he’s finally fallen asleep. So you move to leave him rest, but his hand finds you.

“I meant it too.” His eyes flutter, barely open. “I do love you.”

The words freeze you for a moment, then they warm you up all over.

“Good.” You say and lean in to place a kiss between his nose and cheek. And you stay there, just a little bit longer to take in his scent. Then you whisper, “Rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Finis

fic : Enthralled (Hotch/Reid, NC-17)

Thu, 16 Feb 2012 00:03:01 GMT

Title: Enthralled
Author: bowie28 (Bow)
Pairing/Characters: Hotch/Reid
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Fluff, PWP
Word count: 1,145
Beta: None. Sorry. It’s pretty straight forward. And it’s basically p0rn, so I didn’t want to bother anybody. Spoiler: None.
Disclaimer: FICTION

Summary: It is a good morning.

Author’s Notes: This is the first story I finished in a while. I’d like to thank lintu91 for reminding me that I am a writer, lol. Written for impulsiveanswer who requested ‘E for Enthralled’ on my long overdue H/R alphabet memes.

Enthralled

He’s watched Spencer before. It’s a little creepy the first time he did it, or so Spencer claimed (though he had a feeling Spencer didn’t really mind from his reaction afterward). Spencer likes being the center of attention when the attention is the right kind, Aaron has learned. He loves to be touched and pampered and fussed about when it’s by the right person, though he will never admit it. Aaron Hotchner wakes up honored every day to be that person.

“Stop it. I need sleep,” Spencer mumbles into his pillow.

Aaron smiles. “So sleep. No one’s stopping you.”

“Your brain waves are. It’s distracting.” Spencer flips on his back and turns to the other side. The moles on Spencer’s shoulder blades stare at Aaron, inviting. He knows what Spencer is doing and he’s not going to pick this morning to disappoint his lover.

Spencer is not as bony as the first time Aaron had his arms around him. Years ago by a shallow grave in Georgia, Spencer felt like a rootless withering, thawing tree against Aaron’s body. Today Spencer fits in his arms, warm and real. Aaron rests his chin on the bare shoulder and pulls Spencer close.

He hears Spencer sigh and feels that tiniest smile breaking from the way Spencer inhales. It’s more than refreshing to know that he can still do this, that what he does, no matter how small, brings the other person’s joy. It’s exhilarating to know what kind of sound a kiss behind Spencer’s ear would make or what kind of muscle reflex a slight brush past the nipples would cause. To have that kind of knowledge, it’s empowering. It’s enthralling.

“You’re warm,” Spencer coos, pressing his body back against his chest.

He smiles into Spencer’s hair, which smells heavenly right now. “I’m glad.”

Spencer hums, sending faint vibration through Aaron’s upper body. It makes him want to do things.

His hand travels down the bare stomach, passes the dipping curve into the soft white sheet before resting on the smooth hip. The skin is cool under his fingers and he squeezes the flesh just to hear the appreciative sound he knows Spencer will make.

“You’re not gonna let me sleep, are you?” Spencer inquires, face half turned in Aaron’s neck, eyes still closed.

“Can you blame me?” he whispers, fingers ghosting over the skin until they find their destination.

Spencer sighs as Aaron’s fingertip circles the still sensitive muscle. The lubrication is still there. Not a lot, but it’s there. And he tests it, breaching Spencer with his finger.

“Hmm…”

Spencer’s hum is different this time. It’s accompanied by relief. It maddens Aaron.

“Can I? I really want to.” It’s impossible to keep his voice steady.

Aaron swears he hears a chuckle. “Always a gentleman.” Spencer’s turning in his arms, looking up with a smirk. “Kiss me, then you can have whatever you want.”

The man before him suddenly looks years younger, yet the confidence in those eyes reassures Aaron once again that this is it, this is right, this is what it’s supposed to feel, to be. So he leans in and kisses those lips until he can’t breathe.

Spencer pants against his mouth, smiling, laughing. “Come on, old man, before I fall asleep again.”

He can’t help returning the laugh, “What do you mean ‘again’?” before trailing kisses along Spencer’s neck.

Spencer replies with a press back on his finger and a suppressed moan. Aaron can’t take his eyes off Spencer who now looks so enviously blissful in his arms.

The added finger surprises Spencer, but only for a second before he starts pushing back, urging Aaron on. It quickly becomes unbearable: the sounds Spencer makes, the way Spencer moves against him, the power Aaron feels to be the one inducing them.

“You’re too much,” Aaron says in Spencer’s ear, crooking his fingers. It makes Spencer cry an uncharacteristically high-pitched sound.

“You’re killing me,” Aaron whispers, moving the fingers in the way that he knows will drive Spencer crazy.

“I swear... I’ll kill you myself,” Spencer stutters, grabbing Aaron’s ass, “if you don’t fuck me right now.”

He thinks he laughs at that, but he can’t be sure because suddenly there are fingers around his cock, stroking roughly, and Spencer breathing heavily against his neck. Everything is burning up.

The fingers around him are gone and he’s suddenly swallowed by this incredibly warm tightness. It keeps pulling him in.

“God, you feel so good,” he praises his lover.

Spencer makes an agreeing sound, and Aaron rewards him with a firm thrust.

“Ah!”

“You like that?” Aaron pulls Spencer’s hips toward him again.

“Fuck!”

There’s something incredibly sensual about Spencer cursing. It makes Aaron do things he wouldn’t normally do.

“Use me,” he says, thrusting deep this time. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Spencer cries as he pushes back reflexively; his fingers digging in Aaron’s thigh, leaving red crescent marks.

“Yes,” he urges his lover. “Like that.”

Spencer feels sublime around him, warm and tight; all consuming. It takes everything in him not to return Spencer’s movements.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Aaron tells him. “I want to lock you up so nobody else gets to lay their eyes on you.”

“Aaron…” Spencer’s hand on his thigh starts to tremble while the pushes and the pulls become erratic. “Please.”

“What do you need?”

“Touch me,” Spencer pants, hips never stop moving.

“Where?”

“Fuck!” Spencer curses as the movement has found him that angle again.

“Here?” Aaron palms the angry erection between his lover’s legs.

“Please.” The sob is drenched in desperation as Spencer’s whole body is shaking. “I can’t…”

“Shhh.” Aaron coos, thumping the oozing tip. “I got you.” And he starts stoking Spencer in earnest.

Before long Spencer finds his rhythm again, and oh, he’s not shy about it, which is one of the most surprising things Aaron has discovered over the years. It makes Aaron harder, if that’s possible.

“Are you close, baby?” Aaron asks. “You’re gonna make me come.”

“Close,” Spencer breathes. “So close, Aaron.”

“Baby, I need you to come.” Aaron speeds his hand. “I don’t think I can…”

Another cuss word and Spencer shoots all over Aaron’s hand and the sheets. Then Aaron hears himself cry out, and he’s exploding inside Spencer, so intensely he doesn’t know where it begins and where it ends.

It’s not until Spencer shifts in his arms that he remembers where they are again. Spencer feels cool against his skin. It’s the kind of coolness that makes him wonder if this is what heaven feels like, if there is such a place, that is.

“This is a good morning.” Spencer remarks, looking up at him.

“Why, did you doubt me, Mr.Hotchner?” Aaron inquires.

“Never, Mr.Reid.” Spencer smiles brightly. “I have every confidence in your ability to fulfill your husbandly duties. So far you’ve exceeded my expectations.”

Finis

fic : What Did You See? (Hotch/Reid, NC-17)

Fri, 04 Nov 2011 21:05:49 GMT

Title: What Did You See?
Author: Bow (bowie28)
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Rating: NC-17
Spoiler: Up to 7x06 "Epilogue"
Word count: 710
Beta: None. Didn’t want to bother anyone with this little thing.

Summary: Spencer finally got over The Lie.

Author’s Note: Just a little something I wrote for the latest episode "Epilogue." Plus due to the suckery that is my country right now, I wrote porn to cheer myself up.

What Did You See?

Spencer’s hand finally found Aaron’s erection as they stumbled through the dimly lit hallway.

“It’s two in the morning,” Aaron hissed as they passed Jack’s room.

“I don’t see how’s that relevant,” Spencer replied, hand inside Aaron’s sweatpants now.

Back pressed against his bedroom door, Aaron bit down a groan, fumbling for the handle. Once he found it, he was pushed through the doorway before Spencer closed the door and locked it.

On the bed, Spencer was on top of him, kissing him like a starving man. Aaron knew the feeling all too well. It had been months after all.

“I don’t care anymore,” Spencer said between kisses.

Aaron’s hand on Spencer’s nape froze.

“I don’t care that you lied,” Spencer said, this time looking Aaron in the eye. “Emily died. I died. You died.” Spencer’s fingers caressed Aaron’s cheek. “Yet here we are.”

“It hurts to be lied to, but it’s nothing--nothing compared to knowing what it feels like to have this and could lose it,” Spencer said. “I know that now, Aaron.”

Not knowing what to say, Aaron said the only thing he had been saying, the only thing he could say. “I’m sorry.”

“Then make it up to me,” Spencer told him.

And Aaron did. Oh how Aaron did.

To have Spencer in his mouth again, to hear those noises Spencer made, the noises he induced, it was a miracle he didn’t come right then and there. Spencer whined, cursed, begged, and when he came, it was a surprise, a surprise that lasted so long Aaron couldn’t help but feel proud a little.

“I love you,” Aaron heard himself say.

Spencer opened his eyes, still a little glazed from the ecstasy.

They had never discussed this before, and the words weren’t planned. But none of that mattered now, not when Aaron realized it was the truth.

“I love you,” Aaron repeated.

Spencer, head cleared now, opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came. Aaron didn’t know what he expected to hear.

Instead he watched Spencer watching him, pulling him in, kissing him, tasting him until he ached for Spencer’s touch.

Spencer smiled his knowing smile and pushed Aaron onto the mattress. Settling between Aaron’s thighs, Spencer leaned over and captured Aaron’s lips, sucking them into his mouth until Aaron gave in and let out a desperate groan.

“Please.”

“Shhh.”

“I need…”

“I know.”

When Spencer finally took Aaron’s cock in his hand, Aaron might have sobbed a little.

“Shhh.”

“Please, Spence…”

“Shhh.”

And when Spencer finally took Aaron deep inside him, Aaron was sure he cried a tear.

Spencer kissed him like he wanted to consume him whole, and the way Spencer moved above him felt that way too.

“Oh, God,” Aaron cried out as Spencer’s teeth found that spot on his neck and Spencer’s hips found that perfect angle.

Aaron missed this. Spencer’s skin on his. Spencer’s scent all over him.

“You feel so good,” Spencer whispered in his ear. “So good like this.”

Suddenly Aaron needed to touch Spencer everywhere. “Please.”

Spencer smiled down at him, understood completely. “Take me.”

The next thing he knew, he had Spencer under him and he was driving into that sensation he realized he’d grown too attached to now.

“I meant it,” Aaron said, never stopped moving. “When I said I…”

“I know,” Spencer nodded, hands pulling Aaron in even further.

“I really…”

“Please, Aaron…”

And then it happened, just how Aaron had expected it would be. Explosive. Blinding. Never-ending. The sound of his name on Spencer’s tongue over and over was just a bonus.

“What did you see?”

Aaron turned his head to where Spencer was now lying, warm, naked, equally sated.

“When you died. Did you see the light? Was it warm? Or was it dark and cold?”

It took Aaron a minute to reply. “I didn’t see anything.”

Spencer frowned at this. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Aaron recalled. “Everything was just… gone.”

Spencer still frowned, but said nothing this time. Instead he put his arm around Aaron and rested his head on Aaron’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said, idly running his hand on Aaron’s stomach.

“Don’t worry about it,” Aaron cooed, playing with Spencer’s hair.

“I mean it too, Aaron,” Spencer said, looking up this time. “I love you.”

Finis

Changes to the Hotch/Reid Fic Archive

Wed, 28 Sep 2011 14:10:04 GMT

As many of you may know, Delicious has been bought and run by another developer. The new Delicious officially opened last night and there are changes, A.K.A. problems. The biggest issue right now is tag management. Right now tags with ‘/’ are not working, so basically you cannot access tags for pairings (such as hotch/reid, prentiss/rossi). It’s very annoying, I know, but the site is in beta stage and they are currently fixing bugs and adding more options. Until these problems are sorted out I cannot really fix anything. New links will still be added, but for now the tags (both accessible and inaccessible ones) will stay what they are.

The URL for the archive is http://www.delicious.com/bowie28 (without ‘hotch/reid’ at the end). All links to Hotch/Reid and CM fics are public.

Let’s hope things will get back to normal soon.

fic : Magic (Hotch/Reid, PG)

Thu, 01 Sep 2011 17:03:44 GMT

Title: Magic
Author: bowie28 (Bow)
Pairing/Characters: Hotch/Reid, Jack Hotchner (Criminal Minds)
Rating: PG
Warning: Fluff
Word count: 530
Beta: None. Sorry. Didn’t want to bother anyone with my doodling.
Spoiler: None.
Disclaimer: FICTION

Summary: Jack’s in search of his missing jigsaws.

Author’s Notes: This is the first story I finished in months. I’m so proud (lol) even though it’s very short. I hope this is a good sign for all my unfinished works. Written for agirlnamedluna who requested ‘M for Magic’ on my long overdue H/R alphabet memes.

Magic

“Daddy, Daddy!” Jack runs up to him as he’s standing in the doorway of Jack’s bedroom. “Spencer’s making my jigsaws disappear!”

Aaron looks up from his ecstatic son to the smiling man on the floor by an unfinished Pokémon jigsaw puzzle. “Is he now?”

“He puts one in his hand and waves his other hand over it like this,” Jack demonstrates, “and then it’s gone!”

“Really?” Aaron tries his best not to laugh.

“And he did it again! Four more times!”

Aaron takes a knee before Jack and makes a face. “So you lost five jigsaws. Do you know what that means?”

Jack thinks about it and while Aaron waits, he looks up and meets Spencer’s amused eyes. He can’t help but shaking his head at himself.

“It means…,” Jack starts, “I can’t finish the picture.” Jack’s eyes widen before his little blond head turning swiftly back to the man in the middle of the room. “Spencer!”

Now it’s Spencer’s turn to panic. “Don't worry, Jack. What I did is called magic, and the jigsaws didn’t disappear. They’ve just been relocated.”

“What does that mean?” Jack demands.

“It means I put them somewhere else,” Spencer explains. “Check your pocket.”

Jack does and his eyes get even wider. He’s holding up the missing jigsaws. “Daddy! They’re here!”

“I see.” Aaron smiles brightly at his son. “Let’s check if they’re all here.”

“One, two,” Jack starts counting, “three, four…”

“Uh-oh. There’re only four.” Aaron feigns panic as Jack quickly rechecks his pocket.

“It’s not here!” Jack announces, frowning.

“I didn’t say I put them all in one place.”

Aaron and Jack look up at the same time, and Spencer is smiling his devious smile. The next thing he knows Jack is out of his reach and charging Spencer until he’s sprawling on Spencer’s chest.

Then there are giggles and Aaron realizes they’re not coming from his son. Jack is tickling Spencer who is now banging his hand on the floor repeatedly, shouting, “Uncle!”

When Jack doesn’t show signs of stopping, Aaron steps in and picks his son up and away from the defeated man. Spencer pushes himself up and tries his best to fix his hair without sacrificing anymore of his dignity.

“He has your bullying tendency,” Spencer observes without menace.

Aaron doesn’t disagree and mentally adds it to his to-do list as he puts down his son.

“Check your dad’s pocket,’ Spencer tells Jack.

Aaron frowns as Jack puts his hand inside his left jacket pocket. His frown deepens when Jack doesn’t produce the missing jigsaw, but instead a platinum band with two indented lines running around it.

“This isn’t the jigsaw.” Jack looks at the object in his palm, wearing his father’s frown.

“The other pocket,” Spencer says, which Jack complies immediately, leaving the shinny thing back where it was.

“It’s here!” Jack declares, showing the jigsaw to his father, who smiles back dumbly as his fingers find the magic circle inside his pocket, cold and solid in his hand.

He watches his son running back to the magician who is now beaming back at Aaron like he’s seeing the answer to the most impossible question in the universe.

I do.

Finis

Note: Here’s the ring I had in mind.

fic : Gridlock (Hotch/Reid, PG)

Thu, 07 Jul 2011 18:06:06 GMT

Title: Gridlock
Author: Bow (bowie28 )
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Rating: PG
Warning: Fluff
Spoiler: None
Word count: 480
Beta: None.
Disclaimer: FICTION

Summary: This must be the worst anniversary in history.

Author’s notes: Written for vanessasquest who requested ‘G for Gridlock’ on my long overdue H/R alphabet memes. Takes place a little further down the road. Hotch might seem a little jittery, but sometimes Hotch’s like that in my head. As always, feedback is love.

Gridlock

This must be the worst anniversary in history: losing the reservation and being stuck in traffic for over an hour with a date who has been fidgety more than usual. He should have been more persistent and ordered in. They could be watching one of Spencer’s TiVoed documentaries on the couch right now. Hell, they could be ignoring the documentary and having sex on the couch right now. Instead he’s been watching his boyfriend of one amazing year abusing the car stereo buttons while dissecting all possible reasons for the damn gridlock. He is this close to turn on the siren and have the road cleared so that Spencer would stop freaking (him) out.

When Spencer’s reaching for the stereo again, Aaron grabs his hand. “Leave it.”

Spencer seems startled but doesn’t protest. Aaron lets go and watches Spencer look away and out the window, leg bouncing in frustration.

“We’ll come back tomorrow. I’m sure Jess won’t mind watching Jack again.”

He gets silence as a response and starts to wonder if he’s missed something. After all this is Spencer’s first long-term romantic relationship.

“Spencer.” He reaches out and stills the bouncing leg. Spencer turns around, frowning.

“If I can help it, this is not going to be our only anniversary.”

With that, for the first time since they got in the car, Spencer gives him something akin to a smile.

“You’re sweet, but another twenty-four hours are not gonna work.”

His heart drops. Surely Spencer’s not breaking up with him over a gridlock.

Spencer reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a white envelop.

Surely Spencer’s not breaking up with him with a letter.

After taking the envelop, he must have been staring at it because Spencer says, “Open it.”

Aaron does and finds no letter of any kind. Instead there are two plane tickets to Las Vegas, Nevada.

He looks up and finds Spencer stiff in the seat. “My mom’s been asking.”

Aaron doesn’t understand how he can feel like the biggest idiot and the luckiest man alive at the same time.

“Jess knows. So does JJ. For the next three days we won’t be disturbed unless there’s an emergency.”

They’ve been tiptoeing around each other about this: he never pried when he caught Spencer writing a letter and Spencer never tried to discuss its content with him. They knew too well how easily it could turn everything upside down.

It kind of does now.

“Are you…?”

“I’m sure. Will you…?”

“I will.”

This time Spencer’s smile is open and inviting. Aaron leans in and their lips meet halfway. Spencer tastes like he always does, coffee and sugar. Aaron’s never craved the taste more than he does now.

When they finally part, all the other cars are still there, stuck in this hellhole of a traffic with them. Only this time around, Aaron doesn’t mind it too much.

Finis

fic : Interview (Hotch/Reid, PG)

Mon, 27 Jun 2011 19:46:50 GMT

Title: Interview
Author: Bow (bowie28 )
Pairing/Characters: Hotch/Reid, Sean Hotchner
Rating: PG
Warning: fluff
Spoiler: None
Word count: 1,079
Beta: None. Didn’t want to bother anyone. But if you spot any glaring errors, let me know.
Disclaimer: FICTION

Summary: Spencer receives an unexpected guest.

Author’s notes: Written for evil_killer_cat who requested ‘I for Interview’ on my long overdue H/R alphabet memes. My love for Sean Hotchner knows no bound. Feedback is love.

Interview

It’s Friday night, so Spencer has let himself in Aaron’s apartment and taken a shower. He has Aaron’s old t-shirt and sweat pants on when he hears a knock on the front door. Drying his hair with a towel, he quickly makes his way from Aaron’s bedroom to the small foyer, picturing his lover balancing their takeout with one hand and fumbling for the keys with the other. With a wide smile he opens the door only to find a completely different Hotchner.

Sean Hotchner is wearing the same things he wore the last time Spencer saw him—black leather jacket and blue jeans, only this time instead of a motorcycle helmet, there’s a duffle bag in his hand.

“Sorry, must have got the wrong apartment,” Sean says, ready to turn away.

“No,” Spencer blurts, which stops Sean in his track. “I mean, you’re here for Aaron.”

Sean looks confused. Spencer doesn’t blame him. If Spencer had a brother and found a stranger, a male stranger, freshly showered in his brother’s apartment, wearing his brother’s clothes, using his brother’s first name, he would have been horrified.

“You probably don’t remember me, but we met at the BAU five years and seven months ago,” Spencer says. “I mean we didn’t actually meet, but I saw you. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Sean’s confusion turns into astonishment. “You’re the Dr. Reid?”

Spencer doesn’t know what that means. “Um… yes?”

“I’m Sean. Very nice to meet you.” Sean grins, takes Spencer’s hand and gives it a firm shake.

Sean’s reaction leaves him a little giddy. Spencer can’t help wondering how much Aaron has told his brother. He hasn’t even told his mom. They haven’t been together that long, and call him superstitious, Spencer doesn’t want to jinx it.

“Would you like to come in? He’ll be back soon,” Spencer offers.

Sean seems reluctant, so Spencer adds, “He’s just dropping off Jack at Jessica’s. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

After a moment Sean nods and steps inside. “Thanks.”

Once Spencer closes the door, he turns around and finds Sean’s standing in the middle of the living room, staring at him. It makes him feel a little feverish. Spencer wonders if it’s a Hotchner thing.

“Would you like something to drink?”

The question seems to break the spell. “Sure, water is fine,” Sean manages.

Grateful to have something else to do, Spencer walks into the kitchen, fetches a glass and fills it with cool tap water.

“I meant to call ahead, but it’s been so hectic in the last couple of days,” Sean says.

Spencer wants to tell Sean he doesn’t need to justify a visit to his own brother and nephew. Especially not to him.

“Don’t worry about it.” Spencer hands Sean the water, which Sean sips as he looks around the apartment. That’s when Spencer spots Jack’s toys still scattering on the floor, so he does what he always does on a Friday night while he waits for Aaron, he starts picking them up.

“So you’re the reason he’s not moping around anymore.” Sean’s voice fills the room. Spencer’s hand hangs in the air. When he turns, he finds Sean sitting on the couch, waiting.

Spencer can’t think of a response, which is why he’s so thankful for the familiar sound at the front door. He leaps out of the living room and finds Aaron in the foyer. He steps up and takes the food from his lover’s arm.

“Hey,” Aaron greets him in a tired voice before leaning in out of habit, but Spencer stills him and tilts his head toward the living room.

“Your brother’s here,” Spencer whispers.

“What?” Aaron follows Spencer’s eyes.

Sean is now grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, Aaron.”

Spencer can feel Aaron’s body stiffen by his side. After a moment Aaron turns to him. “Will you give us a minute?”

Spencer nods, puts the food on the dining table and makes his way back to Aaron’s bedroom, but not before receiving another smile from Sean.

“I thought you were in France.” Aaron’s voice pierced through the door.

“I was. Until yesterday. My flight landed here so I thought I’d come see you and Jack.”

A pause.

“You should have called.”

“I should have, but then I would have missed Dr. Reid. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Another pause.

“I don’t know,” Aaron’s voice is so low Spencer can barely make out the words, which is the point where Spencer realizes he has been eavesdropping and should stop.

“It hasn’t been that long. I just didn’t want to…”

“Jinx it?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You really do love him.”

There is another pause. His heartbeat is drumming in his ears.

“I do.”

Spencer paddles backward until the backs of his legs hit Aaron’s bed. He sits down, letting the words play themselves over and over. I do. I do. I do.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed. He doesn’t ask when Aaron cracks the door open and pops his head in. Aaron’s lips are moving but Spencer doesn’t hear a thing.

“What?”

“I said ‘how do you feel about French cuisine?’ ”

“Uh… I haven’t tried that many.”

He must have looked as strange as he feels because Aaron pushes past the door and walks up to him.

“Are you all right?” Aaron feels the back of his neck, which makes Spencer look up.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Just a little unexpected.”

“I know. I’m sorry. He should have called.”

Spencer remembers the question then. “Why did you ask me about French cuisine?"

“Oh, he offers to cook us these dishes he’s learned in France in exchange for my couch. Just for the weekend.”

Of course, he should have figured that out. Spencer feels like an idiot.

“Oh, I should go then.”

“What? Why?” Aaron frowns.

“Your brother’s staying over. We can’t…”

“We can.” Aaron gets down on one knee and looks Spencer in the eye. “We just have to be quiet.”

Spencer blinks. “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“I mind,” Aaron insists. “Stay. Please.”

With that and the longing in Aaron’s eyes, Spencer doesn’t have much choice. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Spencer nods, gives his lover an assuring smile.

Aaron smiles back and pulls Spencer in. The kiss is brief but deep, leaving Spencer’s breathless afterward.

“Come on.” Aaron stands up and holds out his hand. “We’d better get out there before Sean devours all the food.”

Spencer chuckles before taking Aaron’s hand.

Finis

fic : Hedonistic (Hotch/Reid, NC-17)

Wed, 15 Jun 2011 23:32:12 GMT

Title: Hedonistic (a.k.a. A Honeymoon in Europe, by Courtesy of David Rossi)
Author: Bow (bowie28)
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Rating: NC-17
Warning: PWP, fluff, some kinks
Spoiler: None
Beta: None. Sorry. It’s weird having someone else proofread your porn. But if you spot any glaring errors, please let me know.
Word count: 1,832 (Whoa, this might be the longest smut I've ever written.)
Disclaimer: FICTION

Summary: The state of being of a forty-five year-old widower whose past three days were spent mostly (and actively) in bed with the love he’d almost lost? Hedonistic isn’t the wrong word at all.

Author’s notes: Written for kuriadalmatia who requested ‘H for Hedonistic’ on my long overdue H/R alphabet memes. Hugely inspired by all the adorable tweets and sexy pictures of Thomas Gibson and Matthew Gray Gubler PR trip in Europe (Monte Carlo in this case). Sex scenes are not my thing, so I hope this turns out all right. Feedback is love.

Hedonistic
(A Honeymoon in Europe, by Courtesy of David Rossi)

The word sounds ridiculously fitting when read in his former sister-in-law’s voice. Jessica would use a word like ‘hedonistic’ in her text message. Aaron puts his phone back on the nightstand, thanking God for yet another crisis-free day. He’s now allowed to return to what he was doing.

Watching that beautiful towel-clad body bending over the marble washbasin from their king-sized bed, he can’t say that Jessica was wrong. The state of being of a forty-five year-old widower whose past three days were spent mostly (and actively) in bed with the love he’d almost lost, in a five star Monacan hotel, and on someone else’s dime no less? Hedonistic isn’t the wrong word at all.

The room is wrapped in warm sunlight and Aaron lets himself bath in it for another minute. Even though Monte Carlo wasn’t (and wouldn’t have been) his first choice, he can’t begrudge its perpetual sunny weather, something he knows meant to be enjoyed outside their huge suite. Every night right before the post-coital exhaustion knocked him out, he promised himself he would make it happen the next day, and every day something would render that promise moot. The mole on Spencer's left cheek. The curve of naked buttock against the white sheets. The unintentionally suggestive remarks. Yesterday they almost made it, but Spencer had to have breakfast in their bed wearing nothing but Aaron’s shirt. And today he woke up to find Spencer doing his morning rituals in a towel with the bathroom door wide open. He starts to think that he isn’t the only one to blame.

Spencer doesn’t jump when Aaron appears behind him. Meeting Aaron's eyes in the mirror, Spencer gives him an easy smile. “Hey.”

The freshly washed scent from Spencer’s body keeps him from forming a word. Inhaling, Aaron buries his nose in the damp hair. The skin is warm and velvety under his touch. Watching the mirrored version of themselves now, he agrees that they do look good together. Better than good. Happy.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron’s lips to find their favorite spot behind Spencer’s ear.

“How did you sleep?” Spencer asks.

“You know how. You’re fully responsible for how I sleep in the last few days.”

Spencer chuckles, tilting his head so that Aaron has better access. “I just wanted to make the most of Rossi’s wedding gift.”

“Right,” Aaron mumbles as he leaves a trail of kisses along Spencer’s neck and shoulder blade.

“By utilizing the room he so graciously paid for us.”

Smiling against Spencer’s shoulder, Aaron has to point out, “I think we’ve utilized everything this room has to offer by now.”

Spencer lets out a content sigh and leans back, closing his eyes, a blissful smile on his face.

They stay like that for a while, enjoying exploring and being explored.

“Aaron,” Spencer finally speaks.

“Hmm.”

“Technically there’s one place left we haven’t utilized.”

Aaron knows he’s not the one with an eidetic memory, but he’s pretty sure they’ve done it on every surface in this room. Pausing, he looks up to meet Spencer's eyes in the mirror, his eyebrows raised.

Spencer tilts his head toward the bathroom door and Aaron's eyes follow.

Beyond their rumpled bed and outside the tall glass doors, the spacial balcony stands against the cerulean waters of the Mediterranean.

Aaron’s not much of an exhibitionist, but the thought of watching, touching, tasting Spencer’s creamy skin under the Monacan sun leaves him practically shaking. Aaron looks back at his amused newly wedded husband in the mirror. Has he always been this transparent?

“We’re never going to get out of this room, are we?” Aaron muses, half of his face buried in Spencer’s hair.

“Technically, the balcony is outside the room.”

Aaron can’t take his eyes of the young man in front of him, the young man who used to blush at sexual innuendos and oblivious to sexual advances, the young man who literally ran out of Aaron’s office one night after one impulsive kiss, the young man who wouldn’t look Aaron in the eye for weeks until Aaron told him that he felt it too, the young man who used to ask permission for touching and tasting him, the young man who used to be so self-conscious they had to turn off the light before making love. Was it all his doing? Aaron wonders if Spencer has changed him just as much.

Aaron is drawn out of his thoughts when a hand finds the back of his thigh and pulls him in. He’s rock hard against Spencer’s firm ass.

“Why aren’t you in me yet?” Spencer purrs, resting his head on Aaron’s shoulder.

Because he’s an idiot, that’s why. But Aaron doesn’t say that. He’s not that much of an idiot. In fact he doesn’t say anything again until they both are standing on the balcony, embracing the warmness of the sun and the breathtaking scenery.

Boxing Spencer with his arms and body, Aaron leans in, takes Spencer’s hands and places them on the railing.

“Let’s hope Garcia’s not pointing one of the satellite cameras at our suite,” Spencer muses, his body slightly tense, which Aaron finds amusing and absolutely adorable.

“If you’ve changed your mind…”

“I haven’t,” Spencer says, his voice determined. “Why are you still dressed?”

“Because you keep talking.”

“I’m done talking.” With that, the towel between them is gone. Spencer has tossed it on one of the chairs.

Aaron’s now officially done talking. He runs his hands from the backs of Spencer’s thighs upward until they reach the firm globes and squeezes them lightly. Spencer makes a low pleasing sound, so Aaron does it again.

“Don’t tease.”

“You’re talking again,” Aaron says, his fingers slowly spreading the cheeks.

Spencer groans, “Please, Aaron.”

The sound of his first name from Spencer’s lips has always had an impact on him, whether it’s to make a point during an argument or to introduce an emotional declaration. Spencer knows this and Aaron’s in awe of how much power he himself has given up, how much control he has let go of, just to realize that he’s never felt lighter nor freer in his life.

His finger finds the ring of muscle and he pushes inside easily. Given what they’ve been doing almost non-stop in the last three days, Aaron isn’t surprised.

Spencer voices his appreciation as he rests his upper body onto Aaron. “I can take you,” he manages.

“I know you can,” Aaron says, adding another finger. “But you’re so beautiful when I make you wait.”

“I’m not beau… Ah!” Spencer cries as Aaron twists his wrist.

“You are.”

“Please.” Spencer reaches around and strokes Aaron’s erection through the fabric of his boxers.

Aaron pauses his hand. “I need to get…”

“Use your saliva,” Spencer says, half pleading, half ordering.

“Spencer…”

“Do you have an active mouth infection?”

“No, but…”

“Then use your saliva, or so help me God…”

Aaron doesn’t need to be told trice. He frees his cock from his boxers and quickly coats it with his spit.

“I can take it. Please, Aaron,” Spencer begs, his hands back on the railing, his ass pushed back.

Steadying Spencer’s hip with his hand, Aaron guides his cock in slowly. Spencer moans until Aaron’s completely inside him.

“God, you’re still so tight,” Aaron groans, half worrying if he’s hurt his partner. His worry fades quickly when Spencer started to push back, urging him to move.

Aaron does, slowly, watching himself slipping out of Spencer’s body only to slip back in again, and again, and again. And in the sunlight, he can see everything.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” Aaron can’t take his eye off of their linking bodies.

“Please.” Spencer tries to push back again, using the railing as leverage.

Aaron thinks it’s the most erotic thing he has ever seen.

“Yes,” Aaron cries, stilling himself as he watches Spencer push back and take control.

Spencer’s moans are getting louder as he keeps trying to take in as much of Aaron as fast and as deep as he can.

“Yes, take it, take what’s yours,” Aaron urges.

“Ahh… Aaron…” Spencer tries to move faster as his body desperately seeking that blinding sensation.

“We really need to get you out in the sun more,” Aaron remarks, spreading Spencer’s hand-printed cheeks.

“Aaron…” Spencer whines, the movement of his hips stalling. “Please... I need…”

Aaron knows what Spencer needs, from the way Spencer’s hips faltering, from the way Spencer’s thighs shaking and the knuckles of his fingers turning white. The knowing that, after all these years, he can still be what Spencer needs, really needs, no matter how base or complicated those needs are, was the reason Aaron knew he needed Spencer too.

Aaron steadies Spencer’s hips with his hands and leans forward. “I know,” he breathes before reaching around and placing his hands over Spencer’s, entwining their fingers on the railing, and starts thrusting.

Spencer yelps and Aaron’s glad they are the only guests on their floor.

“Aaron...”

“I know,” Aaron whispers in Spencer’s ear, aiming his thrusts where he knows Spencer needs.

“Fuck.”

Aaron loves it when he makes Spencer curse, so he does it again, only harder and deeper.

The shortness of breaths and the way Spencer’s hand grabs the outside of Aaron’s thigh are the signs Aaron knows too well.

“I think I can make you come just from this,” Aaron says, his hips snapping faster.

Spencer’s curses turn into whiny noises. “Please.”

Aaron leans in and sucks Spencer’s neck hard. “You’re so good. You’re gonna make me come so hard.”

Spencer cries as Aaron hit that place deep inside him. “Aaron! Fuck!”

“I know, baby. I know,” Aaron pets Spencer’s sides, his hips never changing the angle.

With a long wail, Spencer’s body arches against Aaron’s and white thick spurts shoot through the air.

Aaron groans at the sight, his hips can’t stop moving. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck!” And with the last true thrust, Aaron explodes deep inside Spencer’s still trembling body.

After their breathing has calmed down, Spencer breaks the silence, “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Pulling out, Aaron chuckles. “You said that yesterday in the shower.”

“It was true,” Spencer insists, turning his head. “Until now.”

Aaron chuckles again before kissing the reddish mark on Spencer’s neck. “I think we deserve a full body massage after that. I know I do.”

“Of course you do, old man,” Spencer teases, turning around.

Aaron’s ready to feign offended but Spencer’s starting to yawn. He has to suppress a grin.

“After a nap then,” Aaron decides, to which Spencer smiles his sleepy smile and gives him a brief but sweet kiss on the mouth before turning around and walking back into their suite.

“But we’re getting out of this room today,” Aaron insists, climbing after his thoroughly sated husband into their warm bed.

“Promises, promises,” Spencer mumbles into Aaron’s chest, tucking him close.

It isn’t until thirty-two hours later that they keep the promise, and it’s all thanks to Dave and his opera tickets.

Finis

fic : Scroll (Hotch/Reid, PG-13)

Wed, 18 May 2011 23:53:50 GMT

Title: Scroll
Author: bowie28 (Bow)
Pairing: Hotch/Reid (Criminal Minds)
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Fluff. A little cracky.
Spoiler: None.
Word count: 974
Beta: None. Sorry. Didn’t want to bother anyone with my doodling.
Disclaimer: FICTION

Summary: The one in which Aaron found Spencer’s laptop laid open on the other side of the bed.

Author’s Notes: 1) Written for maldeluxx who requested ‘S for Scroll’ on my long overdue H/R alphabet memes. 2) Inspired by this delicious set of MGG photos.

Note: Takes place a couple of years in the future.

Scroll

Aaron woke up to the distant sound of clanking metal and an unintelligible conversation (between his two most favorite people in the world, no doubt). Once again Spencer had let him sleep in while keeping his seven-year-old son entertained in their kitchen. Closing his eyes, Aaron took in the smell of pancakes and fresh-made coffee and let himself smile at his good fortune. Aaron Hotchner—forty-seven years old, single dad, (ex-)wife deceased—still had a family.

He flipped and lied on his stomach, snuggling into the pillow, wanting to buy himself a few more minutes, when he saw Spencer’s laptop laid open on the other side of the bed. Spencer had probably been working on one of the papers for one of his degrees with which Aaron should have been able to keep up by now but possibly never would. It was not unusual for Spencer to be dragged away from his laptop in the morning. Spencer slept very little and was happy to help out whenever he could. Plus Jack had very persuasive pouts. Mostly, though, Spencer didn’t trust Jack to locate food and kitchenware all by himself without getting hurt or causing small disaster.

He would have had left it be (Spencer’s laptop that was) if it weren’t for the top bit of this picture staring back at him. He blinked a few times to make sure that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. It was really Spencer, but not really Spencer. This one had styled facial hair and was wearing some kind of hair product.

Before he could stop himself, he reached out and his fingers were scrolling down the email page to view the full picture.

Holy Jesus.

And wait! There was more than one picture! His fingers suddenly had a life of their own as they scrolling past one picture after another.

He had seen Spencer in (and out of) every possible set of clothes. Spencer made sense in a tucked-in button-down shirt, a sweater vest, a cardigan, a slim neck tie, a pair of khaki trousers. Spencer didn’t made sense in a close-fitting T-shirt, a fancy military jacket, or a pair of dark blue jeans. But he was obviously wrong because the Spencer in these pictures made so much sense in all the right ways.

The creaking sound of the door made Aaron look up and the next thing he knew Spencer was leaping across the bed and closing the lid of his laptop with a panicked look on his face as if Aaron had found his digital porn stash. (Not that Spencer needed one, with him having an eidetic memory and all. Hmm… Aaron had to ask Spencer about that some time.)

“Tell me you didn’t,” Spencer said.

“I didn’t,” Aaron offered with his best smile.

“Liar!” Spencer ripped the laptop out of Aaron’s hands. “And a snoop!”

“I think I have a right to know if my life partner and my son’s guardian have been modeling on the side,” Aaron pointed out, pushing himself up to sit on the bed.

“I have not! I did not!” Spencer protested, cheeks flushed. “It was a one-time thing.”

“A one-time thing?” Aaron arched an eyebrow, suppressing a smile. “When?”

“Last month, when I went down to L.A. for that consult,” Spencer said, not meeting Aaron’s eyes, which made suppressing a smile almost an impossible task.

“And?” Aaron prodded.

“And I called Lila because she made me promise I would whenever I was in town.” Spencer spoke so fast Aaron almost didn’t catch the name.

“The actress you made out with in a pool while we were still looking for her stalker?” Aaron asked.

“You’re an ass.” Spencer glared at him. “And she kissed me.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Aaron showed his hands, calling a truce. “Go on.”

“I’m not telling you anything.” Spencer scowled at him and started to push himself off the bed, clutching the laptop to his chest. “And don’t think you’re getting any pancakes today either!”

Aaron caught Spencer’s hand just in time and pulled his lover back down, the laptop making a thud sound on the mattress.

“You’re dead if I lose my papers on there,” Spencer warned.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said, sincerely this time. “You can’t tell me someone else saw you like that and decide not to finish the story.”

“You went through my stuff,” Spencer glared at him.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Aaron said, pulling Spencer in, putting his arms around Spencer’s waist. “But you can’t expect me to find something like that and not ask you about it.”

Spencer studied him for a moment and gave in. “Lila’s into photography. I was just her guinea pig. Involuntarily. She bought me those clothes, forbade me to shave, and made me go to the salon!”

Aaron tried his best not to laugh but didn’t quite succeed.

“And now I’m getting laughed at.” Spencer pouted, trying to pry Aaron’s arm off of him.

Tightening his embrace, Aaron said, “I’m not laughing at you. I mean not for the pictures.”

Spencer frowned, which made Aaron laugh openly now.

“You’re just so clueless sometimes,” Aaron said.

Spencer looked offended, but mostly confused, and Aaron lost it. He leaned in and whispered, “Do you have any idea how fuckable you looked in those pictures?”

Spencer gaped in shock. “Aaron! Jack’s here,” Spencer hushed, turning around to check the door he had left ajar.

“That is why we will continue this conversation after we drop Jack off for his play date this afternoon,” Aaron said, sliding his hand under Spencer’s shirt and caressing the skin there.

Spencer squirmed in his lover’s arms but not for long because Aaron was kissing him long and hard that his lips were swollen and his face red when Aaron was done with him.

Fin

fic : Juice (Hotch/Reid, PG)

Wed, 18 May 2011 23:42:59 GMT

Title: Juice
Author: bowie28 (Bow)
Pairing/Characters: Hotch/Reid, David Rossi, Jack Hotchner (Criminal Minds)
Rating: PG
Warning: Angst
Spoiler: The end bit of 6x22 'Out of the Light'
Word count: 767
Beta: None. Sorry. Didn’t want to bother anyone with my doodling.
Disclaimer: FICTION

Summary: Dave wasn’t surprised when Reid showed up at Aaron’s place unannounced with a big box of orange juice.

Author’s Notes: 1) Written for maldeluxx who requested ‘J for Juice’ on my long overdue H/R alphabet memes. 2) Written as an episode tag for 6x22 'Out of the Light' celebrating the awesome Hotch/Rossi bonding.

Juice

Dave wasn’t surprised when Reid showed up at Aaron’s place unannounced with a big box of orange juice, something the Hotchners had apparently run out of. Dave was, however, surprised when Aaron started using ‘Hotch’ voice thanking Reid before taking the juice and started asking about some mysterious case file he’d apparently asked Reid to drop off. The confusion on Reid’s face lasted only a moment before it turned into complete horror when Reid looked past Aaron and spotted Dave nursing a glass of whiskey on the armchair.

“Hey, kid,” Dave greeted.

Just then Jack ran out and into Reid’s legs. “Spencer! We won! We won!”

Reid looked down at a Spider-Man-pajamas-wearing Jack Hotchner whom Rossi had seen Aaron tuck in half an hour ago.

“We had a soccer game today. Jack’s team won,” Aaron reported as he pried his five-year-old son off of Reid who nodded as if this had been the first time they discussed Jack’s soccer games.

Dave’s surprise now turned into mild annoyance because he had known Aaron since the guy had still called Haley ten times a day. Dave had witnessed Aaron Hotchner in love. It was moronic and a tad bit offensive that his friend had deemed this whole charade necessary.

Aaron turned to look at Dave, probably expecting a smart-ass remark or two, and his friend would have had been right if Reid’s face hadn’t turned even paler when Jack demanded, “Why didn’t you come?”

Reid looked at Dave, then Aaron. “I uh…”

“Jack, I told you Spencer was busy,” Aaron said, placing his free hand on Jack’s head. “And you should be in bed. You have school tomorrow.”

“But I heard Spencer’s voice…”

“Jack.” Aaron used the ‘Hotch’ voice again and Dave felt kind of bad for the kid. “Go on. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Reid looked all kinds of broken and Dave expected him to follow Jack any second now, but Reid didn’t move. Instead Reid opened his bag and pulled out a manila folder.

“Here. The case we discussed earlier.”

Aaron’s hand froze for a second before taking the folder.

“I’m sorry, I should have called,” Reid said, so low Dave wouldn’t have heard if the room hadn’t been in complete silence.

“No, I shou…” A pause. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Good night, Hotch.”

“Good night, Reid.”

When Reid was gone and Aaron was done tucking Jack in (again), Dave found himself in the kitchen, watching his friend put away the orange juice Reid had brought, and they were still NOT talking about the fact that Reid had just brought a beverage that the Hotchner household had just happened to run out of. The whole thing was getting ridiculous. It wasn’t like Dave was hoping to get them caught or anything. Reid had showed up all on his own. With the goddamn orange juice. If there had ever been a time for Aaron to talk to Dave, this was it.

But instead Aaron gave him a Hotch glare. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“You know what,” Aaron said before walking past him and headed back to the living room.

“Come on, Aaron. We’ve known each other for what now?” Dave prodded, following his friend.

But that wasn’t even what had been bothering Dave. The secrecy didn’t bother him. It was the denial.

“I never knew you to make a call that you weren’t ready to face the consequences,” Dave said. “You can talk to me. I’m not gonna tell anybody.”

Aaron paused and Dave did the same. The tension left Aaron’s shoulders and when Aaron turned around, the wall was almost gone. His friend sat on the couch, weary, looking at anything but him. “I know you won’t.”

“Not that I need to,” Dave added before he could stop himself. And okay, he totally deserved a Hotch glare this time.

Aaron didn’t say anything, so Dave sat on the armchair across from his friend and waited.

“I’m sorry, Dave. I would have said something if it was just my call to make,” Aaron said finally.

Of course. Reid, going through what he had gone through, would try to keep what he could finally call his own his as long as possible. And Aaron, being the patient and understanding man that he was, would wait around forever because he thought Reid was worth it. Of course.

Dave watched the relief settling in his friend’s body but the weariness was still there.

“Give him some time. He’ll come around,” Dave said. “After all, the kid’s a genius.”

His friend cracked a smile, and Dave had to do the same.

Fin

fic : Knobble (Hotch/Reid, NC-17)

Mon, 25 Apr 2011 20:15:35 GMT

Title: Knobble
Author: bowie28 (Bow)
Pairing: Hotch/Reid (Criminal Minds)
Rating: NC-17
Warning: PWP
Word count: ~900
Disclaimer: FICTION

Summary: Morgan’s on the phone, and Reid tries to be a good friend.

Author’s Notes: 1) Written for readingyou78 who requested ‘K for Knobble’ on my long overdue H/R alphabet memes. I’m gonna stop apologizing for the delay because now it’s just ridiculous. One day all requests will be filled. I just don’t know when, lol. 2) This is basically p0rn, so I didn’t have anyone proofread it. All mistakes are mine.

Knobble

Morgan is a phone person. Reid is not. But Morgan is his friend and Reid always listens. Whether it’s small stuff like how Clooney ruining his couch again! or big stuff like how to tell his baby sister that her new boyfriend is a no-good two-timer because he had Garcia run a background check on the guy even though his sister had specifically told him to stop vetting her love life. Today it’s about Clooney and Reid would have hung up when Hotch arrived with their dinner if the call was about another piece of furniture ruined. But it isn’t. Apparently Clooney has been vomiting and even though the vet told Morgan that she needed to observe Clooney overnight before she could give him any kind of diagnosis, Morgan is somehow fixated on the idea that Clooney has kidney failure because the dog he kept when he was nine shared the same symptom and died of that horrible disease.

Reid watches Hotch put away the briefcase and waits for the food, but Hotch doesn't reach for the food. Instead Hotch does these very strange things. Hotch kneels in front of him, between his legs to be exact, and presses his index finger to his own lips, gesturing Reid to keep quiet about him being there. Reid frowns and opens his mouth to protest but Morgan is still talking and Reid remembers that he’s supposed to be a good friend. So instead of telling Morgan that their boss is unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, and that he has to call Morgan back, Reid continues to list all the other possible diagnoses besides kidney failure. Reid knows his facts, and his voice remains calm and firm even when Hotch’s hand finds his cock, which is already half hard, and pulls it out. And even when Hotch’s fingers drag down his foreskin and the tip of Hotch’s tongue presses against the already weeping slit, Reid doesn’t let a pitch in his stomach and a hitch in his voice stop himself from pointing out the flaws in Morgan’s deduction. He has his facts ready to shoot down all the unfounded arguments Morgan is directing at him. It doesn’t matter that Hotch decides to wrap his tongue around the crown and suck hard, or that his hips jerk upwards of their own accord into Hotch’s warm and talented mouth. Sure, his breathing might get a little heavier and uneven, and Morgan asks him if he is all right. All he has to do is close his eyes and lean back, and tell Morgan that yes, he is all right, that he is more than all right, that he is the happiest he has ever been, that he cannot think of being anywhere else right now. And it’s not weird at all that he might have groaned a little and mentioned Hotch’s first name while he’s at it. Reid thinks it’s completely normal for him to moan Hotch’s first name during their argument. After all they both know that Hotch is very smart, very thoughtful, and very, very talented. There is no reason for Reid not to include Hotch in such important argument.

Morgan makes a funny sound in his throat and Reid tries to make out what his friend is saying, but all Reid’s brain can process is the last three words, “that sick bastard.”

The sick bastard whose hands are pinning Reid’s hips in place and whose eyes are piercing right into Reid’s owns, leaving Reid’s whole body shudder. The sick bastard whose mouth is stretching around his cock and whose tongue is doing all these wonderful things to his existence.

Yeah, that sick bastard.

Reid doesn't know why Morgan's still talking, well, more like barking now. There’s a lot of cussing and Reid wonders how Morgan could use seven different cuss words in one sentence. That’s pretty impressive.

“Put him on the phone!” Finally, something Reid can make sense of.

Except it doesn’t make sense. Like, at all. Seeing how Hotch’s mouth is, you know, preoccupied.

“He can’t really talk right now,” Reid tells Morgan the truth.

And it’s totally not his fault that Hotch chooses that moment to suck in his cheeks and makes Reid moan quite unmanly.

Reid hears a click and a dial tone when his hips jerk upwards again, and again, and again. Hotch’s hands have now found his heavy sacs, and with the right pressure and one calculated twist, Reid is crashed by the waves of familiar irrevocable burns that consume him whole. The only thing he hears is a strangled cry that seems to last forever.

Hotch is pressing soft kisses along his neck and jaw when Reid opens his eyes.

“That wasn’t nice,” Reid says, his voice hoarse. His throat does feel a little raw.

Hotch arches his eyebrow, which makes Reid roll his eyes. “You traumatized a coworker.”

Hotch shifts to sit next to Reid. “Not my fault. You could have hung up the phone.”

“And you could have kept your tongue to yourself.”

Hotch gives him a look that says ‘Seriously?’

Reid thinks about it for a second and agrees, “I guess I could have hung up the phone.”

Fin

Note: ‘knobble’ = sexual stimulation of the penis with the mouth, lips, and tongue

Victim (Hotch/Reid, PG)

Tue, 08 Feb 2011 23:41:09 GMT

Title: Victim
Author: Bow (bowie28 )
Pairing/Character: Hotch/Reid, Diana Reid
Rating: PG
Word count: 570
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Summary: Hotch got an unexpected phone call.

Author's Notes: Written for cmali who requested 'V for Victim' on my long overdue H/R alphabet memes. I tried something a little different. I hope it's not too confusing. This is unbeta'ed. I tried my best to clean up the grammar but if you spot any glaring errors, please let me know.

Victim

(Note: takes place shortly after Haley’s funeral)

“Hotchner.”

“Mr.Hotchner, this is Diana Reid speaking.”

“Mrs.Reid?”

“I hope this is all right. I’ve got your number from Penelope.”

Silence.

“Please don’t be mad at her.”

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Reid?”

“I’ve just received a letter from Spencer. He told me what happened to you and your family. I couldn’t go to sleep without offering you my condolences in person.”

Silence.

“Thank you, Mrs.Reid.”

“He’s worried about you, as do the other members of your team, Mr.Hotchner. And he wouldn’t like it if he found out what I’m about to do, but I really need you to listen to something. I promise it won’t take long.”

“Of course, Mrs.Reid.”

“I don’t know if you knew, but he writes me every day. Well, he tries. And this was from one of his letters.

It’s been one year since I killed a man.

I never told anyone what really happened in that ER. Part of it was because I had never really thought about it until recently. I knew I wrote in the report that Hotch and I had played to the UnSub’s twisted mind and successfully defused the situation with the result of one but acceptable casualty. I knew Gideon told me that I had killed a man but also saved many. I knew I proved to Morgan that I could take care of myself without the help of his whistle. I knew with Hotch’s quick thinking, I had saved his life and mine. Today, one year after I killed Philip Dowd, I finally understand what happened in that ER: I earned trust from the one person who had every reason not to trust my shooting skills. Afterward, while Hotch was commending me for a job well done, I was grateful for my luck because I too hadn’t trusted my shooting skills.

Three days ago I killed another man, Mom. His name was Tobias Hankel. He was a good man with a very troubled mind, and I am deeply sorry that I ended his life to save mine, but I am not sorry that I fought and didn’t give up. I am alive today because of what happened one year ago. In that ER, for a brief moment I stopped being the victim, and it was all because Hotch wouldn’t let me be one.”

Silence.

“I know Spencer left out the gory details for my sake and I don’t know what exactly happened in that ER, but I do know that with how he was growing up, whatever happened back there has really stuck with him.”

Silence.

“Your son is very lucky to have you, Mr.Hotchner.”

Silence.

“Thank you very much, Mrs.Reid. It means a lot to me.”

“Have a good night, Mr.Hotchner.”

“Good night.”

Hotch disconnected the call and stared at the cell phone in his hand… until the squeaking sound from his bedroom door broke the silence.

“What are you doing?” Spencer squinted at the light, barely leaning against the door frame.

Quickly Hotch put away the phone. “Just checking on Jack.”

“Come back to bed.”

Hotch barely got the word out when Spencer disappeared behind the door.

After ten minutes of watching Jack sleep, Hotch kissed his son’s hair and tiptoed back to his room. Spencer put his arms around him when Hotch slipped under the blanket. He pulled Spencer in, kissed Spencer’s hair and didn’t let go until morning came.

Fin

I don't love you...

Thu, 06 Jan 2011 13:08:48 GMT

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz

or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:

I love you as certain dark things are loved,

secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries

hidden within itself the light of those flowers,

and thanks to your love, darkly in my body

lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,

I love you simply, without problems or pride:

I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,

so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,

so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

~ Pablo Neruda ~

Happy birthday, Ali. You've been a wonderful friend.
I love, love, love you.
~Bow

Fic : Aaron (Hotch/Reid, PG)

Thu, 23 Dec 2010 23:12:11 GMT

Title: Aaron
Author: Bow (bowie28 )
Pairing: Hotch/Reid, Jack
Rating: PG
Warning: A little bit of angst is good for your health.
Word count: 790
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Summary: Four months in and he still cannot bring himself to say it. That one simple word.

Author’s notes: Takes place during ‘25 to Life.’ Written for st_ciasta as a part of my H/R alphabet meme. Sorry it takes me a while to write each one, guys. Also this is not beta'd since it's short and I wasn't gonna bother anyone with it. I tried to get rid of all the errors, but if you still spot them, please let me know.

Aaron

It has become a real predicament. Four months in and he still cannot bring himself to say it. That one simple word. It doesn’t sound right to his ears, and it certainly doesn’t sound right in his head. It’s hardly fair that Hotch was using his given name the first time they kissed when he’s still using ‘Hotch’ after receiving twenty-two blowjobs. It’s not a question of intimacy, he’s realized. It’s a question of whom he's fallen in love with.

Eight years after he was informed, ‘You can call me Hotch,’ he has learned that the man who would later become his boss, and eventually his everything, is not your regular all-American self-made man. Hotch, to him, has walked right out of those Arthurian tales his mom used to read him, the ones where knights embody all these ideals he thought existed only in fictional world. But Hotch is very real and he doesn’t just live those things. He is those things.

Hotch is not dedicated. He is dedication. Hotch is not true. He is truth. Hotch is not just. He is justice. Hotch is not loyal. He is loyalty. Hotch is not brave. He is bravery.

What’s more amazing is that even in crisp suits and flattering ties, Hotch is humility and patience, passion and kindness, family and love.

This is the person Spencer knows, the person he’s always going to be in love with. Hotch.

That used to be enough, for both of them.

But now, watching Hotch explaining to a five-year-old why his mommy won’t be celebrating Christmas with them this year, Spencer knows that’s not the case anymore.

Hotch looks up then and their eyes meet. Spencer isn’t going to walk in but Hotch needs to know that neither of them are alone.

Ten minutes later he’s washing the dishes left in Hotch’s kitchen sink when he feels a soft touch on his lower back.

“Come checking up on me?” The breath is warm on his neck. If there’s a hint of playfulness in Hotch's voice, exhaustion drives it away fast.

“They can manage without me for a couple hours.” He says without turning around. Hotch takes a space next to him and starts drying the dishes.

“You were the one suggesting I take some time off.” Hotch’s words are not accusing. They’re simply offering facts.

Spencer pauses and turns. Hotch is looking at him, waiting. He decides to go with the truth.

“I know you’ve been expecting this, but I’m still allowed to worry.”

Hotch doesn’t say anything this time, just offers him a small, understanding smile. Spencer does the same and returns to the dishes.

The room falls silent but somehow Spencer feels belonging, and he wonders if this is going to be their lives from now on—that sometimes doing the dishes together can be enough.

“I’m not expecting you to do this.”

Spencer looks up, frowns.

“This.” Hotch lifts the plate he’s drying.

Spencer feels like rolling his eyes. “It’s just a few dishes,” he says, handing Hotch the last item and turning off the water.

Hotch places the plate down. Spencer knows the signs, so he waits.

“I should have said something sooner,” Hotch starts, looking Spencer in the eye. “I’m not expecting you to clean up after me, nor am I going to ask you to spend time with my son or attend my brother’s wedding, when and if there is one. I’m not expecting you to adopt me, Spencer.”

He feels the urge to smother the other man with his mouth. Typical Hotch—the thought of someone else making an effort in his benefit never occurs to him.

“What if I want to?” he asks.

Hotch studies him for a moment and breathes out. “I was hoping you do, but we’re still figuring things out. And you’re not ready. And…”

“Aaron.” Spencer grabs Hotch’s arm. “We’re gonna be fine.”

It takes him a few seconds for it to sink in, that he’s meant every word, including the one he’d never used out loud before. For the first time the word fits.

There’s a smile on Hotch’s face, a weary but genuine smile. “I know,” Hotch says, actually looking happy. Spencer wishes he was more prepared and knew what to say, but it doesn’t matter because Hotch’s pulling him in and sealing a firm kiss on his lips that feels a lot like a promise.

It is then that Spencer realizes, that no matter how much in love he is with Hotch, he’s probably going to end up loving Aaron more.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.”

Picspam : Reid Touching Himself

Wed, 08 Dec 2010 07:26:20 GMT

Something I noticed :

1x05 - Broken Mirror

1x08 - Natural Born Killer

1x16 - The Tribe

1x17 - A Real Rain

1x22 - The Fisher King, Part 1

2x01 - The Fisher King, Part 2

2x02 - P911

2x03 - The Perfect Storm

2x06 - The Boogeyman

2x09 - The Last Word

2x13 - No Way Out

3x02 - In Name and Blood

3x02 - In Name and Blood (Deleted Scene)

3x03 - Scared to Death

4x02 - The Angel Maker

4x04 - Paradise

4x06 - The Instincts

4x09 - 52 Pickup

4x10 - Brothers in Arms

4x14 - Cold Comfort

4x21 - A Shade of Gray

5x19 - Rite of Passage

5x20 - ...A Thousand Words

5x21 - Exit Wounds

6x09 - Into the Woods

NOTE : Obviously more will be posted. :D

Fic : The Man in the Mirror (Hotch/Reid, PG-13)

Thu, 02 Dec 2010 06:25:23 GMT

Title: The Man in the Mirror
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Rating: PG-13
Warning: obligatory angst, unforgivable sappiness
Word count: ~2,000
Beta: daylyn & ayashi_mikage (You’re the best!)

Summary: It’s Hotch’s forty-fifth birthday party and he’s not feeling very festive.

Author’s Note: Written as kuriadalmatia ’s birthday present. Thank you for your wonderful stories, but most of all your friendship.

The Man in the Mirror

The man in the mirror wears his suit, his tie, his hairstyle, even his tired eyes, but Hotch doesn’t recognize him. Hotch thinks it’s one of those moments when you look at something for too long and it loses its meaning; its association disperses into bits and pieces that don’t belong anywhere. Polite knocks on the door draw him back. He readjusts his focus and sees Reid in the mirror, poking his head in, slight panic on his face.

“I would let you hide out in here if I had any other choice.” Reid slips inside. “But you know Garcia.”

Hotch looks down and inhales deeply, telling himself it’s irrational, this sudden frustration with his… Hotch has not yet found a proper title for Reid. They had one bad sex and one amazing one, and Reid has been so eager, so… comfortable with everything, like he was born to do this, to wait, to listen, to just… be there. Even right now in Hotch’s bathroom, Reid looks more a host than a guest.

“I know. I just needed…”

“A minute.” Reid finishes the sentence as Hotch feels a hand on his lower back. When he looks up, Reid is behind him, studying the man in the mirror.

“Take five,” Reid says with such care that Hotch finds it annoyingly reassuring. “Then come out and rescue your brother.”

He watches Reid quietly slip back outside. There is no demanding of explanations, no offering of patronizing kisses, all of which would have given more weight to this irrational frustration. Hotch should have known. He’s never been a lucky man.

* * *

Dave is standing by the bar, scotch in hand, daring Hotch to join him by not looking at him. Hotch hates it when Dave does that. The bastard has picked the only spot in the room where Hotch can be seen as a participant without actually participating. If only he could sneak out to Jessica’s and watch Jack sleep. Then again, he never wants his son to see him drink.

“Tell me again. Is this your birthday party or your brother’s?” Dave asks once Hotch reaches the bar. Hotch looks on. Sean is standing by the dining table, apparently explaining one of the dishes he prepared to his willing listeners. Well, Reid seems to be the only one doing the actual listening while Garcia, JJ and Prentiss the staring and Morgan the laughing.

Hotch doesn’t take the bait. Instead he pours himself a glass of scotch.

“Emily still doesn’t believe you two are related,” Dave adds.

Hotch can see why. His little brother is in casual clothes, wearing an open smile, like any thirty-two-year-old who has a bright and unburdened future ahead of him. Sean looks cornered answering question after question from Garcia but Hotch knows it’s nothing his brother can’t handle. Morgan’s laugh fills the air again but what catches Hotch’s attention is the awe on Reid’s face as he’s listening to one of Sean’s New York adventures.

“He’s a good-looking kid.”

“What?” Hotch turns, frowning at Dave’s remark. He thought he’s been careful.

The way Dave arches an eyebrow tells Hotch he has just bitten the bait. Damn it.

Hotch clears his throat and turns back to watch Sean and his admirers. “He’s got mom’s genes.” And I dad’s. Perfect.

The scotch doesn’t taste as good with other people in the room, but it seems to keep Dave from prodding further so Hotch keeps at it. Just two old-timers, drinking their problems away, watching the youngsters conquering the world. It’s the nature of things. It should feel right, fitting, like when he and Gideon discussed Reid’s incredible mind on Reid’s twenty-forth birthday, as if they were looking after the future of the BAU, except Gideon wasn’t. And Hotch? Hotch thought he was. He’s not so sure anymore.

“Why are you standing over here?” Hotch asks.

“I’m too old to pretend I give a damn about food preparation. What’s your excuse?”

Hotch can think of a few but none of them are for Dave’s ears.

“It’s my birthday. I can do whatever the hell I want.”

* * *

Hotch is not sure how long he’s been staring at it but it must have been a while because when Sean walks back into the living room, the dishwasher has already been loaded. Hotch starts to apologize for not helping but Sean dismisses him.

“Is that from Spencer?” Sean asks as he sits in the armchair. Reid’s first name sounds so easy and normal coming from his brother. An hour ago it would have pissed him off, but right now Hotch finds it depressing.

This is something he would have expected from Dave, not from a kid who doesn’t even own a car and has a mother in an expensive mental institution. No matter what Reid said about knowing a musician who knows a guy who knows a guy, the first vinyl pressing of The Beatles’ ‘White Album’ in almost perfect condition with the serial number so low^[1] must have cost Reid something.

“That is some birthday present,” Sean remarks.

Compared to a home improvement kit from Morgan, Blue Label from Dave, a bottle of French wine he can’t pronounce from Prentiss, a pair of tie pins from JJ and home-made cake from Garcia, Reid’s present seems so… personal, especially to an outsider.

“Reid is very… thoughtful.” Hotch guesses that’s not exactly a lie.

There is a chuckle. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

Hotch looks up from the record he’s holding to the daring look on his brother’s face.

“Sean,” Hotch warns.

“Aaron,” Sean echoes.

His brother has always been easy to talk to. It’s one of the reasons people are drawn to Sean, and Hotch has never felt the need to keep anything from him. But this? This is the one subject he hasn’t planned on discussing with his brother, or anyone, anytime soon.

“It’s just a present,” Hotch says and places the record on the coffee table before them.

“Wow, Jess was right. You are one hell of a profiler.”

Hotch wonders if he could glare until his brother drops the subject. No such luck.

Sean leans forward and looks Hotch in the eye. “Come on. I’m not blind.”

Hotch wishes he could disappear at will. “Reid is…” Hotch tries. Reid is what? “He admires me. I’m the only father figure he’s got.”

Sean gives him a don’t pull your profiling bullshit now look and says, “The way you looked at his present just now tells me you’re not feeling very fatherly toward him.”

For someone who disapproves of profiling, Sean sure does a lot of it.

“Doesn’t mean anything happened.” Hotch looks down.

“No, it doesn’t.” Sean agrees. “But something happened, or you wouldn’t be freaking out.”

Sean dares Hotch to contradict him but Hotch can’t think of a working argument, so he leans on the backrest, closes his eyes and tells himself to breathe.

“Don’t tell me I’d make a great profiler.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Hotch says before opening his eyes and sitting up.

Hotch puts the record back in the paper bag it came with and pushes himself off the couch. As he collects the car key, cell phone and wallet by the door, Sean calls, “I’m not waiting up.”

“Smartass,” Hotch says without turning around and reaches for the door.

As he steps out, he hears a ‘You’re welcome!’ Hotch chuckles, closes the door, presses the paper bag to his side and starts walking.

* * *

Reid is in his glasses when he opens the door. Hotch forgot how young Reid looks in them. Reid takes one look at him and invites him in. The TV is on but muted. Reid switches it off and turns to face him.

“I’m not taking it back.” Reid looks at the bag in Hotch’s hand.

Hotch looks down at the bag, then looks back at Reid, frowning. “I’m not returning it.”

“Oh.” Reid pauses. “I thought it was customary for people to return items with sentimental value to the other party when the relationship comes to an end.”

“Come to an end?” Hotch’s frown deepens. “That’s not…”

“So you’re not here to break up with me?” Reid asks, reluctant.

“I…” Hotch doesn’t know how to phrase what’s in his mind. He puts down the bag on the sofa and looks back at Reid. “I was considering it.”

“And?”

“And against my better judgment, I’m not breaking up with you.”

Reid stares at him wordlessly and Hotch wishes they had telepathic ability.

“You work for me.” Hotch begins. “You’re my little brother’s age. You don’t need a middle-aged man with baggage, my kind of baggage, who can’t even show you public affection. You can do better than me.”

Reid opens his mouth to protest but Hotch won’t let him. “Don’t tell me you can’t. Statistically you can, and you will. You’ll meet someone your own age, unattached, who can kiss you in front of their friends, who can give you a proper family. Then I will have to let you go.” Hotch steps forward until he’s only an arm reach from Reid. “But I’m willing to take that chance because… because I’m happy. I didn’t recognize it at first because it’s been a while. And I want to stay happy. For me. For Jack. I just need to know that you are too, and that when you’re not, you’ll tell me.”

The last time he poured his heart out like that was at Haley’s funeral, but that was to say goodbye…

“Can I say something now?” Reid asks.

Hotch nods.

“You and I both know this is a good thing,” Reid says. “I’m not going to go into what we’ve been through and how my trust issues and your conditional self-worth overlap.”

“This is you not going into it?” Hotch asks, suppressing a smile.

Reid rolls his eyes before stepping forward and cradling Hotch’s face in his hands. “All I’m saying is I’m with the right Hotchner.”

Hotch blinks.

“Isn’t that what you’ve been hinting at?” Reid asks.

Hotch wants to deny it but nothing comes out of his mouth.

“Statistically, there are younger, attractive, single men with less… complicated lives, like your brother,” Reid says. “Some of them will find me suitable for a partnership, that is true. But this is also true: no two individuals are exactly alike. There will never be another you,” Reid points out. “Well, until consciousness cloning is made possible.”

Hotch doesn’t realize he’s been staring at Reid’s lips until he catches Reid’s eyes and spots the flushed cheeks. Then he is leaning in, closing the space between them. Reid’s lips are soft and sweet and parting slowly. Arms and hands entangle as their bodies mesh. Reid smells of soap and tastes of toothpaste and feels incredibly warm against him. The prospect of feeling this warmth all night, every night makes Hotch’s chest tighten a bit.

“Is this going to become an annual thing?” Reid looks at him. “You freaking out like this?”

Hotch outlines Reid’s cheekbone with his thump and finds himself smiling. “Probably.”

Reid chuckles. “Then I guess I should give you a heads up about my holiday depression.”

Hotch’s smile widens before he leans in and steals another kiss. “Thank you,” Hotch says. “And not just for the gift.”

Reid twines their fingers together and tugs at Hotch’s hand, “Come on, I’ve got you another one.”

“I have one condition.”

“Yes?”

“Keep the glasses on.”

A playful grin breaks on Reid’s face and Hotch lets himself be pulled toward the bedroom.

* * *

The sex is… not necessarily better than their second time, but it is intense. Reid passes out right afterward. Hotch tiptoes into the bathroom in search of something to clean themselves with. He finds a small towel by the medicine cabinet. He soaks it in the sink. As he turns to leave, something stops him. It is the man in the mirror again. Hotch notices that the weary lines are still there but the man’s eyes are not as tired. It’s no longer impossible to imagine that man with a smile. This time Hotch sees someone he knew a long time ago and he has a feeling he’ll get to know that person again.

Finis

[1] On the sleeve of The Beatles’ White Album, there is a unique stamped serial number. The lower the stamped number the greater the value.

The Great A-Z Drabbling Meme : Hotch/Reid Edition

Fri, 26 Nov 2010 18:43:18 GMT

I'm the world's most procrastinating writer but what's worse is I'm very uninspired at the moment so I think this simple yet brilliant meme will be the perfect cure. I'm not sure where it started but I thank whoever invented it.

Since I'm currently not capable of writing anything other than Hotch/Reid, I will only accept prompts concentrating on H/R relationship. You can throw in anyone you want, from Jack to Gideon. As long as it's H/R, I will write it. I don't mind kinks or even AU as long as it's plausible. So no MPREG, sorry. I love reading those, but I don't think I can write a good one. I really hope this is not too complicated.

One last thing, be warned that I am slow and have a very twisted mind. My grammars will not be perfect but I will try my best to make the stories presentable. If you're up for it, then let the fun begin!

A - Aaron	B - beach	C - catatonic	D - daddy
E - enthralled	F - foreskin	G - gridlock	H - hedonistic
I - interview	J - juice	K - knobble	L - lick
M - magic	N - nanometer	O - origami	P - party
Q - questions	R - rape	S - scroll	T - time
U - undulating	V - victim	W - wood floor	X - x-ray
Y - yellow	Z - zipper

Romantic Little Stories (No Matter What Dr. Reid Said) (Hotch/Reid, PG to NC-17)

Tue, 16 Nov 2010 09:53:03 GMT

Title: Romantic Little Stories (No Matter What Dr. Reid Said)
Author: Bow (bowie28 )
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Rating: PG to NC-17
Beta: kuriadalmatia
Warning : fluff, silliness
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plots.
Word count: ~2,000

Author Notes: This is just an excuse to post all my silly drabbles and ficlets in one place. I posted a couple of them on richtweet but these are the final versions. Enjoy.

Favor

Spencer Reid killed two men in his life. Once to save Aaron Hotchner’s life, the other to salvage what was left of his own. It was years later that he realized what was left of himself on that cold Georgian night had never really left Aaron Hotchner’s arms. When he mumbled ‘I knew you’d understand’ into Hotch’s warm neck, it was him who understood what it meant to put one’s trust in someone else’s hands entirely.

So when Aaron pressed him against the sink with their hands still wet from dish washing and said ‘Marry me?’ like it was ever a question, Spencer could only arch his brows and felt slightly offended because seriously! Spencer Reid had chosen Aaron Hotchner long before Tobias Hankel pulled the trigger in his face three times. He had chosen Aaron Hotchner the minute Hotch had decided to put his life in Reid’s hands in that emergency room and started kicking the daylights out of him. That day Aaron Hotchner had chosen Spencer Reid. Every day since was just Reid returning the favor.

Telephone

Aaron Hotchner was never fond of telephones. He associated them with rootlessness, infidelity, devil deals, and deaths. Most times when he received a call or a text, he expected to feel unworthy by the end of it. He expected no difference tonight as he shifted in his bed and reached in the dark for his vibrating phone. After staring at the name until the blacklight went out he gave in and read the message.

Can’t sleep

Against his better judgment he typed: Why?

I did sth impulsive and now my bf is being an ass about it

Your bf is just being reasonable

A reasonable ass

Good night

Did you know children growing up with pets gain better sense of empathy, self-worth and responsibility?

I’m not texting about this

But you didn’t even hear my side of the story!

He sighed. Ok. Let’s hear it.

The reply wasn’t a text. It was a picture of his six-year-old son holding and kissing a tiny black mutt, their big round eyes staring back at the camera.

He groaned. “This is so unfair.”

“You asked for it.”

Hotch turned on his back, feeling Spencer’s eyes, a part of him already yielding. “How are we going to keep a dog?”

An arm snaked over his torso. Hotch surrendered, drawing Spencer in his arms.

“We’ll figure something out.” Spencer’s breath was warm against his chest.

Hotch closed his eyes, pulling the other man closer. As much as he wanted to argue, Spencer was right. They always figured something out.

Puzzle

(Note: Post the crash in 5x11 ‘Retaliation’)

Spencer already tucked Jack in, showered, read an entire book, fell asleep and dreamed a very good dream when he felt an arm around his waist. The lips on his nape and now earlobe tickled him and he realized he wasn’t dreaming after all. He turned on his back and peered to find the star of his dream looking right at him in the dim light of the room. Those lips were forming a smile, a genuine, open, thankful one; the kind that still baffled him.

“Long night?” Spencer shifted under him.

The reply came in a form of a kiss, a real, breath-taking, oxygen-depriving kiss. It took Spencer a moment to recall what he had asked when Hotch finally answered the question. “Had to go over some details with Prentiss.”

Spencer was still getting his breath back when he made an observation, “She didn’t want to take sick leave.”

Hotch didn’t bother with a response. In fact, Hotch didn’t bother with the subject at all as his lips found Spencer’s neck.

“But you persuaded her.” Spencer tried his best to keep his voice steady and not giggle.

“Hence the details I needed to go over before she left,” Hotch said before tasting the skin behind Spencer’s ear. When a warm, searching hand slid under Spencer’s old T-shirt and brushed his nipple, he knew it was no use in pretending. He giggled.

“You’re not showered.”

Hotch would have had reminded Spencer how that had never stopped them before if he wasn’t so determined. No. Desperate. Spencer was tempted to ask Hotch what had had gotten into him, but then Hotch’s other hand found its way inside Spencer’s shorts. There was nothing coherent came out of Spencer’s mouth again that night.

* * *

The coffee made everything better, if that was possible after the night like that. It wasn’t until a figure came into his peripheral vision and wouldn’t go away that he looked up from his mug.

Emily had a smug, knowing look on her face and Spencer realized he had forgotten to wipe the stupid smile off his.

Spencer said, “I thought you had a week off.”

“I do.” Emily looked amused. “I just came by to pick up something I forgot.”

“Oh.” He sipped his coffee as he watched Emily walk over to her desk. “What did you forget?” It wasn’t in his nature to intrude, but it was still early and the look on her face made him a bit jumpy.

“Funny you should ask.” Emily grabbed something out of her top drawer. When she revealed it, Spencer gulped.

“You know what’s funnier?” Emily walked back to him and leaned against his desk, all the while playing with the object in her hands. “I saw one just like this in Hotch’s office yesterday.”

The coffee didn’t taste so good anymore.

“I asked him about it and he said it was a gift.”

Yet Spencer couldn’t seem to stop drinking it.

“He didn’t say from whom and I didn’t ask.” Emily’s voice changed. It wasn’t as amused anymore. Spencer looked up. “So, I told him the story. You know, the one with the young prince trying to put the shattered falling star back together to win the love of his life. The one you said was improbable.”

Spencer thought he probably looked like a scared kitten because suddenly Emily looked guilty and a little embarrassed. She pushed herself off of his desk and cleared her throat.

“Anyway, he agreed with me that it was romantic.”

Spencer watched Emily put her star puzzle inside her bag. She gave him a small smile, gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and left.

He looked down at his empty mug. He needed another coffee.

Readiness

There was something about the knocks. The four, equally paused knocks on his door. The patience behind them irritated Reid. Partly because he knew he wasn’t capable of it, and partly because they still managed to make his heart race after all this time.

“Agent Hotchner,” he greeted his late-night visitor in his most professional tone. The lights from the hallways left shadows on the man’s face in the way that reminded Reid of old film noir.

“Agent Reid.” The man mirrored his tone. Reid knew it was deliberate but he wasn’t going to let the man enjoy it by reacting. So he turned, waiting for the door to click shut.

The refrigerator was a few steps away when he turned around to offer a drink, but Reid found himself paddling backward as his guest invading his personal space. The man reeked of authority—the neatly styled hair, the primly pressed suit. It paralyzed Reid like it always did. A corner of the fridge door dug into his back. Reid could only blink.

“How was your day?” The man’s lips were mere inches from his. The breath was warm, intimidating, tickling Reid’s skin.

Reid swallowed, silently cursing himself. The dark eyes searched his face, pinned him to the cold hard surface. “My boss was a total pain in my ass today,” was his reply.

The face he saw was void of emotions but the man’s eyes fell on his lips for a slight second.

“Is that so?” The voice was flat but not sharp. Reid couldn’t take his eyes off of the moving lips. “Should I kiss it better, Agent Reid?”

Goose bumps spread over his neck to his ears. Reid grinded his teeth, “I’d rather you fuck it, Agent Hotchner.”

The next thing he knew, he was on the kitchen counter, lifting himself on his hands as his slacks were pulled off and gone. His bare ass hardly touched the cold granite when a finger breached him, then two.

“A boy scout, Agent Reid?”

“Never been one,” Reid tried his best not to hiss, “but I believe in readiness.”

“You and Hamlet.” The wrist turned and Reid found it hard to breathe, so he did the one thing he could to regain control.

“There’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow,” he recited, arching his back as he felt another turn. The smells were overwhelming—the aftershave, the sweat, but most of all his own scent. It was quite embarrassing. He tried not to think about it. “If it be now, ’tis not to come.” Then there was clanking sound of a belt buckle and fumbling sound of fabric. “If it be not to come, it will be now.” Reid clasped the toned arm, willing himself to focus. “If it be not now, yet it will come.”

The man’s hands gripped his thighs, yanking his body forward. “Stop saying ‘come.’ ”

Reid wished he could. “Readiness is all. Ahh!”

That was the last coherent thought in his brain.

It was rough and not entirely painless. Every other thrust Reid cursed, clinging to the other man tighter, closer, saying things that would probably make Garcia blush. At one point Reid was hauled entirely off the counter, unable do anything but clutch another body, helpless and used. It wasn’t until the other man put him down that Reid grabbed the man’s shoulders and slammed his hips down hard because he felt he couldn’t get close enough. And he did it again and again and again as the other man watched, mesmerized.

It ended so abruptly Reid didn’t think to bite down his cry as he ejaculated thick and hard. He wasn’t sure what happened next but he heard a hoarse cry. When he opened his eyes, the man’s body was hovering motionlessly above him, hands on each side of his head, eyes shut as if in pain.

Reid felt the urge to touch the man’s face, to ease that pain, but then he saw his hand touching that face, caressing it. The pain faded, vanished. The dark eyes opened and bored into him. Reid felt ridiculous all of the sudden because one simple look shouldn’t make him feel so warm and loved. He had to look away.

“On the kitchen island?” Reid feigned a chuckle. “This can’t be sanitary.”

The man didn’t blink. He saw right through Reid, as always. “Can I kiss you now?”

Reid felt a little giddy as he clasped his hands behind the man’s neck. “If only that’s an order, Agent Hotchner.”

The man cleared his throat. “Agent Reid.”

Reid grinned openly now.

“Shut up.”

Reid did as he was told and was rewarded with the kiss that made up for all the ones they had missed during their little game.

(Note: The quote is from Hamlet. Act v. Sc. 2)

Mornings

(Note: Written for capybara_sun)

Aaron Hotchner is not a morning person. To be fair, anyone who has worked with him would tell you that Aaron Hotchner is not a morning, noon or night person. Dr. Spencer Reid would silently disagree and smile in to his coffee mug, conjuring the scene two hours before: happy moans above him, shaking thighs under his fingers, the saltiness in the back of his throat, searching hands pulling his arms, warm chest heaving under him, the mouth he kissed and the lips he nibbled, the infectious grin and the accompanying Good morning.

Dr. Spencer Reid would not look through the opened blinds of Aaron Hotchner’s office windows. Instead he would listen to his colleagues complain about their never-ending paperwork and let them tease him a bit about his supposedly non-existent love life.

Five Times Spencer Reid Kept His Hair, and One Time He Didn’t (Gen, Reid, PG-13)

Sun, 13 Jun 2010 04:52:32 GMT

Title: Five Times Spencer Reid Kept His Hair, and One Time He Didn’t
Author: Bow (bowie28 )
Pairing: None / Reid-centric (or pre-slash Hotch/Reid)
Spoiler: Up to "The Internet is Forever"
Rating: PG-13
Characters: The Reids, random dude, Amanda, Jack Hotchner, Erin Strauss
Beta: runriggers
Word count: 3,759
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot(s).

Summary: Why Reid finally had his hair cut.

Author’s Note: By default I’m a Hotch/Reid fan, but this can also be read as a general Reid-centric story. Be kind and review?

Five Times Spencer Reid Kept His Hair, and One Time He Didn’t

(1)

Spencer Reid wasn’t looking forward to it anymore than he wasn’t looking forward to the Bureau’s drug test, but at least he didn’t dread it as much as he had the first few times. Awkwardness aside, a family dinner reminded him significantly less of his own weaknesses.

His mom had always been an opinionated person, and as much as he wanted to say that he was no momma’s boy, listening to her talk still had soothing effects on him. His father, on the other hand, had always been a listener, but hearing, listening, and actually sticking it out were three different things. For that it would take a lot more than a handful of get-togethers for Spencer to share anything with the man other than his thoughts on current events or weather.

So when his father made a comment on how unusually hot it was this time of year in the great state of Nevada, Spencer recited the statistics on Earth’s climate cycles, refuting typical (but understandable) misconceptions about global warming when argued. Soon enough Spencer realized his father wasn’t interested in winning the argument at all (something Spencer found almost alien given the nature of his conversations with his mom). His father, as it turned out, was only (in so many words) suggesting that in this kind of weather, it would be more logical for Spencer to keep his hair a few (or ten) inches shorter. Spencer doubted the weather had much to do with it. At least not as much as the fact that Spencer was his son, and no son of William Reid should look like a hippie.

Talking about hypocrites.

“He looks just fine,” his mom spoke in her exaggerated defense, reaching for Spencer’s shoulder to make him face her. “It’s a bit longer than usual,” she said, examining, tucking the stray locks behind his ear. “It just needs a little combing.”

“Mom!” Spencer warded off his mom’s hand, something he’d had a good deal of practice in junior high, when his father had still dropped him off and his mom could still tell time.

His mom wouldn’t budge. Spencer turned (instinctively) for help, but like twenty years before, his father just watched, showed no attempts to come to his son’s rescue.

“And when it gets too hot, he can put it up in a ponytail.”

At twenty-nine, Spencer knew better (and was now fast enough) to duck his mom’s other hand that was moving dangerously close to the other side of his head.

“Mom!”

That was when he heard a laugh. His father was laughing. He wondered if he inherited his father’s laugh the way he wondered if he inherited his mom’s brain.

“Diana, you’re humiliating the boy.”

His mom looked amused but backed away. Spencer kept the distance just in case. One couldn’t be too careful, especially with moms.

“And I’m not a boy anymore, Dad.”

It still sounded foreign even though he’d said it enough times in the past year. Spencer hadn’t made a big deal out of it. After all it was merely a word, a term assigned to give something meaning. Still, it left a brief silence behind, a moment of reflection, and he knew his father felt it too.

“Anyway, I like it,” his mom said with a bright wide smile. “It’s you.”

Her hands found his neck and cheek again, and as much as Spencer wanted, he couldn’t bring himself to back away from the touch. He didn’t want to.

“Why mess with perfection.”

That and her trademark wink, as always, broke him. He felt a smile blooming on his face, betraying him, but he didn’t mind much. He felt warm and loved. It was times like these that being his mom’s precious little boy was worth all the humiliations in the world.

Even so, Spencer was grateful when his father launched into the usual ‘You’re always babying him’ lecture that no doubt got his mom’s full attention.

He took this opportunity to turn and pick up a pink box.

“Time for dessert,” he said, presenting his mom her favorite pie.

(2)

This would be the last time, Spencer noted to himself, that he let Morgan drag him from the comfort of his apartment (and PJ’s) right before his bedtime (well, Star Trek reruns time, but whatever) to a club way too loud to even have a decent conversation. Not that they were having one.

Nursing his root beer by the bar, Spencer glared at his friend/co-worker/partner in crime who was now accompanied by three women on the dance floor. He was tempted to sneak out and maybe rent the new Star Trek movie on the way home. Garcia and Emily (and JJ, to his surprise) had been talking about it non-stop.

“Excellent taste.”

Spencer turned and found by his side a thirty-something white man with an attractive face and sharp eyes. He was about Spencer’s height, nursing real beer, and oozing confidence in a too-tight shirt only a man with Morgan’s body (and ego) would wear.

Speaking of whom. Excellent taste?

The man’s head tilted in Morgan’s direction.

Oh.

OH.

“He’s a friend.” Spencer couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

The man looked unconvinced, leaned in. “Really?”

Spencer’s back tightened up. “Why would I lie to you?”

After a moment, the man leaned back. “So you’re a G-man.”

“You know Morgan?”

The man smiled. “Somebody like him; it’s hard to miss, you know.”

Spencer didn’t really know but some random guy in a bar didn’t need to know that, so he nodded and turned to sip his drink.

“You don’t look like a G-man,” the man observed.

Spencer turned. “What do I look like?” A teacher’s pet? A momma’s boy? A drug addict?

“I don’t know.” The stranger gave him the once-over. “A model?”

Spencer didn’t understand. “I don’t understand.”

The man stared at him. “You don’t go out much, do you?”

Spencer had heard the question enough times to know it was rhetorical.

“It was a compliment,” the man said with a smile, a genuine smile. It caught Spencer off guard.

Aside from Morgan’s occasional ‘Pretty Boy,’ which Spencer took more as a fraternal banter than a term of endearment, no one had ever praised him for his looks alone.

“Umm, thanks,” Spencer managed, brushing away the hair, averting his eyes to the dance floor, sending Morgan a telepathic SOS.

That was when he heard a chuckle. “You’re adorable.”

The phrase had always made Spencer uncomfortable, mostly because even with an IQ of 187, he still had no clue how to respond with his dignity intact.

“I think it’s the hair,” the man said.

“My hair?” Spencer tensed, touching said hair.

“Yeah.” The man nodded. “I mean, isn’t there, like, dress code or something?”

Spencer was about to recite the entire passage on hair regulations from the BAU handbook (as he had done many times before) when his cellphone started vibrating against his thigh, giving him a jump. After some fumbling, he retrieved the phone.

An emergency recall message. Thank God.

“Man, I cannot catch a break!” The groan made Spencer look up. Morgan was still staring at a cellphone in his palm as he made his way toward the bar.

“You seriously can’t.” Spencer heard the stranger’s remark.

“Mick!” Morgan’s face lightened up a bit. “What’s up?”

“Just keeping your friend here company.”

Glancing at Spencer, Morgan snorted. “And how’s that coming?”

“Could use some help.”

“Wish I could,” Morgan said, waving his cellphone, and finally turning to Spencer. “I’m gonna take a leak. Meet me out front in five.”

Morgan was gone before Spencer could protest. He was so going to get Morgan for this.

“Um, I should go,” Spencer said, placing his half-finished root beer on the counter. “Thanks for…um…keeping me company.”

Mick smiled, said nothing. Spencer took this as an out and turned to leave.

“Wait.” Mick’s hand found his shoulder. Spencer leaned away automatically. Mick frowned but continued to say, “Let me leave you my number.”

The old him would have had responded with a frowning ‘For what?’ but the new and improved Spencer Reid replied, “Um. Sure,” and waited.

Morgan found him by the car.

“I don’t understand,” Spencer said, eyes fixed on a business card in his hand.

“What’s that?” Morgan unlocked the door but made no move to get in.

“I thought your friend’s name was Mick.”

“It is,” Morgan confirmed, making his way to the other side of the car.

Spencer looked up. “He gave me this. He wrote another number on the back which I assume is his private number, but he wrote to ask for someone named Matt.”

“Mick gave you his business card?” Morgan’s eye widened, almost ripping said card from Spencer’s fingers.

“Hey!”

Morgan ignored his protest, eyes swept through the content on the card. “You know what this means?”

“What?” Spencer grabbed back the card.

Morgan stared, literally gaping at him. “He’s a scout, Reid.”

His frown deepened.

“A modeling scout.”

“A modeling…” Spencer repeated, rewinding the earlier scene in the bar.

I don’t know. A model?

Spencer reviewed the card content, not that he needed to. He just needed to see the actual written words.

“You know, as in someone who works for a modeling agency.” He heard Morgan say.

He assessed the information but his mind wouldn’t let him come to the conclusion his brain had.

“Don’t tell me you need me to spell it out for you,” Morgan said.

Spencer shook his head. “It’s nothing. He probably ran out of his…”

“His casual business card? And the bar probably ran out of beer coasters?”

Now that sounded ridiculous, Spencer admitted.

“He’s given you one too, right, but you said no? I mean he must have.”

“No.” Morgan’s answer was abrupt, and for a brief moment Spencer thought his friend sounded a tad bit offensive.

“But I guess it makes sense.” Morgan shrugged, eyeing him up and down, a smirk slowly breaking. “He’s obviously into the more…” That was when Morgan’s hand reached toward his face, beyond his face. “…androgynous look.”

Thanks to his cat-like reflex (and all the practice with his mom of course), Spencer dodged just before Morgan could get a handful of his hair.

“What does that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice an octave higher.

Morgan was laughing openly now. “Doesn’t mean you’re a girl,” he replied, started walking back to the driver’s side. “Just that you’re one very, very pretty boy.”

By the time they reached Quantico, Spencer had promised to take one third of the paperwork and all out-of-state consults off of Morgan’s workload for the next two months while Morgan had promised to never breathe the words of that night’s ‘incident’ to anyone (i.e. Garcia). They shook it before stepping into an elevator. Spencer felt a sharp corner of the card nudging his skin through the fabric of his pants all the way up to the BAU floor.

(3)

It would be one year next week and Spencer was certain that Adam remembered. At least Amanda did, as she kept reminding him each visit. And honestly, Spencer wouldn’t expect anything less from Amanda. She had ways to get under his skin.

“So tell me, Dr. Reid,” she began, “Who are you in mourning for?”

That was Amanda all right.

“What makes you think I’m in mourning?”

She smiled. “You’re the profiler. Why don’t you tell me?”

The puffs of cigarette engulfed her, making her face glow under the lamp, almost like a halo. Spencer shook off the image. He wasn’t going to let her get to him today.

“How’s the leg?” she asked, eyeing the cane by his side.

“It’s healing,” he replied, studying her expressionless face.

“How’s your mom?”

Spencer leaned back. He didn’t reveal his personal life, not here, not at the BAU, not anywhere, but somehow through this discretion Amanda managed to learn more about Spencer Reid than those closer to him.

“I’m not here to play games, Amanda.”

She smirked. “I know why you are here, Doctor.”

“Do you?”

Another puff of smoke. “And I keep telling you, you’re wasting your time.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Her posture stiffened, by now an expectant response. “It’s not about what you believe, now is it?”

Being able to get under Amanda’s skin was always a good thing so Spencer prodded.

“You took something that wasn’t yours, Amanda,” he said, searching her face. Adam was never yours.

Amanda looked back, said nothing, her cheekbone pronounced as she sucked in another puff of smoke. Slowly she leaned back, her guard back up. Damn.

“I’m disappointed, Dr. Reid,” she started. “You claim to study human behavior, yet you know nothing about us.”

“You say ‘us’ but you don’t treat Adam as an equal. You won’t let him talk to me.”

“You’re not ready to talk to him.”

They were back to their old routine that Spencer knew would lead nowhere. He decided to play along, telling himself there was nothing to lose. “And how would you know that?”

Amanda studied him for a moment. He didn’t like the resigned look on her face.

“When was the last time you cut your hair, Dr. Reid?”

He frowned. “I don’t see how that’s…”

“Of course not,” she agreed. “The same way you don’t see how we’re not broken and how you’re not put on this earth to fix us.”

That wasn’t on the list of things he had expected to hear from her today, or ever.

“Whoever you’re mourning, they weren’t broken,” she said. “Whatever you did or did not do wasn’t going to fix them.”

“Are you saying it was meant to be?”

That he had been meant to have a father who had left him unable to trust anyone ever again?

That he had been meant to have a mother who made him forever afraid of his own mind?

That he had been meant to kill Philip Dowd, lock away Nathan Harris, fail Tobias Hankel, get addicted to Dilaudid and handcuff Owen Savage?

That he had been meant to let Gideon go and leave Hotch alone?

That he had been meant to lose Adam forever?

“You don’t believe in fate, Dr. Reid. You believe in choices,” she reminded him. “But what are the choices for someone waiting for something that’ll never come?”

She gave him a longing look. “Aren’t they just a bunch of goons waiting for Godot?”

Once again, Spencer left the session with more questions than answers.

(4)

It took two decades of nightmares about dead boys in a basement for Spencer to look for a man who had never really been his father. It would take Spencer more than a dozen of unsigned postcards to look for a man whom he had considered so many times, in too many ways, his father.

Your hair is getting long.

The card joined the rest in the drawer where he did NOT keep a certain tabloid magazine. He would not look for the card’s sender the same way he had not looked up his leading lady.

(5)

It was natural for people (well, sane people) to dislike funerals, but Spencer doubted that most people felt the way he was feeling right now. Helpless. Stupid. Hypocritical.

For he knew that he could have had talked to Hotch and maybe, just maybe, had eased some of Hotch’s pain.

Because of all people, Hotch knew Reid would have understood—understood what it was like to lose and want to keep fighting, to feel weak and want to forget, to feel powerless and want to give up, to feel angry day and night, to feel utterly, utterly alone.

Now it was too late.

He watched his Unit Chief, his mentor, his friend put on SSA Aaron Hotchner’s face, shake hands with people who probably hadn’t even met Haley. Spencer didn’t believe there were words that could express how sorry he was, for the loss of life, of love, for the what-ifs and let’s-nots, for all the things he could have had done but had not the balls to follow through.

Follow through.

It had been a while since he had felt this self-deprecating.

Jack Hotchner was sitting by himself, looking at nothing and everything. Haley’s sister and JJ were probably off looking after something or someone of little-to-no importance, like catering or the assistant mayor. Spencer met his eyes and remembered like it was yesterday what it felt like to be the only kid in a room. Like a man possessed, he pushed himself up with the help of his cane and started walking.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

Jack looked up, turned to look at the empty seats by his side, looked up again and shook his head.

They sat in silence for a while.

“What’s wrong with your leg?” Jack asked.

Spencer turned to the boy who was examining his cane. Observant. Like father, like son.

“Oh, I got shot during a case.”

“You got shot?!” Jack’s eyes widened.

Spencer bit down a smile. “I’m okay. I’m gonna be walking on my own in a few weeks.”

Jack gave him an empathic nod. “My mom got shot too.” But she won’t be walking in a few weeks like you.

Spencer felt a sting in his eyes, the words caught in his throat.

“Daddy said Mom’s gone to heaven.”

There was sorrow in Jack’s eyes yet so much hope in his voice that Spencer, a professed nonbeliever, could only nod. “I’m sure she has.”

At this point Jack was openly staring at him. Spencer had to look away.

Hotch’s eyes were on them, on him. Confused, searching eyes. They still gave Spencer a start, even from across the room.

“You look like Jesus.”

Spencer’s head snapped back. “Excuse me?”

Jack’s big round eyes were searching his face. “Jesus had long hair like you.”

He didn’t have a response for that.

“He had long hair just like you,’ Jack repeated. “Only he didn’t wear a suit.”

The laugh burst out before Spencer could do prevent it. People were shooting him disapproving looks. Hotch, however, seemed less offended and more curious.

“You think Mom’ll meet him up there?” Jack asked.

With a smile, Spencer placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I’m sure she already did.”

(6)

Spencer Reid disliked very few people, mostly because he didn’t know that many people to begin with. With Erin Strauss though, he despised her—for her attempts to sabotage the team, his team, his family; but most of all for her personal vendetta against Hotch who had done everything for the Bureau, for the department, for her department, for everyone but himself.

So naturally when the woman approached anyone on the team, Spencer’s sensory system went haywire; like how dogs became frustrated when they smelled something was wrong. It made him lose control and objectivity. It made him do things against his better judgment.

Like it did now.

“Excuse me,” he said after clearing the throat. They were in the hallway in front of Rossi’s office. Rossi looked away from the Section Chief. Spencer held up a manila folder and gave it a few taps. Rossi gave him a nod before turning back to the woman.

“Afraid I have to take a rain check on that, Erin.”

Strauss stiffened at the sound of her given name. Rossi knew what he was doing and Spencer wouldn’t deny he enjoyed it quite a bit.

Eventually, after a good deal of glaring, she nodded at Rossi and turned to leave, only to pause in front of Spencer and gave him a look.

Spencer knew the look.

“Agent Reid,” she began.

“Ma’am.”

“I see you still haven’t found that spare time.”

Spencer nodded. “No, ma’am.”

For a moment it seemed the Section Chief had something to say. Spencer waited, but to his surprise she remained silent. After another long look and a nod, she took off.

“What was that about?” Rossi walked up to him.

Spencer shrugged. “She’s mentioned the length of my hair more than one occasion.”

Rossi gave him an exaggerated look. “A reprimand?”

“Not officially.”

“Yet.”

Spencer agreed but said nothing.

“So what’s a case?” Rossi looked at the folder in his hand, something Spencer had just remembered holding.

“Oh, there’s no case,” he said. “It just looked like you needed an exit.”

Rossi gave him another look.

“Am I wrong?” Spencer asked.

Rossi chuckled. “Are you ever.” Spencer felt a pat on his shoulder. “I owe you one.”

“Actually you owe me two,” Spencer pointed out as the other man turned to step back into his office.

Rossi paused and turned around. “What?”

“The ditch,” Spencer said. “How are the good boots, by the way?”

“Fine and shiny, thanks to you,” Rossi smirked, which Spencer returned.

Finally Rossi nodded. “All right, next time there’s a ditch, give me a holler.”

Spencer knew he wouldn’t hold the other man to it. He didn’t come here for that. There were more pressing issues here.

“What did she want anyway?”

Rossi studied him for a moment. “She was looking for Hotch. I smelled blood in the wind. Sent him home half an hour ago.”

The image of Hotch stuck in never-ending meetings with that woman instead of enjoying dinner with Jack gave Spencer an urge to throw something.

“She’s still after him about the budget cuts?”

“Among other things.”

Spencer frowned. What other things?

“I know the guy’s an uptight SOB, but he’s only wound up like a thousand day clock around this time of year.”

The annual review.

“Is she serious? After everything?” After Foyet?

Rossi shrugged. “Considering he’s got his job back and…”

“His job,” Spencer sneered.

“And you get away with that hair,” Rossi continued. “I’d say she cut him serious slack.”

The image of Hotch in the meetings from Hell returned. So did Spencer’s urge to throw things.

God, how he despised that woman.

When Hotch greeted him with a puzzling frown and a ‘Did you join a boy band?’ remark, Spencer tried to feign offense, but it wasn’t easy.

Spencer could count the times his boss had openly teased anyone on one hand. He hadn’t expected to have missed it so much. He felt proud. Stupidly proud. Had he known it only took a simple haircut for Hotch to…

Rossi was staring at him, a realization dawning. Spencer was ready to panic when he recalled that Rossi still technically owed him those two favors.

Finis

YES THIS IS A PROMOTION POST

Fri, 11 Jun 2010 07:29:15 GMT

As some of you know, I have a Hotch/Reid fanfiction archive at delicious, and it's getting bigger, much to my delight. (Thank you for writing, guys!)

As it turned out, my small archive has become of use to some of my H/R fellows and I was asked to join the wonderful staff of the wonderment that is I Knew You'd Understand community on Twitter and Blogger. It's been a lot of fun and I'd love you guys to join in on the fun. Check out the names of the staff if you need some validation of said fun (and awesomeness!). It's sure driven me to write more H/R. :D

Speaking of writing, I finished a fic last night. The first one in months! It's Reid-centric general story (or pre-slash H/R if you're one-track minded like I am, lol). It'll be up soon. Hope to see you guys there!

I'll leave you with the reason why H/R rules!

Yep. Even TG ships it. <3

Really? Is that what it's called?

Fri, 09 Apr 2010 22:41:47 GMT

Well, yes, Sherlock Holmes and Criminal Minds have something in common. Aside from the fact that SH is basically CM in Victorian England, the two male leads also seem to be a little bit in love with each other.

"What were you doing just now?"

Flushed, Reid said, "Thinking. Trying to make sense of the crime scenes. What Sherlock Holmes called ratiocination."

Hotcher's eyebrows went up. "Really? Is that what it's called?"

Was that sarcasm? A joke? Another sign of Hotchner's legendary missing-in-action sense of humor? It was spotted from time to time, like Bigfoot...

(Jump Cut, Max Allen Collins, pg 103)

In the the first CM novel called Jump Cut, Reid and Hotch actually bonded over Sherlock Holmes, which was epic in itself until the Sherlock Holmes movie came out and now I want CM/SH crossover fics. Because, come on, it's meant to be!

For daylyn and travelinthedark, I uploaded the "scans" from the novel for you. But as you know, my scanner died on me, so I used my camera instead, so forgive the weird lighting and my embarrassing bed sheets. - -''

Links for Book I:

A zipped file (18 MB) : RapidShare (Sorry, I have an account there. It's the fastest way for me to upload big files.)
27 picture files (600-700 KB/pic) : PhotoBucket (guest passwd: publicstuff)

These include:

Chapter One (character introduction from Hotch's POV)
Chapter Four (SH references!)
Epilogue (a nice Reid/Gideon moment)

I'll try my scanner again and if luck's on my side, I'll get you proper scans from this book and then the other two, but it might take me a while to look for H/R parts, which aren't that many anyway.

Well, enjoy I guess. I hope it'll fuel your plot bunnies and eventually get me that crossover fic! XD

EDIT :

So guess what? I skimmed CM book II Killer Profile and Hotch brought up Holmes again! (though not in the flirty way, sadly). And also, a possible H/R slashy goodness that happened for like five seconds, but the indication made up for the lack of H/R interaction in the book. Flip to page 171 and you'll see what I mean, hee.

Links for Book II:

A zipped file (20 MB) : RapidShare
34 picture files : PhotoBucket (guest passwd: publicstuff)

These include:

Chapter One : Hotch's marriage, Hotch on Reid, some Hotch/Morgan banter :D
Chapter Four : Hotch talks about Holmes
Page 170-173 : squint and you'll see H/R slash (I just realized I named the files wrong. Should be "170-171.jpg" and "172-173.jpg" instead.)
Page 204-213 : Reid's POV (start at the end of page 205)
Epilogue : Reid and Rossi playing chess

EDIT II :

Before we get on with Book III Finishing School, may I say that Hotch looked spectacularly hot in this week's episode? As for MGG's new and insanely cute haircut, I can't wait for the team reactions. I imagine some comments would be made and some actions taken, lol. No doubt the guy's been kidnapped twice. Just look at him!

On to the book, this one doesn't have real H/R goodness, but there are some nice (and funny) moments from the two of them. Also I liked the team dynamic in this one. BAU banters FTW!

Links for Book III:

A zipped file (15 MB) : RapidShare
25 picture files : PhotoBucket (guest passwd: publicstuff)

These include:

Chapter One : Case introduction from JJ's POV
Chapter Two : Fun BAU time at breakfast :D
Page 78-89 : Hotch/Reid/Prentiss & the cookies \o/
Page 143-149 & 216-222 : Reid's POV & Reid's thoughts on Hotch at the very end
Epilogue : Baby talk between JJ/Prentiss/Hotch + some H/R if you wear magic glasses :D

That's it. My scanner is still in the shop and since it's a very long holiday here, I don't think I'm gonna see it anytime soon. - -''

Thanks for all the H/R squees. They're hard to come by these days. I'm looking forward to CM/SH fics from you guys while I'll try to write something readable and H/R for a change.

Picspam : a trippy trip to heavenly beaches

Thu, 04 Feb 2010 18:43:20 GMT

Five hours from Bangkok and one more on a speedboat,
and we arrived on Koh Mak (Mak Island),
one of the most famous tourist destinations in Thailand.
(I mean, really, 90% of the tourists there were non-Thai.)

I'm not a fan of beaches and too much sun, but I've got to admit this one blew my mind.
I didn't get as many pics I as wanted though because
1) I was an idiot for packing only one set of battery
(which was of course the one already in the camera *shakes head*) and
2) water and camera? Not a good combination.
So when we went snorkeling around nearby islands, I didn't bring it along.

Anyway, just thought I'd share the pretties!

Yeah, just a boat trip to the island.

And here were are! I was like this \o/ for about ten minutes, lol. So pretty...

Oh, right, this is the resort we stayed at.
Pretty sweet. So quiet and the stuff is very friendly.

The pier! I love piers by the way. :D
It what makes this resort so much better than the other ones too.

!

Right, where we sleep.
We chose non-air-conditioning house because we're cheap.

It's a high-leveled house. (Is that what it called?)
Anyway, that hammock was pretty comfortable. ^_^

Another side of our porch.

Yeah, breakfast! Thai breakfast too!
(I was still sick of American-styled breakfast from my Nepal trip, lol.)
Anyway, it's boiled rice, hot chocolate and fruits. Yummy...

All my friends, of course, ordered American breakfast. :P

It's the last day. We're waiting to get on that white boat.

So we ordered some overpriced drinks.
(The only downside of visiting tourist spots is
you pay for everything twice or trice the mainland price.)

Oh well, the end of the journey now.
Feels so much faster than the arrival trip too. Weird.

Those interested in bathing in the sun on pretty beaches of this island,
check out this website.
They'll arrange everything for you (speedboat, hotel, diving trips, island trips)
with no extra charge + restaurant/bar discounts.

Now I'm gonna go watch some TV and read some porn. XD

Fic : A Kiss Is... (Hotch/Reid, mild NC-17)

Wed, 06 Jan 2010 09:30:34 GMT

Title: A Kiss Is…
Author: Bow (bowie28)
Pairing: Hotch/Reid (Criminal Minds)
Rating: FRAO/NC-17 (not too explicit)
Word Count: 2,434
Beta: runriggers
Warning: fluff + angst + some sex / second-person POV
Spoiler: Up to 5x11
Disclaimer: Written for fun, not money. I own nothing but the plot.

Summary: For a Renaissance man such as Dr. Reid, a kiss can mean a lot of things.

Author’s Note: Based on this article I found randomly while researching for my real job. Feedback makes me happy (and less lazy).

A Kiss Is…

…infinity because it is two divided by nothing. (Algebra)

Cocooned in strong arms against a broad chest, warm, wet, sated, loved, undeserved, you listened. The breathing was slowing down, hot and moist on your neck, the heartbeat pounding, strong, stubborn against your back. Three forbidden words rang in your ears, churned your insides. Your eyes found the door, feet itched to run, but damp fingers found your own, entwining, holding on, pulling in, and you sank back, down and down. You turned, like a boy caught red-handed, wishing you had been mute while he had been deaf. Somehow, despite the track marks and the stab wounds, his lips found yours. Despite Tobias Hankel and George Foyet, his kiss was soft and sweet, echoing those same three words.

…the shortest distance between two lips. (Geometry)

The cabin was dry and cold so you pressed on, needing more of that warmth. The plane hummed blissfully, urging you to do the same. Hmm, you pressed once more, adjusting your pillow, warm, firm, angular? Your eyes pried open, took in the dim light and close space, cheek absorbing the familiar warmness. You jumped, muttering a low, automatic ‘sorry.’

“’s all right. Everybody’s out.” The voice was awake.

“Shouldn’t anyway.” You couldn’t look.

“I’ll draw the line when you start drooling.”

You turned then. In starlit darkness the smile you saw was small but open and easy and exclusive, blinding out everything but those lips. A calculation formed in the back of your mind: lines, angles, distance, speed, time, but right before you could see the answer, your own lips betrayed. Pressing, seeking, tasting, sighing, humming. Hmm.

“Sorry.” You murmured against the lips.

A snicker. “You’re not.”

…the contraction of mouth due to the expansion of the heart. (Physics)

“I’m twenty-seven.” The ceiling had a weird pattern.

Hands pulled off your shoes, one then the other. “You are.”

The voice was far away. The pattern changed, moving; your eyes followed it until the familiar face blocked the way.

“Hey, you’re here.” You smiled stupidly, recognizing one of your few good dreams.

A sigh. “I told you. The bartender called me.” A thumb brushed away your hair, tracing your temple, warm, tingling. Hmm.

“You told us you went to see your mom.”

“I hate birthday parties.”

A faint smile. “I know you do.”

“Sorry I lied.”

“Just try to sleep.” The voice was soft, forgiving, understanding; the fingers leaving.

You caught the hand. “Don’t go.”

“I can’t stay.”

“Just for a little while.”

A nod. “Okay.” The mattress sank by your side, another hand on your head, stroking your hair.

Hmm. You closed your eyes. “I missed this.” You’d missed the aftershave. You’d missed being this close, close enough to smell the aftershave.

“You really shouldn’t be drinking.” The voice was thick with concern.

Your heart swelled. You had to smile, open your eyes. “I missed you scolding me.”

A frown. The loose red tie was crimson in the dim light. Your hand found its tail.

“You think I’ll forget in the morning? Eidetic memory and all?”

“Forget what?”

“This.” You tugged at the tie lightly, pulling it until the mouth met your own. Hmm.

Hmm.

You could still taste the vomit as JJ briefed the team’s new case, recalling all the curses over the toilet. Those and the aftershave and the warm mouth and the humming back and the red tie that was now staring back at you from across the round table. You needed aspirin.

That and a new boss.

…the reaction of the interaction between two hearts. (Chemistry)

Coffee was good for you up until certain amount of consumption but somehow the knowledge—all the studies, all the statistics never stopped you from filling up your seventh cup of the day or making a fresh pot for your boss (well, former boss) when you were getting ready to head home.

“I always thought the last pot tasted different.”

You knew the voice. He was there when you turned, an empty mug in his hand.

“Better,” he added.

You felt your face burn. “I put in a bit of cocoa.”

He nodded, no smile in sight but the air was light, unlike most of the day. Most of these days.

You bit down on your lip, didn’t want to smile over an appreciation that trivial.

He was moving toward you. No, the coffee machine.

“You never asked me...” He put down the mug. “…if I was okay.”

You couldn’t move, clutching at your stupid crutches. The pain you were seeing on his face, you identified with it too much.

“You remember the last time you felt truly happy?”

It was unnatural to see Aaron Hotchner like this, seeking comfort openly, being human openly.

“Probably when my mom still tucked me in, reading me Proust.”

“Proust?”

“It’s the end that counts,” you clarified, remembering. “Her kiss on my forehead.”

You spotted the light in those eyes, then the saddest smile.

“Jack loved that too.”

Your whole being ached, and you weren’t being figurative. You could list all the bodily chemicals that made the phenomenon possible, knew why they made you react the way you did next.

He was warm when you pressed your lips against the skin above his brow. The faint scents of his hair, breaths, weariness, surrender made you feel out of place, out of rights, but you guessed you didn’t care.

“Good night.”

He didn’t move, said nothing, barely nodded before turning to the coffee machine.

You limped out of the break room. Your leg hurt like hell.

…both infectious and antiseptic. (Dentistry)

The skin was burning under your fingers. You knead, rubbed out the heat, keeping the hips in place. You hummed around him, low and deep, hand fondled the tight warm sacks, drawing out strangled moans. Strong fingers carded through your hair, urging, protesting, out of sync. You looked up, his eyes wide and dark. You smiled even though you couldn’t technically. He sank back into the sofa, giving in, letting you exorcize the fiery devil. When he finally combusted, bursting on your tongue, burning down your throat, you felt high, feverish, stupid, happy. He shivered as you climbed up and settled on his lap. His shaky hand found your face, thumb wiped off the missed spot on the corner of your lips.

“You’re being childish.” His eyes were heavy with bliss and drugs.

“Should have just let me kiss you.”

“Moot point now, isn’t it?”

You smiled in triumph and leaned in to claim your reward. He let you.

“Did you know kissing helps boost your immune system?” you asked. “By exchanging bacteria through a kiss, you’re stimulating your internal defense mechanism.”

“I doubt it works when one of us is sick.”

“Wrong,” you said, reaching for the phone.

“What are you doing?”

You hit the speed dial. “Now we both need to call in sick of course.”

…a credit because it is profitable when returned. (Accounting)

A cry woke you, only this time it wasn’t your own. Your eyes flew open. He was already on his feet, pulling on sweat pants and T-shirt.

“Go back to sleep.”

You grunted an ‘okay’ into the pillow, tightening the covers around your bare body, watching him slip out the door. The light from the hallway made the room glow and you closed your eyes. It’d been months and you’d gotten used to this, but you still hated it, the way it always left him restless and hollow afterward.

You woke again when the mattress sank. The warmness radiated under the covers and you reached out blindly. He pulled you in and you could imagine those dark brows knitting on his forehead as he let you settle between his arm and torso.

“Sorry about that.”

You loved how soft his T-shirt was against your skin.

“’s all right.”

“They said he was getting better.”

The stroke of fingers through your hair made you purr. You felt a little guilty.

“No expiration date.”

A questioning sound made you open your eyes. He had a quizzical brow.

“Nightmares,” you clarified. “They have no expiration date.”

He blinked. You suddenly felt out of place.

“I just hate seeing him cry.”

His eyes were on you, tired, destitute. Something in you bled. Your hand found his worn shirt, the fabric bundled between your fingers, and you pulled him down until your lips met his. You felt his breath hitch but you didn’t let go, you sucked until he gave way.

When you finally felt him gasp, you realized you were gasping too, for air, for things you hadn’t known you’d been missing, needing. You let him pull away.

He was smiling now, bright, warm, open, and it made you smile. You’d trade a whole minute of oxygen shortage every time if it got Aaron Hotchner to smile like that in return.

…that thing for which the demand is always higher than the supply. (Economics)

It happened sometimes, by now you’d gotten used to them, the impulses—through the one-way glass in the investigation rooms, across dozens of people in the courtroom, from the shallow grave in the dark cemetery—the impulses you’d used to label as juvenile, impractical, used to wonder if they would ever go away.

The local officers were dispatched from the station along with the team’s latest profile. JJ went with the mayor’s assistant while Morgan and Emily went with the lead detective. Hotch looked at you from the white board with a deep frown. You swallowed.

“Where were you, kid?”

You jumped at the hand on your shoulder. Rossi gave you a look when you turned.

“Yeah, where were you?” Another voice came.

You turned to the other side. Hotch was there, an opened manila folder in hand, eyes on you, waiting.

You turned back to Rossi, felt as if you’d been trapped in one of those Chaplin movies where things moved way too fast. Rossi chuckled, exchanged amused looks with the man behind you before excusing himself to call Garcia.

“Are you all right?”

Hotch was looking at you, confusion had turned into concern. It made your face burn.

“I was just…” You looked around. The station was almost empty. Almost. “Elsewhere.”

“And where was that?” The dark eyes were searching.

You leaned in. “Somewhere I could kiss you any time I want.”

…persecution for the child, ecstasy for youth, and homage for the old. (Philosophy)

When your dad had walked out on you, he’d taken something with him, the growth you couldn’t learn and achieve from any text books. You’d grown a few more years when Gideon had taken you in, but when he’d left, he’d taken those years with him too. Since then you’d been collecting, keeping score, and you were about fifteen when you showed up at Hotch’s door unannounced with some lame excuse about your past custodial interview together. When he kissed you in the middle of his living room, you grew a year older. When you resisted (out of shock and doubts) and he wouldn’t let you, you grew another two. When he whispered how long he’d been waiting to do this, you reached twenty. When he trailed small kisses down your neck and told you to undress, you were twenty-two. When he let you do the same to him, you turned twenty-four. When he kissed you through the piercing pain, you reached twenty-six. When his mouth found yours, catching your cries of ecstasy, you passed twenty-seven. When he chanted your name and finally let go, and you kissed him again and again, you felt ten, twenty-eight, fourteen billion. And you were fine with it because when he kissed you back and asked you to spend the night, he too looked ten, forty-three, fourteen billion.

…the juxtaposition of two orbicularis oris muscles in the state of contraction. (Physiology)

It was a rare occasion, like an annual celestial phenomena, to wake up and have nothing else to do and nowhere else to be. Just this little expedition in your own bed. The prospects made you smile and you placed another kiss on the warm chest.

He stirred, making an objecting sound, the sound you’d memorized, learned to cherish. You moved lower, pressing your lips on his abdomen, waiting for the same sound and the vibration that accompanied it. You smiled against the skin when it came.

“Whatchadoin?”

“Exploring,” you said, eyeing the sleepy man.

A chuckle came. “So a scientist during the day, a nudist at night.”

“Naturist,” you corrected him, kissing the heaving rip cage.

Another chuckle and you pushed yourself up on one elbow. His face was open, hair ruffled, un-Hotchner-like, adorable, his eyes on you, still hazy with sleep, hand resting on the curve of your back.

“And at its core, naturists are scientists, and scientists never stop exploring.”

A smile broke on his face and you leaned in, nuzzling his cheek so you could kiss the skin below his jaw. You felt him shiver.

“And what did you learn?”

You smiled against the cheek before moving down. “Kissing is a complex behavior.” Your lips found his neck, feeling the vein pulsing underneath. “It requires significant muscular coordination.” His breath hitched. You smiled. “A total of thirty-four facial muscles and one hundred and twelve postural muscles are used during a kiss.”

Another peck on his chin and you found yourself lying half on top of his body. Your eyes met his then. They were dark, longing.

“The most important muscle involved is the orbicularis oris muscle, which is used to pucker the lips,” you said, planting another one on the corner of his mouth. “Informally known as the kissing muscle.”

Propping on his chest like a puppy, you had a blissful smile on your face. His groan took you by surprise, and when he pulled you down and sealed both your mouths, you gasped and held on. It was then that you felt his tongue against your lips and his hard-on against your hip. They made your insides burn, melting you down, and you let him in.

When he finally let go of you, you panted, “In the case of the French kiss, the tongue is also an important part.”

Another groan and he was flipping you over until you laid bare under him, and you giggled as his stubble scratched your cheek when he recaptured your mouth, setting both of you on the rest of the expedition.

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for your love is more delightful than wine.”

The Bible - Solomon's Song of Songs 1:2

In the cold I found warmth

Tue, 05 Jan 2010 12:14:32 GMT

Pics from my 5-day trip around Nepal. Beware of too many pics (and temples, lol)!

(Sorry I'm too lazy to improve/colorize the pics. They mostly look presentable though.)

Day 1

(Because our flight delayed for 2 hours, it's already dark when we got there.)
Of course the first thing we do is find food!
We're in a Nepali restaurant.
(Too bad we didn't get pics of/with this too-damn-good-looking-to-be-a-waiter waiter there, lol.)

That is Nepali dumplings. Yummy. But probably not more than three, lol.

They have rice like this, rice in the middle of a VERY BIG plate, then other stuff around the rice.

Day 2

At some temple. Lots of monkeys. So cute! (They keep to themselves too! Unlike Thai monkeys...)
(Sorry I didn't really follow the names of these temples. I was there just to tag along really, lol.)

This is my best friend in the whole wide world by the way.
(Pics of me would be found on her camera.)

Very cold at 7 a.m.

They're like bells, but not really. They don't ring. They just spin.
You walk and drag your hand on them. Don't know why. It supposedly grants you good luck.

People lighting lots of candles.

Souvenir shop.

Right, we walk up to the temple. Only that high.

Love this shot.

Love the color scheme.

I think this is a wishing well, for peace on earth.

Young Nepali monks playing soccer. I think.

That's our bus.

At one of our coffee/food/bathroom stops.

This is a river that's the water looks like milk, or has milky color.
There's a legend for that, but don't remember it now.

This is like Thailand's Khao San Road
(a.k.a. long street with shops and guest houses for backpackers.)

Day 3

We wake up at 5.30 a.m. to look at the sunrise on some mountain.
Only there's too many clouds...

...until about 30 minutes later.

This is a place where they sacrifice animals (sheep/goats/chicken) for the gods.
They still do this on a weekly basis.

People do sometimes get married at temples.

The guy in brown beanie and cream jacket?
He's our lovely local guide!

This is the most popular car model in Nepal, I think. I want one. Very compact.

At Tibetan's Refugee Camp.

At Davi's Fall. The legend is pretty silly.
(Some guy named Davi falled off between the cliffs and died
while leaning to see this waterfall which runs very, very deep in the bottom of the cliffs.)

Now we're talking a river cruise...

...on a small boat...

...to this temple on this very small island.

Now we're in the city, visiting one of the most famous temples of Nepal.

Day 4

We wake up in a beautiful resort/hotel on some mountain.

And we're back in the city to see some old palaces and some more temples, lol.

The next two pics are supposed to be symbols of male and female sex organs.

I just don't get it.

We walk...

...wherever our awesome Thai guide (and that pink flag) takes us.

We're at this famous coffee/tea shop...

...and order famous Nepali yogurt and spice tea.

It's yummy.

And we take some pics from where we sit (the second or third floor).

Just love how every big truck there has a "SEE YOU" sign.

People playing some kind of board game by the side of the road.

We walk.

We walk some more.

This is supposed to be a very important gate.

My favorite quote there.

Another palace.

Very famous Bhudha image in the city.

A Nepali cat.
Looks a lot like Thai cat, doesn't it?

Here are Nepal's top soldiers. And they wear yellow socks!

Day 5

Basically we're flying home right after breakfast.

With our guide's encouragement, we run into the first-class section of the plane
and get these wonderful shots of the Himalayan Range.

That dark triangle peak.... that's Mount Everest. Neat, huh?

There you go. A 5-day trip around Nepal.
We met some interesting people, learned some bargaining tips,
and tasted the food we don't want to taste ever again (at least in the next few months).
Thank you,
our two wonderful guides,
our skilled drivers,
Nepal's confusing TV programs,
Jason Mraz (who filled my new iPod nicely),
my very tolerant friend (who pees a LOT),
and all my traveling mates.
You made this trip a whole lot more fun.
and a real experience.