Chapter Text
Art by: Cueonego (Tysm!!!)
"There's more beauty in truth,
even if it is dreadful beauty.”
― John Steinbeck, East of Eden
Spencer fingered the wad of crumpled dollars in his pocket, antsy for a coffee, and tried to focus on Ethan’s story. He couldn’t, though, not with the idiotic conversation going on in front of him.
“That makes no sense,” he muttered under his breath. Ethan raised an eyebrow at him, but he kept on, “Is this guy even listening to himself?”
A mere few inches ahead of him in line, a flannel-clad postgrad spun his head around and squinted at him in disbelief. “Excuse me? What did you just say?”
Spencer’s eyes went wide; he squished the wad in his first. “I just, uh, your thesis doesn’t, it’s not very well thought out.”
Flannel glared at him. “Listen, you twerp, what do you know about it?”
“Clearly I know more than you. I mean, based on what I heard,” he scoffed.
Flannel’s nostrils flared and he lunged forward. “You better watch your mouth, you little shit!”
Spencer stumbled back into the girl standing behind him and reached out to break his fall, sending bills and quarters flying everywhere. Ethan grabbed his arm and righted him. “Watch it, Spence! What are you doing, dude?”
“Ha! Jesus, kid, you fucking mouse.”
Spencer set his eyes on Flannel who was grinning like a shark. “What, you can’t be so daft you don’t realize you’re entirely wrong, can you?” he said, his heart racing, “How embarrassing is it that your entire dissertation is based on something that doesn’t even make sense? Your Professor must think you’re a joke. I don’t even study Economics and I know it’s crap.”
Ethan tugged at his arm, but he shrugged him off.
“Yeah, big words coming from an idiot freshman,” he spat.
“I’m not a—”
Ethan squared his shoulders and stepped forward, looking up. “Hey! Don’t talk to my friend like that! He’s got more degrees than you’ll ever have!”
“Don! C’mon, stop!” The girl at Flannel’s side said, clutching his arm.
“Yeah, okay, this little shrimp? What, did your mom just drop you off yesterday?”
‘Don’t you dare talk about my mother!” Spencer hissed, his eyes darkening, “You’re the fucking idiot! You’re so full of shit!”
“Woah, no, Spence– Come on, dude, uh, let’s go–”
“I bet your mom is such a slut she let half the campus hit her from behind after she dropped you off,” Don smirked.
“Fuck you! Ethan, let go of me!” Spencer yelled, breath heaving.
“Don!” The girl stomped her foot on the ground, ”Don’t antagonize him! That’s that kid. The genius one.”
“I don’t care who it is.” he said, eyes boring into Spencer.
“He’s not– he’s– come on, Don, please? Let’s go. Leave him alone. He’s weird, he didn’t mean it.”
“Hey! Spencer is not weird!” Ethan narrowed his eyes at her. “And who are you, anyway?”
“That’s my girl, so you better back up,” Don barked.
“He’s been here for years,” she frowned, “That’s a little weird. Why don’t you just graduate already?”
“I have graduated! I have two bachelors! And I’m working on my Ph.D.!” Spencer huffed, “And that’s more than you’ll ever have with that thesis!” he crossed his arm over his chest, looking at Don.
“You need to stop butting in about things you have no idea about. I’ve been studying Economics for 6 years now. I don’t care if you have a Ph.D. in being a freak. You can go fuck yourself.”
How could Don even try to defend such half-baked ideas? They were about as put together as the Colosseum. Modern-day.
“Oh yeah? Then tell me why, if you know so much about it, are you trying to defend that market liquidity has anything at all to do with the macroeconomics of constructing a compository liquidity index? I mean, what? You could at least bother to argue a dynamic factor model if you’re going to go through with that.”
The girl raised a brow, and Don set his jaw. Before he could open his mouth, she was looking up at him and whispering, “Don, that actually makes sense about the factor model…”
Don clocked her with a stare that could kill.
Ethan shuffled up close whispered close in his ear, “Let’s go, Spence, now.”
“Eth– hey, ow, let go!”
“No! Let’s go! Aren’t you supposed to be in class right now, anyway?”
Spencer paled, looking at his wristwatch. “Oh, shit. I missed Abnormal Psych!”
. . .
They went back to the dorms with no coffee.
The next day when he showed up to his Abnormal Psychology class he took a seat towards the back of the hall. From there, he was elevated well from the stage and had a good view of everything going on. The lecture hall was moderately sized, but the class was relatively small; only 20 other students shuffled in.
The Professor was the cookie cutter image of bureaucracy: straight laced, clean cut… bland; dressed in a black suit, a black tie, and short black hair to match. Probably marched to the drum of the UTC. His face was a blank slate as he rifled around with papers on his desk, and wrote out a few concepts on the whiteboard behind him.
He picked up with the lecture, or rather the introduction, right on the start of the hour- maybe even down to the second.
“Nice of you to join us today, Mr. Reid,” Suit-and-Tie said. Spencer could feel the entire class’s eyes bore into him, and fuck, okay, he could see that smug curl on the right side of the Professor’s lips. “I wasn’t sure you were going to bother showing up.”
Fuck that. Spencer wasn’t some lackluster student. He was a blithering genius and he made it to class every single day. Barring… yesterday. Usually. The Professor ought to know that. But there wasn’t any way to prove that, not really, and Spencer knew the value of not making yourself sound like an idiot with no proof to back yourself up.
He had to eat up that stupid little grin.
God. Damn. It.
“There’s no excuse to miss class, barring emergencies, like a death in the family. Otherwise, you’ll be losing 20% of your grade,” Suit-and-Tie said, leaning against the desk up front. Spencer looked down from his seat in the back. “What emergency prevented you from turning up to my class?”
Spencer looked around, and damn it, he didn’t want to admit the real reason. “I... Well, I, there wasn’t—“
“No, I didn’t think there was.”
Asshole!
“You have no idea what’s going on in my life,” Spencer retorted, sitting up straight at his desk.
“Oh, really?” Suit-and-Tie raised an eyebrow, “Why don’t you enlighten me?”
Spencer huffed. He didn’t know why he began this because it wasn’t going to end anywhere productive. Not for him, at least. Since when did he start arguments that he didn’t have any basis in? It was like he was 16 again, not caring whether or not he was right. Pure emotion-driven conflict. Good going, Spencer.
“It’s really not any of your business, Professor, what goes on in my life outside of this classroom. I was late, and I had good reason, that’s all there is to it. You can take my word for it or not. Doesn’t change a thing.”
“You’re right; It doesn’t change a thing.” he tutted, “And I don’t take your word for it.”
“Excuse me?” He threw out.
“I don’t take your word for it.“ he crossed his arms. “Do you want me to repeat myself a third time, or have you understood it yet?”
Christ, so he was a dick, then. An arrogant, self-righteous, totally right, dick.
Why wasn’t he backing down like the rest of his teachers? Didn’t he know who Spencer was?
Spencer looked away towards the door. He could still feel everyone’s eyes on him. “Fine. I don’t care.”
“And?” He stood down by the podium so still.
Spencer looked over. He couldn’t help it. “And, what?”
He looked pleased. “And you won’t skip again, will you?”
Spencer wanted to say a lot of things right then. Like, Fuck you, yes I will, or Now I will, or If I don’t just drop this stupid class all together!
“I— I” He stuttered.
“You- you. What, cat got your tongue?” he smirked. This time it wasn’t just the corner of his mouth. “What is it, hm—“ he said, looking down at a paper on his desk like he forgot his name already, “—Reid?”
“I will- I will if I want to!”
Spencer was red in the face. His Professor, on the other hand, merely dropped his gaze to the papers in his hand and spoke flatly. “Don’t bother coming back to this class if you’re going to continue this behavior.”
Everyone was staring. “I—”
“What, Reid? Think you can string together a complete sentence, or should we take a minute so you can figure one out?”
Jesus Christ!
“I could speak circles around you, Professor,” he said. He was rapidly losing control. “You don’t even know that half of it. In fact, I could teach you a thing or two.”
Surprisingly, Suit-and-Tie didn’t flinch. Not an eyebrow raise, not a twitch of the lips, nothing. Who was this guy?
He walked back over to his desk and sat down. “Oh, you think so? I don’t think I have much to learn about mindless hormonal rambling but have at it.”
“I’m— I’m not a teenager!” Spencer sputtered.
“Could have fooled me.”
Spencer flushed as a sea of giggles rolled out among the class; a tension seemingly breaking. If there were ever an indication he was losing, that was it.
Who did this stuck up jerk think he was? With his stupid iron pressed suit and monogrammed cufflinks looking like a departmental clone. Picking on students in a gross misuse of power. What an ass! An ass with a boring haircut, a manufactured jawline, and a dumb smirk you could tell he was hiding some snarky comment behind.
Even worse, Spencer didn’t know what to make of him. No obvious tells, no little insecurities, and Spencer could usually pick up on those so fast your head would spin. He was just sitting down there like a marble statue.
Spencer probably hadn’t lost an argument in years. An entire ocean of pent up emotion was threatening the damn that he built around his ego and it was pushing hard. He wasn’t going to cry or anything, screw that, but holy hell this man was making him feel like he was two feet tall and shrinking fast.
“I’m 22! And I have two Bachelors already, and I’m working on my Ph.D. so.”
“Then act like it,” he said, like the argument was over already and Spencer was the only one who hadn’t noticed.
Spencer only dug in his feet. “That’s actually pretty impressive—”
“Please quiet down, now.”
He couldn't even see straight. “—And I have—”
“If you don’t quiet down, I’m going to ask you to leave the classroom,” the Professor said, pointing to the doors.
Spencer let out a sharp breath. “an IQ—”
“Out,” he said, his eyes dark. He was still pointing towards the door and scowling.
“You can’t kick me out of class!“
“Yes, I can.” he said, “Leave.”
Spencer’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “I’m not leaving! I have a right to be here.”
“Yes, and you forfeited that right after you started getting belligerent in my classroom.”
Spencer stood up, knocking over his book. “I wasn’t belligerent, I was merely— defending myself!” He was stumbling over his words. How could his Professor be so confident? It was like he wasn’t even trying.
“You’re the only one here raising their voice.” He said, gesturing to the room, “You were rude, you were disruptive, and I won’t have that in my lecture hall.”
“I’m not—” he began, but the clock rang out overhead and the students started to file out of the classroom.
Spencer could feel the Professor’s eyes on him as he stood there. “Well?” he smirked.
Spencer grumbled. His resolve slipped right out from under him. He picked up his books and marched out of the classroom with a blush that burned hot on his cheeks.
. . .
The next day Spencer came back to class after shit talking Suit and Tie to Ethan all night. He laughed at all his snide remarks and surprisingly witty nicknames for him and agreed time after time that yes, he was a complete dick.
This time Spencer would show him just how much he belonged in his class. This time he’d show him how he’s leagues above the rest. Maybe he’d show him that he was leagues above him as well.
He arrived very early. It was the first time he’d ever felt weird about that. That kind of behavior usually left him feeling pride and a little bit of smugness.
Today, though, he felt like anything he did would be front-page news. Like running away would show that he’s rebellious, and coming early would show that he’s scared. Really, he’s neither, but his Professor didn’t know that.
He sat down in the front and kept his eyes glued to his notebook. Since he came early, he had time to wipe down his desk with a Clorox wipe, and at least he could have peace of mind today that he wasn’t sitting in a cesspool of germs. And, thankfully, the Professor didn’t notice him coming in, or at the very least he didn’t say anything.
Spencer sat there and flipped through the pages of his textbook. Within minutes he’d memorized the entire thing and felt pleased. There. Now he knew everything there was to know about this class and Professor Tie could bring it. He would kick ass in a little bit of Q and A.
Professor Suit and Tie still didn’t say anything when the rest of the students came in. He didn’t acknowledge him when class started, nor did he say a word when he began the lesson. So, what, then, Spencer was going to comply like he asked and he wasn’t even going to comment on it? Not even a glance, a nod, or a flicker of eye contact?
Fine! He would participate, then.
“Does anyone know which part of the brain is involved in fear, aggression, and social interactions? It’s a region that’s been thoroughly implicated in crime and—”
“The amygdala.”
“Yes, the amygdala. Thank you, Reid. The amygdala has been studied many times over in hopes of understanding its function, and through several neuroimaging studies held by—”
“U of P. They resulted in the theory that not only the size of the amygdala but the function of it, as well, plays a part in those with psychopathic tendencies. They—”
“Reid, please. Don’t interrupt.”
“—They—”
“Behave. I’m not going to give you a second warning.”
“How can you ask me not to participate in class?” Spencer retorted, “I’m only trying to—”
“I know what you’re trying to do, Reid. Don’t interject. Other students are trying to learn as well. Your retention of facts is very impressive, I’m sure, but now is not the time.”
“I—”
“If you happen to have any opinions of your own, we’d be happy to hear them, hm?” The Professor said, looking up at Spencer with an arched brow. “Have you any?”
“Yes. I have a lot.” Spencer leaned back in his chair and puffed out his chest without thinking. “The study—”
“No, not the study.” Suit-and-Tie tsk tsked. “I’m asking for critical thinking. I don’t want to hear you recite facts. I want to know if you can use what you’ve read to form conclusions, or is that too difficult for you?” Those dark eyes shot daggers into him.
Oh, fuck this guy. Spencer let out a heavy breath through his nose, snorting at his Professor’s arrogance and sheer disregard for his genius. Spencer could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his pulse rise. He was getting worked up from just a simple confrontation. No one ever stood up to Spencer like that, though not for lack of trying. Spencer usually knew just what to say to be able to make his opponent feel as dumb as a doorknob, but now here he was feeling like he just might be. And all because of this arrogant slick as shit Professor.
How on earth could this man twist around Spencer’s words to make them seem like they were just rubbish? He seemed to know the perfect thing to make him lose his footing. And how dare he act like his retention of information was just something to scoff at! Spencer could critically think. Spencer could analyze information.
“I’ll have you know, Professor—”
“It’s Professor Hotchner.”
“Fine. Professor Hotchner. I’ll have you know that can very well analyze a study. I can do it easily. You just haven’t given me any time—”
Professor Hotchner stood down near the podium looking way too amused for Spencer’s liking. He was lapping it up, reveling in his outburst.
“I am perfectly capable of processing information just as well as I can retain it. I can read 40,000—”
“There you go again with the reliance on your innate abilities. I’d rather hear about something that you worked for.”
Spencer halfway gasped, but mostly just stared back in shock at his Professor. He could feel the hot little pinpricks of every set of eyes in the classroom burning into him. Why did he have it out for him so bad? He was clearly jealous of Spencer’s abilities, and he was taking it out of him in front of the class to embarrass him for it! There. That was it. He was jealous. He wished that he knew what Spencer knew. He wished that he could soak up a book in two minutes flat and remember every word. He fucking wished.
“Yeah, I bet you wouldn’t like to hear about my abilities, Professor. What, don’t want to hear about how I could run circles around your old ass? You’re just a washed-up, two-bit Professor who had to settle for teaching a bunch of ‘hormonal teenagers’ instead of making it in the real world. Don’t want to hear that I could learn more than you ever could in just one afternoon? Are you intimidated? Is that why you want me to shut up so badly? Or do you not want to hear it because you can’t bear to hear about something you’ll never be?”
“It seems I’ve struck a nerve.” He laughed, looking around the room and eating up the snickers from the students in the first row. “That’s exactly why we’re all here today, to try to learn about what makes people tick. Why Reid here feels the need to lash out when confronted with someone that will challenge him. If you want to get inside the mind of a killer, first you have to understand the mind itself. Basic human traits.
“You can’t just use me as a lesson!”
“Reactions.” A smug smile. “Primal, emotionally driven, reactions.”
Spencer was fuming. He felt worse than he did back when he was 12 and drowning in a sea of adults making him feel like he was both entirely clueless and the smartest kid in the world.
Without thinking too much, and Jesus, it didn’t seem like he was doing too much of that lately, he grabbed his books and stood up. All eyes were on him again. Maybe they never left. Being the star of the show was upsetting and it got on Spencer’s nerves more than he would ever admit. He huffed, and, making direct eye contact with Professor Hotchner, said he was done with the class and wouldn't be returning. He turned his back and marched right out of the lecture hall.
That’d show him.
Notes:
THIS IS AUBSE. STOCKHOLM SYNDROME. UNSUB!HOTCH. THIS IS NOT LOVE. THIS IS NOT BDSM.
Chapter 2: Preamble
Summary:
Spencer n Ethan go for drinks
Chapter Text
"Flirting with madness was one thing;
when madness started flirting back,
it was time to call the whole thing off.”
― Rohinton Mistry, A Fine Balance
“Aaggh,” Spencer groaned, and rolled off his bed. He stretched his arms high above his head and cracked his neck. Within minutes there was a pot of coffee brewing and his laptop open to several research studies. It took another hour before Ethan started to stir, and he immediately buried himself down into his blankets like a mole rat. He didn’t surface for another 10 minutes when he sniffed out the coffee.
He looked over at the empty pot and pouted. “None for me?”
“Early bird gets the worm,” Spencer mumbled from his desk chair.
Ethan rolled his eyes and started another pot. It was finally Saturday so they could stay in and not worry about missing anything important. Spencer ignored Ethan for the entire morning and the afternoon wasn’t looking much better. By now, though, Ethan was used to that kind of behavior and he busied himself easily. He switched between the ps3, computer, and occasionally his notes until he decided to take a well deserved nap.
Spencer, on the other hand, was deep in concentration over something that he probably shouldn’t have been. Or rather, someone. Because Professor Hotchner was stuck in his mind like a piece of double bubble plastered to the underside of his shoe. He just could not shake him.
So he googled him. All about him. It wasn’t that difficult; there were multitudes of articles surrounding him all over the internet.
FBI SUPERVISORY SPECIAL AGENT TARGETED DURING HUNT FOR REAPER
BOSTON BUSS MASSACRE LEAVES 8 DEAD; SUSPECT STILL AT LARGE
GEORGE FOYETT ARRESTED AND CHARGED WITH OVER 15 COUNTS OF THIRD-DEGREE MURDER
ESCAPE FROM FEDERAL PRISION: FOYETT AT LARGE
UPDATE: ONE PERSON KILLED IN RENEWED HUNT FOR BOSTON REAPER
FBI SUPERVISORY SPECIAL AGENT HOSPITALIZED IN REAPER CASE
EX-FBI AGENT LEFT WIDOWED IN AFTERMATH OF ANTAGONIZATION BY BOSTON REAPER
FBI Agent… Supervisory, at that… Quite a fall from grace for the man to be teaching college classes now to a bunch of supposedly whiny 20-year-olds. Spencer scanned article after article. He took in the entirety of the case that led to Professor Hotchner’s wife’s demise, and the beginning of the end of his career. He didn’t exactly feel empathy for the man per se, but he could appreciate why he might be… an asshole. He’d gone through some shit, that was for sure.
And there weren’t just defaming or pitying articles about him, either, there were a lot of impressive details about his career, like his humble beginnings, his work as a prosecutor, and his steady rise to the top of his team. It was hard not to be impressed by a career like that. The 35-year-old had accomplished a lot in such a short amount of time and had an equal amount of tragedy to go along with it. He’d lost his wife. That’s rough. Spencer could hardly even comprehend a loss like that. In fact, he really couldn’t process that. Spencer has hardly had a relationship, much less been in love, or even lost someone. He thought it certainly was sad, but, like, Spencer was never too good at putting himself in someone else’s shoes. Empathy was hard with little life experience.
He was a little pissed that there weren’t any scandals surrounding him that didn’t end in sympathy. No cheating on his wife, no dirty-cop business, no secret serial killer alter-ego. He was just a stand-up man with a strong sense of justice and a devotion to his family and his team. Absolutely no fun, and no room for blackmail.
He’d also lost custody of his son to his sister in la— “Enough!” Ethan whined, and shut Spencer’s laptop, crushing his fingers in the middle.
“What the hell, Ethan!?” Spencer yelped. He shot Ethan daggers, but it wasn’t effective. Ethan looked pleased with himself. Very fucking pleased.
He was probably the only one that could get away with bossing around Spencer without severe repercussions.
“I just… I wanna hang out!”
“We are hanging out.”
“No, like, I wanna talk, or do something, or go somewhere, I don’t know! I don’t want to sit around while you stare at your computer and read articles, dude! I wish I never even forced you to use that thing anyway.”
“But I like reading! I want to read,” Spencer pouted.
Ethan took his laptop and put it on the other side of the room. “If you expect me to hang around all the time, you’ve got to do some stuff that I like too, y’know.”
“I do lots of stuff you like!”
He raised his eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Like… like how we went to Emily’s party last month! God, that was horrid.“
“Yeah, LAST MONTH!” Ethan groaned.
Spencer shrugged his shoulders, and leaned back, tilting his chair dangerously low.
“I wanna meet up with JJ and Will.” Ethan declared, a hopeful sparkle in his eyes.
“Eeehh…”
“And you’re coming.”
“Eeeeeehhhh…”
“And if you don’t agree…” Ethan said, as he came up behind Spencer and grabbed the rim of the chair in his hands, “I’m gonna tip you over, jackass.”
“Hey—! You let go! Right now!” Spencer flailed his arms and nearly fell out all by himself.
Ethan tightened his grip. “Then come with me!”
“No!”
“Yes!” Ethan pushed down the chair and the wheels started slipping.
“Aa-!” Spencer gasped, “Ethan!”
Ethan hummed slightly and pushed down a fraction.
“You let me up now! Fuck you!”
He didn’t, and Spencer kicked his feet forward to get momentum and planted the wheels of the chair back on the ground. “You dick! You could have hurt me! You’re insane!”
“Oh, please! I wasn’t going to actually crash you into the floor. I was just scaring you, ” Ethan grinned, “And it worked.”
“Fine, whatever. But I’m still not going.”
. . .
At half past six, Ethan pulled Spencer through the dingy doors of one of the only bars near campus. It was filled to the brim with underage students, townies, and boozy regulars. The lights were low and music hummed distantly in the background, a pop song that was constantly on the radio.
JJ and Will were seated in the back, tucked close together and Ethan slid into the booth beside them with a big smile on his face. Spencer unceremoniously plopped down beside him and waved at the pair. He didn’t talk much to them; only when Ethan dragged him out. He didn’t talk much to anyone. Just Ethan and anyone he could debate with, that sort of thing.
JJ and Will were nice enough. They gave Spencer the eeps (because everyone did in almost any social situation that wasn’t based around school) but they were tolerable. When people expect him to start talking about his feelings, or gossip, he just wasn’t equipped for that. Nothing really came to mind. It was nearly the only time that he couldn’t be sure of himself or what he thought. Social interaction was uncomfortable and unnecessary and he wanted none of it.
But Ethan made sure he got a steady dose. Kicking or screaming, he pulled Spencer out every month or so for some peer to peer interaction.
“Spencer! It’s been forever! Where’s Ethan been hiding you, huh?” JJ laughed. She was sipping on a brown drink and smiling at him.
“I, uh, I’ve been pretty busy lately. He hasn’t been hiding me.”
Ethan nudged him with his shoulder. “Oh please, Spencer’s been holed up in the library day and night since you last saw him.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” Will chuckled.
“So what have you two been up to?” Ethan wiggled his finger at the couple.
“Well, we just got back from New Orleans. Will took me to meet his family,” she said, smiling and turning towards will, “It was great.”
Will looked back at her with the same amount of cheesy love-stuck passion written all over his face, and tossed his arm around her shoulders. “Yes, it was.”
“You guys are gross,” Spencer mumbled.
Everyone pretended not to hear.
“I’m so happy for you two,” Ethan said, “I just got to find myself a nice girl, right, Spence?”
Spencer shook himself from his thoughts. “Hm? Yeah, I guess.”
“Spencer doesn’t share my plight.” Ethan rolled his eyes. “He’s way too into books to care about the fairer sex.”
JJ tsk-tsked and Will chuckled lightly.
“And he’s a shit wingman. I mean, who uses the periodic table to talk someone up?” Ethan grinned. “You need to tell them about my huge muscles, Spence, or, like, my impeccable music taste or something.”
Spencer scoffed, “Your ‘huge muscles’ should be able to talk for themselves.”
“He’s not wrong,” Will said, raising his eyebrows.
JJ reached over to ruffle up his hair. “You’ll find someone, E, I’ll wing-woman you any day.”
“Yeah? I’m going to take you up on that!” He turned to Spencer and nudged him to get out of the booth. “I’m gonna go grab us some drinks, okay? What’d you want?”
Spencer stood, looked over at JJ and Will, and felt a little bit of dread at being left alone with them. He put his hand down on Ethan’s shoulder, blocking him from getting up. “No, no. I’ll get them– let me. What do you want?”
Ethan raised an eyebrow but relented. “Sour Amaretto.”
“You got it. Be back in a bit.” Spencer slipped through the crowded floor, squeezing in between drunken patrons, and pressed himself up against the bar. It took a while to flag down the bartender, and after what felt like an eternity she was pressing two wet glasses into his hands. Spencer said thank you, and turned to hurry off– he didn’t want to be up in the crowd any longer than he had to.
When he turned around, he knocked into a man in a corduroy blazer and spilled his drink on the back of it. “Oh fuck—!”
“Yo, watch where the hell ya goin’!”
“Yeah, I would if you weren’t standing, like, two inches behind me!” Spencer retorted. His cheeks were heating up and he felt incredibly embarrassed.
The corduroy man’s face twisted up in anger and Spencer tried to back up but he hit the bar. “Oh, yeah, kid? You got a problem with that? Tell me what the fuck you gonna do about it then?”
Spencer stuttered something, and looked around, maybe for Ethan to pop up in some sort of teleportation miracle (which he would totally have to investigate the merits of at a later date), but he wasn’t there. It was only Corduroy staring him down with a vein bulging out from his forehead and— shit. Just to the side, not even two people down, was fucking Professor Hotchner of all people, and he was staring right back at him with his piercing eyes. They darted from him to Corduroy and back again, and before Spencer could say anything, he was up on his feet and coming over towards them!
“Can I help you, Sir?” Came that stupid, arrogant voice.
“What, who are you? Screw off.”
“I—“ Spencer choked out.
“Hotchner,” he said, standing taller than corduroy, “And who are you, yelling at this young man?”
“This isn’t any of your business, bud,” Corduroy spat.
“I don’t—” Spencer sputtered.
“No, this is exactly my business, bud,” Professor Hotchner said, deadpan, “Why don’t you step down before you get yourself hurt?”
“I’m not the one that’s gonna get hurt here,” he growled, and shot a look over at Spencer who was still backed up against the bar, a thin strip of water now soaked into the back of his shirt. “It’s that little shit that needs to watch out.”
Spencer paled. “Hey! You were the one who—”
Professor Hotchner watched him carefully, his frown deep and apparent. It was analytical, the way his eyes tracked him. “Apologize, Spencer.”
Spencer flicked his head to the side in a split second, “Excuse you? No! I’m not apologizing to this meathead!”
Chapter 3: I'm Sorry
Summary:
Disturbing content
Notes:
Note: This chapter includes a detailed rape scene. Like, 3k worth. Please proceed with caution. Disturbing /18+ content. This is a very delicate topic and to preface this chapter: Rape is a horrible act. It can, however, can be a kink for some people (explored in fantasy or in real life consensual ‘non-consent’ play). This is NOT BDSM. This is an UNSUB. If you don’t want to be subject to this material then turn around now. Okay, that’s it. Love you guys.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"When the Fox hears the Rabbit scream he comes a-runnin',
but not to help.”
― Thomas Harris, The Silence of the Lambs
Spencer paled. “Hey! You were the one who—”
Professor Hotchner watched him carefully, his frown deep and apparent. It was analytical, the way his eyes tracked him. “Apologize, Spencer.”
Spencer flicked his head to the side in a split second, “Excuse you? No! I’m not apologizing to this meathead!”
“You knocked right into him. Say you’re sorry. Common courtesy.”
“No,” Spencer huffed. He raised up his drink to take a sip and wished that he were anywhere else but there in that god awful situation.
“I don’t want his fucking apology, I wanna knock his face in,” Cordoury hissed.
Professor Hotchner turned to him. “You need to back up. Right now.”
Corduroy’s nostrils flared as he crossed his arms and tipped up his chin. “Or what?”
“Don’t make this harder for yourself than it has to be.” Professor Hotchner quirked an eyebrow and slid out a badge from his coat. His eyes went wide.
“I— I—” he stuttered, “No. I’m uh, I’m going now. We’re okay, yeah? Yeah…”
Professor Hotchner turned to Spencer and didn’t look any nicer than he did a second ago.
“I— uh,” Spencer swallowed. This was fucking weird. Seeing his Professor here, talking to him, interacting with him… not at school. What.
“You should watch where you’re going,” Professor Hotchner said, “and be courteous.”
“I— what?” Spencer cocked his head to the side. “That’s what you’ve got to say about that? That I should’ve acted differently? How about that complete asswad that wanted to take my head off just for being squished in this gross crowd.”
“You have to be conscious of the way you act; that’s what I’m saying. Have some sense of self-awareness, how about that?”
“How about you lay off?” Spencer scoffed, “I didn’t need your help.”
Professor Hotchner smirked. “It looked like you were handling it very well on your own.”
Arrogant son of a bitch.
“And I didn’t need you to wave your fucking badge around like you’re somebody important.”
“I would say I’m pretty important," he said.
“No, you’re an arrogant prick with a God complex,” Spencer spat, “Fuck you. I didn’t need your help. I was perfectly fine here by myself.”
“You need to watch your mouth, Spencer. We may be in a bar, but I’m still your Professor.”
Spencer scoffed. “You may be my Professor, but you aren’t shit! Fucking washed up basket case, couldn’t make it in the field, gotta teach instead? How’s that going for you?”
Professor Hotchner took a step towards him. “And you’re a scrawny kid with a brain too big for his own skull and without the wherewithal to know how to utilize it. You’re just a very smart idiot,” he said, looking indifferent, and that may have been the worst part of all.
“You— you can’t talk to me like that!” Spencer gasped, “F-fuck you!”
Without thinking, (why couldn’t he ever think around Professor Hotchner?) he splashed his drink on the front of Professor Hotchner’s white shirt and his eyes instantly went wide with the terror of what he did.
“I—”
“You— Why would you—?” Professor Hotchner furrowed his brow, looking down at his soaked shirt. “You little brat!”
“I— fuck, I—”
His Professor reached out and grabbed his wrist so tight he thought it might snap in two. The glasses slipped out of his hands and clattered to the floor, but no one paid any mind to it; they were all too engrossed in their own loud conversations.
He was pulled through the crowd, dragged into the bathroom.
“What the—” Spencer cried.
“Get in the stall,” Professor Hotchner said. His face was set in discontent and Spencer couldn’t read what he was up to.
“Get your hand off me!” He tried to shake his wrist free.
Professor Hotchner gripped tighter. “You shut your mouth, you little brat.”
“Don’t call me a brat!” he snapped.
“I’ll call you a brat if you’re being a brat,” he said, and shoved Spencer into an off colored baby-blue stall, “You need to learn some manners.”
“No, you need to fuck off!” Spencer said with his voice raised, “I wanna go back to my friends— ow!”
A hand pressed right into Spencer’s back, in between his shoulder blades, and he fell forward, knocking his shins into the toilet bowl. He reached out his hands for something to grab onto but the stall was barren. They skidded along the wall as he tried to balance himself. “Oh my god—!”
This was the absolute last thing that he expected to happen after he saw his Professor in the bar. How the ever living fuck did he end up being pushed into a dirty stall by a man twice his age? Where did this man get off pushing around his students? If only he could manage to turn around and get a good punch in— that would be so satisfying. And it would most certainly knock that stupid smirk right off his face.
“Fuck you! Fuck you! Get off me! Fuck— what are you doing?”
So much for that punch.
Professor Hotchner dug his fingers into Spencer’s side and it made him gasp. “Shut up, Spencer.”
“No—!” he moved his waist against the grip and got half turned around before Professor Hotchner forced him still with his other hand. Spencer sent his elbow back into Professor Hotchner’s abdomen and he choked out a gasp before he doubled down on his grip and pushed him onto his knees.
The floor was grimy and Spencer’s knees got damp with God knows what. (Germs!) And they fucking hurt. His face felt flushed and his head was spinning even though he only had one sip of his drink.
“Get— get off of me! You can’t— You can’t do this!”
“No? I think I can. Seems like something an ‘arrogant prick with a God complex’ would do.”
“I didn’t— I— Fuck! You’re my Professor! You can’t! I’m going to tell the school! I’ll tell Administration! You’ll be fired!
Professor Hotchner laughed above him and looked down with a sly smile. “What, you think they would believe you over me? You, the kid who had an emotional outburst in every single one of my lectures so far, in front of all my students?”
He grabbed a handful of Spencer’s hair and gripped it tight. “No one would ever believe you.”
“Ow! That hurts!” he yelped, ”Yes t-they would! Faculty k-knows me. Faculty—”
Spencer shut his eyes tight and winced. Professor Hotchner’s grip was pulling his hair so tight it felt like he was going to rip a chunk of his scalp right out. He could feel him get closer behind him, bending down, and then his breath was hot up against his ear.
“Nobody would care, Spencer. Say anything you want. I dare you,” he growled deep and raspy.
“Fuck you!” Spencer cried.
“No, Spencer, that’s not going to happen. Not at all.”
“Please— fuck!” Spencer wiggled fruitlessly in his grasp. “Just— just let me go!”
“You’re going to learn a thing or two about respect tonight,” he hissed in his ear, “Teach you not to be such an insolent little brat.”
“I’m not—”
Professor Hotchner was cold and deadly. “Oh, sweetheart, you are so far out of your depth right now.”
Spencer choked out a small noise but couldn’t think of a single thing to spit out with his head buzzing like it was.
“Then you’ll think twice about how you act. Somebody ought to have taught you some manners by now,” he tsk-tsked, “but it looks like I’ll have to be the one to do it.”
“Please— I’ll— fuck, I’m sorry—”
Spencer was starting to hyperventilate. This man was going to fucking kill him. He was going to punch him, knock him unconscious, leave him for dead. And he couldn’t fight back. Professor Hotchner was twice his age and twice his size and twice his everything. He was a beanpole dressed in a polo. He didn’t have any weight to stand on. He was doomed!
“Please— please—”
His head was yanked back, and his words came out strained and breathy. He gasped for air on instinct. He had to suck it in with more effort than he’d like. Professor Hotchner had him up on his feet again and his cheek pressed into the baby-blue plastic stall.
The hand in his hair dropped off, and behind him Spencer could hear metallic rattling of— of a fucking belt. Professor Hotchner’s belt.
“What— what are you—?”
Spencer panicked. That wasn’t something that should happen. This was his Abnormal Psychology Professor who was a respected pillar of the state— an ex-agent— he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t— no.
There was the sound of leather sliding. “I’m going to teach you a lesson.”
“I don’t— I don’t need a lesson— I get it! I’m sorry. Shit, I’m sorry, okay?! I’m sorry I threw my drink on you! I’ll buy you a new shirt!” he squeaked, his voice high and strained.
“No, it’s not about the drink,” Professor Hotchner said calmly like he wasn’t affected by what was happening. The belt kept rattling under his fingers. “I couldn’t care less about this shirt. It’s your behavior, Spencer, it’s gone on for too long. I tried to give you enough reprimands, but it looks like that wasn’t enough for you, was it, Spence? No, you need a firmer hand than that, don’t you? Wasn’t enough to be sent out of lecture, ignored, or publicly humiliated, hm?”
“Let me go!“
“Hold still or this is going to be a lot more difficult for you than it has to be.”
The rattling stopped, and Spencer felt his Professor’s hand come around to the front of his pants and start toying around with the button. He could feel his heart thumping against his chest and the tingling of his fight or flight response kicking in. This man was going to rape him, he realized. He was about to get fucking raped!
“You’ve never been fucked up the ass, right Spencer?” Professor Hotchner said in a gritty voice.
“S-Stop that!” He tried to swat away his hands but they were much stronger, and his pants and briefs were yanked down leaving him exposed down to the knees.
He felt so embarrassed. Like all the blood in his body rushed up into his face all at once and turned it some ungodly shade of crimson. His dick was exposed and hanging there right between his legs like it was nothing. Tears were starting to prick at the back of his eyes, but he blinked them off and sucked in a big breath to try and steady himself.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“No— no, okay? No! So let me go—” Spencer yelled at him, and tried to push back against his weight.
He gripped his side. “That means this is going to hurt.”
“Please, no—“ Spencer said with a quiver in his voice, “I don’t want—“
“But that isn’t exactly a bad thing, is it? Maybe you deserve a little pain, don’t you?”
Spencer felt his Professor’s calloused hands trail down from his hips to his cup his ass. Not a single person has ever touched him like that. Hell, not even he has.
The hand squeezed tightly on his ass cheek and he yelped in response, which elicited a little chuckle behind him.
“Not so talkative now, are you, hm?”
Professor Hotchner slid his hand down even further and touched his fingertip up against Spencer’s hole. He rubbed it for a minute before he took his hand off and returned it covered slick in spit.
Spencer’s eyes were shut tight again and his mind was racing. When Professor Hotchner pressed on his hole he staggered his hips forward, but the finger followed them up and pressed in forcefully.
“Oh, shit—!” He cried. What a loss of control. There was absolutely nothing he could do to change what was happening. He was pinned down, getting touched in places he hardly ever paid any mind to. Touched in places you weren’t supposed to be touched in. A lump started to grow in his throat as his Professor’s wet finger pulsed in and out of him.
“Oh, good boy,” he heard close behind his ear, “You’re being so still for me, not fighting back.”
“I-I- can’t,” Spencer whimpered. His stomach flipped suddenly at the name. He wasn’t being good. He wanted to fight back. He wanted to thrash around and get out from under his grip— but there wasn’t any room for him to move a muscle! Professor Hotchner’s hand was pressing him against the stall, and he couldn’t even begin to gain any traction against it. He was paralyzed!
And he wasn’t good. He wasn’t good for anyone. Someone who never had to answer to anyone. Not his deadbeat dad, his far off mother, or anyone else for that matter, and he hadn’t for quite some time. He hadn’t listened to anyone since he left for college, and then punishment became a thing of the past. Spencer wasn’t good. He did what he wanted. He didn’t answer to anyone.
Except he did now.
“Open up your legs, Spence, wider,” that deep voice sounded against his ear.
“No—” He tried to resist, but his Professor’s foot kicked his feet out, so he was standing with his legs wide apart, just like he was told. “Ow—!”
“I’m going to make you so obedient, Spence. You’re going to beg for it.”
“Fuck you—!”
Professor Hotchner let off his back, and came down on his ass, smacking it with a loud clap. It stung like a bitch. Spencer felt like crying. He knew it was probably an angry shade of red, and maybe even raised up in the form of a handprint. There was no holding back in that slap. That slap was meant to hurt. That slap was a fucking warning. So Spencer choked out the only thing he could think that his Professor wanted to hear—
“There we go. Looks like a little pain will do the trick.”
A hot tear finally fell down Spencer’s cheek and he sniffed wet and stuffy. This was so utterly humiliating.
“I wonder how much it’ll take to break you,” he said, and his hand came down again on Spencer’s ass in the same spot. His ass was throbbing. Spencer wished he would have some mercy, or at the very least slap the other cheek where it wasn’t sore.
“No, f—” Spencer began, but he was met with another angry slap, and he closed his mouth. Then without warning, he felt Professor Hotchner spit down on his ass crack and wipe his fingers in it as they slid down in between his cheeks, before plunging in. “Oh—god—! Please— it hurts! I-It burns!”
“Hush, Spence. Don’t want anyone to hear those desperate, whorish cries.”
Spencer whimpered and clenched his fists against the stall.
“I’m s-sorry,” Spencer sputtered.
Smack. “Owww! T-two, Sir!”
“That’s a good boy.” Professor Hotchner rasped, and pumped his fingers inside of Spencer, scissoring them open and making him wince in pain when it became too wide. He spit down again to lube his fingers up more, and worked them in farther, crooking the ends, and rubbing against Spencer’s sides.
“Oh god— oh fuck— what—” Spencer panted, unable to control himself. “I— uuuhhnn…”
“Oh, you like that, hm, little brat?”
“I— no.” Spencer’s thighs were trembling. Professor Hotchner hadn’t let up yet from where he was pressing. “No! Please— I—”
“That’s right, little slut, and you’re still so tight. Now you get to know what it feels like to be filled up with cock.”
“N-no—” Spencer moaned. He may have been able to handle the fingers but there was no way he would be able to accommodate an entire cock without ripping in half. Plus it was a cock. But he was getting it, though, his Professor would make sure of that. This was so intense and raw and pleasurable, that it made him moan like his life depended on it. Guttural, natural, primal— moaning from the pit of his belly. He wanted to stifle it, to shout profanities instead. To tell his arrogant Professor to shove it. To tell him that he couldn’t have him. To tell him no. But he’s already said no, and look where that got him.
And honestly, no one had ever told him no before. Everyone always let him have his way.
Now he wasn’t getting his way and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Of course it made him angry, and even more chaotic than usual; filled to the brim with untethered emotion, and ready to lash out. But, he just… he couldn’t lash out, not now.
If he did that now then Professor Hotchner would probably smash his head against the stall or slap his ass again, and his ass really, really hurt. A lot. It probably had welts forming already.
He gulped. He had to swallow down his defiance.
He had to take his punishment.
He wished he hadn’t been such a little brat.
Spencer felt spit dripping down, and he tensed up, because he knew what was coming next.
“No— fuck, please—no,” he stammered.
Spencer screamed out way too loud for a public bathroom, and Professor Hotchner clamped a hand down over his mouth.
“Shh,” he hissed, before pushing in a few inches.
Spencer only groaned into the hand that smelled like whiskey and leather, surrendering to his Professor.
With a grunt, he pushed all the way in, and Spencer thought that he was going to fall apart at the seams. That, or that his ass was going to fucking explode, or break, or die. The cock inside him was much too big for him. Without thinking, he let a few tears fall from his eyes, and flushed in embarrassment when he realized that his Professor would be able to feel the tears run down his hand.
But Professor Hotchner didn’t say anything about them.
Spencer had to press his hands up against the stall. “P-pleauuh- oh gohh- yoh cohn do thuu!” Spencer cried into the hand.
“This is what bratty little boys like you get when they speak out of turn, Spence,” his Professor said through gritted teeth, “Insolent little boys with bad manners. Boys who need to be taught a lesson.”
“M’ssurh,” Spencer sobbed, “Neeeeuhhha-ooh— lehh mh goh”
So he let himself cry. And his tears fell down. Moans that escaped his lips but were muffled by a calloused hand. He gave in to all of it. The pain, the sadness, the unwanted pleasure. He just let himself feel. No more thinking.
Then Professor Hotchner must have been pleased, or maybe it was just luck, good or bad he wasn’t sure, because he hit right into that sweet spot and everything went fuzzy and his ears rang. There was complete and utter bliss coming out of every pore in his body; he never wanted it to end. His Professor’s hips still slapped against him at a brutal pace, but all he knew was rhythm and pleasure. Fucking hell, he didn’t have to do anything but take cock. Over and over and over. That’s all there was.
His dick was twitching, standing at full attention, and aching with want. It was so hard that it was starting to get painful. Then the thought came into his head like an itch. He needed to get off. He needed to touch himself, relieve the pressure.
So he balanced his left shoulder into the stall to take most of his weight, and let his right hand grab his dick to start rubbing. His mouth fell slack as he started jacking himself off.
“Oh, hell no,” Professor Hotchner grumbled, and pulled Spencer’s right arm behind his back, twisting in an uncomfortable manner. “Bad boys don’t get to touch themselves,” he hissed, “You think you deserve that?”
Spencer moaned into his hand.
“Not after the way you’ve acted.” He thrust his hips up forcefully and Spencer hit against the stall.
“Mmmuuh—!” he groaned.
Then the door to the bathroom banged open and Ethan’s voice filled the room, “Spencer…? Hello? You in here?”
Professor Hotchner gripped his hand tighter over Spencer’s mouth and leaned in close behind his ear, his lips brushed up against Spencer’s hair where it clung with a fine layer of sweat. “Don’t you dare say a word,” he warned.
Notes:
PLEASE REMEMBER THAT HOTCH IS AN UNSUB.
Please remember this is fiction.
Chapter 4: Please...
Notes:
Heed the TWs!
Chapter Text
Spencer trembled under the threat.
“Spencer, you in here?”
Ethan’s footfalls came in closer. They could hear him open the stalls before them; he groaned and mumbled under his breath. “Fucking dick ditched me…”
Spencer yelped quietly. He wanted to scream out and tell his friend he would never do that. He wanted to bite his Professors hand and yell that he was right there. But he also didn’t want to be punished any further, and he really, really wanted to cum.
He wanted Professor Hotchner to finish him. (No, he didn’t!) He wanted to feel him slam into that one spot. (No!) He wanted to cum so fucking badly that he let Ethan walk out the door and go back to their friends without him. (Come back!)
When the door shut, the hand dropped from his mouth, the thrusting started back up again, and, needy with broken want, Spencer melted into his Professor’s touch.
“Oh fuckk—” Spencer groaned.
“Mmh, you enjoying this, you little slut?”
“Fuck— No I— ooh.”
“I asked you a question, Spencer,” his Professor growled. He slid his hand up Spencer’s chest, coming up to rest on his neck and squeezing lightly.
‘I— yes. No! No, Sir. God, I—” Spencer choked out.
“So sexy. I can’t believe no one’s ever fucked this tight little body before, Jesus.”
“Oh, god—! Right— fuck—“ Spencer moaned out desperately as he had his prostate hit into again, and again, and again. “Let me— let me touch— oh my god, please—“
“You’re not going to cum unless it’s by my cock.”
“P-Please— no— I need it—“ Spencer begged. And he did, he needed it so bad. His dick was harder than it had ever been before, practically throbbing. Blood was pumping through it a mile a minute, and little beads of precum were sliding off his tip. He wasn’t going to last much longer. He just wanted to let go.
“Tell me why I had to teach you a lesson.”
“I— you— I didn’t—“
....
“Ah. Spencer.” Came that deep, gravely voice behind him. “Fuck,”
“S-sir.”
“Jesus, Spencer. I didn’t , I—“
“I’m sorry,“ Spencer whined, and let his arm fall to his side as his Professor let go, “I-I shouldn’t have-“
“Oh god. Spencer. Damnit. I didn’t mean—” He backed up against the side of the adjacent wall. “I lost control of myself—”
“It's m-my fault, I sh—”
“No. I screwed, Jesus, I screwed my student,” he whispered harshly.
“Yeah…” Spencer turned around and couldn’t look him in the eye, instead hanging his head.
“Can I— come here, Spence,” he said, “Is that… okay?”
Spencer nodded and took a hesitant step toward his Professor. The stall was small, and he stood right up in front of his chest. Big arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he let Professor Hotchner pull him in tight. God, it felt so good to be hugged. The suit smelled like whiskey and leather, just like before, but also fabric softener and apples. He took in a big breath and let it out against his chest. It wasn’t so weird letting himself wrap his arms around him, either, and he only vaguely thought that he might get punished for it, because he didn’t know what his Professor would deem appropriate or not. But Professor Hotchner didn’t say a word. His grip tightened around Spencer and one hand curled softly in his hair; the most reassuring hand he’d ever felt. Playing with his hair felt like absolute heaven. A stark contrast to having just been forcibly fucked into the wall.
“mmmhh,” a little moan slipped out from his lips, but was muffled by the sweet smelling suit.
“Oh, Spence. You were… such a good boy.”
Spencer sniffed and suddenly felt like crying again. Except this time it wasn’t from embarrassment, or pain, but because he felt so utterly overwhelmed. Like he just came off a roller coaster and his head was still strapped in the seat.
“Ah, no. It’s okay, Spence. Shhh.” He combed his fingers lightly in his hair.
“I— I’m s-sorry…” he babbled.
“It’s okay, Spencer. You’re forgiven. You learned your lesson. Now it’s over. Shh.”
“I w-won’t do it again,” he moaned, “I w-won’t.”
“Yes, you will. But it’s okay. You just need someone to teach you.”
“I w-won’t—”
“Don’t start that, Spence. You were a good boy. Talk back again and you won’t want to know what comes next. Okay?”
“O-okay.”
“Mmh, okay, what?” He said in a soft voice.
“Okay, Sir.”
“Atta boy.” He slid his hand out of Spencer’s hair, and backed up. “So good. Now pick up your pants. You look like a whore.”
“I—” Spencer fumbled with the pants down at his knees.
“Not a word of this to anyone, you hear me?” he said, looking Spencer right in the eye. There was something threatening in that look. He took a step toward Spencer and it caused him to stumble backwards.
Professor Hotchner grabbed Spencer’s chin as he was still cowering under his gaze, trying to button up his jeans, and leaned in close. So close Spencer could feel his five ‘o clock shadow brush up against his cheek, and the heat radiate off his body. “Or so help me, God,” he rasped.
He pressed in with his fingers. Spencer winced and gulped down his discomfort. Some strange feeling between fear and arousal. He nodded his head sharply and this seemed to pacify him, and he leaned back and straightened out his tie before stepping out of the stall.
“Y-you’re leaving?” Spencer asked in a small voice, looking up at his Professor.
His face was cold as usual. Only a faint tinge of redness covered his cheeks. The one tiny remnant of what he’d just done to Spencer.
“What, you didn’t think I was going to stay, did you?” He chuckled. “Take a look around, Spencer.”
It wasn’t like he wanted his Professor to coddle him or anything but, shit, he had this aching empty feeling inside, and he felt like his Professor was the only one who could help him fill it. He needed something, he just didn’t know what.
“No…” Spencer whispered, “I just…”
“You just, what?”
“I don’t know…”
“Go home, Spencer.”
Before Spencer could manage out any more pathetic pleas, his Professor left and in his wake there was just a cold, empty room. Just the silence of the bathroom mixed with faint dripping of a half turned faucet and muffled voices in the background. Absolutely nothing.
Spencer broke down. He needed something and emptiness wasn’t it. He couldn’t be alone with his thoughts, not now.
He stifled a sob and ran from the bathroom, not bothering to check his reflection in the mirror where he was sure that he looked a hot mess. Luckily, Ethan was still chatting away in the booth in the back with JJ and Will, and he stumbled up in front of them.
“Spencer…? What the hell?” JJ squeaked.
“Dude, what happened- where were you?” Ethan got up out of the booth and did a once over of his friend.
“I— I was— I went outside for a minute,” Spencer said through teary eyes. (Don’t you dare say a word)
“Why…?”
JJ squinted her eyes. “Did it start raining or something? You look messed up.”
“I don’t think it was supposed to rain.” Will chimed in.
“No, it- I don’t know, yeah. Sort of.” Spencer twitched on his feet.
“Uh, well why don’t you have a seat, Spence?” Will frowned. The mood was weird.
“No, he doesn’t need a seat, he needs to tell me where the fuck he was for the past hour and why he looks like he was just shit on by an ogre,” Ethan said, not taking his eyes off Spencer.
“I just— I was— I went outside, I told you! Before I got our drinks. Cause, cause you know how I get... t-there’s so many people in here. I needed some air. And there was, uh, there was this guy outside. He— he” Spencer looked from Ethan’s eyes to JJs and Wills, and he felt so bad for lying. “I got, uh… mugged. This g-guy outside, he mugged me…”
“Oh my GOD! Spencer, are you okay?” JJ squeaked, sliding to the side of the booth and getting out so she could hug him.
“I—I’m okay,” Spencer said, smiling small.
She wrapped her arms around him and Spencer genuinely did feel better. Maybe it wasn’t for what he was claiming, but he really did need that hug. “Thanks, JJ. Really.”
Spencer looked up from her shoulder and saw Ethan’s cold eyes.
“You were mugged?” He questioned.
“Y-Yeah.” Spencer sniffled.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why not—”
“Ethan, don’t be like that! He was just mugged!” JJ chided.
“I don’t—”
“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?” Will said with a hard look on his face. “Give the man a hug; he deserves it.”
Ethan couldn’t deny that he looked shaken up, and Spencer was glad whether Ethan believed him or not, and that his best friend was close and comforting him. It felt so good to be wrapped up in his arms. Someone that cared about him. Someone that was usually a whole lot nicer…
“Ethan…” Spencer whined.
“Yeah, Spence, Okay,” he said, hugging him tight. “You were mugged. Let’s get you back to the dorms, then, okay?”
“Are you going to fill out a police report?” Will asked.
Spencer turned his head, surprised. “Police? No, no. I don’t need the police. I just need to go home.”
Ethan gave him a sideways glance but didn’t push.
When they got back to the dorms, Ethan started to let up a little bit. His ego may have been bruised that his best friend and roommate was shutting him out and lying to him, but he did a good job of swallowing it down. He let him fall onto his bed and lie there without saying a word. It could wait.
Spencer thought about lecture later in the week. He sincerely doubted that his Professor would try anything in lecture if he decided to go, but he was still tempted to keep his word and be done with it. On the other hand, he felt like he had unfinished business. And shit, everything was spinning entirely out of orbit. Spencer had fallen down some twisty, dark rabbit hole and lost sight of the sky. Which way was up anymore?
Ethan wasn’t pleased. He could see the shift in Spencer’s mood but he still had nothing to attribute it to. It was like watching a spool of thread unravel and never seeing who was tugging at the other end.
The man at the other end was one Professor Hotchner, but Spencer would never tell him that. That was a dirty secret that he didn’t think Ethan would believe even if he did tell.
Professor Hotchner was a straight laced kind of man. Not the kind of man that forcefully took his male students in the bathroom stall.
Not the kind of man that made those male students beg. Made them cum on their own stomachs with his cock rammed so far up their ass. Not that kind of man…
But he was. And Spencer knew that.
And he knew that when he turned up to class, he’d have to look his Professor in the eye and pretend like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t just defiled him, and turned him in a blubbering, needy mess.
He’d have to sit there and watch that man dole out his shitty arrogant feedback and all the while bite his tongue, because who knew what he would do if he spoke out again? Would it be worse? Could it be worse?
Making up his mind was easy enough. He’d go to lecture and see what Professor Hotchner had in store. Maybe nothing, maybe something, but either way Spencer had to find out.
Chapter 5: HOTCH
Chapter Text
"What does he do, Clarice?
What is the first and principal thing he does
What need does he serve by killing?
He covets. How do we begin to covet?
We begin by coveting what we see every day.”
― Thomas Harris, The Silence of the Lambs
Aaron was dreading his fourth period class. Images kept flying through his mind of that young genius showing up and making a scene about what transpired on Saturday at the bar. He would have the right. Aaron wouldn’t blame him; he never lost control of himself like that before, not once. He couldn’t believe what he did.
God, he was no better than the criminals he profiled. That scared him. A lot. He never did anything non-consensual before, and he never thought that it was a possibility either.
All of his kinks may have revolved around BDSM and CNC, but that was exactly it: a kink. What he participated in was prearranged, consensual, and filled with communication.
It wasn't… it wasn’t forced.
It wasn’t something that could get him arrested. Publicly shamed. Tossed in a cell with the key thrown away.
He was a predator. All because of that snarky little twat with that sexy figure and gorgeous hair… No. No. Not a twat. Not sexy. God, he couldn’t think like that about the kid.
See? A kid. He couldn’t let himself go there.
It was a dark place. He’d done enough already. If he was lucky the kid would stay quiet. If he was lucky the whole thing would just blow over….
But he wasn’t a lucky man. His past had taught him that much, at least.
And the kid didn’t leave him alone, though it wasn’t in the way that he thought. He didn’t rage at him, he didn’t cry, and he didn’t shout slanderous accusations from across the room.
He just sat there. Staring. Burning into him for the entire lecture, like he was waiting for something. He didn’t say a word, not even to ask a question.
Then it dawned on him that Spencer might be scared. He was scared of him. How had he missed that? The kid was only 22 years old. Of course he was scared of the man that was 15 years his senior and in a position of power over him. The poor kid was probably wetting his pants. All he knew was that Aaron liked to criticize him in class, and out of class, well…
It made sense that Spencer was just sitting there in his seat silently. No more making a scene, no more searching for a fight, talking back, leaving early…
It was nice.
He couldn’t deny that the change in behavior made him feel a certain type of way. Powerful, maybe. In control.
Spencer was an actual certifiable brat, brought up with no consequences, and Aaron wanted to knock him down to the lowest peg. He wanted that disrespectful twat to break down so low that Aaron could mold him into the subservient boy that he knew he could be.
He wanted him to learn his place.
He heard a lot about Spencer since he took this job on campus. Spencer was a hot topic amongst the faculty and the students alike. They were constantly praising his genius ability and finding ways to help him excel. They were so taken by him that they overlooked nearly everything else; all the bad behaviors were excused or pushed off as eccentric. Clearly the kid was lacking an authority figure. It wasn’t just quirkiness that stemmed from his high IQ, it was never getting reprimanded. It was the same as any other kid who craved structure.
It made him irresistible. All of Aaron’s exploits were with subs that only play-acted to be brats. As they should. As is consensual. As is ethical. But Spencer wasn’t playing. Spencer didn’t want to submit. Spencer was a brat. Spencer was the most difficult and audacious student he ever taught and he only had two lessons with him so far.
He never felt so crazy about someone before. But he wasn’t going to think like that. He wasn’t thinking like that.
He didn’t let himself catch Spencer’s gaze. He knew the kid was looking at him, and he knew the kid wanted his attention, for whatever reason, but he couldn’t give it. He wouldn’t give it. It was too risky. He was done.
When class ended Aaron left without waiting around. The students could catch him in office hours if they had questions. There was no way he would chance the possibility that Spencer would stay behind. Not a chance in hell.
. . .
Nothing was the answer that Spencer didn’t know he was dreading. Professor Hotchner had nothing in store. Spencer sat in the front row, and the Professor didn’t look at him once. Not even one time.
Why wouldn’t he look at him? After all he’d done? He didn’t even deserve a glance?
He was invisible. He was a fly on Professor Hotchner’s radar, and he would be surprised if his Professor even remembered he was in his class at all.
Clearly what happened at the bar meant nothing to him. Clearly Spencer meant nothing to him.
He spent the entire lecture obsessing over it: trying to figure out what he was thinking, trying to figure out anything about him. Spencer’s read on the man had been totally thrown out the window since the other night and now he had no idea what to expect.
Ever since Saturday Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about the way those big hands felt pressed against his back. The way he felt like he had all of his control stripped away. The way he felt like things were stable and immutable and he didn’t have to think.
With a mind of their own, his feet led him straight to Professor Hotchner’s office after the bell rang. If he wasn’t going to give Spencer attention, then Spencer was going demand it.
He didn’t bother to knock. If there was a student in there they could come back at another time. Whatever.
A lanky kid with a green backpack was sitting in the chair in front of the Professor’s desk and was clutching a stack of papers while Professor Hotchner was tapping at a page with his pen.
Without caring much, Spencer cut him off mid-sentence. “Professor, I need to speak with you.”
The kid in the green backpack turned around. He had thick black glasses and Spencer recognized him from the class he was just in. They were probably going over the first research paper’s requirements.
And if he couldn’t figure those out, maybe he should just drop the class, because how much more basic can you get?
“I’m with another student right now, Reid,” he said without looking up, “Come back later.”
“No. I need to talk to you now.”
“I’m with a student.”
“Yeah, and?” Spencer huffed, turning his attention toward the kid in the chair. “If you can’t even figure this out, well, you’re fucked.”
That caught his attention. He finally looked up from the page on his desk and met Spencer’s eyes. They were dark and cold and Spencer felt a twinge of fear when their eyes connected, but he held steady.
“Leave, or I’ll have you escorted out.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Spencer shot back.
The kid slumped down in the chair. He was clearly uncomfortable and looked like he wanted to bolt.
“You need to calm down, Reid,” he tutted.
“I am calm!” Spencer shouted, and green backpack kid flinched.
Professor Hotchner also flinched, but it was much less noticeable. Luckily, Spencer had his eyes trained on him.
“I, uh.” He cleared his throat. “Pete, why don’t we pick this up tomorrow afternoon? Can you stop at the same time?”
Pete looked from Spencer to the Professor and back again. There was discomfort written all over his face. “Yeah. Tomorrow is okay. I’ll see you then, Professor.”
He scurried out of the room without hesitation. It looked like he couldn’t get out soon enough, and Spencer didn’t blame him. The tension in the office was palpable. And he was kind of a dick.
“I don’t know what this is about, but—”
“I think you know exactly what this is about,” Spencer said.
“Listen, Reid—”
“Oh, so it’s not Spencer now? How about Spence? You seemed to like that one.”
“Spencer.” He cleared his throat for the second time. “Spencer, listen. I know this is hard for you, and I want to apologize.”
“For ignoring me?”
“What? No.” Professor Hotchner looked at him with squinted eyes. “For, well. For... taking advantage. Of the situation.”
“Oh, really? Is that what you call me? ‘The Situation’?” Spencer said in a cracked voice. He started to feel his face heat up. How could he dance around this so easily? Why was he acting like it was nothing?
Spencer came closer to the desk, planted his hands flat down on it, and leaned over, closing some of the distance between them. “Really rich coming from you. I would have thought that of all people, you would know what it’s like to get pushed around. I thought maybe you’d have a little bit of empathy, but no. You just use me up and toss me aside, is that right?
Just like Foyet did to you, didn’t he? Is that why you’re so fucking detestable? Is that why you can chew people up and spit them out like it’s nothing?” He stopped momentarily, and caught his breath. “Is that why you fucked me like a whore, and now you pretend like I don’t exist? Bet you’d love everyone finding out that D.C.’s biggest basket case is actually a huge fucking scum bag. Am I right? Oh, almost forgot— Am I right, ‘Sir‘?”
Spencer didn’t care if he was crossing a line. He didn’t care if this was a teacher he was talking to. He didn’t care if he could get reprimanded, or written up, or expelled, because he would never get any of those things. He could do whatever he wanted. And right now he wanted to yell and scream.
Contrary to how Spencer expected him to react, however, Professor Hotchner didn’t look taken aback or shocked, or even insulted. He looked pissed. Royally and entirely fucking pissed.
Face red, fists clenched, vein popping out from the upper left side of his head, pissed.
Only then did Spencer wonder if that was a bad idea. But they were in public, so he didn’t think that he was in any serious danger.
“Excuse me?” Venom slipped off his words.
Spencer took his hand off the table and stepped back. Professor Hotchner stalked him out in front of his desk.
“You’d better watch that mouth of yours, kid.”
“And what if I don’t?” Spencer replied.
“I can remember a certain someone crying out for it all to stop.”
“I—” Spencer flushed.
“You think you can traipse around acting like a snotty little brat? Think you know anything about my life because you read it in a tabloid? You’re just a walking talking encyclopedia. Full of information you don’t even know how to use. You brainless little thing.” He came closer to Spencer; close enough to reach out— “You don’t talk about me, or my family. You don’t threaten me, you don’t say a word of anything unless I tell you to.”
“You’re fucking crazy—”
Slap.
The air around Spencer’s face buzzed and his face throbbed with a fresh, burning string. His Professor has slapped him! Open palmed, right across the cheek, and it hurt.
“Oww!” Spencer wailed, and brought his hand up to his face momentarily, cradling the red skin softly.
“Keep your mouth shut, and I won’t have to do that again.”
“F-Fuck you...!” he sputtered.
Slap. Again, right across the same cheek, and this time Spencer staggered back and looked at Professor Hotchner in horror.
“You— you sick fucking— you can’t do that—”
Aaron pushed Spencer back, hand connecting on his chest, and he fell down onto the chair in front of his desk. He landed haphazardly with his one leg caught up over the armrest, but it was a lot better than having his red raw cheek slapped again, he figured.
Isn’t this what you were looking for?
Isn’t this why you came to his office?
Isn’t this why you couldn’t get him out of your head, no matter how hard you tried?
Yes.
Chapter Text
"I think we all have a little of that beautiful madness
that keeps us walking
when everything around is so insanely sane."
― Julio Cortazar
Slap. Again, right across the same cheek, and this time Spencer staggered back and looked at Professor Hotchner in horror.
“You— you sick fucking— you can’t do that—”
Aaron pushed Spencer back, hand connecting on his chest, and he fell down onto the chair in front of his desk. He landed haphazardly with his one leg caught up over the armrest, but it was a lot better than having his red raw cheek slapped again, he figured.
Thoughts swam around in Spencer’s head going a mile a minute. He thought maybe he was going to pass out, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing? And who knows what would happen to him while he was under?
Frightened at having his Professor tower over him, Spencer tried to lean as far away from him as possible. He was scared, but it made him feel small in the best sort of way, though a way he couldn’t quite place.
“You cocky little boy,” he hissed, “Why did you come back here, anyway? Couldn’t get enough, could you? No, you like the feeling of being put in your place.”
“I—”
“Mmh-mm.” He shook his head. “Bad boys don’t get to talk.”
Spencer’s face twisted up. “I’m—”
“Don’t make me slap you again, Spencer.” He gave him a meaningful look, and Spencer slumped down in the chair. “Good boy. Now if only we could reign in that filthy attitude.”
From the chair, Spencer didn’t react. His eyes followed Professor Hotchner as he moved in close over top him, and shivered as his words came out breathy and hot against his ear. “But we’re going to work on that, aren’t we, Spence?”
Spencer gulped, speechless for the first time that day.
“I said, aren’t we, Spence? Answer me when I ask you a question.” He grabbed his chin roughly and jerked it up so that Spencer had to look him in the eyes.
“Yes… Sir,” he whispered, “We are.”
“Good. You’re going to learn that you can’t say things like that to me. No more disrespectful backtalk, or you’ll be begging for forgiveness by the time that I’m done with you.”
He didn’t say a word this time either. He didn’t want to upset him any further. Not only that, but a hot feeling had risen up in his chest when he gave into the demands. Saying ‘Yes, Sir’ felt a lot more satisfying than he imagined.
In fact, he was holding his breath wondering what would come next. He was excited. Anxious, sure, but excited too, and wanting, feeling the same sense of feverish arousal that he experienced last time that he was called a good boy and shoved to agree.
It was exactly what he came here for. It was exactly what he wanted… wasn’t it?
A thumb slid from his chin, over his lips, and pressed on his mouth hard.
“Open up, Spence.”
Professor Hotchner pushed his thumb in when he barely parted his lips and slid it against his tongue. He looked down at the floor, tracing the patterns in the rug, feeling embarrassed, hot, and unsure.
“Look at me, Spence,” he dragged his eyes up to meet him, “Open wide. Now.”
With a touch of reluctance, and a landslide of arousal, Spencer parted his lips for him and held his mouth open wide. Two fingers went in and they slid back along his tongue far past the point of comfort. He gagged lightly on them. It didn’t stop, though, Professor Hotchner kept going, jamming his fingers so far back in his mouth that he thought he might choke. He sputtered again and sucked in air, looking up at him with questioning eyes.
Professor Hotchner pulled his fingers out, dripping with saliva, and wiped them on the side of his cheek so he had spit dripping off his lips, cheek, and chin. His skin was flush and his eyes were dilated to hell.
He was on a very confusing cloud nine.
“You like this, don’t you, little slut?” Professor Hotchner said with a smoothness in his voice, “Look how easily you play nice for me.”
He fucking smirked, and Spencer found that enraging. He considered biting the fingers if they came close to him again, but something in the back of his mind told him that wasn’t a very good idea.
“I said, don’t you, slut? I asked you a question.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good boy. Get up and lock the door.”
“L-Lock it? What are you going to do?”
“Don’t ask questions, Spencer,” he deadpanned, “Now get up and lock the door.”
Spencer gulped. He shifted his leg down and rose from the seat, going to lock the door and shut himself in there with a man with no good intentions. If there were ever a time for him to run, this was it.
He turned the latch.
“Good boy,” he said, “Now get back here. I want you on your knees.”
He knelt down on the grainy carpet and waited for his next instruction. It was like being written into the script of a play; he just had to read his lines and play his part.
Without giving him time to take a breath, Professor Hotchner grabbed his hair and tipped his head back and to the side, twisting at an angle that put a crook in his neck. He pushed Spencer down to the ground and he collapsed on the floor like a rag doll. “Get up.”
Spencer regained himself back on his knees and this time those big hands were working at the fly of his pants and Spencer laid eyes on the biggest and cock he’d ever seen up close, even though he’d only seen three. His own, Ethan’s once on accident, and now his Professor’s. It was no joke, this one. He was surprised that it’d managed to fit inside him the other day, but then again his ass was still pretty sore.
Seeing it right in front of his eyes... wow. His own cock twitched in interest and his heart was already speeding up. He probably wanted... oh god, he was going to ask him to blow him. Well, he wasn’t going to ask. But still, Spencer never blew a cock before and this one wasn’t exactly for beginners.
Professor Hotchner tipped his hips forward and his cock pressed up on Spencer's cheek. With one hand he was grabbing his manhood, and with the other he was grabbing Spencer’s hair tightly again.
Blood rushed all around in Spencer, unable to make up its mind. To his dick, then his face, to his heart, fuck. Everything was heating up.
Soft, warm skin trailed along his high cheekbones and past his lips, stopping to rub gently against them. Professor Hotchner was taking his sweet time rubbing his cock all over Spencer’s beautiful face, and Spencer could tell that he was getting off on it.
“Open up, slut,” he growled, and Spencer complied. He pushed in hard, and suddenly Spencer was full of his teacher. He kept his mouth open as he thrust in and out. Gagging was a very real problem for him and he tried to fight it the entire time.
When his cock pressed in more than halfway, Spencer coughed, gagged, and tried to pull back, but his head was held firm in its place. Wetness was welled up in his eyes, and his nose started to run. He couldn't see and could just barely breathe. Who knew sucking cock was so hard?
He moaned and gagged against it, unable to control the way his throat twitched against Professor Hotchner’s dick. No sooner had Spencer shut his eyes tightly against the tears did Professor Hotchner growl at him and instruct him to keep his eyes up and trained on him.
He looked so… manly. So authoritative and powerful towering above him. His cookie cutter haircut didn’t look so cookie cutter from this angle; it was disheveled and tousled about, all midnight black and screaming to be touched. When did his Professor become so tall, dark, and handsome? When did he become this enigmatic source of passion and desire?
When did he make Spencer want to buckle at the knees? He would have, if he wasn’t already on them sucking him off.
Professor Hotcner made a sudden jerking with his hips going further down his throat, and he let out a deep moan as Spencer gagged violently. Spencer thought he was going to throw up, feeling a wave of nausea crash over him, but Professor Hotchner pulled out just as quickly, and it subsided. Unfortunately, he repeated this again and again, thrusting down deep into his throat, his grip tight in his hair, and hips pushing hard. Spencer was getting absolutely face fucked and he could barely keep up. He had his fingers clenched tight around Professor Hotchner’s thighs, digging into them in a futile attempt to feel grounded to something.
Just as Spencer was starting to feel his lightheadedness tip over into something a bit more dizzying, he was gasping for air and eagerly gulping it down. Professor Hotchner started to stroke himself at an erratic pace.
“Fuck, Spencer, such a tight little throat. Such a good boy opening up that mouth for me.”
Spencer panted and wheezed below him, still keeping his eyes up on the order, watching him frenzied and aroused. His lips twitched in a smile with the praise.
“I’m going to cum all over that beautiful face,” he growled as hot spurts of cum hit Spencer in his eye, forehead, and lips. He shot it covering his entire face, and it dripped down lazily in warm white ropes.
It felt so sticky and warm and Spencer immediately loved it. He felt owned. He felt like his Professor was claiming him, marking him, declaring something with the cum he splashed all over the most personal of places.
He flicked his tongue out over his lips to catch a little bit dripping down. Bitter. It wasn’t exactly what he was expecting, but then again he never put too much thought into what cum might taste like. It was salty and strange, and not exactly bad tasting, but not pleasant either.
Slap.
Fuck! There it was again, that sharp sting, and Spencer winced, wondering what he did this time. He looked up again, coming back from his daydreams, and saw a displeased look lining his face.
“You don’t taste my cum without my permission,” he said, “Only if you’re a good boy do you get it. And you were a very good boy, Spencer, but you need to learn to ask permission.”
Spencer blushed, embarrassed and feeling silly that he hadn’t asked first. He should’ve realized. Everything else his Professor made him do so far had been so restrictive, why did he think he could do that all by himself?
“I’m sorry…” he whimpered, “I’m s-sorry. I didn’t know.”
He dropped his head down and started to cry silently. His shoulders shook with emotion and his nose got runny and gross. He didn’t understand why he was losing it all of a sudden.
Professor Hotchner knelt down to be eye level with him and ran his hands along his upper arms, squeezing slightly.
“Shhh, Spencer, it’s okay,” he whispered, “It’s okay. You didn’t know. I’m sorry, Spencer. I should have told you the rules first. I shouldn’t punish you for something you didn’t know not to do. That wasn’t right. Don’t cry, shhh.”
He took a handkerchief out of his suit and dabbed at Spencer’s eyes. They were messed with tears, cum, and little amber wisps of hair that were plastered down to them.
“Here, wipe your eyes, Spence.” He motioned to the cloth that he was using, and Spencer took it in his hands. He was still crying lightly and started to hiccup.
“I— I didn’t m-mean to -hic-, I’m sorry, I’m so, so -hic- s-sorry.”
“No, no. Spencer, it’s okay. Everything is okay, alright? Why don’t you try it out, hm? Ask me permission. I won’t say no. You’ll feel better.”
Spencer looked at him with teary eyes, and didn’t know why he suddenly felt so small and sad. His Professor was being so nice now, and he’d gotten to suck him off and get lots of attention; everything that he was hoping for when he came in here, even if he didn't know it. This was it.
So why couldn’t he stop crying? Was it because he made Professor Hotchner mad? Mad enough to slap him again, especially after he was such a good boy? All because he wanted to taste him? Why couldn’t he taste him? Wouldn’t a good boy be able to? Why did he have to ask if he was already so good?
But it didn’t matter why. All he had to do was ask, then, and everything would be okay. Right? That’s what professor Hotchner said. So he just had to ask, that’s all.
“I— c-can I -hic- p-please taste y-your cum -hic-, Sir?”
Professor Hotchner smiled. Spencer was brave enough to be making eye contact with him and it made him smile, too. The moment was surprisingly sweet. Spencer started to feel like things were okay, like he wasn’t just feeling worthless, stupid and punished.
“Yes, Spencer, you may.” He ran his finger along Spencer’s cheek, right under his eye, and gathered some of his own cum, brought it to Spencer’s mouth and he opened up to take it in. This time when Spencer tasted it, it was salty from his tears, but it was better because this time he knew his Professor wanted him to have it.
“You like that, Spence?” He raised his eyebrows. “You were a very good boy, you deserve it.”
Spencer kept his eyes locked with his Professor. “Yes, Sir.”
“And what else do you say, hm?”
“I—” He cocked his head to the side. He was puzzled.
“You say ‘thank you’.”
“Oh,” Spencer mumbled. He felt dumb again, but then he smiled when he saw Professor Hotchenr’s soft expression. “Thank you, Sir.”
Professor Hotchner let him wash up his face, sent him out of his office, and told him to return straight back to his dorm, and he did. He told Spencer that he would see him tomorrow in lecture and that he should expect to stay after class.
Spencer couldn’t wait.
Notes:
thanks for sticking around and reading guys
Chapter 7: Spanky Spanky
Summary:
Spencer stays after class. Can you guess why?
Chapter Text
“It is the bullet you don’t hear that gets you.”
― Greg Bear, Blood Music
The next day was hell waiting for class to arrive, and even worse waiting for it to end. Just like last time, Professor Hotchner didn’t pay any mind to him. It was so infuriating that he almost preferred the taunting. At least when he tried to embarrass him and trip him up on obscure details if it meant that he was talking to him. Giving him attention.
Spencer was finally very, very thankful of his eidetic memory, because he otherwise wouldn’t pay attention in class, (not with him standing there looking like he did, sounding like he did...) and at least he could touch in on this memory in the future if he needed to.
When class did end, the students filed out and they were left alone. With him in his seat and Professor Hotchner standing down at the podium, a thick silence hung in the air between them. Spencer doubted that he should be the one to break it, but he just couldn’t help himself; it was torture. It was begging too broken. It—
“So… what now?” It came out soft, but just enough to reach the podium, because Professor Hotchner sighed in response.
“You have an uncanny ability to ignore rules,” he said, “Why is that?”
Spencer coughed. Now he wished he hadn’t said anything.
“That wasn’t a rhetorical question. I want to know why you keep deliberately disobeying me when I’ve been more than clear with you. Or do you not have an eidetic memory like I’ve been led to believe?”
“I— No, I do,” Spencer stuttered, “I just really wanted… I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking. I wanted… to… start.”
“Exactly, you do remember. You choose not to listen. You’re impatient. You’re a weak little boy.”
Spencer flushed beet red. He had been impatient. He had known better. Everything his Professor was saying was true.
“Can I— Can—”
“Get up, lock the doors, and sit back down.”
Spencer gulped. He had to keep his hand from trembling on the locks, and when he sat back down it felt like he’d accomplished some monumental task like biking the tour de France.
“Tell me, Spencer. Does this turn you on?” He asked, after Spencer was finished. It came out like he was bored; as if he were asking him what his thoughts were on personality deviations in the elderly.
“Uh, Yes, Sir.”
“You liked the way I treated you in my office. How did it make you feel?”
Spencer flushed again. How could he answer such an embarrassing question? Something like that he’d rather whisper the answer to in his ear, not say plainly across a classroom.
“Well?” Professor Hotchner said, keeping his eyes trained on him, “Do you have an answer, or not? We don’t have to continue this conversation if it’s too much for you. You know where the door is.”
“No—!” Spencer knee jerked out his reply. There was no way he was leaving now. He wanted this. He wanted this bad. He wanted Professor Hotchner close again… showing him… making him do these things. Things he’d never done before. Things he’d never even thought of before. God, he wanted his lips around…
“Spencer?” Professor Hotchner was tapping on his podium now.
“I, um. I felt the release of the neurotransmitter dopamine as well as nitrogen oxide and noradrenaline when-”
“No, Spencer. Stop. Try again. Tell me using your feelings.”
“Mh. Sorry. I, uh, I like it. I definitely like it. I don’t know… it made me uh, feel… good... dirty?” Spencer mumbled, “Uh, Sir.”
Back again with the arrogance, he smirked. “Dirty, hm? Feeling dirty feels good to you, hm?” It was like a game to him, goading Spencer on. “You looked beautiful covered in my cum.”
“I—“
Professor tut-tutted. “Bad boy. No speaking. I didn’t ask you a question, did I?”
“No, Sir.” He swallowed.
“Come down here.”
Instead of replying like he wanted to, Spencer silently got up and made his way down to the platform in the front. He teetered awkwardly in front of the podium, scuffling his feet on the ground.
“Look at you, so nervous,” he laughed, “Where was this boy the other day?”
“Hey— I’m not—“
“No, no.” He shot a cold look at Spencer. “I’m talking.”
Spencer huffed. He could defend himself at the very least. He wasn’t a nervous boy. He was just, I mean, this was an unusual situation, really, anyone would act off.
“We can start this off badly, or we can have it go as I planned. What I planned is a lot nicer for you, Spencer. The way you’re acting is unacceptable; you refuse to follow the simplest of commands.”
Spencer huffed again. He was doing pretty well in his opinion. For someone who talked as much as he did, this level of silence was basically a fucking miracle. He felt like a goddamn monk. Talking felt natural; the flow of conversation, human instinct to reply.
“As plann—” he started, before his Professor Hotchner clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. Rolled his eyes! Arrogant prick.
“Okay, then. The hard way it is,” he said, a coldness in his voice, “More fun for me, anyway. I’d love to see you with a red ass, squirming in displeasure.”
“No! I don’t want whatever th—”
But Spencer was yanked roughly forward by the collar of his shirt, and he came flush against a finely pressed suit that had a distinctly familiar smell.
“You just don’t listen, do you?” A raspy voice came in his ear.
Professor Hotchner pulled out his desk chair and sat down.
“Take your pants down and bend over.”
“No, really, I’ll listen,” he sputtered, backing up.
“I’m going to spank you 10 times, Spence,” he said. “15 now, because of how you’re acting. Take your pants down and bend over. I’m not going to tell you again.”
Spencer took a step back and nearly stumbled into the desk. “I don’t want this, that’s not why—”
“You want this,” he growled. With an ironclad grip wrapped around his wrist, Professor Hotchner pulled him forward. “Bad little brat. That’s 20.”
His pants were tugged forcefully down, and Professor Hotchner pulled him over his knees so that his bare ass was up in the air, and his knees bent awkwardly against the chair. Spencer was too tall to be bent over like that.
“Oww!” Spencer’s ass was hit for the first time.
“Count them.”
“Please, no, I’ve learned my lesson, please-” he begged.
“You know the drill Spencer. You’ve counted before. And that’s 25 for speaking out of turn.”
“Aah—” he groaned, “One, Sir.”
“See? Was that so hard, Sweetheart?”
“—Two, Sir.”
He counted out as his ass got redder and redder with each stroke. Pain laced up his back, and he didn’t get even a moment to recover between strokes.
“Fuuc— six, Sir,” he whined.
Spencer’s ass already felt raw with pain and he was only at six. He still had nineteen to go. How was he going to survive that?
“C-can I— can I speak, Sir?”
Professor Hotchner’s hand came down firmly on his ass cheek again with a sharp clap before he answered him.
“Yes, you may. What is it?”
“I can’t do any more, please, I’ve had enough, please it hurts so much. No more, please. I c-can't.”
“You have nineteen left, Spencer. You need to take your punishment. That’s how you learn.”
Nineteen? No, it’s eighteen left now, Sir.”
“No, it’s not. You didn’t count. Do you want me to start over? I could start over for not counting. I was being generous, you know.”
“No! Please. No, don’t, please. Nineteen. Please.”
“We’ll round it out to twenty,” Professor Hotchner decided.
“Twenty more? Nooo!” he whined— slap.
“S-Seven, Sir!” He was far too scared of more punishment to fight him over one spank.
“Good boy.” He said, and Spencer could almost hear the smile on his lips.
“Owww! Eight—” he gasped. His ass was burning up, hot to the touch. He imagined a red handprint on his left cheek broadcasting his embarrassment. Well, fuck, if he wasn’t in so much pain he’d be embarrassed. But there was hardly any time to think about that in between blows. Over and over, they just kept coming despite how erratic his breathing became and his runny his nose got. That, and he felt like he was going to cry. Already.
“Twe-enty Two,” he stuttered, “Twenty three.”
“You’re doing such a good job, Spencer.”
“T-Twenty four— ah.” He jerked witht the sting and felt a piece inside of him snap with the tension. He grinded his teeth together, gritting out the number, feeling his resignation to the punishment. All his anger, resentment, and fear all tangled together sank to a dark depth, only to be replaced by something lighter, something easier.
“Just one more left, Slut. And when I’m finished I want you to say thank you, tell me what you did wrong, and then apologize. Understand?”
Spencer nodded his head with complaince, but quickly realized he was looking for a verbal answer and choked out a quiet “Yes, Sir” before Professor Hotchner’s hand came down painfully on his ass cheek for the last time.
“Twenty five, S-Sir. T-Thank you,” he sniffled. The words came tumbling out easily, “I wouldn’t l-listen. I k-kept talking. I-I was… I was a brat. I’m sorry. I’m s-so sorry, Sir. I won’t do it again. I’ll be quiet. I’m sorry.”
“Good boy.” The softness came back in his voice. He helped Spencer stand back up on wobbly feet, and caught his arm before he almost fell to the ground. “Be careful, Sweetheart. We don’t want you getting hurt.”
Spencer’s head spun for a second. Doesn’t want him to get hurt? Then what exactly did he just think happened? That sure hurt. A lot. He could feel the hotness against the cool air, and the pulsation of his inflamed skin.
Professor Hotchner used the hand around his arm to pull him in close, and Spencer bent down awkwardly as his Professor hugged him. He let his head fall against his shoulder, and again that smell of leather and apples sent him reeling. Just for a moment he felt all better. Happy. When he let him go he straightened himself back up.
“Professor Hotchner?” he whispered in question.
With a smile playing on his lips, he looked up at spencer; he was still sitting in his chair. “Yes, Spencer?”
“Well… um. Why are you always so nice after… after, you know…”
“After I discipline you?” He brought his hand up to Spencer’s cheek. “It’s okay to talk about.”
Spencer nodded.
“It’s part of what I wanted to talk about with you today before we got off course. But it’s bringing up a good point that I wanted to make. It’s called aftercare. I’ll tell you all about it, but you have to be patient, okay? Can you handle that right now, Spencer? Or do you want to take five?”
He shook his head fast. “No, no I don’t need five. I’m okay. It just… hurts. I’m okay. I want to know about what you were going to say.”
Professor Hotchner smiled and nodded. “Good boy. Okay. Here, you sit down.” He got up from the chair and motioned for Spencer to sit. He did, hesitantly. It still stung to have any contact with his bottom, but he was thankful not to be standing anymore. He was dizzy and spent.
Professor Hotchner leaned up against the desk next to him. Again, Spencer found himself with his teacher towering over him. He looked up. This time he would wait.
“I’m going to give you a moment to cool down. You need it.” He was still looking down at him with a stern gaze. It seemed to last forever before he spoke up again. By that time Spencer felt a little less fried.
“Spencer. Do you know what’s happening here?”
“I, uh… we’re… you’re…” He cleared his throat. “Uh, sex?”
“No, that’s not exactly it,” he said, and brought his hands together, fingers laced. “It’s called BDSM. Have you heard of it?”
Spencer was sure that he had at some point. He read a lot of things, but he didn’t care to think of it. Instead, he shook his head. He wanted to have it explained.
“It stands for Bondage and Discipline and Sadism and Masochism. It's… consensual play between Dominant and submissive. Me, the Dominant. And you…” He looked down at Spencer. “The submissive.”
Spencer looked back up with wide eyes. This was a lot. He didn’t think he was very submissive, not really, but if he wasn’t, then why was he sitting in his Professor’s chair with an ass as red as an overripe strawberry?
Chapter 8: HOTCH
Summary:
Enjoy, guys, this one is long and mostly just smut. I was gonna edit it down but then I figured, eh, I'm too lazy. There may also be errors. Also, happy October! Best month.
Chapter Text
"Decent folk had to let indecent folk do their thing;
that was the paradox of decency."
― Piers Anthony, On a Pale Horse
Spencer was shaking. Shaking like a leaf. It was almost adorable, if it weren’t so worrisome.
Aaron wasn’t sure what Spencer wanted. He wasn’t sure if Spencer could know what he wanted. He wasn’t sure if anyone could know what they wanted after… what happened. And if Spencer agreed to his proposition, he doubted that it would be completely uninfluenced by fear.
That wasn’t his intention anymore; he didn’t want to scare him into being his submissive. Clearly, he was, but it wasn’t his intention.
All together Spencer had an intriguing mix of fear and lust, and Aaron secretly loved it. That was the tipping point for him, the moment where he realized he wasn’t going to let Spencer slip from his grasp if he could help it. Yesterday he was one hundred percent ready to forget about him, but then he came barging into his office practically demanding domination and subsequently crumpling like a leaf.
He needed that boy, rules be damned. He wanted to dominate him completely. Body, soul, mind; everything.
It would start with an explanation. A proposition. Hopefully Spencer would agree. If not, well, he could be persuaded. He didn’t want him to run. He wanted him to want it, really, that would be his first choice scenario, but there were a lot of scenarios that he would settle for.
So seeing Spencer shake like a leaf in his seat made him uneasy. Although he denied that he needed any time to settle down, Aaron knew that he did, and gave him a little a break. After a few minutes of silence where Spencer was clearly self-medicating with some deep breathing exercises, whether it was intentional or not, he deemed him ready.
The way that he looked at him after he said 'submissive', well, that look was the epitome of submissive behavior. It gave him hope for Spencer, yet. He was clearly submissive at the core, just littered with defense mechanisms and unhealthy coping strategies.
Aaron still had it. He could profile a penny from the top of the Empire State Building. Spencer was easy. Spencer he could get, with time. Spencer would become his perfect plaything and he would peel him apart layer by layer to get there.
“That’s right. Submissive. Something you are at your core. Anyone could see it if they know how to look,” he said, “And I see you, Spencer. I know what you need. I see the way you respond to me, the way you pick up my cues, how you respond to my dominance. It’s instinctual, to a degree. Maybe you don’t even know you’re doing it.
“And I believe that you have a natural affinity for those clues, too. Following them, recognizing them. Profiling, in essence. I’ve noticed the way that you can pick things up, pick people apart. The way you tried with me; You do it so naturally.”
Spencer was still looking at him and his face was positively enthralled.
“I digress, though, that’s part of a larger discussion,” he said, bringing his eyes back to him and holding contact, “The fact of the matter is, Spencer, that I want you to submit to me. Become mine.” He looked down at him pointedly. “What do you think? I want to hear your thoughts, not a yes or no.”
Spencer opened his mouth, closed it, and when he opened it again his voice came out soft and squeaky like a mouse. “Mh… I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I am submissive.” At this, Aaron tried to stifle a laugh. “But, uh, this past week has been… like the most exciting and uh, terrifying, week of my life.”
He paused for a moment. Aaron could see the gears grinding in his head and gave him time to process his thoughts.
“But it’s also been… I don’t know how to explain, but like, really grounding? Like I feel like my feet are finally firm on the floor and I know where they’re going.”
“Why’s that?” he prodded.
“Because, uh…”
“Because I’m telling them where to go.”
Spencer’s eyes flashed away from him, aiming directly down at the floor, and he blushed profusely.
“Mh, yeah,” he said softly.
“Just ‘yeah’? I think you know better than that, Spence.”
His lips twitched ever so slightly. “I mean, yes, Sir.”
“Good boy,” Aaron reached out to run his hand along Spencer’s back. He leaned into the touch.
Spencer was surprisingly eager. So genuine in everything he was feeling. The fear, the wonder, the eagerness. It was intoxicating to Aaron. He wanted to scoop him up, take him home, and lock him in his bedroom to do unspeakable things to him for days on end.
But he also wanted him to want to be whisked away, despite how he had started everything with him. That was… dark. Unmeasured. Fueled by pure, what, lust? Rage? He still didn’t know what possessed him that day. If anything, he’s been stern but incredibly kind to his submissives in the past.
He’d have Spencer understand eventually that this was a one-off mistake. Which it was, right?
“I want you to think about all of this.” He gestured around with his hand. “You’re going to go back to your dorm tonight and write down a list of the reasons why you want this, and why you don’t. Go online and read about it, or go to the library, it’s up to you. On Wednesday you’re to think about that list. Thursday morning, you will rewrite it and bring it to class. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Okay,” he said, “Now get up.”
“Yes Sir…” He stood.
Spencer was absolutely stunning, and Aaron knew that he had no earthly idea just how beautiful he really was. If he did, there would be no way he would ever leave sight of a mirror.
But he made a mental note to correct his posture and fidgety behavior.
Aaron reached out and ran his fingers through Spencer’s hair. It was a brilliant shade of amber and honey, decorated in the slightest amount of curl at the ends. It settled right above his shoulders. He tucked it behind his ear, making him blush yet again. Gently, he pulled Spencer towards him, where he was learning on the desk, and bent down ever so slightly to press his lips up against the soft skin below his ear.
He nipped at his neck and quickly replaced it with a kiss. A whimper emanated from Spencer’s lips, so close to Aaron’s ear; it was heavenly. He already fucked Spencer in his ass, and his mouth, but never kissed him, not on the lips, not where it counts.
He trailed down his neck with wet kisses, pressed up against his pressure point, feeling the blood rushing to and fro. With his right hand he gripped the other side of his neck and held him in place. He bit into the skin, not breaking it but dragging his teeth down along it, and coming to rest at Spencer’s jutting collarbones. He licked at them, loving the taste.
Spencer felt like a rag doll in his arms. He was pliant and soft, but he was moaning like nothing else. Aaron trailed his hand down his side, and slipped in between his pants and boxers.
He was already sporting wood. Aaron grinned into his neck. “Eager little slut, aren’t you?”
Spencer’s head fell against his shoulder, and he moaned again. “Yes, sir.”
“Say it.”
Spencer nudged his further head into Aaron’s neck, an awkward dance of embarrassment. “I-I’m an… an eager l-little slut, Sir.”
“Mmh, yes you are, Spencer,” he growled, “Put your hands on the desk.”
He moved to the side so Spencer could comply, and he came up behind him with his crotch pressed into his ass. Spencer yelped, and Aaron figured he must still be sore from his spanking.
Good, then. He would remember next time not to speak out of turn.
He reached around, unfastened Spencer’s pants, and dropped them to his ankles along with his briefs, leaving him naked from the waist down. Aaron reached out to squeeze the skin on his thighs, so flawless and fair. He trailed a finger along the redness on his ass cheeks and hummed; Spencer trembled under that touch.
“So beautiful, Spence,” Aaron cooed.
When his hand slipped between his legs and fondled at his balls, he saw Spencer’s fingers grip tighter on the desk. He smirked, gently rolled them around in his hand, and leaned in close, breathing hotly on the back of his neck. “You’re going to be a good little slut for me, aren’t you? Hm? You going to be a good boy?”
Spencer’s breath hitched, and he nodded fiercely. “Yes, Sir, yes, I am. I’ll be a good boy.”
Aaron reached over and rummaged through his desk drawer. He pulled out a small bottle of lube and opened it in one hand, squirting it down Spencer’s crack, and rubbing over his hole.
“Mmh—” Spencer was moaning underneath him already. Greedy little slut.
“You want that, hmm, Spence? You want my finger up your ass?”
“Y-Yes, Sir.”
“Let’s see how bad you want it,” he chuckled.
He pressed softly over Spencer’s hole, and around it in little circles, just enough to apply some pressure, but not enough for his finger to pop in. It was wet, hot, and so smooth. He could barely restrain himself from plunging in and taking him, but he wanted Spencer begging and writhing for it.
“Ahhh- oh god—” Spencer moaned. His legs were trembling underneath him. “Please— more!”
Aaron went further away, massaging with his fingers, and sweeping past Spencer’s hole, each time making him gasp from the brief contact.
“Oh, you want more?” He smirked. “You little slut. You want your ass full? Are you aching for me?”
Spencer wiggled his ass back, trying to position himself to the point where he could fuck himself on his Professor’s fingers.
“Mmh-mmh, Spencer. We don’t do that. We ask nicely. We beg.”
Spencer whined low in his throat. “Mmh— fuckk— please! Please, okay? Fuck, please!”
Aaron continued to rub circles over Spencer’s asshole. He pressed deeper and deeper, but never quite enough.
“Oh god, Professor Hotchner, please! Finger me— Fuck—! I need it so bad, please!”
“Mm, so keen. What a perfect little slut,” he smirked.
Spencer groaned in reply. Aaron could tell he was just about ready to burst with anticipation. Poor boy was so filled to the brim with embarrassment and lust he hardly knew what to do with himself.
Aaron spread his cheeks apart with one hand and made his hole pucker. He whined so desperately that Aaron laughed. “So good, Spence.”
“P-Please, sir, please—”
He thrust in with two wet fingers and immediately began scissoring. Spencer nearly gave out beneath him, but caught his footing and gasped, “Fuck!”
He bent his fingers, searching around for that one spot to drive him wild, and when Spencer bucked up beneath him, he knew he found it. Slow and steady, he rubbed his middle finger up against that spot again, this time with intent. Spencer was moving his hips in terse circular motions, and Aaron smiled at how easy it was to make him fall apart.
“You’re doing so good, Spence, such a good boy.”
“P-Proffe—”
Aaron slipped his own cock out from his trousers, his precum already beading out and smearing against him, and replaced his fingers with his tip, pressing in lightly. He didn’t want to give Spencer any more than two fingers of prep. He wanted him to feel it. He wanted it to burn.
Aaron was already large in that respect. Spencer would have no trouble feeling every inch of his cock. He pushed in slowly, and with the lube, Spencer gave very little resistance, save for his tightness. He threw his head back and groaned as Aaron sunk in, inch by inch, until he was flush against Spencer’s ass. It was such a pretty sight.
Aaron rocked his hips slowly, barely pulling out, until Spencer’s groaning had ceased and he was full on moaning like a whore. He smirked, grabbed his hip tightly, pulled back, and slammed into him. Spencer screamed out.
“That’s a good slut, take it like a good boy.” He rammed into Spencer again, harder this time, and let out a held breath. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. Fuck, your ass is so tight.”
Spencer shook with pleasure, or pain, possibly, Aaron wasn’t sure, but he kept going at a brutal pace, slamming into him, fucking him hard and deep. He gripped his hair and held his head back so that his neck was bent and exposed. He looked so incredibly vulnerable; Aaron could have him any way he wanted him.
“That’s right, slut, you need my cock, don’t you?” he growled.
Spencer’s voice came out hoarse and choked. Due to the way his head was tilted back, it constricted his breathing to a small degree. “Ye-es Sir— I n-need it.”
He looked so beautiful. So insanely beautiful. Aaron had to restrain himself from just grabbing him by the shoulders and just absolutely destroying him. He wanted to jackhammer into him so hard that he would split in half, so hard he would need to see a doctor in the morning.
Instead, he bit down on his lip and slowed his pace. He wasn’t a monster. Nor was he sure if Spencer would ask him to slow down, let alone stop. Besides, he already made it clear in the past that he wasn’t going to stop when asked. He hadn’t even introduced the idea of a safe word yet. Spencer was just taking him, no questions asked. Even though he was moaning like an animal beneath him, the moans were so close to sounding uncomfortable that he couldn’t be sure.
“You like that, Spence, hm?” he cooed, as he slid slowly out of him, and pushed back in with as much ease, “Your ass feels full, sweetheart?”
“Y-Yes, Sir,” he whimpered, “Feels s-so good, please—”
“Please, what, slut?”
“Pl-lease I need to c-cum, Sir—”
Aaron released his grip in his hair and he let his head fall down to the table with a thump.
“Do you think you’ve been a good boy? Do you deserve to cum?”
“Yes, Sir— please, yes, god, yes—”
“Yes? That’s pretty presumptuous of you, little slut.” Aaron grinned. “Luckily you have been a very good boy. Such a tight little boy. God, so tight.”
“Please!”
Aaron sunk into him, over and over, slow and steady, trying to angle his swollen cock over Spencer’s prostate to see just how much he could take. He was shaking under him, his thighs looked like they were about ready to bow in, and he had yet to pick his head up from the table. His shoulders were heaving up and down with his ragged breathing, and small moans kept slipping from his lips.
“You can cum, Spencer. Cum for me, little slut,” Aaron groaned.
He came right on command as if Aaron had pulled his trigger, and he shot his load all over the surface of the desk. Aaron slammed right into his prostate over and over as he shook with pleasure.
“Oh fuck, Sir— oh god— feels so—fuck-shit—” Spencer let out a string of mumbled curses before he trailed off into nonsense.
“That’s right, there you go, good boy, Spencer, so good.”
Aaron scooped Spencer’s mostly limp form up from the table and held him flush against himself as he angled Spencer just right that he could still thrust up. Spencer’s arms were trapped against his sides, and his mouth was lulled open in pleasure. He was still pumping into him, and he knew how overstimulated that he must be.
With one final grunt, Aaron shot his load into Spencer’s ass and nuzzled his face against the back of his head. He stilled there inside of him while his labored breathing returned to normal, and his racing heart quieted. Spencer whimpered in his arms and Professor Hotchner pulled out from inside him, and then gathered him even closer against him in a tight backwards hug.
It was as much for Spencer as it was for him. Aaron breathed in the sweet smell of shampoo and his head spun in a dizzy sort of way. He alway enjoyed the aftercare portion of play. When the play was play. For Spencer it was still… way too real, no matter how tremendously accepting he’d been of it. No matter how he’d come back wanting more.
He needed a lot of praise. A lot of aftercare to keep him from breaking, especially now.
“Sir?” Spencer asked.
“Mm, yes?” Aaron whispered close behind his ear. He was breathing right into his hair.
“Thank you…”
Aaron kissed his cheek. “You’re welcome. You were a good boy, Sweetheart.” Then his voice dropped instantly. This wasn’t some sub act. Spencer hardly knew what a sub was. “Such a good, beautiful boy you are.”
“I— y’know, uh.” He blushed and stalled. “I don’t know, I just really… needed that.”
“I know what you need. And I’ll give it to you,” Aaron whispered.
Spencer’s head shot around, twisting oddly, stopped by Aaron’s tight grip on his torso, so that he was only half turned. His eyes were wide like saucers with a subtle look of wonder. “oh,” he just barely breathed out.
Aaron smiled, spun him around, and ran his hand through his hair. “Mmh, my obedient little sub. You love it. You need this. So good, Sweetheart.”
Spencer’s lips twitched in a small, embarrassed smile, but he kept his eyes trained down on the floor. He hummed a little in response.
With his index finger, Aaron pushed up Spencer’s chin so he had no choice but to look him in the eye. He slipped his other hand around Spencer’s waist and pulled him even closer. Spencer was looking at him quietly, his face tinted a rosy shade of pink, and his pupils blown out.
“Spencer, sweetheart,” Aaron mumbled, his voice coming out deep and gravely, “I’m going to kiss you now.”
If it were possible, his eyes grew wider, and he could feel Spencer’s heartbeat jackhammering below his skin. It gave him a sense of satisfaction that he couldn’t ignore. He brought his head down and pressed his lips against his. Spencer gave an adorable little whine. It was closed lipped and sweet, and it was over before he knew it.
Aaron pulled back with his breathing still hanging in the air in front of him, and Spencer looked like all the air had been sucked out of his entire world.
“So pretty, Spencer.” Aaron smiled. He rubbed his thumb against Spencer’s cheek and he learned into it, eyelids fluttering closed. “Are you okay?”
“Mmhm,” he hummed. A smile was playing on his lips now.
He looked so damn good with a smile. He hardly had the opportunity to see it. He decided he would change that.
“Tell me what you’re going to do tonight.”
“Huh…? Uh, go to sleep,” His voice was coming out hazy.
“No, that’s not it. Think about what I told you earlier, Spence.”
“Uhh, oh. Sorry. I’m going to go home and make a list, uh, of all the reasons why I… I um, want this.” He blushed bright red. “And then rewrite it the next day to bring back to you.”
“Very good.” Aaron smirked, then kissed him. “Now be on your way, Spence. You have a lot to think about. I’ll see you Thursday.”
“Yes, Sir.” He blushed. Then, he smiled.
Chapter 9: Internet
Summary:
Reid does his 'homework'
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“It takes something more than intelligence to act intelligently.”
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment
Spencer fidgeted with nervous energy when he got back to his dorm.
Ethan noticed it immediately, Spencer could tell. Seemingly pleased enough that Spencer was smiling again, he left it alone, to which he was eternally grateful; he didn’t feel like making up more lies.
Instead, he plopped down on their little couch and let out a long, satisfied sigh.
“Off at the library again?” Ethan chuckled. He grabbed a box of Fruit Loops from the cabinet and poured it into a bowl that did’t seem altogether clean. “You always have that weird serene look after you spend all day studying, you nerd.”
Spencer grinned. “Yeah, you know me. Big nerd.”
“So… I don’t want to, like, kill your vibe or anything, dude, but I invited some people over.”
Spencer let his head fall back on the fake leather and groaned. “C’mon, Ethan, really?”
“Yeah, man! Okay, so I get you don’t like crowds, but it’s gonna be fun! And I didn’t invite that many people, or even anyone that you don’t already know, so no strangers, okay?”
Spencer squinted. “You promise?”
“Yeah, dude, I swear,” Ethan said, coming into the living room with his dry cereal. “And, uh, they’re gonna be here like any second. Y’know, like Jen and Will, and Emily and Penny.”
Spencer closed his eyes and groaned again, every bit of calmness that he accumulated over the past hour slipping from his body.
“Oh get a grip, Spence!” Ethan laughed. “Girls! Okay? Why are you so bummed when we’re gonna have a party full of girls?!”
“I don’t care about girls.”
“Yeah, all you care about is books,” Ethan grumbled. “And, um, Elle is coming.”
Spencer looked over and caught Ethan with a red face and a sheepish grin. “Oh, yeah? Elle, ‘I-swear-I’m-not-stalking-her’, Elle?”
“I’m not!” he huffed. “I ran into her ONCE at Starbucks. It’s called a coincidence!”
“It’s not a coincidence when it’s winter break and it’s in her home town. A town that you’re not from, mind you.”
“I have friends down there! You guys are nuts! I hate you all. You’re all making a way bigger deal out of this than it really is. Besides, she didn’t think it was creepy.”
“Yeah, ‘cos you’re such a good stalker. That’s how you know you’re good, when they don’t even realize you followed them home to Starbucks,” Spencer grinned.
“Oh, fuck you!” he groaned. “You’re all a bunch of assholes.”
Still on the couch, burying his face in a pillow, he whined like a child. “Nah, you’re the asshole. I have things to do tonight. I can’t do them with a bunch of people over.”
“What do you have to do? You can finish your work in like, 20 minutes tops.” Ethan shoved a handful of fruit loops mouth. “Plus, I know for a fact that you don’t have class until 5pm tomorrow, so you’re golden.”
“Only a stalker would know my class schedule.” Spencer ducked under the pillow and laughed.
He would have to carve out some time tonight to do what he was told, but he couldn’t risk doing it with a dorm full of people who could walk in on him at any moment. The lock on his door was shoddy at best, and extremely malfunctioning at worst. Plus his room was shared with Ethan so he would have every right to walk in unannounced. The last thing he needed was a reputation as a pervert who spent parties looking up weird fetish websites.
“Yeah, well— oh, hey!” Ethan jumped up from the armchair. “Someone’s here.”
A group full of excited girls came through the door, giving Ethan hugs and shrugging off their coats.
“Spencer!” Penelope sing-songed, and bounced over to him. “Spencer, I missed you!”
“Hey, Penny,” he squeaked. Penny made him feel all sorts of awkward; she was just so over the top! She was his magnetic opposite, and he knew it drove her insane that he would never engage with her.
“Where have you been hiding, boy genius?” She plopped down next to him.
He scooted away from her. In a totally stealth manner. “Uh, you know, around.”
She frowned. “Oh, come on, cupcake! I know you’ve been holding back on me!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him close against her. “I miss my Boy Wonder! I call dibs on you tonight, okay?”
Not so subtly, he winced. He didn’t like being touched; ew. He tried to shrug her off but it only made her cling harder and her blonde and purple curls were starting to bush against his shoulder and ugh. “Yeah, okay, fine. But can you just, like, let me go?”
“No fun, sugar!” she pouted, but released her grip on him. “Don’t worry, no more touchy-touchy, I know how you get.”
“Hey, don’t be harassing Spencer over there, Pen!” Emily chided as she came into the room.
Thank God for Emily.
“I wasn’t, I swear! Tell her, Spence! Tell her!”
“Uhhh…” His mind always went haywire in social situations. What was the formula for this situation? Lie to Emily to preserve his friendship with Penny, or tell Emily that Penny was bothering him and risk Penny getting mad at him, but also making Emily respect him for telling the truth? There were too many variables and not enough right answers. He hated things without right answers.
Dammit, Ethan.
“See? He’s fine!” Penny smiled.
Emily rolled her eyes and shot him a look of apology. Best not to think about it.
Jen and Will showed up together after a half hour and soon the room was buzzing with conversation, snacks and the sound of buttons being mashed on controllers. He didn’t know what they were playing, nor did he care. All he had to do was ride this out, and sooner or later everyone would have to leave.
Ethan wasn’t in a great mood either, because as it turned out Elle never showed up. He was glancing between the clock and the front door every few minutes, and with each passing hour his frown got deeper and deeper.
“Spence, c’mon, come play!” Penny looked back at him, trying to entice him with video games.
Spencer shrugged. “Ehh.”
“C’monnn!”
“Nah, I really don’t want to.”
She batted her eyelashes. “Don’t be a party pooper, boy wonder! Have fun with me, pretty please?”
“I’m not— I, ugh, I have to go do something,” he mumbled.
“Nooo!” Penny whined as he got up from the couch and headed into his room.
It was like a wave of relief crashing over him as he closed the door and slumped down to the floor. Being around all those people was so exhausting. All of the conversations, the nuances, and never knowing what to say, fuck.
He just wanted the day to be over. Fuck this night, and Ethan, and his stupid attempts to woo girls who weren’t even interested in him in the first place.
Spencer crawled into bed, brought the covers over his head, and shut his eyes. There wasn’t a way to make his brain shut off, there never was, but he was tired enough, and even though Ethan was banging on their door for him to come out and hang with everyone, he slid into sleep. Everything else could wait. The party, the people, the… thing that he had to do. It could all wait until tomorrow. He was a quick study; it would take him all of ten minutes to do what Professor Hotchner instructed so if he wanted to go to sleep now, he didn’t see the problem. He’d never know the difference.
. . .
Surprisingly, Spencer slept until noon, and didn’t quite make it out of bed until half past one. Overtiredness was making his head groggy and he wanted to curl up in bed even longer, but the thought of coffee got him up on his feet and walking towards the sad, sorry excuse for a kitchen.
Well, kitchen was a loose term. It was a sink, a microwave, and the coffee pot that Spencer brought from home. It was a dorm, after all, and besides, the coffee part was the only essential part anyway.
Once he had a cup full in his stomach and another in his mug, he was ready to start his day. Ready to start starting his day, at least. Which meant gathering all of his study materials and heading to the library. That’s where all the fun really began.
The library was a sanctuary of sorts. It was one of the biggest and oldest buildings on campus and it had this beautiful energy about it. Not that Spencer believed in any of that hippie bull, no. It just had culture and history, and that sort of thing made him feel like he was part of something. Lots of great minds had walked in and out of there filling their minds with important things, and he was determined to be one of them.
He had a certain spot that he claimed as his own and made a beeline for it when he got there. It was tucked in the back, by the literary gothic section, and it had plenty of desk space for all his books and notes, not to mention an amazing view of the courtyard.
So by the time that Spencer had begun to dig into his textbook for his Criminal Procedures and Investigations class, it was already nearing four and fast approaching five.
Sooner than he realized, he was walking towards class and muttering under his breath about the task that he was still putting off. He kept pushing it and pushing it.
He could have made time, but he didn’t.
After class. Definitely after class would he see to making Professor Hotchner his list.
. . .
And he did. When he got back to the dorm, he ran to his room and shut the door. Ethan could wait if he wanted to sleep. Spencer had shit to do. He put off Professor Hotchner’s assignment so long that he was starting to feel guilty about it. After all, the instructions were very clear. Even if he could get all that done in the blink of an eye, he did agree to do it how Professor Hotchner wanted.
That was a moot point, though, because he couldn’t turn back time and he had to hand in the list tomorrow.
So, to the internet! To look up... BDSM, as he called it. Immediately he was bombarded with racy pictures of women in skin tight leather skirts, see through bras, and thigh high boots with alarmingly high heels.
No, okay, so re-calibration... gay BDSM. Which felt odd to type, but he did have a dick up his ass earlier in the week so maybe he should get used to the term.
He scanned over the links, taking in just about every single one on the first page of results within the first second.
Wow.
It was a lot. And still very confusing. Even if he could read it all, it didn’t mean that he knew what any of the terms meant.
Watersport videos xxx, submissive singles dating, Leather Daddies accessories.
And it went on, and on, and on.
If only there were a google scholar search engine to wade through the junk. Spencer laughed at the thought, then tried to narrow his search.
He typed in gay BDSM explained for beginners, and hoped that would lead to something good.
It provided him with a list of links that went on to explain the dynamics of BDSM relationships, all the terms used, what the roles were, how scenes were played out, and a plethora of other topics.
It didn’t take that long to click through about ten sites and gain a basic understanding.
What all the sites said about subs and their Doms was exactly what Spencer wanted from his Professor. It was exactly what he craved from the moment that he... well, from their first encounter. The end of it, anyway, because reading the sites left him with a sour taste in his mouth about the first time in the bathroom stall but he pushed that to the back of his mind. There were more than enough images and words on the screen to fill it with other things.
More intriguing things. Things that made his body temperature rise and his heart beat fast in his chest.
Pictures of thin guys that looked vaguely similar to him all tied up, cuffed, or pinned down. Shit. With their asses high in the air, or kneeling on the floor, sitting in the lap of a bigger man; my god.
Spencer’s jeans were feeling tighter and he knew he wasn’t going to last like that. He let his hand trail down to his pants and rub against the hard bulge on his thigh. A low moan escaped and he bit his lip while he continued to scroll with his left hand.
Everything about the word submissive was making him so unbelievably aroused. He never realized just how badly he craved it. Every image on the screen started to look like a well-dressed man in a dark suit. Dark eyes, dark hair, and sharp features; Fuck. He needed his Professor to dominate him. He needed to be the boys on the screen. He needed to be pushed down and stretched open.
He groaned and kept palming himself. It was growing harder against his pants, and he unzipped to set it free. He was already leaking and throbbing incessantly. Without missing a beat he moved his fist to his tip, smeared his precum down his length, and started pumping.
Boys in big red gags, boys on their hands and knees being led around in collars, boys with their thighs wrapped around their Dom and their asses full of cock.
He worked himself harder, harder, and his breath was caught in his throat. He was starting to sweat lightly on his forehead, pink and flushed. He kept his eyes on the screen; Kept reading, looking.
Boys bent over their Daddy’s knees getting spanked just like he did, boys with cocks shoved so far down their throats that their eyes were leaking and their noses running just he had, boys with their asses full of big butt plugs just like he wanted…
Fuck–! Spencer jutted forward, body convulsing mad like a plane in a nose dive heading straight for a cash landing, and he gasped as he tipped over that oh-so-pleasurable edge cumming into his hand.
His dick kept pulsing, pulsing, and oozing hot sticky cum. He came so hard; he almost wondered if it would ever stop at all. It was his best orgasm in ages, maybe since he discovered what orgasms were.
When he came down from his high, he slumped forward, a sweaty out of breath mess, and just barely tucked his dick back in his pants before he passed out on his keyboard.
Notes:
My next update will be on the 8th thank you and I love you guys. Ty for reading!
Chapter 10: I Don't Care What You Want
Summary:
In the previous chapter Spencer looked up BDSM online and fell asleep at his computer.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“In a mad world, only the mad are sane.”
― Akira Kurosawa
“Dude?” Spencer groaned, flailing his arms at the big weird butterfly that was attacking him. “Hello? Dude, Spencer!”
“NAaauuhhh!”
“Uh, Spence, you’re gonna miss class, man.” Ethan laughed, and nudged him again on the shoulder. “Thought you might want to know.”
“Mmmh?” Spencer picked up his head, and a pain shot through his neck to his shoulder. “Aargh, fuck. Ow. Class? What— what about my alarm clock?”
“I don’t know anything about your alarm clock, dude. That’s your responsibility. You’re lucky I even woke your sleepy ass up.”
“Fuck me,” Spencer groaned. He rubbed his cheek and felt the impressions of the keyboard pressed into his skin.
“Eh, rain check,” Ethan snorted. “I’m more into the ladies.”
Spencer rolled his eyes. “Okay, now fuck you. I gotta go. Like now.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!”
Spencer yanked on a different shirt, grabbed his backpack from the hallway and set off out the door.
Thankfully, he made it on time. Unfortunately, he hadn’t even been able to grab any coffee. He felt like a certifiable zombie. Like if there was a kid in class with coffee instead of blood, he’d definitely be mauling them to the ground and eating their brains. Wait— no, their blood. Okay, yeah. He really needed that coffee.
Even more than the coffee… well, okay, maybe not more, nothing comes between him and his coffee, he needed to write that list like yesterday. Or more technically, two days ago. Fuck.
He had all of class before he needed to turn it in, thankfully. So, getting out his notebook, he turned to a fresh page. Before he started though, he glanced down at Professor Hotchner at the front of the class, and couldn’t look away. How had he not noticed just how attractive he was before? Looking at that jawline, those dark eyes, and the thick eyelashes lining them- he could have been a model when he was younger. He had a nice body, too, and very well-tailored suits that made it all the more impressive. He was an agent not too long ago, after all, and the physical work, the weight training, the running- it showed.
Furthermore, what was under that shirt? Some chiseled abs, well-defined ridges, or, oh god, maybe a happy trail leading down from his navel? Oh. Spencer cursed himself for never taking the time to undress Professor Hotchner when they were together. It seemed like he was always in full suit, save for his well-endowed cock. On the other hand, he probably wouldn’t have been allowed to do that anyway.
He would try, though, in the future.
He was practically drooling at that point, so he turned his attention back to his empty paper, this time with a lot more inspiration. First, he replayed the instructions he was given.
You’re going to go back to your dorm tonight, and you’re going to write down a list of the reasons why you want this, and why you don’t. Find three things that excite you and explain why.
Okay, so ops about the first part, but he could still do the ‘why’s’ and ‘three things’ part.
Second, he pulled up everything he read in the search engine of his brain and filtered through the information systematically. The questions primarily required an emotional response, but he wanted his answers to be factual as well.
He started scribbling down on the paper and ignoring class. Writing it was difficult, but not as difficult as he expected it to be. It felt more like a conversation with himself than a declaration to his Professor about his sexuality. If he just ignored the part about handing it in, it was actually pretty therapeutic. He never thought much about sex before.
Why I want to be your submissive:
* Turns me on
* Stress relief
* Loss of control
* Praise
Okay, fine, so that didn’t sound very professional or scholarly, but he was looking for something honest, right? Something emotional?
Why I don’t want to be a submissive:
* Embarrassing
* Punishments
* Lots of rules
* Loss of control
* Scared
That one was a little bit more embarrassing to write out. He didn’t want him to know that he was scared, but he had to be honest. He already disobeyed so much, at the very least he could put down honest answers.
Three things that I find exciting and why:
1. Kneeling, the idea of this… seeing it online, really. Kneeling has extremely religious connotations, and signifies respect, humility, and subservience to a higher power. It really turned me on to see a boy on his knees for his Dom…
2. Daddy, this one… well, I saw it a lot and I’m not sure why exactly but it really got me excited and I kind of think it’s weird but it was also really hot reading that boys call their Doms daddy. I don’t know. It has been around for a long time though, the term, dating back to 1681 wherein Farhi noted in the Random House Historical Dictionary of American Slang that prostitutes would refer to their pimps as Daddies, not that I’m trying to infer that I want you to be a pimp, just that and what i’m trying to say is that it seemed… nice.
3. Butt plugs, Probably an inexperienced, basic answer but... I really enjoyed when you were inside me and I think it would feel really good to use one.
There, that wasn’t so hard. He just has to ignore the fact that Professor Hotchner would read that in less than thirty minutes, and he’s golden. Oh god, was it really only thirty minutes until class was over?
Spencer groaned, and had to force his head to not fall onto the desk in sheer frustration. He wasn’t ready. He was so incredibly excited for everything that he read about, but didn’t want to go through the terrible process of opening up and, and, ugh admitting it all out loud.
He liked to talk. No, he loved to talk. But that was talking about theories, science and facts. Not emotions. Not his sexual preferences. Not with his Professor.
. . .
“Well?”
Spencer snapped out of his daydreaming to the cold voice of his Professor addressing him from down near the front of class. When he looked around, everyone had already left; they were alone again.
“Sorry, Sir, what?”
“I said go lock the doors. You know the drill.”
“Yeah, okay,” he mumbled under his breath. Locking all the doors in the lecture hall took a few minutes to finish because there were main doors, a pair of doors on the east wall, and a pair of emergency exit doors by the front.
When he was finished, Professor Hotchner beckoned him up front with a little ‘come hither’ wiggle of his finger. Standing in front of him with his notebook clutched under his right arm like it was a bomb with a pressure plate that he couldn’t let go, he held his breath and waited. Waiting was a new game for him that he was forced to play. There was always the threat of spanking if he didn’t wait.
Therefore, it was Professor Hotchner who spoke up first. He addressed the notebook Spencer was holding. Inevitably asking about that list. Even though he hesitated, and his hand was shaking when he handed it over, he gave him the paper.
He bit his lip. The anticipation was killing him.
Professor Hotchner didn’t say anything at first. It wasn’t that long and he was able to skim through it quickly. It wasn’t like it was ‘Crime and Punishment’ or anything.
He looked up with a frown. “What is this, Reid?”
“That’s my assignment, Sir.”
“I know what it is. I’m going to ask you again, what is this?”
“Uh, it’s… I mean, that’s my… that’s what I looked up. Online, y’know? Sir.”
“When did you write this?” His face was dark; his features taut. He looked… harsh.
“Um…”
“You didn’t follow my instructions, did you?”
“I, uh…”
“Well? I asked you a question.”
Spencer gulped, scratched his neck, and closed his eyes. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, I don’t know… I wrote it… um.”
He could physically feel Professor Hotchner’s eyes boring into him. “You wrote it in class. Or rather, I watched you write it in class.”
“Uh. Yeah.” Spencer cleared his throat. “Sir.”
Professor Hotchner folded up the paper in three neat little creases and slipped it into his pocket. He wasn’t looking at Spencer anymore. Spencer, on the other hand, was burning holes in the back of Professor Hotchner’s head. He still didn’t get any feedback on the work he did. Even if it wasn’t exactly done… right
“Hey— my work is miles better than anyone else’s even if I rushed it!”
“No, it’s not. This is a joke,” Professor Hotchner spat. “You can get your things and go. I’m done playing this game. You're clearly not ready.”
“Go? I can’t leave! I don’t want to!” Spencer said, heart pounding. He should have done it right. What was he thinking?
Professor Hotchner turned away. “Frankly, Reid, I don’t care what you want.”
Notes:
And that, my friends, concludes chapter 10! Kind of a dumpsterfire. I plan to update on the 13th.
Chapter 11: Coin
Summary:
I know I said I'd update on the 13th but nah. surprise im here with ya update. Bad mood for me means good mood for you
Last chapter Hotch scolded Spencer for not doing what he told him to and then he said 'fork off, kid' and Spencer was like, 'wait no pls im sorry, fucc me'
in this chapter...? we'll see. honestly I dont know why I write the things I do
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“The wise are not wise because they make no mistakes.
They are wise because they correct their mistakes
as soon as they recognize them.”
― Orson Scott Card, Xenocide
Spencer dropped his shoulders as all the fight rushed out of him. Suddenly the sting that came along with Professor Hotchner insinuating he earned an F didn’t seem so important anymore. Sure, he never failed anything before in his life, but that was nothing compared to the fact that he was getting dismissed after getting promised so much.
“Please, don’t make me go,” he whispered. A sinkinging feeling in his gut threatened him. “I’ll do better next time, Sir, I promise.”
Professor Hotchner still didn’t find him worthy to look at. “There’s not going to be a next time.”
“But—”
He watched as Professor Hotchner started clearing his desk and that sent his heart into overdrive. Thump, thump, thump. Was he really leaving? Did the paper really mean that much to him?
What was Spencer going to do?
He couldn’t go back to the time before the bar. He couldn’t not know what it felt like to be fucked so well. He couldn’t forget that eerie sense of satisfaction that popped up every time he uttered ‘Yes, Sir.’
And most importantly, he couldn’t forget a single fucking second of anything that happed because it was permenetly seared into his brain like a shitty half-priced tattoo.
“I’m not going!” he said. “I’m not.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow in class.”
Spencer moved infront of the desk, fists clenched at his sides. “NO!”
Professor Hotchner lifted a brow, but not much else changed. Spencer was seething. How could he be so impassive? Nothing could ever touch him. Spencer wanted to know that he had some sort of effect on him. Even just a fraction of the effect that Professor Hotchner had on him. There he was, bearing his soul, offering himself up on a silver platter and it meant nothing. The hair on the back of his neck pricked up. It felt like a pivotal moment in his life: he could take the left fork in the road, go back to his dorm and have quiet night reading, or he could take the right fork and push hard, demand, take. Stand up for himself and get what he was promised. Go back to his dorm with something sore, something electric, something calm. He swayed on his feet, trying to take a step. Left, or right?
“You— you’re a monster,” he said. “How can you make me learn all about… about submission and you don’t even let me try?”
“You did just try. Unfortunately, you’re not up to the task, and quite frankly you’ve been nothing short of a handful from the very beginning; I’m not surprised.”
“But I’m gonna try harder now! I didn’t not write the list on purpose. I— there were people over. I couldn’t help it. I was busy! I didn’t think it mattered.”
“That right there is exactly what you’re not getting. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t matter. If I tell you to do something, you do it. Not you ‘try’, or you ‘sort of’ do it, or do ‘some of it’. My word is the end. When I tell you to do something, it doesn’t matter if I have a good reason, and it doesn’t matter if you know what it is, you listen.”
Spencer groaned. He took a step right. “But I’m sorry, Sir!”
“I know,” he said curtly.
“So, so, give me another chance! Please? Hey— wait!”
Just like everyone else, Professor Hotchner was walking out the door. His stomach flipped to the point where he started to feel queasy. This wasn’t what he wanted at all! The paper couldn’t really mean all that much in the long run; he should give him a break! They hadn’t even started yet. Or they had, but this was the very first thing!
“Professor—!” Spencer grabbed at his arm. He wasn’t going to let him get away; screw that! He wasn't just stepping right, he was sprinting. He dropped down to his knees like all the boys he’d seen do so effortlessly online, only he banged them against the ground and winced, which probably didn’t look all that attractive.
“Please, forgive me? Sir, I need this, please. You can punish me, right? Punish me, anything—”
“Reid—”
“No! Not Ried; Spencer!” he cried. “Anything, really, I mean it. I’ll do anything, please?”
He dipped his head down, and trained his eyes on the shiny black Oxfords in front of him. When that didn’t garner a response, he slid his hands behind his back and laced them together.
More than a minute passed. Five, maybe. It wasn’t easy staying still in that position but he held steady with the conviction that maybe Professor Hotchner was changing his mind. Maybe he was realizing that Spencer was serious. That he could do better.
After what was an agonizing few minutes, he spoke. “Look at me, Spence.”
He obeyed.
“There will be a lot of things that I ask you to do that you’re not going to like. Things I’m going to ask you to think about, or change. I need to know that you’re going to be a good boy and listen even when it’s not easy. Are you going to do that for me?”
If Spencer wanted to continue with this arrangement, he would agree. The entire thing hinged on Professor Hotchner laying down the rules and him following them to the T, he saw that now. If he wanted this, he was going to have to do anything Professor Hotchner asked. “Yes, Sir. I will. I promise, I will.”
“Good.” He eyed him warily.
“Are you… are you going to punish me, Sir?”
“I’m not going to spank you today,” he said, his eyes holding Spencer’s. “You’re going to stay like this, on your knees, until I come back. Understand?”
“Yes… yes, Sir. When will you be back?”
“Not much longer than an hour. Next time, you don’t ask that. I’m going to lock the door after me; don’t worry about anyone coming in.”
He nodded, flushed pink. “Yes, Sir.”
“Don’t you move from your knees, Spencer. Be a good boy for me, okay?”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll be a good boy. Thank you.”
Just when he thought he was going to leave, he bent down right next to him, close enough that he could smell the sting of his cologne, and he chanced a smile. Being this close, Spencer was beginning to realize, was quickly becoming one of his favorite things. There was something so reassuring about being near Professor Hotchner. The way he smelled was heavenly; there was always this faint twitch of leather and whiskey. It was intoxicating. It made him dizzy the way spinning in a chair so fast enough to make your heart skip does. Not only that, but just having him close was calming. Which was laughable, because of all the terror that he’d incited in him not only a week ago, and that smug attitude that he’d had every class so far that made his blood boil, but it didn’t matter now; Professor Hotchner made him feel like he was centered in the moment now.
He let his eyes flutter shut and he took in a big, deep breath.
“Lift up your knee, Spence.” That voice, so close.
“Mh, yes, Sir.”
He slipped something underneath. It was round, hard, and his kneecap dug into it.
“What’s—”
“Shh, be quiet,” he said. “I’ll be back in a while. You better stay still, Spencer.”
“I will, Sir.”
. . .
Five minutes passed, then ten, and Spencer was beginning to feel the burn in his thighs. His knees were digging into the carpet in a dull fashion, with the right pressing hard against the coin that his Professor left behind. He tried to release some pressure by shifting his weight onto the other knee, but after a few minutes that one started to ache to the point where he couldn’t stand it anymore, and had to go back to the center. He threw his head back and let out a frustrated groan.
There was a clock right overtop the double doors that mocked him with every tick. If Professor Hotchner was being truthful, he’d be back in just about… oh, god, an hour. He couldn’t last an hour like this! How was he so weak that after just fifteen minutes he was ready to keel over and admit defeat?
Physical tests had never been his strong suit, though, so it wasn’t all that surprising, and he was far from a masochist. Last time he stubbed his toe he cried for five minutes. Pain wasn’t very comfortable; most people could attest to that, 98.7% of people, actually. The quarter was no exception. At the very least, it focused all his attention to the one knee and kept him from thinking about the burning in his thighs, and the ache in his back, but that was hardly a consolation.
He let himself take another glance at the clock. It’d only been 7 minutes since he last looked. That meant 53 minutes left. 53 horrible minutes. Why was the clock ticking so slow?
If Professor Hotchner wanted him to think about what he did wrong, this was a horrible punishment. He couldn’t think about anything. Not a single thought would stick in his head long enough to take hold; the sharp pang ringing in his knee made sure of that. He could hardly even remember why he was kneeling like this in the first place.
Wait, no, it was the list. arrrgh, ow. That stupid list that he should have just done like Professor owww. Hotchner had told him to. Why did he have to be so stupid? It wasn’t like he usually failed things.
Oww. Everything except social situations and ow. physical tests he was excellent at. While this wasn’t exactly social, he had a feeling it was going to owww. get very physical.
God, that coin fucking hurt. Stupid coin. If that coin wasn’t there, it would be so much easier. It would be a cake walk. oww. The burn was ignorable. The burn he could deal with, but not that circular little torture device wedged under him. owwww. Even the little ridges around its perimeter were digging in. He could fucking feel them pressing their evil little rivulets into his bone..
“Oh, god, please…” No one was listening, but it felt good to let it out.
Another glance at the clock. 48 more minutes. This was unbearable. owww.
He couldn’t do it. He was owwwww. weak.
He wanted to be strong. He wanted to impress his Professor. He wanted to be able to do this one simple task. It just hurt so much. owww. Why was he so unbelievably weak? If the 12th Doctor could stand to replay his death over and over and over again, just to slam his fist into an unbreakable diamond wall, couldn't he just kneel on a quarter for a couple of minutes? It’s just a quarter, just a tiny little harmless quarter...
He hated that quarter. oww. He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t strong like the Doctor. He was just a nerdy kid from Nevada.
There was no way. No possible way. Professor Hotchner would understand, wouldn’t he? No... he definitely wouldn’t. owwww. Though maybe he didn’t have to know. He didn't even have to stop kneeling; he could just slide that quarter out and it would be a million times better. If that quarter was gone, god, then he could make it.
He had to. owwww. He had to. Right…?
He lifted up his right knee and brushed the coin out from under, letting out a huge sigh of relief, like a damn breaking and all the water gushing free. Sweet mother of god, that coin was the worst thing in the world.
As long as he put it back before his Professor returned, then no harm no foul, right? He suffered enough already. Professor Hotchner wouldn’t know the difference if he suffered through a half an hour or a full hour, anyway. He learned his lesson.
Notes:
TO CRIMINALMINDS123487654391028 IM SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER DONT HATE ME I WROTE THIS SO LONG AGO
I'll prob update on 15th or 16th or 17th idk
Chapter 12: HOTCH
Summary:
Last chap Hotch made Spence kneel on a quarter and Spencer, being the little baby he is, couldn't handle it
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“And now that you don't have to be perfect,
you can be good."
― John Steinbeck, East of Eden
The rest of the wait wasn’t a picnic, but it wasn’t like he was in intense pain anymore. Spencer held the coin firm in his hand, tucked behind his back, and waited until Professor Hotchner was due to return. With only a few minutes to spare, he replaced it back, regrettably, under his knee. It was still sore and the hurt returned full force.
It was just in time, too, because Professor Hotchner was coming through the door and eyeing him steadily.
“Have you been a good boy?” he asked him.
Spencer nodded his head fast. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Get up, sweetheart.”
Spencer blushed, and stood. Butterflies raged in his stomach. There was that name again. His legs were wobbly, sore, and they felt like jelly. He thought he might fall over, but he didn’t; couldn’t, the way he was being held. Professor Hotchner’s arms held tightly around him like a big warm blanket that he had half a mind to snuggle up and fall asleep on. He was cradling his head against him, raking his fingers through his hair, and praising him so nicely.
“Spencer?” he said, in a low tone.
“Yes, Sir?” he hummed.
The fingers slid smooth like a breeze. “Did you stay put like I told you to?
“Yes, Sir.”
“You didn’t move, did you?”
“No, Sir.” He nodded into his chest.
“Then why is the quarter tails side up?”
Spencer’s stomach dropped. Panic set in, crept up, took his whole body hostage and refused to give it back. He looked up to see a set of cold eyes drilling into him and felt as if all the air in the room vanished.
“I—”
“How long did you last, then?” he asked, surprisingly calm.
He couldn’t lie, could he? Professor Hotchner seemed to know everything, though. “Uh…” On the other hand, there was the possibility that he just failed yet another test, and this time he’d be tossed away for good.
Professor Hotchner didn’t stop raking his fingers through his hair. “It’s okay, tell me the truth.” Not very convincing.
He wouldn’t lie, though. He knew it all started with a lie. “Twenty-nine minutes, Sir…”
Professor Hotchner’s face was still unreadable as ever.
He ducked his head and pressed it against his suit. If he tried hard enough, he could feel the steady drum of his heartbeat underneath. “I’m s-sorry, Sir, please don’t leave…”
“It’s okay, Spence. You lasted longer than I thought you would,” he said, casually. “Your knee must be killing you. Let me see it.”
Spencer hiked up his pant leg and showed him the angry red welt smack dab in the middle of his knee cap. It snarled back at them.
“Come on. We’ll go to my office and I’ll put some ice on it. Go get your things.”
“I— are you sure? You’re not mad?” he stalled, before tacking on, “Sir.”
Professor Hotchner gave him a look and said, “No more talking, go do what I told you.”
He nodded and when he was finished he trailed behind him to his office.
. . .
Aaron settled Spencer down with an icepack resting on his knee. He was looking nervous and twitchy; he was scared of another punishment. Which he should be: he directly disobeyed orders. Orders that may have been impossible, but orders nonetheless.
Spencer rushing through the first assignment took Aaron off guard since the kid was all about education and making good grades. Not for a second did his slip up make Aaron want to stop Dominating him, but he could use a bit of fear after that gross display. The results were even better than Aaron expected, too, with Spencer throwing himself at him, falling to the floor in submission. Just, wow. It was borderline angelic.
It took every last bit of self restraint he had to leave him there with his punishment instead of scooping him up and taking him right there on the carpet, fucking him into oblivion.
Spencer was stubborn. Even more so than he originally took him for. All together he was a beautiful mix of submission and defiance. Being the brilliant young man that Aaron knew he was, he took it wonderfully. He lasted much longer than Aaron thought that he would. He was such a strong young man.
Furthermore, it was more than a physical test, though that was the main prerogative; he also wanted to watch Spencer’s reactions, see if he would lie, about what, and how often. Fortunately Spencer admitted to what he did after being found out. They didn’t develop any trust, not yet, so lying was a given. Human nature; he was scared. Afterwards, though, that was a choice, and Spencer chose right.
He would have to put his mind at ease for the time being. No need for Spencer to think that he’s going to toss him out like last week’s paper.
He sat down next to Spencer on the couch in his office. It was a dark leather loveseat that he’d bought shortly after coming to the university. He used to have fantasies of bending his old teacher’s assistant over the arm of the thing and fucking him raw. He was a little too filled out for his taste, though, too much muscle definition, and impeccable features that left him looking always a little bit too smug. It always felt a little bit off.
Spencer, though, God, he looked like he could have been carved from marble and placed on that loveseat just for him. With a steady hand, he took Spencer’s legs and moved them over top of his own, so that he was just two scoots away from being in his lap. He took the ice pack out of Spencer’s freezing hand and pressed it to his knee, taking the cold hand and holding it with his other. Spencer blushed; he was so sweet and excitable.
For a while, he just sat there, the two of them in a halfway comfortable silence. Comfortable for Aaron, and, he assumed, suspenseful for Spencer. Suspenseful enough to finally keep him from running his mouth when he was told not to.
“Hey,” Aaron whispered. It was soft, yet stern. “Look at me, Sweetheart.”
When Spencer looked over, he squeezed his hand and gave him a tiny smile. “You’re doing okay, Spencer. You’re learning. You like learning, don’t you?”
Spencer nodded, so he went on.
“You were such a good boy, kneeling for me.” he learned over and pressed a kiss to his temple. “We need to work on your honesty, though. It’s never okay to lie to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” he whispered with glossy eyes starting earnestly up at him.
Aaron’s chest burned with satisfaction. “Say it, then.”
“I, um. I won’t lie to you, Sir. I’ll be honest from now on.”
Aaron nodded, pleased. “Good boy. If you’re not, you’ll be punished.”
Spencer scooted over with big eyes like he was afraid of falling over the edge of the Earth. Up onto Aaron’s lap he climbed, sore knee and all, and Aaron let him have it. The entire display was endearing. The whole timid mouse persona fit Spencer like a glove.
He wrapped his arms around his waist and hiked him up a little bit closer so his back was flush against his chest, and Aaron could rest his chin on his shoulder, even if it meant being attacked by a golden mess of hair.
“That’s my boy,” Aaron cooed, low and raspy, right in the crook of his neck like a kiss. The skin underneath his lips pricked up with gooseflesh. “My beautiful boy. So obedient.”
Spencer stayed quiet, and Aaron hummed contentedly against him. His little frame melted into him, boneless and soft. His eyelids fluttered shut, for the longest time closed off to everything around them, most likely soaking up every mineut touch, each hot breath. He seemed to love the sensations, to bathe in them. Aaron wasn’t lost in the knowledge that it was probably the first time he’d ever had such a touch, such a long and loving embrace; something akin to romance.
“Let’s talk, okay, Spence?” he said softly. Keeping Spencer calm was important.
“About what, Sir?” he asked, biting at his lip, in a small and familiar voice. The only voice that Aaron wanted to hear coming from those lips.
“About what we’re going to be doing this weekend. You’re going to come out with me for the day. We’re going to spend a little bit of time together.”
Spencer didn’t reply, not with words, but he nodded lightly, and a slight hum just barely escaped his throat. His hand slid down to Aaron’s thigh and ghosted over it, hovering over the surface like it was afraid to land.
“It’s okay, you can touch,” he purred. He didn’t have to see Spencer’s face to know he was blushing by now. A remark like that was sure to send him into a fit of embarrassment; directly calling him out on anything having to do with social or romantic interaction seemed to slash his IQ in half. By some rush of confidence, though, he pressed down and seemingly enjoyed it. Aaron smiled, thinking that Spencer could explore his body all he wanted.
“On Saturday morning you’ll meet me here at my office. 7 am sharp. We’ll have a nice day. Nothing too heavy on the BDSM front, okay? No need to be nervous about it.”
“M’not nervous,” Spencer told him with a hint of offense. So he didn’t like to be thought of as nervous, then.
“Okay, sweetheart. Let's talk about your list, then. Why don’t you tell me about what you wrote down, hm?”
“Oh… that.” he gulped. He shifted on the seat of Aaron’s lap, and Aaron caught his hips in his hands to still him. “Well, you read it, didn’t you? You know what it says already. Logically, I shouldn’t have to repeat what’s on the paper, really...”
Aarons smiled at Spencer’s relecutance. So endearing. “Go on, Spence. It’s not about logic and you know that.”
Spencer groaned. “I wrote… um, I forget.”
Aaron laughed at this one, he couldn’t help it. It was almost a toss up between how adorable his embarrassment was and the offence that he would even consider that Aaron would fall for that. He really was innocent, even being a genius. Or just out of options.
“No, you didn’t. Come on, Spence, i’ll help you. You wrote that being good for me turns you on. That it makes your mind go blank, helps you to feel less anxious. You like that, don’t you, not being in control for once?”
“I guess I do. I like not being... overstimulated all the time. I don’t think I’ve ever forced myself to not do anything before. My mind, uh, it’s always going a mile a minute. I can read 20,000 words a minute.”
“I know.” Hotch said, moving away the ice pack that was now lukewarm. “We’ll work on meditation together, it’ll be good for you.”
“And I, um, I do like being good for you.” He blushed, ducking his head and smiling.
“I know you do, sweetheart, and you’re such a good boy. You have so much potential.”
“I also wrote… that I thought that kneeling was exciting. Which I did today,” he said, looking at his knee. “And even though it was a punishment, I kinda liked it.” He fidgeted a bit on Aaron’s lap. “Well, no, I mean, it hurt— like a lot, and I couldn’t do it all the way, which I’m sorry for, I swear, but also, like after… I think I kind of liked it. Maybe if there wasn’t a coin under my knee?”
“Is that a question?”
“Um… no, Sir?”
“It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling, Spencer, don’t be ashamed to admit anything to me. There’s no right or wrong with your preferences. There’s only right or wrong when I give you a rule. Okay?”
Spencer smiled, but Aaron could only catch the slightest bit from the side on his mouth. “Yeah, okay.”
“You also said you wanted to call me ‘Daddy’,” he grinned.
Spencer gasped, his hands stilling, face red and eyes shut tight. “Uuhh...”
“Remember what I just told you? Don’t be ashamed, sweetheart.”
“That’s easier in theory, Sir.” Spencer let out a little squeak. “But. Uh. I did write that. I mean… not that I’d want to call you that. I just meant, you know, in general… the term represents a sexual undertone of powerplay, sort of like what we’re doing, which I’m kind of liking, so I just thought, and I didn’t mean in any which way really, or to infer that you were my—”
“Spencer.” Aaron moved his hand onto his chest, putting some pressure on it, and the other down his arm. “Shh. You can say you like it. It's okay.”
“I…”
“Go on, sweetheart, tell Daddy you like it.”
“Oh, fuck.” He shuddered.
Aaron’s cock twitched in his pants watching him heat up at his mere words. He was so easy to manipulate, so easy to excite. Aaron would be his Daddy if it made him that red faced and abashed. Aaron would do anything for him like that.
“No cursing, Spencer.”
“I like it,” he said, paled, with stars littered in his eyes. He really lacked for a parental figure; it was no wonder it manifested so strongly in a Daddy kink.
“Go ahead.” Aaron smirked, and stroked his cheek with his thumb. “I know you want to.”
Spencer breathed out with a shaky throat, “Daddy.”
“Good boy.”
Embarrassed, and looking down, he whispered under his breath with a smile, “Daddy.”
Aaron wrapped his arms tightly around him, hugging him from behind. He smelled sweet like coconut shampoo, and was surprisingly warm for such a thin thing. It lasted a few minutes, just the two of them sitting pressed together and breathing silently. Aaron missed having someone to pull close. He missed it a lot. He didn’t want to let go of him. Not now, not ever. His boy was too warm, too beautiful, too soft.
When he did part, however, he held out his hand and demanded that he give him his cell phone.
“I don’t have a cell phone,” Spencer said.
“You, wait— what? Why not?”
Spencer shrugged. “Don’t like ‘em.”
Aaron tsk’ed. “You do now.”
“I hate technology.” Spencer shook his head. “Don’t wanna carry it around with me all the time.”
“Well, you are. It’s a rule. You have to be accessible to me. That means carrying a cellphone.”
Spencer rolled his eyes, but Aaron couldn’t see. “I—”
He tightened his hand on his hip. “End of discussion.”
“Fine…” he whispered.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“I guess not.”
“Hm, anything you’d like to add to that, Spence?”
“Uh, Sir. Sorry, Sir.” He blushed.
“That’s right.” Aaron looked down at his watch, and slid Spencer off his lap, pointedly ignoring the soft whimper that he let out in protest. This boy is going to be that death of me, he thought. “It’s been nearly two hours, Spencer, don’t you have a midday class?”
“Yes, Sir. Introductions to Psychopathology. I didn’t want to say anything, though.”
“You can always speak up about something like that, okay? I don’t want your education to suffer. You’re a very smart young man. I like that about you.”
Spencer bit his lip and nodded, smiling. “Yes, Sir. I will.”
Notes:
I know Hotch isn’t consistent with punishments/rules and expected Spencer to fail but that’s kind of the point; he sucks. Thanks for reading and commenting and kudoing, I appreciate that stuff fr. Next chap… 20th, I think. 😁
Chapter 13: Don't Ever...
Summary:
Last Chap Spencer sat on Daddy's lap and didn't get punished for the coin.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"But you really need to listen to me!
Because I'm telling you the truth!
I mean this, I'm okay!
(Trust Me)"
― My Chemical Romance, I'm Not Okay
The next day was one with few classes. That meant Ethan bugging him about getting coffee, meeting up at the student center, and other miscellaneous things that he’d rather not do. Except for getting coffee. That one was fine.
There was a shop on campus called the Two Bean Problem. It was the only one that wasn’t a big chain like Dunkin’ Donuts or Starbucks. While Spencer didn’t mind those, and he really enjoyed how much sugar you could stuff in your Starbucks order without getting a funny look, Ethan won’t step foot in either.
So they ended up at Two Bean with a graveyard of empty paper cups littering their table, and more caffeine in their veins than blood; that’s the way that they preferred it. Ethan prattled on about Elle as usual, and Spencer wondered how he could never run out about things to say about her. It wasn’t like they’d ever been on a date. She wasn’t his girlfriend. She didn’t even hang out with him that much. Plus she didn’t show up at his party the other day. Yet, there he was listing off the different ways she likes to pair the color of her shoes with her shirts, and getting googly eyed about the way she snorts a little when she laughs real hard.
Spencer was only halfway listening as he finished off some assignments for the week. He wanted to get everything done early so that he’d have the weekend free for himself and whatever it was his Professor had in store. Ethan didn’t really seem to notice, either. He was too lost in his own self-constructed fantasy world.
They stayed until three in the afternoon before they realized they wasted nearly the entire day, and Ethan decidedly dragged him to the student center, which may have been his plan all along. The student center was a decent place with lots of games, both board and video, and lots of people hanging around, if that was your thing. It was definitely Ethan’s thing. He was the current reigning champion of scrabble and didn’t let anyone forget about it. (As if anyone could with his picture tacked up to the wall)
Ethan didn’t let Spencer play scrabble because he didn’t think it was very fair. He was a lore loser like that. He didn’t let him play any of the games with him. When he could help it, he didn’t let Spencer play any of the games with anyone else either; it caused too much controversy. In the middle of a match, though, Ethan couldn’t keep tabs on him, so while Ethan was plotting his next big payout with the letter “Q” and a triple point space, Spencer was sitting down for a round of poker with a few unlucky people.
Some guy by the name of Doug was dealing the cards and Spencer could already calculate which cards were which just from some preliminary glances. Counting cards wasn’t so much a technique so much as it was a basic fucking reflex for anyone that could count to 52 and possesed two brain cells to rub together. To look at his cards and not automatically sort them out in his mind was like asking a blind man to stop listening.
Bets were placed. It was poverty poker so the stakes were low and most everyone was chiming in with dollar bills. When that’s all you got though, a dollar is a lot. Getting through the first round was easy enough. Spencer was already proving himself to be miles ahead of everyone else at the table, and getting side eyes from the other players wasn’t exactly something that he wasn’t used to, but Doug was looking at him with a fire in his eye and a twitchy mouth that was two minutes away from bursting open. Another round of bets were tossed into the middle of the table, the girl next to Spencer folded, the one to the right matched, and the boy two seats over raised by three. Spencer raised and knew he had this one in the bag. Doug’s eyes had not left him yet, and as soon as the girl folded and the boy laid down his cards, Spencer threw him down and grabbed at the pile of money in the table. Doug reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks, and Spencer couldn’t help but glance over towards Ethan on instinct, but he was too engrossed in his game to notice what was going on over with him.
“Uh, what the fuck?” Spencer said, trying to yank his arm back. Doug tightened his grip.
“You’re cheating.”
“I am not!”
Doug scoffed. “Yeah, you are. I can tell. What are you doing? Did you stack the deck?” He looked around at everyone at the table. “Whose cards are these?”
The girl to his right shrugged, and the boy two seats down laughed and said it was his. Spencer grinned. “See? Not mine. Now let go of me.”
“I don’t know what you’re doing, but you’d better stop.”
“I’m not doing anything, asshole.”
The girl to his right spoke up. “He’s obviously counting cards.”
Doug rolled his eyes. “Right, of course. Fucking nerd.”
Spencer’s face fell into a frown. “Hey, fuck you. I can’t help it. It’s too easy.”
“Too easy? Yeah, you definitely are a nerd. Don’t you know counting cards is illegal?”
“Illegal? No, actually, it’s not. And besides, we’re playing in fucking student center with a bunch of twenty year olds and a couple dollar bills. What about this screams ‘serious’ to you?”
The girl on the other side of him left the table, which was probably a good move on her part. Doug let go of his arm by sending it flying and making Spencer topple over and nearly fall from his chair. “Watch it!”
“Get the hell out of here, dude,” Dough sneered. “We don’t want assholees like you cheating everyone out of their money. We’re trying to have a fair game.”
“Fair?!” Spencer spat. “Learn a little bit of math, why don't you, then? It’s not my fucking fault that you guys can’t figure out the basic prinipals of poker.”
“Nobody knows that shit! It’s not normal.”
“Yes it is! It’s basic statistics! Multiply your number of outs by two, calculate your equity, and figure out the percent chance of getting the right cards to complete your hand. What, is that too difficult for your little brain?”
“Fuck off, dude! Noone wants to hear it! Just leave.” He started shuffling the deck again while avoiding eye contact with Spencer, and everyone at the table started grabbing for their money back, what the hell! He couldn’t just sit there and not see the patterns in the cards, and everyone else should try to do it if they couldn’t by heart. It wasn’t his fault that everyone else was daft as hell. Especially Doug. He was the most thick headed.
“Leave, dude!” Doug shouted at Spencer, who was still sitting in his seat, seething.
“No!” Spencer yelled right back at him.
“Yes!” Doug stood up. He was taller than Spencer thought. Beefy, too. He could probably snap him in half.
“Fuck you, asshole! You can’t make me do shit!” Spencer stood too. He was also tall.
By this time, Ethan was looking over at the scene that Spencer was making and sighing. He clearly didn’t want to leave his game, but he rushed over towards Spencer who was already backing away from Doug. Doug had his fists balled and was breathing heavy, his face red, and Ethan knew that Spencer would end up a pulp within a minute if he didn’t yank him back and drag him from the center, no matter how much he was yelling and squirming in protest.
Ethan almost had him out the door when he broke free and Doug took the opportunity to lumber over and get a solid swing in, clocking Spencer square in the jaw. He went down like a lead balloon. The girl that was still at the table gasped, and everyone else was watching with bated breath. Spencer got up to his elbows on the floor and spat out a bit of saliva mixed with blood, to which one of the kids that works at the center scoffed with his face all twisted up in frustration and disgust.
“Break it up, you two! Doug, don’t make me ban you!” the kid shouted. Doug glanced over but didn’t pay much mind to the kid. He topped a chair over and huffed before shoving Spencer with his shoe and stalking out of the room.
“What the hell, Spence?!” Ethan said. “What’s wrong with you?!”
“I didn’t do anything. That guy was being an asswipe.” he mumbled, rubbing the sore part of his jaw. He read once that bruises can start to take effect within 24 hours, and this one definitely felt worthy of a black and blue.
“Just get up, I’m taking you home. I’ll take a look at your chin.”
“I’m fine.”
Ethan scoffed. “You're not fine, you just got punched out by a dude twice your size.”
“Well what are you gonna do about it? You’re not a doctor.”
“Okay, so you want me to take you to the health clinic? Cause I can certainly do that.”
“No! Fuck, fine.” Spencer scowled. “Let’s go. I’m fine.”
Ethan hailed him up. “Or I can leave you here on the floor to die. I was winning, you know,” he grumbled under his breath and took one last side long glance at the scrabble table.
Spencer got up to his feet and everything throbbed from his head to his jaw, to his still-sore kneecap. Damn, he really wanted to be in bed.
Ethan made him walk upright by himself, it wasn’t like he got his legs hurt, but nudged him a bit whenever he started to veer off balance. They made it back to the dorm and Spencer immediately made a beeline for the bedroom where he didn’t even bother changing into pajamas, instead closing his eyes and fell asleep.
Ethan stared at him from the doorway shaking his head and muttering about what a dick he was under his breath. Spencer was a lot of work for such a smart kid.
. . .
Walking into class the next day had Spencer on edge. His face looked like someone put it in a blender and poured it back on with all the culinary talent of a five year old. From his jaw all the way up to his cheekbone was a deep purple bruise. Spencer checked it out in the mirror earlier in the morning and was able to catalogue all of the colors smearing his skin. The bruise itself wasn’t horrible; it was only superficial capillary damage, but the contrast was severe against his pale complexion.
In the seat that he’d been accustomed to sitting in, there was a small box with his name on it. He sat down, and inside the box there was a cellphone not wrapped in the original packaging. It was a Nokia 3310, and worth $160.00, which he knew from scanning an ad in the newspaper a few weeks back.
He looked up to find Professor Hotchner's eyes on him. He blushed. He couldn’t remember The last time someone gave him a gift that wasn’t on his birthday. Or from Ethan. Mostly from Ethan on his birthday.
Spencer took a deep breath, held it in, then breathed out. From the moment he woke up he felt drained, but now he was feeling full to the brim with nerves and excitement. His smile was growing bashful and goofy across his lips and he tried to hide it, but it didn’t work well.
Professor Hotchner was still staring at him while he looked at the phone in his hands. He didn’t even want the stupid thing, but it was a gift from him, so it didn’t matter what it was. Plus he didn’t have much of a choice, did he? He made that crystal clear.
It made his heart flutter in his chest like a little hummingbird.
He mouthed, ‘Thank you, Sir’ down at him, but he just diverted his attention towards another student who was trying to ask a question. On the little green screen was a letter icon and he clicked on it with the ‘ok’ button. It was sent from a few hours prior, and it popped up on the screen in blocky black letters.
Enjoy the new phone. See me after class, sweetheart. H.
He smiled and another text popped up on the screen, this one from just now.
I’m not pleased about your face. You’re going to explain that later. H.
He looked up to find eyes on him again and mouthed, ‘Yes, Sir’ with a torrent of nervous energy surging back at him full force.
Fuck. Should’ve known that Professor Hotchner would have something to say about that. He was probably going to criticize his reckless behavior and how he shouldn’t be getting into fights. How he should think before he acts, how he should have been more courteous.
It wasn’t his fault, though; he didn’t even swing! The jerk came onto him, anyway, and for no good reason at all.
Fuck, though. Professor Hotchner wasn’t going to care about any of that. Spencer groaned, and hoped to god that he wasn’t going to get spanked over this. He was hurting enough already.
Now that he had a phone he could ask, too. The buttons were annoying and he had to click out multiple times just to find a particular letter, but he got it.
r u going 2 spank me? im srry s.
Depends. Would you like that? H.
no Sir s.
In that case, I might. I still don’t know what happened. Wait until after class, Spencer. H.
Class felt twice as long as usual, and even listening to Professor Hotchner's smooth voice didn’t help soothe him. When everyone finally left and he locked the doors without being asked, he was beckoned to the front of the room and took a seat at the desk.
“Explain.” He gestured at Spencer’s face. “Who did that to you?”
“Um, some guy punched me during a game of poker. I didn’t even do anything. He was being a dick, Sir.”
“Give me a name,” he deadpanned.
Spencer swallowed. “Uh, Doug.”
“Why did he punch you?”
“Uh, ‘cause he’s an ass,” Spencer mumbled.
“Tell me the real reason or I will spank you until you do, Spencer.” He stared down at him with a disapproving frown.
Spence shifted his feet on the ground and felt the sting of the bruise on his face much too acutely. “He was mad that I was counting cards. He thought it was illegal. He’s an idiot, Sir.”
“Is that it?”
“Yeah. And, um, then I called him stupid and told him to go fuck himself,” he admitted. “But he totally deserved it...”
“You shouldn't provoke people like That. Especially when they’re capable of this,” he said, making Spencer crane his face to the side so he could get a better view of the bruise. “I assume he was bigger than you. You have to be more careful. What if you’d been seriously hurt?”
“What, over a stupid game of poker with a bunch of kids?”
He tsk’ed. “No, over provoking someone with a bad attitude and the strength to back it up. That’s just idiotic.”
“Hey—” he barked out. “You can’t call me an idiot!”
“Yes, I can.” Aaron smiled. “And don’t forget your manners.”
Spencer furrowed his brows in frustration and let out a sharp breath. “You can’t call me an idiot, Sir.”
Professor Hotchner let go of his face. “You were being an idiot. You tend to do that.” He crouched down in front of where Spencer was sitting and looked up at him, smirked. “My little idiot. Tell me you were being a stupid little brat.”
Spencer crossed his arms over his chest. Professor Hotchner was not going to get him to admit that. He wasn’t a brat, and he definitly wasn’t stupid. He had 187 points of IQ to back that up. “I won’t.”
“Coming from the boy with a purple face,” he laughed. “Tell me you were being stupid and you won’t do it again. If you come to me looking like this again and I find out you instigated it, I will make you regret it.”
“Are you gonna punish me now?” Spencer said slowly, twiddling his fingers together in his lap.
“No.”
Spencer looked up and breathed out a sigh of relief. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” Professor Hotchner frowned.
“Thank you, Sir!” He broke out in a smile and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his neck and hugging him tight. “Oh thank god. I didn’t wanna be spanked. I’m so sorry.”
Professor Hotchner hugged him back, wrapping his arms around his waist making all his inside gooey. “But I will if you don’t tell me what I want to hear, Spence.”
Spencer let go and pouted. It wasn’t going to work, though. No amount of puffy lips and puppy dog eyes were going to get him out of doing what he was told. Professor Hotchner was proving far too strict for that. Whenever Professor Hotchner wanted something, he got it. Sometimes he just had to use some force to get there.
“Do I have to...?”
He cocked an eyebrow at him.
“But, Sir—!”
Professor Hotchner stood back up and unzipped his fly, bringing his cock out in front of Spencer’s pouting face.
“Let’s see how you like saying it with your face full of cock and spit then, hm?”
“Oh— I, um,” Spencer backpedaled. “I’m—”
His cock was pressed up against Spencer’s lips, and he opened up like a good boy. He stuck out his tongue and let his Professor rub his cock against it, getting it nice and wet. When he pressed in, he closed his lips around it and his eyes slid shut.
Professor Hotchner started pulsing in and out of his mouth and he moaned into it in the back of his throat. His jaw was sore to the touch and throbbing a little from being opened so wide but the feeling of his cock was ten times better than the bruise was painful.
“Mmh. My good boy,” Professor Hotchner growled under his breath. “Look up at me, Spence,” he said. “Don’t you look away from me. Eyes stay up.”
“Yeushsur,” he garbled out.
Spencer’s cock was growing hard in his pants and starting to ache in an uncomfortable way. He moaned with need around his cock and tried not to let his eyes waver away.
He shifted in his seat as he kept thrusting into his mouth and he saddled his thighs around Professor Hotchner's leg and started grinding himself against it.
Above him he heard a laugh and he stilled, feeling hot with embarrassment for being all too lost in the moment.
“A little eager, are we, Spence?” he chuckled. “It’s okay. Keep going, sweetheart.”
Spencer wanted to close his eyes so badly. It was really embarrassing to be humping his professor's leg with his mouth full of cock and the knowledge that it was all primal instinct that he was acting on. Then to top it off he had to watch as Professor Hotchner looked down at him with a wicked smirk, feeling so small and helpless.
He kept going.
Professor Hotchner's cock slid down his throat again and again giving him a sort of pleasure that made him feel used and possessed. It made him feel really, really good. It took away all the bad that happened yesterday and made it okay for a little bit. It felt as if the entire world was melting away and all that was left was this one little classroom with him and Professor Hotchner inside.
“Oh god, Spence, such a pretty little mouth,” he groaned.
Spencer gagged and kept rubbing his cock against his leg.
“Such a pretty mouth for such a stupid little boy,” he growled. “But you’re so good for me aren’t you, baby? When you’ve got your mouth open for me taking my cock? That’s when you’re at your best.”
There wasn’t much he could do besides groan into it, because he couldn’t talk or shake his head or even look away. At the moment he didn’t even feel like disagreeing, either. He wanted to be a good boy. He wanted to obey Professor Hotchner. He would do what he told him.
“There you go, Spence, relax, sweetheart, you have to take all of it.” He pressed in even farther, enough that Spencer's lips were almost touching the course hair at his groin, and he started to feel his muscles spasm and gag.
“Shh,” he cooed. “Take it.”
He slid out and right back down deep. Spit dripped down his lips and off his chin. His throat was burning. “Good boy. Such a good boy.”
Tears were pricking at Spencer’s eyes and he wished they wouldn’t fall but his cock was tickling down deep in his throat a third time and he couldn’t help it as they welled up and splashed cheeks. “Uufff—” His own cock was painfully hard in his pants and pressing up against his zipper, but he still kept humping the leg, desperate for anything.
“That’s it, Spence. So pretty.”
He gagged again, kept moving his hips until Professor Hotchner started to thrust in harder and told him to stop grinding up against him. Spencer cried out but stopped even when he was throbbing painfully at the loss of contact.
“Tell me,” he commanded.
Spencer sucked in a deep breath and struggled to form words. “Wha- I-”
“You know what I want to hear, and I won't repeat myself.”
Spencer whined, hips aching to move, jaw sore and head spinning. Why was he being so adamant on this? “No, I-”
Smack. “Ah-!” Spencer cried. He was struck across the cheek and the sting bit him like a viper. “Ow, that hurt!”
“That’s that point,” Professor Hotchner growled. He raised his hand up again, level with his face, and said in a slow, antagonizing voice, “Obey me, Spencer.”
“I’m n-not-”
Smack.
“Please, sto-”
Smack.
Smack.
“Professor-”
Smack.
The pain shot through his cheek and he reeled back, stumbling on his knees.
“Where do you think you're going?” Professor Hotchner hissed. He grabbed the back of Spencer’s head, fingers laced through his hair and he tugged hard, bringing him back up straight. Smack..
“You don’t like this do you, baby?” he said. “Be a good boy and it’ll stop.”
Smack.
“When you’re a bratty little boy, you make me do this. I don’t want to hurt you, Spencer, but you have to learn.”
“M sorry, Sir-” he choked out. Tears were begging to well up again inside, only this time it wasn’t a physical response. A big uncomfortable lump in his throat bobbed and hot tears fell down his cheeks as he started breathing big, heavy breaths, sobbing.
“Crying won’t help you,” he said coolly. Spencer looked up and met his cold eyes but it only made his breath hitch and his tears flow faster. Maybe he was stupid. Professor Hotchner was right about a lot of things. Professor Hotchner was 13 years older than him. Professor Hotchner was always right. He was right about this too.
Smack.
“No! Please, I’m sorry! Sir, Please! I- I-” he reached out and grabbed at his Professor’s pant legs, twisting them tightly in his fist. “I’m stupid. I am. I’m- I’m a stupid little brat and I’m so, so sorry, I mean it, please, Sir, don’t-”
“Shhh. Good boy,” he whispered. “Feisty, aren’t you? I knew you would be a good boy, come here.” He opened his palm and spencer nuzzled his cheek against it, closing his eyes, and sighing. His thumb slid across his face, swollen and covered in red blotchy prints. He winced at it, but swallowed it down because he didn't want to offend. He was just a stupid little brat. He has to mind his manners and be good.
His hand slipped down to his chin and forced his mouth open with a hard press. He peered up with his mouth wide open and met Professor Hotchner’s dark eyes again. They weren’t angry anymore, but severe with hunger.
Professor Hotchner pushed his cock back in his mouth, wasted no time in pressing all the way in, and he tried to suppress a gag. He tasted precum on his tongue and then Professor Hotchner held his hand on the back of his head keeping him flush against his groin with his dick all the way down his throat. He held it there until Spencer didn’t think he could stand it any long, the corners of his vision spotting with black, and then he was free, gasping and panting. It happened several more times and then Professor Hotchner was cumming a shuddering groan.
Spencer sputtered and gagged.
He pulled out so he could catch his breath. He gasped in for air and his chest heaved. He swallowed the entire load and Professor Hotched smiled proudly at him with lips smeared in spit and cum.
“Good boy,” he said. “You swallowed it all.”
“Yes—” he gasped. A little missed drop of cum dripped down his chin, right over his purple skin. “S-Sir—“
“Such a good, obedient boy,” he purred. “Rub yourself again, Spence. You want to cum, don’t you?”
Spencer’s heart flared up at the mention of him cumming and he jumped at the chance, grinding his cock against his Professor’s leg like an animal, not even caring how humiliating it was. “Yes, Sir!”
“You like my cock down your throat, Spence?”
“Yes, Sir! Ooh—”
“Tell me.”
“I— I like when you fuck my mouth, Sir— uunnf. Your cock tastes so good, feels so good going —ooh— down my throat.”
“Mmh, little slut.”
“Aah— fuck, Sir,” he moaned. “C-can I cum? Fuck, please? Sir?”
“Yes, sweetheart, once you tell me you were being a stupid little boy you can cum.” He smirked.
Spencer wanted to implode in a weird mix of frustration, ecstasy, and submission. He really didn’t want to say he was being an idiot again, even though he was, and he really, really wanted to give in and say it because he was told to, and he really wanted to make Professor Hotchner call him a good boy, tell him he did a good job, and say he was proud, and he wanted to cum, like yesterday, but fuck—
“I—aaruuh,” he groaned, and his feet twitched in muffled annoyance. He moved his cock against his leg in steady rhythm. “I was—! I was being, being stupid! A stupid little brat, I’m sorry! I’m such a brat! Let me cum! Please. I was so stupid! I’m sorry! Sir? Please?” His hips jerked erratically as he begged.
“That’s my good boy. Go ahead, baby.”
Spencer came in his pants.
“Messy little thing,” Professor Hotchner chuckled, and bent down to press a kiss on his sweaty forehead, whispering deep and threatening, lips barely ghosting over his skin. “Don’t ever let me catch you looking like this again or I swear to god I will hunt down whoever did this to you and I will kill them.”
Notes:
Next updoodle... the 26th. Maybe 25 but idk I have work so well see.
Also throwing it out there: There's going to be inconsistency in this story. I wrote it months ago and I was doing this 'get the idea out' thing without worry much about what I was writing, hence a lot of plot holes, but I'm just a glorified smut writer tbh so like, this is what ya get. Not that anyone's complaining, but you know how it be. love you guys.
Chapter 14: French Toast
Summary:
Last chap Spencer was disciplined for losing his temper at poker and damaging Professor Hotchner's goods.
Chapter Text
"The darker the night, the brighter the stars."
―Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment
The next few days passed uneventfully. The bruise on Spencer’s chin turned a lighter yellow-greenish color as a result of the bilirubin breaking down underneath his skin. It was less shocking now, more of a gross looking mark.
The cell that Professor Hotchner gave him was always tucked into his back pocket, though it hadn’t received any messages since the first time in lecture hall.
It was Saturday morning and that meant meeting Professor Hotchner at his office for a day full of who-knows-what. Spencer’s alarm rang at 6:30am, which he snoozed until 6:40, and it gave him a whopping 20 minutes to be across campus and in the office with clean clothes on and a cup of coffee in hand.
At 6:52 he ran out of his dorm with his feet wedged haphazardly in his shoes, his head still full of sleep. He arrived huffing and puffing at Professor Hotchner’s door only seven minutes late, and completely out of breath.
He ran the entire way over and he still didn’t have any coffee yet. First he knocked, then walked in to find his Professor sitting at his desk with a frown.
“I’m—” Huff “I’m sorry I’m late, Sir.”
“Take a seat, Spencer.”
“Yes, Sir.” He sat across from him and watched as he silently leafed through papers, sorting them out, and writing a few things down. Grading papers, Spencer assumed.
“Fix your shirt. You look like a mess” he said without looking up. Spencer pressed the collar of his shirt down, silently cursing himself for not noticing. It was also slightly wrinkled, but it was the best he could do at six in the morning, which was earlier than he’d woken up in years.
“Not an early bird, Spencer?”
“Uh, no, Sir.” Spencer laughed nervously. “Not exactly. I don’t usually schedule classes this early on purpose.”
He clicked his tongue and assembled the papers into a neat pile. “Shame. Mornings are very peaceful.”
“Oh. I guess.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No, Sir,” Spencer said. “But, uh, I could really use some coffee.”
Professor Hotchner nodded, seemingly agreeing. He put away his paperwork, got up from his desk, and herded him out the door and into the parking lot where he instructed him to get into his SUV, an ‘05 Ford Explorer by the looks of it.
Spencer was slightly worried someone would notice that he was getting into a Professor’s car, but the parking lot was more or less empty. It was seven am on a Saturday morning, after all.
They drove for three quarters of an hour, every minute of which Spencer’s stomach growled for caffeine. Professor Hotchner let him talk which helped pass time. Talking to him was actually pretty easy, because he could understand all the complicated topics that his friends never could. It made him unreasonably happy to prattle on about stochastic processes and not get interrupted. Professor Hotchner was a good listener; he even asked questions when he ran out of steam.
They pulled up to a chintzy looking family owned diner and were given seats near the window.
“I’m not hungry, though,” Spencer said. He shrugged off his coat and sat down in the booth.
“I know. You’re going to eat.”
“But I’m not hungry.”
“You’re going to eat. That’s the end of it.”
With a disgruntled huff he picked up the menu, attitude seeping out from each pore. There were pictures of platters with bacon and eggs, sausage, and loads of pancakes and waffles.
“Pick anything you want.”
“Don’t want anything. Just coffee.”
“Don’t be difficult, Spencer,” Professor Hotchner said, looking sternly at him.
“I thought you said we weren’t going to do BDSM today?” he asked in a small voice. He was confused about what today was going to be like because so far he was just getting ordered around.
“When did I say that?” He furrowed his brows. He looked a bit off.
“On Wednesday you said, ‘We’ll have a nice day. Nothing too heavy on the BDSM front, okay? No need to be nervous about it’. So I thought you wouldn’t be bossing me around…”
“Oh. Right.” Professor Hotchner shook his head. “I forgot all about that, I’m sorry.” He laughed a bit and took a sip of water. “You don’t have to eat. I meant what I said, even if I forgot for a moment. No BDSM today, or at least not too heavy. Maybe a little, though, sweetheart.” He winked.
Spencer blushed. “Okay. That’s okay with me.”
“Good. Now tell the waitress what you want.” He flagged down the girl at the counter and she came over to take their orders.
“Just coffee, please,” Spencer said with a smile, pointedly ignoring the disapproval that was written on Professor Hotchner’s face. He put in an order of his own, and she went back to the front.
Professor Hotchner laced his hands on the table. “This is your eighth year here?”
“Yeah. Well, not just here. I went to CalTech for Mathematics, but yes, I’m starting again for the third time. This one I’ll get my bachelors in psychology.”
“That’s a big divergence from math and chemistry.”
“How’d you know I...” he trailed off. Of course he knew. Everyone knew. “Well, yeah, it is. But I find it really interesting. I don’t just like the subjects with black and white answers, contrary to what everyone may think.”
Spencer thought for a moment, and continued, “I know I’m… the way I am. Genius, autistic, atypical, whatever you want to call it, but I’m not a calculator. Or an encyclopedia. I find psychology really interesting.”
“With a mind like yours I’m sure you could find just about anything interesting,” he smiled.
Spencer‘s stomach flopped. He didn’t usually feel anything when people complimented his intellect— he was so over saturated with remarks about how smart he was— but coming from Professor Hotchner it felt genuine. “Mmh, I guess.”
“When I was your age I was in my second year of political science with dreams of getting into law school,” he mused. “So much has changed since then.”
“Why didn’t you stay a prosecutor?”
His Professor smirked. “I never said.”
“I, uh.” Spencer ducked his head to hide his blush. “Yeah, okay, I might have looked you up.” He caught Professor Hotchner’s smug smile. “Only a little!”
“I guess we’re in the same boat then.” He winked.
“You looked into me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I think you’re fascinating,” he said like it was nothing. “And that you’re stunningly gorgeous.”
Spencer couldn’t help but giggle, hell, he turned beet red and hot to the touch.
“I’m sure you already know that, sweetheart.” Professor Hotchner grinned. He was loving this. “But I didn’t stay a prosecutor because I couldn’t sit behind a desk all day watching criminals filter through the system, not even half getting what they deserve. I wanted to do more. I think I found that in the FBI; there I felt like I was making a difference. Getting the bad guys before they could get a chance to do more harm. It helped. For a while, anyway, it was good.”
“Then what?” Spencer asked reflexively, then bit his tongue. He knew what. Foyet was what.
“Well.” Professor Hotchner cleared his throat. “There were complications in a case. I'm sure you heard about it, it nearly cost me my life...”
The waitress came over, set down their food in front of them, and Spencer immediately made grabby hands at his coffee. He looked back up at Professor Hotcher for him to continue.
“In a way, it did,” he continued. Spencer didn’t take a sip. “I lost custody of my son. I don’t get to see him anymore. He’s as good as gone. I wish, I don’t know. I just wish I had him back.” He looked over at Spencer with a confused expression. Spencer could tell he didn’t make a habit of talking about these things.
Spencer saw him across the table looking at him with a soft expression. He rubbed his chin and laughed. “Go ahead, drink your coffee. Enough of this talk.” He pushed Spencer’s mug closer to him. “I know you want it.”
Spencer smiled and dumped five packets of sugar in before savoring it and moaning.
“That’s a lot of sugar, he chuckled.
“I love sugar.” Spencer blushed, and took another sip.
Professor Hotchner had a plate of French toast in front of him topped with bananas, syrup, and confectioners sugar. Spencer didn’t even glance at it. Where was this boy's appetite?
“Here, have a bite,” he said, holding out his fork.
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”
“Just one?” he asked. “Please?”
Spencer grinned. “Now you’re begging me?” He shifted in his seat, feeling sort of giddy. “That’s different.” In his head he added, ‘Sir’.
“Just this once. You’ll like it. It’s full of sugar.”
“I’ve never had french toast. It looks soggy.”
“Come on. Just try. Open up.” He smirked.
Spencer rolled his eyes but his face was fire. “Fine!” He took the forkful and shoved it in his mouth, the flavors of syrup, cinnamon, and butter swirling around and nearly making him moan. It was savory and so, so sweet, sort of crispy on the edges but soft and creamy on the inside which was a wonderful texture.
“Oh, god,” he said, mouth full, and Professor Hotchner laughed.
“Good, huh?”
Spencer nodded happily. “Oh yeah.”
“See? It’s good to try new things.” He winked.
“Mmmhm. Yes, Sir.”
“You don’t have to call me Sir today, remember? We’ll be more like… friends.”
Spencer perked his head up from his coffee mug. “Friends?”
“Just for today.”
Spencer nodded. He tried to suppress a smile but it came out all lopsided.
Professor Hotchner took a sip of coffee. “You can call me Aaron.”
“I—wh- really?“ Spencer stuttered. “I-I can’t.”
“Yes, really. It’s okay. That’s my name after all.”
Spencer shifted in his seat trying to get comfortable. “...Aaron,” he said, trying the name out in his mouth. He liked it. “Ok, Aaron. Gimme some more French toast.”
Chapter 15: Cozy Sweaters
Summary:
In the last chapter Professor Hotchner took Spencer out to breakfast while on their special day out
Notes:
Ty to Degrassi-Fanatic for making me not be lazy
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Bla-bla-black sheep, have you any soul?
No sir, by the way, what the hell are morals?
Jack, be nimble, Jack, be quick
Jill's a little whore and her alibis are dirty tricks.
―Set It Off, A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing”
After breakfast, with a full belly stuffed with one too many of Profes-Aaron’s french toast, Aaron took him to the mall to look at clothes. Apparently his were too worn out and even though he didn’t really care for fashion, he went along with it.
Sometime after leaving Vegas Spencer hit a growth spurt leaving everything he owned to come from a thrift store. That, or it was given to him from one or two of the more charitable professors at university. He looked like a cross between a middle schooler and a middle aged man. Plus, Aaron said that no boy of his was going to wear some other man's clothes. If Spencer was going to be wearing anyone’s clothes, they’d be his. Possessive.
He couldn’t deny the shiver it sent down his spine.
Clothes were clothes, though. Spencer didn’t care what they looked like so long as something was covering him up and warm enough in the winter for him not to freeze to death. That one was important. DC got really chilly.
“Pick a few out that you want,” Aaron told him. They were in the men’s section of Macy’s looking at button downs.
“Uh, I don’t know,” he said, trailing a finger along a pin striped button down. “They all look the same. I mean, this one is blue. Blue is nice…?”
“Then we’ll get you that one. Find your size. Pick a couple.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Aaron raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, uh, yes, Aaron.”
Aaron laughed and shook his head. “Do you want me to spank you until you remember? ”
Spencer ducked behind a rack of clothes to hide his red face and tried to focus on picking out some shirts. “No,” he giggled. Hotch smirked but averted his gaze to the rack of clothes, so he did too. He honestly thought they all looked the same. Some had pinstripes, some were solid, but they were all just shirts, who cared?
He pulled out a few in small and handed them over to Aaron who looked them up and down and nodded. Spencer wondered what he thought about them because he seemed to have a lot more experience with dressing appropriately.
Next he took him to pick out a few pairs of jeans, two pairs of slacks, a pair of converse sneakers and a pair of loafers that made him gasp when he saw the price and start stammering.
Aaron picked out some tee shirts when he refused to, but he was actually pretty excited to pick out sweaters, much to Aaron’s delight. He really liked being balled up in thick woolen sweaters. Big enough to get lost in. There were so many lining the shelves that he found himself smiling and running his hands along them all.
Soft wool, delicate cotton, pinks and blue and stripes and polka dots. Big and baggy, fitting and plush. He really liked them. “Uh, Aaron?” he asked. “Can I get this one?” He nervously held up a green wool sweater with two ducks flying across it, clutching it up to his chest.
“Of course, sweetheart. That’s what we’re here for. Whatever you like.”
“Are you sure? This is a lot, I mean, this is so much. You shouldn’t be spending so much on me...”
“I want to,” Aaron said calmly. “If you’re okay with it, of course. If you’re uncomfortable, that’s okay too.”
Spencer frowned. He wasn't uncomfortable, just a little bit guilty feeling? “No, I’m not. I just— thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now come on, pick a few more and we can get out of here.” He smiled.
Spencer liked the one with brown and tan patterns all over it, a Mickey mouse print, and a soft purple knitted sweater. He was really happy about all his new sweaters and almost wished that it was colder out so he could wear one right then.
On the way out of the mall they passed a Starbucks and Spencer begged him for a latte even though he already had three cups that morning at the diner. Aaron reluctantly agreed, citing that this was only because it was a special day. Even when Spencer added additional sugar to it he didn't stop him.
It didn’t come without an observation, though. “Have you ever had a cup of black coffee before?”
Spencer wrinkled his nose. “Ew, no, of course not.”
“Ew? You can’t truly say you like coffee if you haven’t had it black. That thing you’re drinking probably tastes more like a milkshake than coffee.”
He shrugged, took a sip. “Milkshakes are good.”
Aaron’s eyes crinkled up as he laughed. “Alright, fair enough. I do like milkshakes. But you get my point.”
“Mmh. My mom used to make my coffee really sugary. S’probably why I like it so much.”
“She did? You went away to university at 12.” Aaron stared down at him.
“Uh, yeah. So?”
“So, it’s unusual to give children caffeine.”
“Yeah but look how tall it made me.” He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. Aaron didn’t laugh, so Spencer cleared his throat. “Uh, well. My mom wasn’t, y’know, the most conventional. She… she wasn’t always in her right mind. She didn’t treat me like a kid so much as a friend.”
“A friend?”
Spencer looked down into the cup of coffee swirling hot between his fingers. “Well, I don’t know. She was my best friend. And she never punished me, and never really made me go to bed early, and she took me to fun places, pulled me out of school for trips, let me eat whatever I wanted for dinner. Made me sugary coffee. It wasn’t the same when I went over my friends houses, I remember that.” He looked up at Aaron. “Plus… she got sick. Then she did all sorts of weird, bad things. Or maybe she was sick all along, looking back at it, and I started to take care of her more than she tried to take care of me…”
Aaron only nodded; he was glad he didn’t say he was sorry. He hated telling people because they started to get all weird and apologetic. He didn’t want sympathy.
“So yeah, sugary coffee is great. Never had it black.”
“Thank you for telling me that,” he said in a soft voice, taking Spencer’s hand in his own and rubbing it. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go.”
Aaron piled all the bags into the back of his SUV and Spencer started off on a tangent about a theory having to do with circles that he read in the Scientific American last month with a big smile on his face. The day was turning out even better than he’d hoped.
After the mall, Aaron took him to the movie theatre to see a documentary about dark matter and for a moment it felt like... a date. Well, what Spencer imagined a date would feel like. There was a giddy feeling in the pit of his stomach that wouldn’t let up. All he wanted to do was reach over and hold hands with Aaron, but he was too shy. He could hardly even focus on the documentary despite how interesting it was. He saw it advertised last month and was planning on dragging Ethan to go see it, and here he was with someone who actually enjoyed it too and he couldn’t keep his eyes on the screen. The minutes seemed to slip away into nothingness as he sat there staring at that hand. God, he wanted to feel it on his own so badly. He wanted to feel the way it absolutely swallowed him up and gripping a little more than necessary.
Straight from the movie was lunch, and then back to campus so he could still get some studying in for the day. He really didn’t want to leave Aaron, but on the other hand he didn’t want to chance anything by arguing. They were having a great time and it would be a shame to ruin it by being a brat. Aaron actually smiled a few times during their outing and each time it sent butterflies fluttering all around his stomach, so much so that one time he thought he was going to throw up. Aaron was the decidedly most handsome man he’d ever seen and everything he did was amazing.
When Aaron told him that he’d see him in two days, Spencer let out a little whimper and against his better judgement he leaned over across the middle console and pulled Aaron into a hug murmuring, “I’ll miss you” against his shoulder.
Once Aaron hugged back he fell slack with relief, and grinned against the collar of his coat. He smelled so good, like minty aftershave, and he didn’t want to let go. “I’ll miss you too sweetheart,” he said. Butterflies. “Now be a good boy and get your things from the back.”
Spencer grabbed his bags and looked back at the SUV as he walked off, giving Aaron a big wave and dopey smile. The SUV stayed parked in the lot until Spencer entered his dorm, and he suspected it lingered a bit after that too.
It was nice knowing someone cared about him getting home safe.
. . .
Ethan was being a fucking asshole.
“You can’t just walk in here with five bags full of new clothes and refuse to tell me where you got them!” He was starting to shout. Spencer was being dodgey and finding it hard to lie because honestly where the fuck could he even have gotten them? He was broke as a joke.
“I don’t have to tell you anything. Just don’t worry about it,” he murmured.
“I will worry about it! You’re my best friend, dude! But you’ve been acting so weird lately, and now where the hell did you even get all the money for this?”
“I just had some. Y’know, savings.”
“That’s bull. You’re broke. I’ve seen your debit card get declined at McDonalds.” He frowned.
Spencer rolled his eyes. “Fine. It was from playing poker the other day, okay? That’s why that asshat got so mad and socked me.”
“Yeah right, you guys were betting dollars, there was probably $20 max in that pile. Tell me the truth, Spencer, Jesus! Why is it such a big deal?” he said. “Unless you’re hiding something.”
He dropped the bags to the floor and looked away. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“Oh yeah?” He got closer to Spencer, eyeing the bags on the floor, the anger written plain as day all over his face. “Then why the fuck do you keep changing your story?”
“I’m not! Ok? I meant both of them. I had some cash saved up. Plus the poker money. And this stuff was on sale. It wasn’t really that much. Besides, you’re the one that’s always saying I dress like a 60 year old man! Why can’t you just be happy for me instead of giving me the third degree?”
“I’ll give you the third degree when the shit you tell me smells like hot garbage. And you know what? What ever happened to getting mugged, huh? How do you have money if you supposedly got mugged a few weeks ago? Or were lying about that too?” he huffed, ran a hand down his face. “I fucking knew you were lying about that, Spencer!”
“I wasn't lying!” he retorted, his voice getting high, nearly cracking.
“Yeah, you were. You are! Some best friend you are! I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.” There was a mix of concern and betrayal emanating from him and it almost made Spencer feel guilty. It definitely would when he went through this conversation over again in his head, but right now he was way too hopped up on adrenaline and fear to give a damn that Ethan was just looking out for him.
“I…I was mugged. I wasn’t lying then. O-or now!” he stuttered. “I just didn’t want to tell you… uh, my mom, she sent me some money. So.”
Ethan’s voice softened. “Oh. Your mom?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, Spencer, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t know, I—”
“No! it’s okay, really.” He picked the skin on his fingernail absently and winced at a sharp pain when the skin broke.
Ethan kept persisting. “I wouldn’t have—”
“Don’t worry about it!” Spencer shushed him. Watching him trip over himself made him feel guilty. “Really. It’s okay. I’m okay. You couldn’t have known. And I should've just told you. It’s, uh… hard to talk about though, you know that.”
Ethan licked his lips. “I know. You never talk about it so… yeah.”
Spencer nodded, shrugged. Ethan patted him on the back before retreating into the bathroom, the only truly private room in the dorm.
He threw the bags in a pile in his corner of the room and flopped down onto the bed, pulling out his cell. The green light blared into his eyes as he stared at it for a good ten minutes trying to pull up the courage to text Aaron— no, Professor Hotchner.
thnk u agn Sir. 2day was so fun. s.
Chest thumping as he pressed send, he felt like a teenage girl afraid to text her crush after the first date. Which is kind of what this was, wasn’t it? Except he was a boy and his date was a man, 15 years his senior, his teacher, and liked to sexually dominate him. He bit his lip and tried not to smile.
You’re welcome, Spence. Put away your clothes tonight. I won’t have a messy boy. H.
Ugh, fuck, he was so comfy in bed.
ur boy? :) s.
Yes. Mine. Goodnight, sweetheart, do what you’re told. H.
Fine. He sighed and went about putting away his clothes. It would’ve felt like chores if not for the erection rubbing up against his jeans with every step. Who knew doing a simple task could make him so aroused? Every time he thought about how good he was being and how he was doing exactly what he was ordered, he could feel his cock ache in his pants.
When Ethan finally left the bathroom he locked himself inside and jacked off twice before finishing his clothes and passing out. He was hornier than he’d been in a long time. He didn’t even know he could come twice in such a short span. Everything lately was surprising him, even himself.
Notes:
Another chap on 11/2 and its a longer than this one
Checkpoint for those binge-reading! Take a deep breath and look away from the screen. Drink some water. Remember that this is fiction. Remember that Hotch is an UNSUB. <3
Chapter 16: The Hotel
Summary:
Last Chapter Spencer went clothes shopping with Aaron, then he got into a fight with Ethan.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Why do people marry versions of their controlling mothers? Or absent fathers?
To have a shot at righting old wrongs— Fixing things as an adult that hurt you as a child.
Maybe it doesn't make sense at a surface level, but the subconscious marches to its own beat.”
― Blake Crouch, Dark Matter
Sunday passed uneventfully without much contact from Professor Hotchner, save for a good morning text telling him what to wear, and a goodnight text telling him he was a good boy.
On Monday Professor Hotchner called him out during class even though he was minding his own business, paying attention to the lecture. The class broke out in a series of 'Oooohh's and he flushed beet red. He didn’t dare talk back. Clearly public humiliation was on the agenda.
Professor Hotchner also told him to stay after class in front of everyone, which was new, since they usually did that discreetly. Staying after didn’t last long, though, like Spencer had hoped. Professor Hotchner slid a plastic card into his hand and told him he booked a hotel room for them. Be there at 7pm, he said. Holy shit. Then he ushered him out of the room saying he’d receive a text later in the day.
Waiting until seven was difficult. Waiting until seven was the worst kind of torture that Spencer could imagine, but also so incredibly exciting. His hands took on a life of their own, tapping on the desk, picking at the little thread in his shirt, touching nearly everything he saw. He didn’t pay attention in any of his lectures after that. He couldn’t; how could he?
A text came at 5:30 making his heart skip a beat. The phone all but slipped from his hands as he fumbled with it.
JW Marriott on 14th W. Room 739. Take everything off and wait on the bed for me. Understood? H.
yes Sir s.
Now he was shaking. Buzzing, humming, lit up like a christmas tree. What, 15 words from this man and suddenly he was reduced to a messy soup of misfiring nerves? He couldn’t stand it. Anything Professor Hotchner said to him made him itch with anticipation. With excitement. Arousal.
And oh god, he was in for it tonight. His pants were tight just from reading the message. Would he really strip naked in a hotel for his teacher?
Every rational part of his brain screamed, “NO”, but his dick was screaming, “YES. GOD, YES. PLEASE.”
For once he decided not to listen to his brain.
At 6:30 he stood outside the Marriott after traversing the subway system. The subway in DC sucked. At the front counter the receptionist didn’t even bat an eye as he walked right past the front lobby. He went up to floor seven, room 739, and used his keycard to get inside.
There's a certain smell that luxury hotel rooms have, and this one was saturated in it. A pleasant mix of linen, soap, and lavender. Sort of like a spa. The walls were a calming shade of beige, with a matching duvet and soft white bed sheets underneath. There was a large window at the back of the room which looked out to the city, draped in flowing white curtains. There was only one bed in the room.
The bathroom was gorgeous. Dark stone flooring against stark white countertops, a large shower with a rainfall showerhead overtop, and deep porcelain tub at the end of the room, situated underneath a large window. Wow.
Spencer grinned to himself. He sort of liked being spoiled like Aa-Professor Hotchner was doing to him. He liked the food, the gifts, the hotel; all of it. He felt guilty, to an extent, but the thrill of it all far surpassed that. Finally someone was paying attention to him. He was half-way expecting a dingy, half lit motel room with a mirror positioned across from the bed. Not this. He wasn’t going to let this slip away.
There was a box sitting on the counter, and upon picking it up his face flushed red and he dropped it like a hot coal. He couldn’t possibly be expecting to- he’d never- god, how embarrassing. How embarrassing that Professor Hotchner was thinking about him in such practical terms. He supposed he was going to figure out how to douche.
With thirty minutes to spare, he stripped down to nothing, folded his clothes up nice on the dresser, and stepped into the shower with the box in hand and started to wash away the subway grime. The water was hot; he turned it up near scalding, and it soothed all of his broken nerves.
When he stepped out, he instinctively reached out for his clothes again, but he wasn’t allowed to put them on. Instead he toweled off, rubbed his hair dry, tossed the box in the trash bin, and sat on the bed like he was told.
What he didn’t notice before were the three things sitting innocently on the bedside table. Two he would instantly guess what they were for, but the third? He would have no clue.
The buzzer on the door rang out as someone keyed into the room. Was it Professor Hotchner? It had to be. Otherwise someone would find him buttnaked on the bed next to—
“Good boy,” he hummed. That beautifully seductive voice. Thick and sweet, like maple syrup.
“T-Thank you, Sir.”
“Just like I told you.” The corner of his mouth upturned. He got closer to Spencer, reaching out and running his hand along his bare chest. “Get up on your knees.”
Spencer found himself quick to comply, rising up on the bed to his shaking knees, looking over to Professor Hotchner nervously.
“How do you address me?”
“Sir.”
“Hands behind your back,” he said. “Don’t slouch; straighten you back. Keep your chin down.”
“Yes, Sir.” Spencer tried his hardest to position himself just right but it was hard on the soft surface of the bed. He wobbled, but only a little bit.
“You’ve been such a good boy lately, Spencer. Don’t you think so?” He didn’t pause for an answer. “I’ve been so gentle with you, but that’s going to change soon, sweetheart. We need to start training you. You want to be trained, don't you? You want to be a good boy for me?”
“Yes, Sir. I do. I wanna be a good boy for you,” he all but whined. His head was spinning, feeling as though he might topple over from excitement. Everything felt so big; larger than life. The hotel room, the scandal, the vulnerability. Spencer idly thought it seemed like something out of a waiting room magazine, the kind with candid photos of married actors running around with other married actors, not the kind of thing that happened to geeky guys like him who never did more than kick up a little bit of drama in the student center and pass all his classes in a noteworthy fashion.
What he was doing with his Professor- it was magazine big.
“The first thing you’re going to learn, Spencer, is the safe word. Have you heard of them before?”
Spencer filed through his memories on the websites he looked up and stopped on a certain snapshot about safe words, taking a short second to member it. “Yes, Sir. It’s for when you want to stop. A special word used in cases where ‘no’ might be part of play.”
“Exactly. Because I’m not going to… keep going anymore. I want you to enjoy it too. You like it, don’t you?”
Spencer nodded his head, letting out a bashful smile. He loved it. But he didn’t want to admit it so freely.
Professor Hotchner looked at him sternly. “If you want me to stop, the safe word is red. Say it back to me.”
“Um, the safe word is red, Sir.”
“That means I’ll stop and we can cuddle, or I can give you space, whatever you need. It’s all up to you. The second word is yellow. That means you’re getting uncomfortable but you don’t want to stop. It’s a traffic light system. Green means everything is OK.”
Spencer nodded. “Yes, Sir. Yellow is uncomfortable but don’t stop, green is OK,” he parroted.
Professor Hotchner smirked. Spencer was an easy study, already obeying standing orders without being asked. “Good boy. Don’t be afraid to say them today. I want you to like what we do.
Spencer nodded again, blushing, his hands fiddling with each other behind his back. At the mention of a good boy his cock gave an interested twitch and he turned, embarrassed.
“Mh, look at you, so eager.” Professor Hotchner smirked, eyes staring straight down at Spencer’s hardening cock. “Do you want to be touched?”
Spencer nodded so fast it put a crick in his neck. He let out an incoherent breathy whine and bucked his hips forward.
“Not yet. Get on your hands and knees,” he said, low and raspy.
Spencer obeyed; his heavy cock swung in between his legs, red, aching, and untouched. The sound of his voice alone had brought him to half mast, and his gaze sent him full sail. If only he would get a little bit closer he could smell that intoxicating scent…
“Face to the bed. Put your arms behind your back.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“That’s it, good boy. Legs apart. Ass nice and high for me, sweetheart.”
Spencer let out a whimper as he spread his thighs, feeling truly vulnerable. Professor Hotchner was looking his asshole right in the eye and he could only lay there and think about how much he wanted to ask to be fucked. He was aching for something, anything, enough that he could feel it in his bones.
Professor Hotchner still didn’t touch him, though. He was over at the bedside table and he heard a pop that sent his pavlovian response into overdrive. Suddenly he couldn’t sit still, squirming like a bug, unable to keep his hands still behind his back, his toes from clenching into the sheets, or his face from turning side to side. His body was heating up, and his cock was twitching with need. Chanting over and over in his head touch me, touch me, touch me!
Then there was that pressure up against his hole and he didn't care how cold the lube was on his skin that was still hot from the scalding shower. “Ohhhh, god—”
“Moan for me, Spencer,” he growled. “Let's hear that pretty voice of yours.” He pressed the pad of his thumb against Spencer’s asshole and massaged it in small circles.
“Ohh, mmmhhh— ah, oh, please, Sir.”
“What is it you want, slut?”
“Want you— please, oh, please— more.”
“Mmh, you want it up the ass, Spence? You want to feel my fingers inside you, filling you up?”
“Yes. Yes, god. Yes.”
“Beg for it.”
“P-Please, Sir—” he said breathlessly. “I need it, I need you, fuck, please, please, pleaseee more!”
Professor Hotchner stilled his squirming by placing his hand on his ass cheek and with the other, pressing his thumb deep inside of him. Spencer let out a throaty moan and buried his face in sheets, bucking his hips, and grinding back against it.
“Love how eager you are, Spencer. Such a slutty boy.”
Spencer had never thought of himself as a slut before, but his head was filled with dirty thoughts and he was taking it up the ass, so maybe he was a bit of a slut. It made his chest feel all tight and hot thinking about it. He was slutty. Taking fingers up the ass. Having kinky sex with his Professor.
Slut.
Professor Hotchner plunged in with two fingers and he groaned again. His hands were gripped tightly in the sheets. His ass was on fire with that intoxicating stretch, toeing the line between pleasure and pain. Hotch scissored his fingers and stretched him out nice and wide.
“Oh fuck, Sir, please— nnnhhhgg——”
That’s right little slut, you’re going to take it all. God, you love it, don’t you? Look at you squirm.” He worked his fingers in and out, going deep, pressing his fingertips along the sides of his hole. The lube dripped down his crack, falling onto the duvet. He smacked his asscheek without warning and Spencer cried out, high pitched and feral. His thighs were quivering. “You want to be touched, sweetheart? Think you deserve it?”
“Y-Yes, Sir! Please, Sir, fuck— I need it, I do— I’ve been so good—”
“Mh-mmh,” He shook his head, not that Spencer could see from his position. “You deserve what I say you deserve. You get what I decide to give you, and you thank me for it.”
Spence whimpered and cock leaked a bead precum at coarseness of the words; he never knew how badly he wanted to be controlled. He never knew how much he wanted someone to tell him what he wanted. “Yes, Sir, uunnnhh— I— I’ll take whatever you give me, I deserve w-whatever you say, oh god— I’m yours, fuck.”
“That’s right, little slut,” he growled, taking a hold of his hair and yanking his head up, extending his neck, and making him gasp desperately for air. “You’re mine. Don’t you ever forget that. Mine.”
“No, Sir, I-I won’t.”
Professor Hotchner reached down between Spencer’s shaking thighs and grabbed a hold of his cock. His hand was coated slick with lube, and he started rubbing wet along his length with a tight fist. “Oooohhh-!”
Overwhelmed from all the sensations coming at him, from the fingers pumping steadily into his ass, to the tight grip squeezing his cock, he could hardly think straight. Everything in the room was spinning and nothing would stop. The only things he could get out of his mouth were broken pleas and moans. His body was taut with pent up pleasure. His orgasm was building with every passing second, every fuck, every stroke. The coil inside him was wound so tight that he felt his stomach twist up in a feeling that almost resembled agony, if not for the burning desire underneath it all.
“S-Sir—I ooh, fuuu- ah—” he stuttered. “Wan-wanna—”
“What do you want to do, my little slut?” He hummed. He kept his brutal pace steady and strong. “Tell me.”
“Wanna—wanna—”
“Mmh? Don’t know what you want, baby.”
“Please! Sir, ooohhhhh— wanna cum. Please—”
“Mmh, you needy little thing. Think you deserve to cum?”
“”Yes—no! I deserve it if you say so, Sir, please—”
“Not yet, angel,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, coldness seeping into his words. “Don’t you even think about cumming, Spencer.”
“B-But, Sir!”
Professot Hotchner slapped his ass with a loud clap. “Don’t back talk me unless you want to be punished.”
“No— oh god, please, I’m sorry— I have to cum, I need to— fuck, Sir—!” He trembled with shaking thighs.
“No, Spencer. Restrain yourself,” he said, still stroking and fingering relentlessly.
“C-Can’t— uunnnh. Please— let me, Sir, need it, need it so bad— Can’t stop—”
Professor tightened his grip on his hip enough to bruise. Tomorrow it would be pretty red and purple hues against milky whire skin. “Don’t you dare cum.”
“I— fuck—! Sir, Fuck ooh—” he moaned, his tension snapping. He couldn’t hold back a second longer. His orgasm rushed out of him, sending chills down his body, an electric wave of euphoria flowing through him. Frenzied, wired and lawless; every bit of self restraint he had seeped out. His cock gushed cum all over Professor Hotchner’s fingers and his cheeks burned with shame. “I’m so sorry—! oh god, oh fuck, Professor—”
Within seconds he was pushed down onto the mattress, his belly hitting the bed hard with the feeling of cum smearing against him. “You greedy little whore,” Came that dark voice close up behind his ear. “Think you can cum when you’re implicitly told otherwise? You think this is about your pleasure? I’m going to show you exactly what it means to disobey me, Spencer. You’re going to be begging me not to let you cum.”
“I’m s-so sorry—” he whimpered. “Forgive me, please, I tried—”
“Not hard enough,” Professor Hotchner said in a steely cold voice.
A soft pop sounded out behind him and he wanted to turn around and look but he was in enough trouble as it was. Smartly, he decided to wait for what was going to come next, but nothing happened.
Again his voice came out cold above him, “Tell me you color.”
Spencer wasn’t sure exactly how much he could handle, but this was definitely okay so far. As long as Professor Hotchner wasn’t mad enough at him to stop, then he was okay. He wouldn’t be able to take it if his Dom didn’t want to continue because he was bad; that would be worse than a hundred lashes.
“Green,” he whimpered.
“What do you think, does a little slut like you deserve “Cockslut” or “Whore” written on him?
“I-I— I don’t know, Sir. Whatever you think is best.”
“Cute, now he wants to listen,” he said, dripping in sarcasm. Professor Hotchner was borderline scary when he was in a dominant mood.
He pressed down on the small of Spencer’s back and worked the marker against his skin, scratching out “WHORE” in big black letters right above his ass. He gripped Spencer’s hips and turned him around on his back as he gasped and wrote “COCKSLUT” boldly on his chest, right in between the nipples.
Spencer was looking up at him with big doe eyes, the submission practically gushing out of him. He was panting, trying to catch his breath, with sweat misting his forehead, cum and marker littering his chest, making him look positively sinful. Those big innocent amber eyes against everything else so fucked out and raw was a beautiful contrast.
He saw a bright flash in front of his eyes then blinked a few times; Professor Hotchner snapped a photograph of him of his cellphone— Was he allowed to do that?
“You have no idea how gorgeous you are. So pretty,” he cooed. “If only you weren’t such a greedy little boy, I could have fucked you good, sweetheart, cuddled you nice, and let you call me Daddy.”
Spencer whined, loudly. He really wanted Professor Hotchner to let him call him Daddy. His big, strong Daddy there to protect him and cuddle and fuck him slow.
“But you were a bad boy, Spence, you made that decision. You don’t listen. Now jack yourself off.”
“I—” Was jacking off supposed to be a punishment? That sounded amazing. “Yes, Sir!”
He wrapped his hand around his cock and started pumping. Just looking down at his cock he could see the black sharpie marking him causing shame to burn hot inside his chest, but it only made him harder.
He thought about Aaron— the one who brought him out shopping, to the movies, drove him in his car— the way he listened to him, made him laugh, fuck, that dark hair, those brown eyes, the way his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The chest hair poking out from under his collar, the way his pants fit him so perfectly, that way his stubble felt against his face when he kissed him. And Professor hotchner, with that deep voice telling him what to do, and when, and where, and fuck, just taking control and giving him freedom in the most backwards sort of way. The way he called him his slut. His. Oh, god, His.
“Oh, fuck, Sir,” he moaned brokenly. “I need you. I need you so bad.”
“I know, baby. I’ve got you. Keep stroking. Cum for me. Cum for your Dom,” he rasped.
“Yes, Sir, yes, oh.” He spilled out again, his orgasm hitting and sending him reeling. His eyes rolled back in his head and his hips jerked up in tiny little spasms.
“Again.”
“W-what?”
“Again, whore.”
“I can’t! I just did,” Spencer sputtered out in confusion. He very rarely came more than one or twice, sometimes three times if he was really horny, but it didn’t happen often.
“And now you’ll do it again. Go.”
With a trembling hand he grasped his sore cock. “Y-Yes, Sir.”
Notes:
Thanks for reading! And thanks for all the comments and support and kudos and all that good stuff, love you guys. Next update on 11/6~
Chapter 17: Cum, Cum, Cum
Summary:
Last chap Spencer did a no-no and came when Prof Hotchner told him not to. Bad boy.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Maybe she couldn’t know who she was today.
Maybe it was enough to know that she was no longer who she was before."
― Orson Scott Card, Speaker for the Dead
“Again.”
“W-what?”
“Again, whore.”
“I can’t! I just did.” Spencer sputtered out in confusion. He very rarely came more than one or twice, sometimes three times if he was really horny, but it didn’t happen often.
“And now you’ll do it again. Go.”
“I—”
“Don’t be a bad boy, Spence. Your next punishment will make this one seem like a cakewalk.”
“Y-Yes, Sir…” He grabbed his dick again, still hard yet over sensitive and screaming at him. He closed his eyes, please, fuck, just let him get through this. He stroked again, faster, more desperate, with images of Professor Hotchner looking down at him, towering over him, his fat cock dangling in front of him, demanding to be sucked. He rubbed faster, harder. The feeling of his hand grabbing his hair, pulling hard. The sting of a slap coming down across his face. The cold hard look in his eyes as he called him— oh, fuck! He spilled out again, hot and sticky, much less than last time.
“Good boy,” he rasped.
“Please— Sir, I can’t! No more, please—”
Spencer let out a whiny moan as Professor Hotchner calmly unbuttoned his dress shirt then shrugged it off along with his suit jacket. If there were ever something that would give Spencer a stroke it’d be this Godly looking man getting naked in front of him; he pulled his white undershirt up over his head showing thick hair littering his chest. Spencer’s heart fluttered. He was so dark and masculine and fuck, so incredibly sexy, he never found anyone more attractive in his life.
Professor Hotchner grabbed his thighs and dragged him to the edge of the bed, hooking his legs around his waist and leaning down overtop of him. Spencer sunk into the bed like a slab of butter on a hot pancake. He was encompassed. Warmth emanated from his body overtop and heated him up. He felt so secure and safe. He felt perfect.
His cock was verging on painful, but still twitched needily when he felt that big thick cock grind down on him from beneath those black slacks. Kisses were pressed up his neck and along his chin, hot and wet. The feeling of five o’clock shadow scratched into his skin and he relished the burn, never realizing just how much he craved the touch of a man. If he learned anything at all from the past month, it was that he was one hundred percent, without a doubt in his mind, never-look-back, gay. And he loved it.
His heart was thumping wildly in his chest again. Logically he knew how arousal worked, but he couldn’t comprehend how Professor Hotchner could work him up so easily. Panting, sweating, squirming underneath him; he had his hands gripped tightly on his waist and he was holding him so still and tight as he grinded into him. Spencer’s hands wrapped around Professor Hotchner’s biceps, hard and defined from so many years of field work, and he moaned desperately into the room.
“That’s it, my slutty boy,” he rasped down near his collar bone where he was biting into him. “You love it, don’t you?”
“Y-yes, Sir. Love it s-so much.”
He grabbed Spencer’s wrists in one hand and pinned them up over his head, and with the other he grabbed a hold of his achey, throbbing cock, still slick with lube and cum.
“Ooh—!” Spencer cried out. He bucked his hips, wiggled under his grasp; he couldn’t move. He was completely under Professor Hotchner’s control yet again.
Spencer felt like his dick was going to explode. So did his mind. It was like swimming in a pool of electricity, completely engulfed in the voltaic buzz that was his somatic nervous system. He could only cry out, whimper, beg. He could only take what Professor Hotchner gave him.
He was pumping his cock languidly. Brushing up against the tip, moving his hand all the way down and palming at the balls. Spencer let out hot and heavy breaths. He could feel his gears turning again, winding up, coiling tighter and tighter. Breaths turned into moans which turned into whimpers, which turned into whines. Professor Hotchner chuckled above him. He was such a needy boy; he hated how fast he would unravel, how he was powerless to stop it.
It was embarrassing that having his arms pinned up would make him lose all sense of self restraint— It was embarrassing how he would break underneath a man who wasn’t even fully undressed. He hadn’t even been fucked yet and there he was about to spill his load for a fourth painstaking time.
“S-Sir— please, no—” he said breathless.
“What’s a matter, sweetheart, don’t want to cum? You love cummming, baby boy, don’t you? You love cumming even when you’re not supposed to, so why don’t you cum then?” he growled.
“S-sir…” he sobbed, his cock throbbing. “P-please”
Professor Hotchner sped up his stroking as Spencer moaned, until he was babbling incoherently and finally came all over his stomach right on top of the dark black COCKSLUT.
“Good boy,” he purred. “I think you deserve a break.”
Spencer let his head fall back in relief. Thank God he was giving him time to rest because he didn’t think he could go again so fast. His cock was on fire and so incredibly sensitive that he didn’t want to even look at it. “Thank you, Sir.”
Professor Hotchner got off from overtop Spencer and sat down on the side of the bed, eyeing him up. Spencer had been feeling so much apprehension and excitement about today ever since he got the keycard, but nothing could have prepared him for how satisfying it was to be dominated. All the worries and the pressures that he felt in his day to day life were left at the door. Lying in bed with cum smeared all over him and being stared at like he was a piece of meat, he didn’t feel like a freak genius. He was just Spencer, the slutty boy who did what he was told.
“Thank you, Sir,” Spencer said, dazed. He was looking up at Professor Hotchner’s face, who was looking at him, too, but in a vacant sort of way like his thoughts were millions of miles away.
Then he broke out into a grin at Spencer's eager thanks.
“Mmh, what a good boy, so thankful for what he gets. You’re such a natural submissive.”
Spencer blushed and tried to hide his face in the covers but Professor Hotchner didn’t let him. “Don’t hide your face from me, Spence. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Be bashful; it’s cute. It suits you. You don’t have to hide anything around me.”
That only made Spencer blush harder and twitch from the desire to hide. He had to do what Professor Hotchner said, though, be brave enough to be openly embarrassed. It was just, well, embarrassing.
“Professor?”
“Mmh, yes, Spence?” he said, then paused. “You can call me Hotch. We’re not in class right now.”
Spencer stalled for a second. Another name. Not quite Aaron, but it was something. It was Hotch.
“Hotch…” he hummed.
Hotch grinned. “When you’re not calling me Sir, or course. It’s okay, though, I told you we were taking a quick break. But don’t you forget your place, sweetheart.”
Spencer didn’t seem to hear that. He was looking far away. “Did you know Hotch means to wiggle or fidget? It first appeared in Scotland in the 15th century, though now its meaning has transitioned more into ‘to swarm’. Y’know, like bees?”
“Is that so?”
“Mmhm. Before that it most likely originated from middle French Hocher, which means to shake, and before that, in old French Hochier meant to jostle or twitch.”
“Swarm, huh?” he smiled.
Spencer nodded.
“Ironic. I’m allergic to bees.”
Spencer giggled.
“What, you think that’s funny, baby boy?”
“No, Sir!” he pouted. “I don’t, I swear. It’s just, uh… you’re not anything like your name at except for the fact that it’s predominantly masculine. I can’t imagine you wiggling, or fidgeting, or jostling, or twitching.”
Hotch winked, and ruffled Spencer's hair. “That’s what I have you for, sweetheart.” He leaned in and whispered hot against his ear, “You look so good when I get you wiggling underneath me.”
Spencer giggled, embarrassed again.
He sat back again. “What were you going to ask me?”
“Oh— right.” He blushed. “Um, can I take a shower? Or… do I have to stay like this, Sir?”
“As much as I love seeing you covered in my cum, you may. Just don’t scrub off the Sharpie.”
Spencer started getting up but Hotch was up on his feet before him, and scooped him up into his arms like a big lanky princess. Spencer groaned because he knew he must look ridiculous but being in Hotch’s arms was downright amazing, not that he would admit it.
“Sir! Put me down!”
“Nope.” He carried Spencer into the bathroom, put him down on the tiles, and turned the shower on hot for him. “Go on, Spence.” He slapped his ass and Spencer hopped up, grabbing at it.
“Ah!” he giggled.
“Enjoy your shower because we’re going to finish what you started when you’re done.”
. . .
Spencer enjoyed the shower. He enjoyed going back into the bedroom and getting absolutely wrecked, too.
Hotch made him get back up on the bed, hands and knees again, while he fucked him relentlessly, forcing him to cum again and again. The buildup of pleasure that filled him spilled out, but he came so many times that nothing even came out. An hour later, Hotch fucked him up against the bathroom counter, but that time Hotch said he didn’t have to cum if he didn’t want to. Spencer had finally learned his lesson and apologized for cumming when he was told not to. Next time, he would definitely try a lot harder to control himself. His dick felt like a jellyfish. A bruised up jellyfish that accidently stung itself. Multiple times. Ow.
By the time that sun set, the hazy yellow glow that filled the room dissipated and left behind a cool darkness. Spencer was lying on the bed, still naked, watching Hotch scroll through his blackberry. It was a really nice phone with a full keyboard and naked pictures of him saved in the memory.
Hotch was letting him snuggle up close. He was always so sweet after they had sex. Spencer’s head was rested against his chest, rising and falling with his steady breathing. His arm was wrapped around Spencer’s back and holding him tight. Spencer was really happy. He wanted to close his eyes and melt into Hotch and stay there forever, just like that.
Nothing could bother him. Nothing mattered. Schoolwork was null. Bullies were null. The fact that Ethan was going to have a conniption wondering where he spent the night was null. Nothing mattered but Hotch’s warm body underneath him.
“How are you feeling sweetheart?” Hotch kissed him on the top of his head in his mess of curls.
“M’okay, Sir. Perfect, actually.”
“You sure, baby?” he whispered. “You’d tell me if anything was bothering you? Especially about everything that happened today?”
Spencer nodded with a smile. He was genuinely happy. There was just one little thing. “Yeah, I promise. It’s just…”
“Just what, Spence?”
“Just… I’m really sorry… about what I did today. I didn’t mean to, I swear. I just- I-” he whimpered. “I didn’t mean to be bad, really, I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh. It’s okay,” he cooed. His arm wrapped tighter around him. “That’s what this is all about. Learning. Making mistakes, learning from them, and not repeating them in the future. I don’t expect you to be perfect right off the bat.”
“I know, but I just wanted to be good for you and I wasn’t! I couldn’t stop myself from cumming. I just… Im so sorry.” He nuzzled his face into Hotch’s chest and frowned. “I’m such a whore.”
Hotch let out a quiet sigh. “Oh, Spence. You are a little whore. My whore. Don’t think being a whore is a bad thing; you like taking my cock, don't you?”
Spencer nodded into his chest.
“Hey, look up at me.” Hotch shifted a bit under him. “Don’t think that me calling you these names means that you’re not still respectable and brilliant.”
Spencer blinked his eyes. “Really?”
“Yes, Spencer, of course. It’s just bedroom talk. It’s the sort of talk you use when you’re playing in a scene. I’d never call you a whore in a normal conversation. Only while we’re dirty talking.”
“So you don't think I'm a whore for cumming when you said not to? Are you mad? Please don’t be mad at me…”
“No, and I’m not mad. It’s all a part of your training. You made a mistake. You had your punishment. It’s done. If you continue with the behaviour then I’ll be mad. But only time will tell.”
“I won’t. I’m not going to, I promise.”
“Good.”
“But I’m still really sorry.”
Hotch laughed and pulled him up so that they were face to face, Spencer laying half on top of him. “Spencer, no more apologizing about that. I’ve forgiven you. Got it?” He kissed him sweetly, warm and dry.
“Yes Sir. Sorry, Sir.” He blushed, licking his lips.
“Good boy.” Hotch looked at his phone, shuffled out from under him, and slid off the bed. Spencer was watching him curiously as he pulled on a pair of pants and his—
“What are you doing?” Spencer asked. “Where are you going?” He shot up on the bed, feeling sort of panicked. “Are you leaving, Sir? You can’t leave!”
He was panicking.
Hotch turned around to see Spencer making grabby hands at him with a look of terror in his eyes. He vastly underestimated how clingy Spencer would get after a session.
“Don't… go,” he begged. Tears swelled at his eyes and fell down his cheeks. He felt desperate, like Hotch was going to leave him and never come back and he’d be stuck in the hotel room forever in a cold bed, alone, naked, and afraid. “Sir?”
“Oh, baby. I’m sorry. No, I’ll stay.” Hotch shook his head, going back to him and pulling him into a hug. He pressed him into the crook of his neck with his hand against the back of his head holding him tight. “M’sorry, sweetheart, I forgot how it can be after punishments. It’s… been a while. I’m here. Daddy’s here.”
“Daddy?” Spencer leaned back and shot him a dazzling smile.
Hotch blushed and laughed. He stripped down to his boxers again. “I’ll stay till the morning, okay? I’ll be with you all night, I’m not going anywhere. We can cuddle and kiss and whatever you want, baby boy.”
“Really?” His eyelashes fluttered. He was drowning in affection, it was like a roller coaster. “Thank you, Sir! Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou!”
“Come on, get under the covers. Daddy's going to spoon you and play with your hair.”
“Mmm.” Spencer sighed happily and laid down next to his Daddy, pressed up close, feeling like he was wrapped up in a warm cocoon of happiness. Everything was perfect, and nothing was bad.
Notes:
Next up dood is 11/11
Chapter 18: Trivia
Summary:
Last chapter Spencer was at a hotel with Prof Hotch and Spencer got a lil bit of aftercare after he freaked that Hotch was leaving him all alone after he punish-fucked him nice and good.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“I’ve built a wall around me, never letting anybody inside
and trying not to venture outside myself.”
― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
The next few weeks flew by. Ethan was giving him space. That was okay. His classes were stimulating. He was getting fucked on the regular. He felt happy and wanted. Everything was great.
Then JJ cornered him after class and practically forced him into agreeing to go out with her, Emily, and Penny on Friday. That was not great. The thing was, he liked JJ, sure, but going out was not his cup of tea. He wanted to stay in his dorm and read, or go to a hotel and get railed. Not gossip with his sort-of girl friends.
When he asked Professor Hotchner if he could go out, because he was a good boy and good boys asked permission first, he was strangely ecstatic for him. For weeks he was telling Spencer that he needed to work on his interpersonal skills, and said this was the perfect opportunity. Spencer didn’t think he needed to do that, not really, so he never tried. Except now he was going to. It would make his friends happy, and his Dom, so fine. He’d go out on Friday.
Spencer checked in with Professor Hotchner when he was getting ready that night so he could pick out his outfit. They fell into a nice routine where Spencer would get a text from him every morning specifying how he wanted him to dress, whether it was a full outfit or just a particular shirt or shoes. Everyday was different. One day he made him come to class without any underwear. It all depended on Professor Hotchner’s mood, Spencer thought. The varying degrees of sadism always correlated to how sexual Professor Hotchner got with him. The more sadistic, the more sexual.
Today, though, Spencer texted him asking for instructions and what he got back was his tightest pair of black jeans, his light blue button up, dark blue vest, but no tie, and sleeves rolled up. He’d rather wear a sweater and baggy pants, but it wasn’t really his call anymore. And he probably did look better in what Professor Hotchner picked out. He was more adept in fashion than he would ever be.
Looking in the mirror, too, Spencer could appreciate that okay… he looked alright. Nothing too crazy, not exactly a model, but not a pile of garbage either. Plus Professor Hotchner gave him permission to wear his purple striped scarf which always made him happy as it reminded him of the 4th Doctor. He didn't tell Professor Hotchner that, though, in case he thought it was too immature and said he couldn't wear it. Omitting facts wasn’t exactly lying, and it wasn’t hurting anyone.
Professor Hotchner said to have his phone with him at all times so he tucked it into his back pocket and headed for the bus station where he was meeting JJ and the rest of them. They were already huddled up, looking cold, and waving frantically at him as he came near. He would never get used to someone being genuinely pleased to see him.
“Uh, hey.” Spencer gave them a half smile.
“Spence!” Penny squealed, running up and hugging him. “I can’t believe you came! I’m so happy! Boy genius, I missed you so much! You never hang out with me! Hang out with me moreeeee!”
“See? He showed up! I told you he’d come. Spencer’s true to his word. Right Spence?” JJ said. “Now you owe me five dollars. So fork it over, Prentiss.”
Emily rolled her eyes and dug around in her shoulder bag. “Spencer, I’m really glad you’re here, but shit, I’m gonna go broke. JJ is too good with these bets lately.”
“Hi, Penny,” he said into the fur of her jacket hood that was squished into his face. “Yeah, uh, we will.”
“You promise?!” Penny shook him side to side.
“We’re goona hit up trivia night at the Red Door, that cool with you, Spence?” Emily asked.
“Um, sure.” Actually that sounded not too bad at all.
“Come on, guys, the bus just pulled up,” JJ said, eyeing Penny and laughing. “Pen! Let him go!”
“Fine!” she huffed. “But don’t think I’m done with you, Mr.”
Spencer blushed then ducked his head. He pulled out his cell and typed out a message to Professor Hotchner, knowing that he’d be expecting updates.
Miss you, Sir. Leaving now. s.
His Nokia buzzed almost immediately in his pocket and he grinned, his heart swelling up, thinking about Professor Hotchner right next to his phone waiting to hear from him.
Have a good time, sweetheart. Thinking of you. No drinking. H.
yes, Sir. s.
Well, okay. There went his whole plan for the night. Alcohol helped loosen him up. He really wanted to drink- it made talking easier. Well, maybe not talking. He could do plenty of that, but it did lower his anxiety down to a tolerable amount and stop him from overthinking everything he said after the fact. His fingers twitched at the little keyboard. Maybe Professor Hotchner would let him if he explained himself? Clearly he wasn’t an alcoholic or anything. At the risk of getting punished, and please don’t let it be a spanking, he typed out another message and sent it to his Professor.
r u sure no drinking, Sir? Bc I can do just 1 or 2. I wnt get drunk. Promise. s.
The answer is no, Spencer. H.
That wasn’t fair.
why? Sir. s.
Because I said so. Now pay attention to your friends and stop whining like a child. H.
yes, Sir. i’m sorry, Sir. s.
Fine! He wasn’t whining. He was just asking. There was a difference. He has a right to know.
but shld I rlly have to blindly follw orders? y cnt u jst expln? s.
You’d better quit while you’re ahead, Spencer. No more talking back. I’ve had enough of this. One more time and you’ll be getting the paddle. You don’t want to find out what that feels like, do you? H.
no! I dnt. Obv. I was jst askng! It hlps me calm dwn cos I hate socializing. s.
Okay. 10 strikes. H.
no! wait. pls? I’m srry, Sir. s.
Go have fun, Spencer. H.
“Who’ya texting?” Penny peeped over at his phone in his lap. “Ooh. ‘H’. Who’s H?”
“Nobody!” Spencer gasped, shoving his cell in his pocket.
“Since when do you have a phone, Spence?” Emily looked at him funny. “Ethan always says he can’t text you cause you’re a technological cave man or something like that.”
“Your only flaw…” Penny sighed, pretending to be crestfallen. She loved computers. Breathed computers.
“Um, since recently. I don’t know.” Spencer shrugged. The bus hit a bump and he slid a bit in his seat. “He doesn’t know I have it yet, I guess, I never mentioned it.”
“Really? That’s weird,” Emily said.
“Is it? I don’t know.”
JJ nodded. “Yeah, totally is. I tell my best friend everything.”
“It’s true.” Emily nodded. “She does.”
Penny bumped him on the shoulder. “I tell my bff everything, too, she’s from Korea and we talk every single day on AIM. She knows everything. Every. Thing.”
“Oh, Seo Hyun Jin?” Spencer asked automatically. Penny told him three times over the past year.
“Oh my god, you remember!” She flashed him a huge smile, bouncing in her seat with excitement. Penny was like a fifth grader trapped inside of the body of a college kid who also accidentally fell into a vat of glitter glue.
“Yeah, I remember everything. It’s what I do.”
“Still, though, that’s really cool. This is why we’re friends.”
“And why we’re gonna smash trivia tonight!” Emily grinned.
The bus sputtered and came to a halt at the end of fifth avenue and everyone filed off. It was mostly college students looking to get twisted and shift workers going home for the day. Spencer wished he were going home like them. The bus pulled away as did his last chance for backing out.
The bar was loud. Loud, dark, and sticky. His shoe stuck to the bar floor the second he walked it and made a squick-e, squick-e sound with every step. Emily pulled them through a tangle of rowdy people into the trivia section where all the tables were lined with little index cards.
“Let’s get some shots!” Penny, of course, was bounding towards the bar before even sitting down.
“So, Spence, got any plans for winter break? Semester’s almost over.” Emily said, and JJ turned her attention over to him. “JJs leaving like always, ugh, with Will.” Emily looked over at JJ. “Where are you guys going, back to yours, or down to New Orleans again?
“We're gonna stay with my parents this time.”
Emily looked at Spencer who was wringing his hands in his lap. “So? Plans?”
“Mh, I don’t know. Probably staying. I never go home. I’ll probably take a winter course or write a paper or something.”
Emily frowned. “Booo! No, you should totally hang out with me over break since I’m not leaving either. It’ll be fun, I guarantee it.”
“Uh.” Professor Hotchner would want you to say yes. He’d be proud. “I guess. Maybe... That’d be alright.”
“Wait, really?” Her face lit up. “Spence, that’d be so cool!”
Spencer forced a smile.
She shoved a cell at him. “Can I have your phone number then?”
“Uhh…” he stalled. He’d have to ask. He didn’t know whether or not Professor Hotchner wanted him to text other people. He gave him the phone after all, he should be aware of how he’s using it.
Or maybe he should just be aware in general. It was too risky not to ask permission, not after the fact that he already earned 10 strikes for bad behavior already.
Penny came back with shots and set them on the table, sloshing them, spilling some of the liquid on the table. So much for keeping it clean. It’d be sticky all night now. He shuddered at the thought.
Emily was still looking at him expectantly.
“Uh, hold on.” He shot a text to Professor Hotchner hoping he’d answer quickly. He usually did.
Emily wnts my cell #. Am I allwd 2 give it 2 her? s.
Yes. But no texting. H.
“Uhhh… okay.” He stuttered. “But I can’t text.” He pressed his number into her phone and slid it back across the table. “Just to like, make plans, I guess.”
“Who were you just texting them?” She looked at him quizzically, picking up her shot from the table.
“Nobody.”
“Seems like somebody. If you don’t wanna text with me, that’s fine…”
“I just don’t have a lot of minutes.”
“Spence, here!” Penny slid a tiny glass towards him. “Let’s cheers!”
“No, thanks,” he murmured. He pushed it away with his finger. “Don’t drink.”
“Pffft. Since when? You drank with me and Will a couple months ago.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t anymore. Not thirsty. Don’t want it. Gotta stay, uh, sharp. For school.”
“That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard!” Emily laughed.
“No, no- it’s fine. Spence, you don’t have to drink, I was just curious,” JJ said.
“Yes he does! Boy wonder needs to loosen up!”
That much was true, Spencer thought. Fuck, he really wanted that shot. Just one shot? Why was Professor Hotchner being such a hardass today anyway?
The girls all did their shots and Penny did his too, rolling her eyes and giggling. She flung her arm around his shoulders and started singing pop songs that he wished he didn’t know the lyrics to.
At least he was being good. If anything came out of this night, it would be that he was being a good boy. Good boy, he thought, Professor Hotchner’s good boy.
The microphone buzzed over the loudspeakers and he winced. Noises, everywhere! It was hard to concentrate. “HELLO EVERYONE!”
Penny and Emily were still chattering to him but he deftly tried to tune them out. Instead he traced his finger through a puddle of water from the condensation of his glass of water and counted prime numbers backwards from 9999. Why. Was. Everything. So. Loud.
8389.
“Welcome to the Red Door’s bi-weekly trivia challenge night!”
8291, 8287, 8273.
“I’ll be your host tonight, DJ Ronnie D! What say we get started with some questions, huh?”
7993, 8009
“Everybody get out your index cards and your pencils. If you don’t have one I’d suggest finding one now, or you’re going to be shit of of luck real soon!”
7817, 7823, 7829, 7841, 7853
“Our first category is television! Whooo!”
“Yay, I love tv!” Penny squee’d.
“You love everything,” Emily laughed.
7487, 7489
“That’s true. I do.” She nodded seriously.
“Who provided the voice for the brainiac lab mouse Brain on the animated series "Pinky & the Brain" from 1995 to 1998?” DJ Ronnie D shouted.
“What the hell? What kind of question is that?” JJ snorted.
“I bet Spencer knows.” Penny stared at him. He really wanted her to stop. All three of them were looking at him.
7039, 7043, 7057
“Uhhhh.” He didn’t want to think. Everything was so loud.
6983, 6991, 6997
The microphone buzzed. “Everyone hold up your cards!”
“Spence, you okay?” JJ slid her hand over his and he looked her in the eye. Hers were so warm and concerned. Focus. Just focus.
6911
“M’good. Just… loud.”
6907
“Just breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Smell the flowers, blow out the candles.”
“I know. Excess CO2 exhalation. Regulating breathing, yeah. I know.”
6823
“So do it.” JJ said. So he did.
6473
Okay… okay. Everything is okay.
Spencer shook his head. “I’m okay. I’m sorry. Fuck. Sorry.”
“It’s okay Boy Wonder! Everyone has their moments!” Penny beamed. Where was the off switch on her?
No, Spencer thought, she’s being a good friend.
“Sh— thanks. Uh, girl wonder.”
“Ohmygod!!!” she giggled. “Did you see that, Em, he totally just gave me a nickname. I’ve been blessed by the gods. They’re shining down on me right now, I can feel it!” She fanned herself.
“Okay, and it looks like table 5 is our winner, The Red Hot Trivia Peppers! Everyone give them a round of applause!”
Spencer took in a deep breath. It was better now.
“Our next question is—” he sing-songed. “When the Doctor first meets little Amelia outside after he crashes the TARDIS, what food does he ask her for?”
“Oh, an apple!” Spencer pipes up automatically, the same time that Penny screamed “APPLE!” at the top of her lungs.
“Boy genius?! You like Dr. Who? OH MY GOD! This night just keeps getting better and better!”
“Oh, God, Spence. You’re in for it now.” JJ laughed, covering her face, trying to stifle her giggling.
“Twenty bucks says she ropes him into a marathon before the end of the week,” Em whispered to JJ, who smirked in return.
“Oh, you’re so on.”
“This is amaaaaazaballs!”
Spencer cracked a smile. Suddenly Penny was kind of... cool? She was a Dr. Who fan, after all.
They held up their sign for Apple and didn’t win, but only because Penny was too busy gushing over Spencer to notice that another team was holding up theirs first.
The questions flew by. They didn’t win, and that was okay. Spencer wasn’t their golden ticket; they were just there to have fun. Emily propped Penny up and had to walk her back to the bus at the end of the night. She drank a lot.
Goin home. Flwd the rules. Pnny is hammrd. I agrd 2 hang w Em ovr break. s.
That’s my good boy. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Text me when you’re back in your dorm. H.
Spencer reluctantly gave the girls hugs and walked back up to his dorm. Ethan was on the couch inside but didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t even look up from the TV screen. Spencer didn’t care. He shut the door to their room and took out his phone, his belly already flipping from happiness.
Home, Sir. s.
Take a shower and go to bed. H.
Yes, Sir. s.
Spencer laid down on his bed for just a moment. The whole day was exhausting. He closed his eyes for a second… just a second. Screw the shower. Fuck, he was tired.
When he opened his eyes again it was morning. A twinge of panic swelled up momentarily before he remembered that he wouldn’t see Professor Hotchner today. He could shoulder now that it was morning. Some things he still had to himself.
Notes:
Not a very sexy chapter. but. I'm excited for the next few to come. Next update is 11/15. Thanks to everyone that continues to read and stuff, seriously, you're great.
I am approaching 50k words hell ye. This is my longest fic so far
Chapter 19: F**K You, Ethan!!!
Summary:
Last chap Spencer and the girls went to trivia
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"There’s something horribly lonely about a place that’s almost home."
― Blake Crouch, Dark Matter
After classes on Thursday Spencer let himself into Hotch’s office and locked it behind him like he was instructed to. It was risky, but Hotch had ordered it, and Spencer didn’t want to disobey, so he kneeled naked in his office waiting for him to come by. Plus, he couldn’t deny the sick sort of excitement he got everytime someone passed by the door.
When Professor Hotchner walked in, the hair on the back of his neck pricked up. I could have been anyone. He held his head down and his arms behind his back in perfect submission. Naked as the day he was born, he was baring it all without so much as a flinch. Professor Hotchner had seen every inch of his body so there was no use in hiding it now.
Professor Hotchner grinned at him when he saw how small he looked. He told him to get against the desk, which is exactly what he did without a word. Then Professor Hotchner hoisted one of his legs up on the desk and sat behind him in his chair, letting him feel the tension and anticipation build up inside.
With one hand he squeezed Spencer’s ass cheek and Spencer moaned out into the office desperately. He spread his cheeks apart and leaned in, burying his face between them.
Oh, God! Spencer gasped and jerked his hips forward but Professor Hotchner pulled him right back.
“Sorry, Sir,” he whimpered with two thirds pleasure and one third wonder.
He only responded by growling into his ass; the vibration had him rolling his eyes into the back of his head. His tongue and his mouth and his movements, fuck— it felt like heaven on earth, if he believed in that sort of thing.
“Oh, god, Sir— oh, feels so- so good, oh, please.”
Abruptly, his tongue stopped lapping to push inside and Spencer didn’t know it could get better, but then it did and he was seeing stars. Literal stars. The milky way. The andromeda galaxy, all of it, all at once. Fuck, that tonuge. My god, Professor Hotchner was out to kill him.
Spencer grinned like a maniac at the revelation of what rimming felt like. Needless to say, it was his first time having a tongue explore his ass. Hell, almost everything with Professor was his first, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.
He was struggling to control his breathing, moans slipping out continuously, and his thigh shaking on the desk. The tongue slipped out, all hot and wet, then trailed down, grazing over his balls and his dick. Professor Hotchner lapped at his sensitive skin, sucking and licking and leaving soft little nibbles. He sucked one of Spencer’s balls right in his mouth and Spencer felt like he was going to pass the hell out. There was no way that that could be possible. What he was feeling just wasn’t possible; there was no way!
Professor Hotchner kept licking and licking at his cock and balls until he was so red hot and throbbing, his dick swinging heavy between his legs, and his rear end flushed the cutest shade of pink imaginable.
“Tell me who you belong to,” Professor Hotchner whispered against his ass. It was a miracle that Spencer could hear it over the shaking of his thigh.
“You, Sir. I belong to you. I’m yours!” he gasped.
“Mmh, that’s right, sweetheart, all mine. This cock, all mine. Mine. This cute ass, mine.”
“Yours, Sir. I’m all yours— oh, fuck,” he moaned.
“Such a good little slut.” He dipped his tongue inside Spencer again and again making him cry out. “Does my little whore want to cum?”
Spencer shook his head feverently. “Yes, Sir, please, I really wanna cum, oh God, please let me cum, Sir, I need it, I need it, I—”
“Always so needy, sweetheart.” He smiled. “Cum for me.”
Spencer released himself all over Professor Hotchner’s desk with the feeling of Professor Hotchner’s strong grip wrapped around him. Cum splattered all over his paperwork, pens and a stack of quizzes.
“Mmmh. Such a good boy. Always pent up and ready for me.”
“Yes, Sir, always,” he panted. “For you.”
“Come sit in my lap, baby,” he whispered behind him. Spencer backed up and slid his leg down from the desk to the floor where it wobbled precariously but held up. Moving back, he climbed up on his lap and cuddled on him, tucking his legs up and letting Professor Hotchner wrap his arms all the way around him. Being held was so nice. His head was heavy and lulling and feeling so blissful from his orgasm. He rested his head against his chest and hummed happily.
“So, Spencer. Winter break is coming up in a few weeks. I’ve made some arrangements for you.”
Spencer looked up at his dark, sloem face. “Arrangements? What kind of arrangements?”
“I’m speaking at a national conference—“
“Oh!” He squirmed in his arms with excitement. “The 35th Annual Forensic Psychology, Criminology and Psychopathology Conference? I heard about that.”
Hotch smirked and rolled his eyes. “Right. I’m sure you have. I’m speaking this year, and I’d like you to come.”
His face paled and his jaw dropped to his chin. “Really?! Me? You, you want me...?”
“Yes. Of course I want you there. Haven’t I ever told you before that you’re my favorite student?” He winked. “There are actually three other students coming as well. They’re upperclassmen in the Psychology program, but I had a special exception made for you, my little genius.”
“You don’t think… think that’s suspicious? Or, uh, favoritism?”
“What, that I want my most gifted student to earn a few credits and get the chance to network? Of course not.”
Spencer blushes at the praise. He ducked his head hoping it wouldn’t be seen, even if he was supposed to let Professor Hotchner see him embarrassed like he said before. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble…”
“Spencer, even if things weren’t the way that they are between us, I would still think you’re incredibly gifted and advocate for you to come.” He pressed a kiss to his forehead. “This is just an added bonus. Don’t worry; no one will know. You just be a good boy and act like normal for me. I know you’ve been to these before.”
“A Mathematics conference is hardly the same. It’s all, uh, nerds and equations and awkward silences.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure you’ll manage, Spence. Besides, I’ll be there with you.”
He smiled hazy and warm. “Mmmh. Thank you, Sir.”
“No need to thank me. You deserve it.”
. . .
Ethan hadn’t spoken a single word to Spencer since their fight about the clothes a couple months back. The tension in the dorm was palpable, and neither wanted to be the first to cave and make amends, but Spencer was leaving for his conference in the morning so he had to say something.
Just like Spencer didn’t enjoy going home on breaks, neither did Ethan. They had an unspoken agreement that they spent them together playing copious amounts of video games and watching all of Spencer's boring documentaries. It worked. It was company. It was friendship.
This winter, though, Spencer was leaving him to his own devices, not that it looked like he even cared. Ethan was sitting on the couch with his legs propped up on the coffee table, his feet sitting right on top of one of Spencer's ScienceDirect magazines. Cool. He was munching on a bag of Lays and generally ignoring his presence.
Spencer stood between him and the TV which wasn’t the best way to start off a conversation. He said he didn’t want to fight, but Ethan just shrugged. After he told Ethan, with a stern face and unwavering voice, that he had something important to say, Ethan shrugged again.
“Aren’t you even a little bit curious what it is?” he asked.
he looked to the side, trying to catch bits of the tv. Passive aggressiveness wasn’t a great tactic in problem solving, but it sure was effective in riling Spencer up.
“It’s important. Can’t you just have a single conversation with me? I mean, Jesus, are we still fighting over a bag of clothes? Why do you even care where I get my clothes? You’re so… so nosy. Let me live my life and get off my back for once.”
Ethan scoffed, looking up at him for the first time. “You think this is about your stupid fucking clothes? Fuck you, Spencer. You don’t know anything.”
“Well then what?” he groaned. “What did I do then?”
“For starters, you’re lying every single chance you get. First you got ‘mugged’ but you still had your wallet when we got back to the dorm, don’t think I didn’t notice that. Then your mom sent you a ton of money when she doesn't even have a job cause she’s in a hospital, and if she has money then why hasn’t she ever sent any before? ‘Cause I know you needed it. And third, where the fuck have you been going all the time? You don’t even come home some nights! Where are you staying?! What kind of shit have you gotten into?! Is it a girl? I mean, come on, Spence, if it’s a girl why won’t you just tell me? I thought I was your best friend? And, fuck, if it isn’t then I don’t even know what to think!”
Spencer paled, looking back at him in shock. Clearly, he did not expect an outburst like that, and it was obviously something that he’d been sitting on for a while. Spencer didn’t really think he was that observant, and since he never said anything about the first time he spent the night out, he didn’t think he cared. Apparently he did.
“For god's sake, Ethan, I’m not lying!” Spencer whined. “How many times am I go—”
“Until you tell me the truth! That’s how many times!”
He stopped his foot on the floor but failed to meet his eyes. Looking him in the eye… it seemed near impossible. “I am!”
“Bullshit!” Ethan shouted, getting up and throwing the bag down on the floor, spilling chips everywhere. “You haven't said one truthful thing to me in months! I’m fucking sick of it!”
“You’re an asshole! Why can’t you just be my friend? I don't need a warden, I need a friend!”
“What, you think you’re being a friend? Friends don’t lie to each other, Spence. ”
“Yeah, and friends don’t stick their noses in their friend’s business, either.” I’m that moment, he hated him. He hated him because he was making way too much sense. He hated him because he couldn’t bring himself to care. “You’re annoying, and maybe I’m lying cause I don’t want to tell you everything all the time. Maybe you aren’t my best friend.” He turned up his nose.
Ethan jerked to the side, fuming and clenching his firsts in a gross display of aggravation. “Oh, yeah? Then tell me, who the fuck is? HUH?” he hissed. “Cause I sure as hell don’t see any other fucking friends of yours around. I’m the only one you got.”
“That’s not—”
“Yeah, no, it’s true. I knew you were fucking annoying the day I met you. That’s why you don’t have any other friends, you know that? It’s cause you’re a know-it-all that doesn’t know when to shut up.” He moved toward Spencer, who was backing up into the tv console. “I didn’t care that you had your head up your own ass, at least you were honest, shit, that was what I liked about you. You always used to tell it how it is. Now—” Spencer could see the anger written on his face, “Now I don’t even recognize you anymore. You’re hiding more shit than Area 51. Just tell me. Tell me the truth!”
“No!” he retorted, head swimming.
Ethan grabbed at Spencer’s shirt collar. He flinched. He turned his head down, afraid, shaking his head no, just barely. “Fine, you’re not— I didn’t mean, Spencer come on!”
“Fuck— don’t—” Spencer whimpered. His hands were out in front of his chest as if Ethan was going to strike him. It was pathetic.
“Ugh. You can’t even…” Ethan scoffed, letting his shirt go and turning away from him. “Can’t even fucking fight.”
“I can too!” Spencer shouted into his hands, wet and hot, tears brimming in his eyelids. He felt weird and tense. Ethan was so annoying. Ethan was the annoying one. He wasn’t the annoying one. FUCK Ethan!
“FUCK YOU!” He screamed. Silence ensued.
“No, fuck you.” Ethan retorted, stone cold, from by the couch. “I’m done with you.”
It looked like he really meant it.
Spencer grabbed his suitcase from their room and left. Ethan didn’t say a word.
Notes:
Next update issss... 11/19. See you then!
Chapter 20: HOTCH
Summary:
Last chap Prof Hotch invited Spencer to a conference that he was speaking at, and then Spencer got into a big fight with Ethan
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“To serve is beautiful, but only if it is done with joy
and a whole heart and a free mind.”
― Pearl S. Buck
Everything was set and ready. Bags packed, papers written, teeth brushed. Spencer was texted and told to go to bed. Aaron was settled in for the night. His alarm clock was set to 4am, an hour before the train was scheduled to arrive in the morning, an hour he hadn’t seen in quite a while, not since his days back in the BAU working into the dead of night and the first hints of morning light.
His blackberry pinged.
Hotch? Sir? s.
Spencer was supposed to be asleep already. He gave direct orders. Aaron stared at the phone, frowning.
Go to sleep, Spencer. H.
The blackberry was placed back on the nightstand as that should be that. Go to sleep was direct. Go to sleep meant go to sleep, and Aaron always meant what he said. Spencer of all people knew that very well.
ping.
can I call u, Sir? not at the dorm. pls? need u. s.
Taking it upon himself instead, he dialed Spencer’s number so fast it barely gave him a breath in between. There was no way that he’d let anything happen to his boy. He was up out of his bed pacing the room and cursing the rings as they sounded out, silently ordering him to pick up already.
“Professor...?” His voice came through clearly laced with tears.
“Spencer, where are you? Tell me where you are, now,” he demanded.
“Um, I’m just on campus… outside of Sedder’s Hall, but It’s closed… obviously, it’s late, I just, uh… didn’t, I don’t know where to go. Didn’t know what to do…” he breathed out, shaky and low, coming down to a whisper. “I need you, Sir.”
“Are you hurt? Tell me what happened. I’m coming to get you.”
Sniffles came through the line. Hotch frowned. “Ethan and I had a fight… I didn’t wanna stay there anymore. I didn’t think about where I’d go, I just had to get out of there.”
“Did he hurt you? Don’t tell me he hurt you, Spencer, I swear to god if he laid a finger on you—”
“No.” His voice was breaking. Hotch’s heart was, too. “He didn’t. Just, I don’t think we’re friends anymore.”
“Okay,” he replied. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, sweetheart. Don’t move a muscle. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir.” It always sounded so sweet coming from him. “Um, am I coming over to your house? Can I?”
Hotch let out a sigh, his phone wedged between his ear and shoulder as he climbed in his SUV and started the engine. “Spence, sweetheart, no. I’m taking you to a hotel, you can spend the night there.”
“Really? But, wouldn’t it just be easier—”
“No.” Aaron didn’t like the way he was talking back. “I said no. Drop it.”
“O-Okay,” he stuttered. Afraid. “Are you going to spend the night with me there?”
“No, baby. I’m leaving now. I’ll call you when I’m there.”
He clicked the line dead. In the resulting silence his stomach twisted all up in knots, not really sure if it was because Spencer was in trouble or because he was asking for more than he was willing to give. Bringing him home would be crossing a line that he didn’t want to cross. He wasn’t ready for that kind of emotional confirmation. He wasn’t ready to admit just how much he had grown on him. So, no, he wasn’t allowed over.
Though, he would look damn good ass up, spread across his bed, and maybe he really wanted him back home; maybe that was too hard to repress. Just the thought of him kneeling naked on the floor by the couch while he worked was thought enough to drive him wild with want, and— no, no.
Spencer was caved in on himself, crying into his arms when he pulled in the lot. As soon as they were in the car he scooped him up in a hug and kissed him, telling him not to scare him like that again, and he meant it.
Being angry at Spencer was hard when he looked like that, though, with his eyes stained red from crying, and his hair flying in all different directions. Fragile, afraid, and lost; he needed him.
“Come here, baby,” Aaron whispered against his neck. It was salty and moist. Spencer sucked in a big breath and it quivered in his throat like a bow strung too tight. “Daddy’s got you. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Those were exactly the right words to say; Spencer broke open, sobbing into his shoulder. His whole body wracked up and down. Little whimpers escaped his lips and he just cried.
“Everything’s going to be okay. I’ve got you. It’s okay. Everything’s okay,” he poured into his ear. “My boy. Daddy’s here for you. That’s it, just let it out.” Over and over. As long as he needed it, Aaron would keep his voice calm and strong for his boy.
He surprised even himself how easily it came to him, the words to calm Spencer down, and it was a strange feeling to say the least. He’d never done this before; comforting someone had never been his forté. He nuzzled his nose into the hip of Spencer’s head, soft curled tickling his face, and he murmured against them. When Haley used to cry he never responded like this. He remembered stressed words at 2am trying to get the right sentiments out, the ones he thought she wanted to hear, but only ever making things worse. Something in his boy’s big desperate eyes spoke to him, guided him. It was easy, like cutting through a stick of butter. “Daddy’s here,” he cooed. “Daddy’s going to make it all better.” It felt right.
He dropped Spencer off at The Marriott. Well, he tried to drop Spencer off, but there was no way that he was going to leave him alone when he looked like that.
Instead of hugging him goodbye, he followed him up to the room and joined him in bed, letting him rest his head on his chest and having him tell him everything.
Aaron didn’t ask Spencer to stop talking once he started on his stream of consciousness; it was far too rare for Spencer to really let his walls down and talk about his feelings, he couldn’t risk shutting him down. He wanted to hear every bit of emotion that escaped his lips. Aaron didn’t care much for research articles, he could read those himself. What he really craved was what went on in his brilliant boy’s brain. He wanted feelings, thoughts. Inside he could only imagine a beautiful disaster. It was everything that made him human, made him vulnerable.
So Spencer cried and spilled all his worries about Ethan and their fight, how he had to lie about so many things, and Aaron felt a stabbing pain right in his chest learning about the kick off. Spencer didn’t deserve that… Spencer didn’t deserve to have to lie and lose friendships over something vile that he did, something like that. But there wasn’t anything he could say to fix it, and he wasn’t about to give him permission to tell his friend the truth. That would complicate things too much. That would leave room for too many questions, questions they couldn’t afford, and Spencer was so obviously asking him for that permission in between the lines, even if he didn’t realize it.
Aaron saw right through him. His actions, while genuine, were completely textbook. He couldn’t give him the one thing he needed, but he could give him a close second. In lieu of his blessing, he held him close and ran his fingers gently through his hair, listening to him cry, and it seemed to be enough.
One day he’d make up for it. One day he’d make up for everything. He closed his eyes and took in the scent of his coconut shampoo while he comforted him. His boy deserved the world.
. . .
Four am struck him and Spencer with a jolt to the tune of Hells Bells by AC/DC blaring on the hotel alarm clock, staticky yet distinct in its 6 chord screaming, and he hurried them out of the hotel without any breakfast or coffee.
Spencer had his bags packed and despite his protests he dropped him off at the train station to wait for him while he went home and got his own luggage. There was no chance on God’s green earth that he would arrive at the same time as that boy in front of a bunch of nosy college kids. He didn’t care how much Spencer pouted. (It didn’t hurt that the pouting was charmingly adorable, either)
There were two students from his Advanced Criminology class, one from Applied Forensics, and then there was Spencer. He would have rather taken him alone, but things are never that easy.
Spencer sat across from him on the train. Everything else was background noise. The chattering of the young adults he was supervising, the metal on metal screeching that sounded out continuously as they sped down the tracks, the broken static of the overhead radio trying to pump out music.
All he could do was stare at that face cast in a bright white gold glow shining in from the window as the sun rose in the east, the way it fell off his eyelashes and poured onto his cheeks. The slope of his shoulder, his slight build, everything. He was an angel. Spencer was his angel, beautiful and delicate like a porcelain doll.
Their feet almost touched in between them. Almost. Spencer was all legs. All limbs, really, lanky like the spindly Loblolly pines that grew back home in Virginia. So thin you could snap him in half, and he wanted to.
He wanted to kick against his shoe, make him look over with those big, impressionable eyes and blush, wanted to make him smile. He wanted to make him anything, but Spencer held firm on his gaze out the window, never wavering even for a second.
Aaron followed his eyes but it was nothing special, just passing trees, passing houses. He was looking beyond that, somewhere in his mind's eye. Aaron’s face fell, coming to the realization that he may never fully understand what went on beyond that pretty face. Profiling could only bring him so far; emotional entanglements were an entirely different beast. He could hardly understand a normal person at the best of times, let alone a genius at the worst.
Criminals? Sure. But moody, emotional, young adults? Not a chance.
But maybe understanding was overrated. Aaron nudged his foot against Spencer’s and he drew his eyes away from the window, slow like honey, and then he smiled. He blushed, ducked his head, bit his lip. Maybe whatever this was, was enough. Besides, he had time.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Thirty two speakers, three days, and forty scheduled events, but only one held Spencer’s attention. He was there for Professor Hotchner. The man that owned him; every part of him, from his body to his heart, and every part of his mind. He was there to watch his lips move. Watch him command a room. Listen to every beautiful thing that spilled out of his mouth. That handsome, skillful mouth.
The students from Advanced Criminology left almost immediately after they walked in the door. What were their names, Laura? Andrew? He wasn’t listening when they made introductions. The third girl, though, the one from Applied Forensics, her name was Lila, and he knew that because she would not stop talking to him. She was post-grad and studying to become a financial services and card fraud Specialist, said her acting career went belly up a few years back and she decided to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Probably a good move in the long run, really.
“Do you want to sit with me? There’s a lecture starting up in auditorium B in five minutes. Come on, it’s right over there.” Lila brushed her blonde hair off her shoulders and gave him a million dollar smile. Spencer didn’t care much for the smile.
Instead, he turned to Professor Hotchner, looking for permission, and he nodded, so Spencer followed her in.
“You know, you’re really lucky to be here, Spencer,” Lila whispered to him. They were seated towards the back of the hall, and the speaker was just taking the stage. “I’ve never seen anyone that was still an undergraduate allowed.” She pressed her hand down against her skirt and laughed a little, turning towards him. “I’m kind of jealous, actually. I always wanted to attend when I was still an undergrad. This is my second, now. It’s really great for networking, you know? Getting your name out there. Everyone is here. That’s really how you get into the field you want. It's all who you know. You’re getting a huge jumpstart.”
Spencer leaned in too, whispering low, “I’m working on my PhD in Chemistry.”
“Oh! I thought you said you were in your first year in psych? Okay, That makes more sense.”
“No, I’m doing both.” He straightened back up. The speaker was about to begin.
“Both...?” Shelooked at him with her lips turned down in a twisty frown. “No way you’re doing— Oh.” She trailed off, her voice faltering, “You’re that kid. The genius.”
“Yeah,” he replied. “That’s me. Now shhh.”
. . .
Spencer and Lila were getting along swimmingly, and Spencer was pleasantly surprised about it. She could hold her weight talking about the course material, and it seemed like she did a lot of preparation for the event.
Everything was absolutely perfect. All the nerves in his body quieted down. He had a myriad of lectures to look forward to, Hotch close by for three whole days, and he had a new friend who was smart, funny, and super interested in him: they were already glued at the hip. He couldn’t go anywhere without her tagging along and for once he didn’t mind.
The only thing that would make it better, he mused, was if Hotch, Professor Hotchner, could be with him too. Not across the room, sneaking glances when they could, but sitting right next to him. Thigh touching, heat sharing, closeness. Not even three hours passed by and he ached for it. There were only so many times he could shoot Professor Hotchner pleading eyes before they would become a little too obvious. Lila was there watching him like a hawk.
So he got through the second lecture without falling completely apart, and Lila fed him a steady stream of jokes which helped distract him from how much he needed Professor Hotchner. He was grabbing the underside of his chair when his phone buzzed and, yes! Finally, some attention!
Go to the bathroom in the west wing in five minutes. H
“Oh! This guy is totally amazing— he wrote that paper on behavior in modern day prison systems. He’s a wizard when it comes to analyzing people. I bet he’d make a great profiler.” Lila nodded toward the speaker, a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair.
“Mmh. I read that,” he replied, absentmindedly. There was nothing more important than that text, and his thumbs were scrambling to push in the little buttons.
yes, Sir! s.
“Okay, so— two behaviorists finish having sex. The one turns to the other and says, “That was great for you; how was it for me?” Lila grinned at him. “...Hello? Earth to Spencer? What are you smiling at?” She waved her hand in front of his vacant face.
“Huh? Oh, nothing. That’s funny, I get it. Behaviorists,” he mumbled. “I gotta go to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a bit.”
She looked back at him retreating towards the door. “Don’t be long!”
Spencer shoved his phone in his pocket and hurried up the aisle, way too excited to wait five entire minutes. He slid into the bathroom and checked himself out in the mirror. Professor Hotchner would probably get there in seven minutes. Five for the wait and two for the walk and- ew was that a zit? He leaned in and poked at his chin. His skin was always so clear. He frowned. Maybe it was because he didn’t usually look in the mirror. Maybe he always had them and never paid attention.
He paid attention now, though, because someone was going to be looking at him. Really looking. Admiring, even. Professor Hotchner was always saying how beautiful he was… was he really beautiful? There were those big loose waves in his hair— which was long for a boy— and he didn’t even brush it that morning. Was there a brush in this bathroom? And those bags under his eyes were looking dark. He ran his hand through his hair; it snagged on a tangle, and he groaned. He didn’t hear the bathroom door open.
When Professor Hotchner came up behind him his eyes went wide and he gasped. “—oh! Hotch, Sir!” He spun around and engulfed him in a hug. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too, Spence,” he cooed. “C’mon, anyone can walk in here, get in the stall.”
“Yes sir,” he chirped. “Wait—” he opened the door. Off colored beige. “Um, no, yeah. Okay.”
“What’s the matter?” He looked down at him.
“Nothing.”
“Are you green?”
“Yeah,” he replied. The venting fan was whirring overhead.
“I brought something for you.” Professor Hotchner leaned down to kiss his forehead before showing him the little black plug he was holding in his hand.
“For me?”
“Yes, sweetheart. To remind you of me all day. To make sure you can’t forget who you belong to.”
“I would never forget—”
Professor Hotchner laughed. “I think you’ll enjoy this particular reminder.” And he winked. “Turn around, take down your pants.”
He stalled. Professor Hotchner didn’t say anything else. He turned and slid his pants down. The bathroom was cold.
Professor Hotchner was hot up against his bare ass and his mouth hot up against his neck placing kisses down it. It was really stuffy in the stall. Hotch put a finger in his mouth. He sucked it. The same finger went up his ass. It felt good. Professor Hotchner was so close. He needed him. He whimpered.
“Need you, Sir…” he heard himself saying in a forigen voice, so desperate and broken. “Need you.”
His ass was hot and tingling, that familiar pleasure spreading throughout him. Professor Hotchner scissored his fingers and he knew the plug was coming soon. He was almost loosened up.
The idea of Professor Hotchner’s plug up his ass was the most arousing idea he’d ever thought of. He’d be fighting a hardon for the rest of the day and that warm feeling of being special was spreading all through his limbs. They had a special secret, just the two of them.
Pop.
Back to reality. The plug was in. Full. So full. His ass was so full.
“Mmh.”
“Feels good, sweetheart?” he whispered against his ear. It made him shiver.
“Yes, Sir.” It really did.
It wasn’t nearly as big asProfessor Hotchner, but the constant pressure was amazing. All the blood in his body decided that his dick was the place to be. Hotch kissed his cheek and told him hands off. Spencer didn’t think that was very fair.
“No taking that out. Understood?”
That wasn’t something he had to clarify. Spencer wouldn’t do anything without his say-so. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”
“Good. Now get back out there, my little slut. I’m going to watch you squirm.”
Fuck.
Notes:
Thanks for everyone that's continuing to read! Writing is a huge destressing mechanism for me most of the time, and this fic I wrote, am and still writing, though some troubling stuff. It was my coping mechanism to whump the hell out of Spencer while life was whumping me.
ANYHOW, love you guys, CM fandom peeps are a top notch bunch. Next update will be 11/24
Chapter 21: This Ain't a Scene, It's-
Summary:
Last chapter Spencer went to a conference with Prof Hotch and got a plug up his ass.
Notes:
TW for panic attack. Please read with this in mind. Thank you, stay safe and remember that this is fiction and Hotch is an UNSUB. <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“I won't apologize
for acting outta line
You see the way I am
You leave any time you can 'cuz
I'm crazy and I'm hurt
Head on my shoulders
Going... berserk!
Crazy! Crazy! Crazy! Crazy!”
― Black Flag, 'Nervous Breakdown'
Lila didn’t say a word when he winced sitting down; maybe she didn’t notice. But Spencer felt like everyone could see exactly everything he was doing and thinking like his life was on channel 5 news and everyone was watching. This just in: Slutty Boy of Twenty-two Takes Professor’s Plug Up Ass During Dirty Kink Play!
God, he was being so obvious, wasn’t he?
Somehow his cheeks got redder and his blush stayed strong for the rest of the presentation. Every little move he made sent electric waves up his body. His satchel was taking up residence in his lap because otherwise, he’d be sporting a tent so tall he’d have to pay a mortgage. Oh— no. Again, with the moving. The plug rubbed up inside him and, mmmmh. Stifling his moans was a hard game to play.
“Spenceyy!” Lila whispered in his ear. “How about after this we get lunch?”
“Yeah,” he squeaked. “Lunch.”
There was no way he was going to make it to lunch alive.
Except for the fact that he was standing in line for subs next to Lila and he was still breathing, so okay, he lived. Not exactly a revelation. His satchel was still doing god’s work, though. He adjusted the strap and got it at just the right height to cover his crotch.
Walking was ten times worse than sitting down.
Hotch was looking at him with a sly grin and he looked back blushing profusely, biting his lip. That evil man. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew exactly the way he was making him feel powerless, owned, and utterly under his control. He was sitting at a table next to two other men in suits, and he wished so badly that he would call him over.
No. As luck would have it, Lila ushered him, food in hand, towards another table and started introducing him to a Psychology professor from UPenn, making them shake hands which, first of all, ew, and second of all, how could he focus with… with… well, with the plug.
“Nice to meet you, Spencer,” he said. Spencer wiped his hand on his pant leg.
“You too. I’m excited to hear your lecture on neurolinking development in adolescents tomorrow at 3:15 pm.”
“Oh.” He laughed, turned to Lila, and made a face. “You're very thorough, young man.”
“He is. He’s very smart. Psychology is his third degree, actually,” she said. “I myself am doing post-grad work on the real—” He tuned her out. Didn’t really care.
Professor Hotchner was looking at him from across the room with those dark smoldering eyes. My God, he thought, how can he leave him like this?
Lila was pulling him again, this time towards another group of people and he scarfed down his sandwich before he was thrust in front of another Professor, and then another, and another— he didn’t know there was going to be so much talking. It wasn’t even about anything interesting, either, just mindless small talk. Goddamn small talk. He couldn’t care less about the weather or the food.
His ass was still burning with pleasure, stretched wide around the plug, and Lila dragged him by the wrist to another suit-wearing professional. One too many, he was at his wit's end, right about to complain when… okay, this one was pretty young, actually. He didn’t look a day over 23.
“Spencer Reid,” he said. For the thousandth time.
“Dr. Oliver Owens.” The man smiled. He was all perfect white teeth and squinty eyes. His golden hair was combed to the side so that a few stray locks fell over his blue eyes. He looked rather good for someone that was supposed to be speaking. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“And you as well, Sir.” Spencer smiled. He stuck his hand out for a shake.
“I’m Lila Archer!” Right, she was still standing next to him.
Dr. Owens’s eyes fixated on him. “And what field are you in, Spencer?”
“Psychology. For now. Also Chemistry, for my PhD.”
Owens grinned. “Oh, is that so? Well, look at you, Ace. Have a few more under your belt too, I’m sure?”
“I’m getting my—” Lila tried.
Spencer flushed. “Yes. Engineering and Mathematics.”
“I’ve got five myself,” he said.
“Really?” Spencer grinned. “In what? How old are you?”
“Not much older than you, I would think. I’m 25, and they’re in Chemistry, Sociology, Criminology, Psychology, obviously, and philosophy.”
“Philosophy?” Spencer imagined a man like Dr. Owens pouring over the pages of Kant and Descartes. “That's interesting.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Spencer grinned.
“Ah, Dr. Owens.” Spencer’s heart fluttered— Professor Hotchner!
“Agent Hotchner, how are you doing?” Owens smiled. “It’s been a while.”
“Just fine. I see you’ve met my student, Mr. Reid here.” He laid his hand on the small of his back and, ah, he really needed that. Butterflies erupted in his belly. He shifted on his feet- oh, the plug.
“Oh, yes. Spencer and I were having quite the chat, weren’t we?” he winked.
“Yes, Sir.” Spencer couldn’t help but grin. Dr. Owens’s eyes were so inviting.
Hotch’s were cold when he chanced a look over. Oh, no. what was that look for? That look was deadly.
“Always interesting to meet another child prodigy, Hotchner. Can’t say I have the pleasure of doing so every day. Us oddballs have to stick together, right, Ace?” He turned his head and winked.
Oh, god.
Spencer looked up at Professor Hotchner behind squinted eyes. He knew he was stretching his luck. He knew from the way that the hand on his back was tense and gripping the back of his suit jacket with a fatal intensity that this conversation was not going in his favor.
And he knew what he was about to say wasn’t going to help in the slightest, but he couldn’t stop it from leaving his mouth.
“Yes, Sir.” He looked back at Dr. Owens and smiled. The hand twitched on his lower back. “Absolutely.”
Stop it, Spencer!
“Well, I’ve got to get back to the main hall, there’s a very ancy forensics tech waiting for me. But, here, Spence.” He slid his hand into his suit pocket. “My card. If you’re interested in collaborating, or anything really, don’t hesitate to give me a call.”
He took it. “Thank you, Sir. I will.”
Hotch was frowning.
“Oh, and Ace?” Dr. Owens looked back. “You can call me Oliver.”
Spencer blushed, mumbling under his breath, “Oliver”.
When Oliver left, Professor Hotchner’s hand slipped from his back and gripped around his wrist very tightly.
“Sir?” he said, his voice low with uncertainty. There wasn’t any need to be uncertain. Professor Hotchner was easy enough to read in the fact that he was livid and about to show him just how much.
His face was cold and Spencer shivered at the sight.
But Professor Hotchner let it pass so easy that the frown fell off his face with the touch of a passing breeze, and what was left behind was calculatingly emotionless. Everything else had seeped right into his voice.
“Give me the card,” he said.
Spencer’s mouth was dry. His tongue didn’t feel like it was supposed to be in there “No.”
“Spencer, I’m not going to ask you again.”
His hand was out. He didn’t want to give him the card. It was his card. He wanted it. He liked Dr. Owens, Oliver.
“No!” He tucked the card under his sleeve, making it vanish like magic.
Hotch leaned in even closer. “Lower your voice. You’re going to make a scene.”
“I don’t care!” Spencer stepped back. Ah, the plug.
“Don’t be a brat, Spencer.” He grabbed his wrist again, and whispered vehemently in his ear, “You know exactly what you’re doing. Don’t forget I used to be a profiler for the FBI. I can read you like a book, sweetheart.” His grip tightened. “You want to call him Sir, hm? Bat your pretty eyes at him? You little cock tease. Think you’re clever? Were you trying to get me riled up? Wanted me to bend you over and fuck you? Is that what you wanted, little whore?”
“No, Sir. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“Like hell, you didn’t. You’re smarter than that,” he growled.
“I didn’t! I’m not!
“No boy of mine is going to be making eyes at men right in front of me. Need I remind you who you belong to?” he rasped. “You’re mine. I own you. Never forget that.”
“No— S-Sir, I-I-”
“Tell me who you belong to, Spencer.”
“Y-You, Sir. I’m sorry! You,” he gasped.
Was it getting hotter? The room felt smaller. He yanked his wrist away and stumbled backward into a group of people, “Crap! I’m so sorry— Excuse me, sorry—”
“Spencer! Where are you going?” Professor Hotchner called after him. He was already halfway across the room, breathing fast, head spinning.
He needed someone. He needed to be alone. Fuck— what did he need? He needed something, but he didn’t know what. He weaved through tables and people chattering, through the dining hall, near the ice machine in the back and leaned against it. The metal felt icy cold against his back and he let out a long sigh.
His head was starting to pound. Thump. Thump. Thump. The blood rushed against the walls of his skull. The pressure was rising. It hurt. It spun. He was faintly dizzy, but mostly it just hurt. The plug sat snugly in his ass, still stretching him wide.
He pulled out his cell and plugged in the number of the only person he wanted to talk to.
202649388 Ethan? Need ur hlp S.
Who is this?
Spencer Reid S.
Since when do you have a phone?
I rlly need u Ethan S.
How did you know my number?
I rembr stff. Sw it once. Ethan pls? S.
What’s wrong?
I cnt tell u. I jst… I rlly need a friend rght nw pls S.
This again? Fuck you, Spencer. I meant what I said. I’m done.
Ethan! S.
Pls! S.
Ethan I knw ur gttng ths! Pls! S.
pls? S.
Spencer blinked hard and fast, trying not to let himself tear up. The chairs across from him looked blurry, and the sconces on the wall looked like starbursts of shining light. No crying! One big breath in, one big breath out.
His heart was still beating wildly in his chest. “Gotta… gotta get out of here…” he mumbled and peeled his shirt off of the freezing metal he was leaning against. It stung like needles in his back. Cold. He stumbled forward into the hallway, and someone’s voice floated towards him— he knew that voice. Lila!
He hurried over— there Lila was, all blonde hair and peppy attitude— talking to another Professional Whatever about who knows what. But, no, her shoulders were slumped forward, that was weird, and her arms were crossed against her chest and that look on her face— Spencer had seen that look before.
He came up behind the man who was standing tall in front of Lila, towering over her, talking to her in a sickening voice, saying something about her clothing, or her hair or something else that Spencer didn’t even bother to listen to because Lila obviously needed some help and now was not the time for listening, it was time for action, or else who knew what that sick old man was going to do to his friend?! He couldn’t let this guy get his greasy hands on her— “Hey! You! Get away from her!”
“Excuse me?” said the greasy man. He turned around to meet Spencer’s eyes. “And who are you?”
“You get away from my friend right now!”
“I think you have the wrong idea young man, I was just—”
“No, I know exactly what you were ‘just’,” he hissed.
“Hey! Spencer! Stop!” Lila sounded so far away. He had to save her.
He stepped forward, putting all his weight into his right foot he slammed his fist into the old man.
“Oh my God!” Lila screamed, and this time it was upfront and center, piercing his ears, ringing out through the hall, echoing against the high ceilings. No, no, no, no. What did he do? Hotch was going to kill him!
But he HAD to! He had to. Lila needed him, he had to. The old man didn't get up. He stumbled back, hit the ground right on his ass, and sat there like a beached whale. His face was red and he was scowling; he looked disgusting. As disgusting as he was on the inside. Fuck that guy! FUCK HIM.
“Spencer, what did you do?!” Lila was yelling so LOUD. Why was she yelling at him?!
“Stop!” he shouted. His hands were covering his face. His heart was beating fast. People were starting to gather around. The man was still sitting on the floor. Couldn't that old geezer just get the hell up? Wasn’t he going to fight back? Sick old man didn’t have it in him? Not too old to harass a young woman, but too old to fight? Bullshit!
“Fuck you!” he hissed. Thump. Thump. Thump. his head was still pounding. His heart was racing. He needed to wash his fist. Sweat was dripping down the side of his head. He couldn’t catch his breath. Why couldn’t he catch his breath?
“You need to leave.” Lila swore, and her hands were on him, pushing him away.
“Don’t touch me!” he screamed. Everyone was looking. There were so many eyeballs. “Don’t touch me!”
“Okay.. okay.” She backed up, looking at him like she was scared. Maybe she should be.
He dropped down to his knees and no one came close to him. Wheezing and rocking back and forth, he sat with his head in his hands. Everything was so very loud, hot, and busy.
People were talking and buzzing in the background. The scene played out like a movie before him but he wasn’t watching the screen. He was looking at his phone and trying to steady it in his shaking hands. He needed Ethan. He needed Ethan now. Screw everything, Ethan would understand. Ethan was his best friend. Or maybe he wasn’t, but maybe he would be again? God. It was so hard to breathe.
Ethan pls im srry I’ll tell u evrythng im so srry cn u cme pick me up— “Hey!” Spencer clutched his cell in his hand; he couldn’t finish writing his message because someone was pulling him up off the floor.
“Get off! Get OFF ME!” he shrieked.
They didn’t listen. They were dragging him through the hall. The scene was getting farther away and he couldn't focus on where they were going.
“Stop struggling,” the voice finally said, and oh, Professor Hotchner. Who else could it be? He jerked him to the right. Through a closed door. Then a second. Standing still. Breathing fast. Professor Hotchner was staring at him, but he couldn’t keep his eyes in one spot.
A venting fan was whirring overhead. His wrist hurt. He was dragged all the way back to the bathroom. It was cold. Somebody was in the next stall. They were beige. The floor was dry but sticky.
“I—I—” Spencer stuttered. The man in the next stall came out and started washing his hands. He was trying not to look at them.
“What the hell was going on back there?” He was so close to him he could feel his body heat. His eyes were boring holes into his head.
“I-I- don’t—I couldn’t— he—”
The light overhead was making a sparking sound like the wiring was slightly off. vzzzzzzt.
“What, Spencer?” he barked. “He was networking with your friend? He was going to give a lecture on psychosomatic somatoform disorders, what? What did he do? Answer me.”
The man shuffled awkwardly around them. Spencer’s eyed trailed his every movement. Don’t go! Don’t. Don’t leave me alone in here!
“He- he was harassing her— he—” Spencer looked around wildly. “Couldn't let him— couldn't let him hurt her.”
The man left. Professor Hotchner stepped closer. “You don’t go around assaulting people, Spencer, I thought you were smarter than that!”
“I had to!” He threaded his hands through his hair, breathing feverishly.
“You were bad, Spencer,” he said, pushing him into the stall. He turned him around and kicked his foot between his legs.
Spencer braced his palms up against the beige plastic. His thoughts were spinning. The fan was buzzing. Professor Hotchner was breathing hot on his neck. Hotch was angry.
The faucet was dripping. He couldn’t see anything but the baby blue stall— no, beige. He blinked. His fingers slid down the plastic. His wrist still hurt. His ass was full. Hotch was behind him. The fan was whirring.
9973, 9967, 9949, 9941
Numbers. Prime numbers.
“Disrespectful boy.” His hands were behind his back. Cheek against the stall. Breathing hitched. Eyes shut. Professor.
9931, 9929, 9923, 9907, 9901, 9887
“Tell me you’ll behave yourself from now on, Spencer,” he demanded.
9883, 9871, 9859, 9857, 9851, 9839, 9833
“I didn’t do—” He was breathing so fast, it was hard to catch a breath. “—anything wrong!”
9769, 9781, 9787, 9791, 9803, 9811, 9817, 9829
“Like hell you didn’t,” he snapped.
9689, 9697, 9719, 9721, 9733, 9739, 9743, 9749, 9767
The fan was getting louder. The sink wasn’t turned off. It was drip, drip, dripping. Professor Hotchner was pressed up behind him so hard.
His arms were trapped behind him when all he wanted to do was cover his face. He couldn’t move; his cheek was pressed into the stall. His legs were wide apart. The plug. God, the plug. The fan was whirring. He couldn't breathe. There was no more oxygen left. They breathed up all the oxygen in the bathroom— they needed to open a window— oh, it was really hot— was it getting darker? Did Professor Hotchner turn off the lights? Why couldn’t he move his arms? God, he really wanted to go outside for some oxygen. He couldn’t breathe. His knees were quivering. Buckling. He was on the ground again. The sticky bathroom floor. Sticky and wet and grimy all on his nice dress pants, his jeans, fuck, it didn’t matter what he was wearing, he couldn’t breathe! Where was al the fucking oxygen?! What happened to the numbers?! Fuck, fuck— prime numbers, which were prime? He couldn’t remember. No, He remembered everything.
“Hey— Spencer—” Someone grabbed his arm.
“No! Let go! Let me go!” He jerked his arm back; it crashed into the baby blue stall. “Get— get off— off— go away— let me— FUCK!“
“Spencer, you’re having a panic attack.” Someone was talking to him from far away. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be outside with the oxygen. He wanted to be in his dorm. In his bed. Under the covers. Where nothing ever happened. Ever. Nothing.
“Sweetheart— Spencer—oh, Sweetheart.” They touched him again! Stop that!
“Just breathe.” How could he breathe?!
“Breathe, Spencer.”
He couldn’t! He was going to die there on that still. Suffocate and die. “I’m going to die!”
“You’re going to be okay, Spencer, you’re having a panic attack. Breathe. Big breath, Honey, come on, you can do it!.”
“No! No! I can’t! I can’t!” He couldn’t.
Fuck! Why did they keep touching him!? “Let go!” he hissed.
“Sorry, okay, just. Count? Okay? Can you count? No more breathing. 1, 2, 3… Sweetheart, come on.”
No!
“4, 5, 6, 7… You can do it.”
God, who even— basic numbers— why even count like that— ah, the oxygen— prime are so much better.
“8, 9–“
“9679,” he panted. “9677.”
“Okay—” The voice was laughing. “That works, sure. Keep going.”
“9539, 9547, 9551, 9587, 9601, 9613, 9619, 9623, 9629, 9631, 9643, 9649, 9661”
“Good boy.”
“M’not—” Ah. “9649”
The lights were back on. “9643”
He took a breath. “9631” He wasn’t going to die.
He looked up. “9629”
Breath in.
Hotch.
Breath out.
“I’m sorry, Hotch.”
“Are you okay?” He was kneeling down next to him. His pants were going to be grimy. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“No, I’m not okay,” he replied. He wasn’t. “Take this plug out of me. I want to go home. I want Ethan. I want, I don’t know, Penny.”
He paused, still shaking, and his voice faltered. “I want… my Daddy.”
Hotch sighed, big and breathy next to him. His cologne was strong and stung his nose. “I’m right here Spence. I’m always here.” Spencer wiggled forward and hugged him. He wouldn’t cry. He didn’t need to. But, God, Daddy always made him feel like it was okay to break apart.
Too bad he already did.
“Come on, sweetheart, up on your feet. No more of this dirty floor,” He said.
Spencer took his hand and he pulled him up. “Thanks, Daddy,” he whispered. “Wait— My phone. Gotta get my phone.” He patted his pockets, then stuck his hands in and turned them out. “What...” his voice trailed off. “The card. It’s not here.”
Professor Hotchner didn’t say anything.
“You took it! I can’t believe—” Spencer backed up into the stall. “While I was having a panic attack you took my card— just how calculated are you?”
His foot thumped into his cell on the ground and he picked it up. The screen turned on. His unfinished text flashed back at him.
Ethan pls im srry I’ll tell u evrythng im so srry cn u cme pick me up
He looked up at Professor Hotchner. Back at his phone.
“You don’t need it,” said Professor Hotchner, deadpan. Not denying a thing.
He pressed send.
Notes:
Thanks for reading and all the support and the comments and kudos! ❤️❤️❤️
Next update is 11/28. Enjoy the holidays coming up, and stay safe!
THIS IS AUBSE. STOCKHOLM SYNDROME. UNSUB!HOTCH. THIS IS NOT LOVE. THIS IS NOT BDSM.
Chapter 22: Bye, Daddy!
Summary:
Last chap Spencer had a panic attack and Prof Hotch was a mean man
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“All great and precious things are lonely."
― John Steinbeck, East of Eden
Spencer shoved his phone back in his pocket. “Okay, Daddy.” His voice was empty.
“Let’s get you back to the hotel. You’ve had a long day, sweetheart.” Professor Hotchner was looking at him with concern in his eyes but Spencer couldn’t bring himself to care.
Professor Hotchner wasn’t his Daddy right now.
Professor Hotchner was manipulative.
So was Spencer.
He gave him a soft smile. “I left my satchel in the dining hall. Can I go get it, Daddy? Please?”
Professor Hotchner looked at him for a moment, uneasy like he didn’t know whether Spencer should go, but he kissed him on the head and told him it was okay, so he made a beeline for the door with no intention of coming back. His phone buzzed in his pocket while he was in the bathroom so he whipped it out to see what Ethan said.
Are you serious? Don’t mess with me.
Im srs. Im srry. I've bn a sht friend ill tell u evrythng S.
Where are you? I’ll pick you up.
Syracuse NY. srry. I’m at a psych confrnce S.
Syracuse?! That’s 5 hrs away! Spence, it’s my dad’s birthday, I can’t make it there tonight
Spencer swallowed. No, no, no.
I can pick you up first thing tomorrow
Oky... I cn manage till thn. tysm Eth S.
You owe me one.
I owe u a lot mre thn 1 S.
He kept walking, not knowing where to. It didn’t matter. He made it outside the front of the building. People talking in whispers about the strange boy who had a meltdown. It didn’t matter. He pursed his lips and kept walking. Screw them. They didn’t know anything. They didn’t know him. They didn't know his life.
Concrete. Walking across a parking lot. Bus stop. Can’t pay. Keep walking. Getting cold. Don’t know where to go.
He pulled out his phone: screw Professor Hotchner. He didn't need a card; he looked at the damn thing, that’s all he needed.
201847743 Dr. Owens? Its Spencer Reid. I hpe tht offr fr anythng stll stnds? S.
It does. What did you have in mind? O.
Hw abt a ride? S.
Sure. I finish at 9. Which hotel are you staying at? O.
No, I lft alrdy… im smwhr. Walkng S.
Oh? Text me your location. I’ll be right there. O.
Not even ten minutes after he sent Oliver the intersection he was at a black Subaru wrx pulled up beside him. Spencer finally breathed a sigh of relief. Something about Dr. Owens made him feel okay; he liked him from the moment they met. Maybe it was the young genius similariety, but it also could just as easily been his easy personality.
Spencer climbed in the car and thanked him profusely. Dr. Owens wanted to drive back to the convention center, but Spencer started getting nervous about it, so instead he drove them straight to the hotel. It wasn’t the one he was supposed to stay at with Professor Hotcnher and the other students, but he found that he actually preferred that. He needed space.
“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m here?” he asked, for what seemed like the millionth time. “I can always book my own room. I can pay you back if you book me one, really, it’s no trouble, I—”
“Spencer, it’s okay.” Dr. Owens, well, Oliver, said. He was putting his briefcase in the closet and hanging up his jacket. “Trust me, if it wasn’t okay, you’d know. I’m always down to help out a friend.”
“Thank you... I’m sorry.” He stood awkwardly near the bed. Could he sit down? He wasn’t sure. Should he ask?
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Oliver looked over at him and he shrank.
“Um… I don’t know. I’m not even sure I know what happened. One minute I was, uh, talking to my Professor, and the next I couldn't catch my breath. Then everything happened all at once. Yelling… running… people shouting. It’s kind of a blur...”
“Sounds like you had a panic attack. You get those often?” He moved over to the second double bed and sat down, then frowned. “I’ve had a few.”
“No. Well, once or twice. At home… with my mom. Sometimes she got, uh, scary. I guess I would panic. The other day with my friends…” Spencer looked down at his shoes. “I guess I do. Panic. I’m... so stupid.”
“Hey, no, no.” Oliver chuckled, “You’re anything but stupid, Spence. You know that’s not true. In the words of Aristotle, ‘No great genius has ever existed without some touch of madness’. And besides, everyone panics. Some a little bit more than others. I’ve had panic attacks before. I’m sure you know what it’s like being a little kid on a college campus. That’s scary. Me and you, we grew up way too fast. We’re always being put in situations that we shouldn’t be, right?”
“Yeah… yeah, that’s exactly right,” He wavered on his feet, picking at the cuticles on his nails absently. Oliver was so wonderful. He knew exactly what he was thinking. “I can’t believe I met someone who did the same thing as me.” He looked at him with wide eyes, and Oliver was smiling back. “I wish I met you when I was younger... it would have been so much better not to do it alone.”
“You know what? Me too,” he said, a twinge of sadness seeping through his happy demeanor. “But here we are now, half-adjusted and still powering through it. Besides, we can’t go back in time, but we can certainly start now.”
“Thanks, Dr. Owe- I mean, Oliver.” Spencer blushed. “I’m glad we’re friends. I don’t have many of those.”
“Want in on another little secret?” He smiled, then whispered. “Me neither.”
“No way!” Spencer half-laughed. He sat down on the edge of his bed- Oliver changed his room to a double just for him- and looked at him with affection in his eyes. “That can’t be true. You’re like, accomplished, smart, funny, goodlooking...”
Oliver smirked. Oh, God. Did he say that last part out loud? Please, please, please don’t—
“So are you!” Oh. “You’re doing more at your age than I was, actually, you’ll probably surpass me when you’re 24. I bet you’ll have twice as many degrees and publish all sorts of papers. AndI— well, no, I don’t really have a lot of friends…” he said, more serious. He toed at the carpet with his socks. Plaid. “It’s not that easy when you’re a decade younger than all your colleagues. It didn’t get any better when I graduated. How many 24 year old doctors do you know? How many people under the age of 30 were speaking at that convention? I almost never get the chance to meet anyone my own age organically. So, trust me- I get it.”
“Oh, right.” Spencer blushed. He was being very assumptious. Of course Oliver would understand. Of course he would get what it was like. The loneliness. Never feeling like you’re part of a group. Everyone always being so much older than you… That was all he’d ever known. And it was all Oliver ever knew, too.
Spencer was all heated up. Warm, content. He wasn't sure if it was all the blushing he was doing, or the way that Oliver was looking at him all happy and sincere, or that fact that he still had that plug up his ass, but he was very hot and bothered and if he didn’t concentrate hard enough, he was going to be sporting wood pretty soon.
Professor Hotchner wouldn’t want him to be getting an erection around Oliver. Hell, he wouldn’t even want him to be hanging around Oliver at all. But screw Professor Hotchner! he was the reason that he was here at all! Yelling at him, lying to him, manipulating him… that wasn’t part of their deal, whatever their deal was. And surely Spencer could make up his own mind on what it meant to be his sub. He didn’t want to be lied to. Sure, he liked having sex with him, but he didn’t like when he stole things right from his person like he didn’t deserve to have his own belongings!
Yeah, screw him, and screw what he wanted. Right now, he couldn't care less. Right now he was with his new friend and he was sweet and sincere and wanted to talk about all the things that made them so similar, and Spencer wanted that too. He was allowed to want things. He was allowed to make friends. Briefly, he looked down at his phone showing ten missed calls and twenty unopened texts, but he didn’t read a single one. He turned it off.
And the plug! Professor Hotchner was still getting to him, still inside him even when he was miles and miles away. God, he really wanted to take it out, but he wouldn’t know where to put it if he did. What if Oliver found it and thought he was some kind of pervert? Ugh, he didn’t want that happening, not at all.
They ended up ordering room service and eating burgers when the serious talk slowed down. Oliver was easy to open up to. He understood everything. Plus, he could keep up intellectually on a level that he never experienced with anyone before. Neither of them could talk fast enough, their ideas flew around so fast. There was a lot of tripping over words trying to get it all out so quickly, and a lot of laughter about how ridiculous they were, but both of them secretly loved it. Or not so secretly, speaking by the huge smiles they both had plastered on their faces.
Spencer thanked Oliver again before they drifted off to sleep across the room from eachother. He was going home in the morning and probably wouldn’t see Oliver again. His stomach twisted up at the thought. He wished that he and Oliver could stay friends and hang out all the time. It would be so cool to have Oliver in his life. But life was never that easy for him.
His phone sat on the night stand dead to the world.
. . .
“You'll keep in touch? I really hope you do.” Oliver said. His hair was still discheved from sleep, and he was sitting cross legged on his bed, watching Spencer pack his things. Spencer could have stayed there in the hotel with him all day, just talking about anything and everything, but Ethan was ten minutes away.
“I will. I’ve got your number.” Spencer smiled. He felt happy. Sleep did him some good. Being there with Oliver did him some good. “And you’ve got to stay in touch with me, too.”
“Fine. We stay in touch with each other. Deal?” He grinned.
“Deal.” Spencer grinned back. There wasn't much that had to be said anymore.
Oliver helped him take his bags down to the lobby and waited around for Ethan to show up. When a beat up blue clunker pulled up to the enterence, Spencer gave him a sad smile. He gave Spencer a hug goodbye and waved him off, still in his disheveled blonde hair and plaid blue PJs. Spencer didn't mind at all.
Spencer didn’t feel so antsy anymore. It was like yesterday never happened. Back with Ethan, going home. Back to the Safety of his dorm. Everything would go back to normal. He hopped in the passenger side and pulled his seatbelt on. The engine roared to life.
His phone buzzed in his lap. Another text from Professor Hotchner, it’d been buzzing nonstop since he turned it on this morning. He looked out the window at the long, flat fields of green that passed by. He hadn’t texted Hotch back since he ditched him at the conference and was starting to feel a twinge of regret. He hoped that he wouldn’t be too mad at him. In the moment, it seemed like his reaction was appropriate, but now? In the light day? Yeah, he absolutely ditched Professor Hotchner and fuck he was going to be in so much trouble. He didn’t want to be in trouble.
And, sure, Professor hotchner was still in trouble with him, he was still mad about him trying to keep him away from his new friend, but… maybe… just maybe he overreacted. A little. Professor Hotchner was willing to be his Daddy and he threw it all away, for what? For being mad? He didn’t even let him explain himself. He didn’t even let him say he was sorry. He was being a bad boy again…
Why couldn’t he just be a good boy for once?
Notes:
idk when the next update is. I have some personal stuff going on. I'm gonna shoot for 12/3. But, we'll see
Chapter 23: Hotch's House
Summary:
ohhh boy, Spencer is in for it this time.
Last chapter Spencer spent the night in Oliver's hotel room and Ethan came to pick him up and bring him home.
Chapter Text
“A man so painfully in love is capable of self-torture beyond belief."
― John Steinbeck, East of Eden
“Who was that?” Ethan cut into his thoughts.
“Hm? Who?” he mumbled.
“That blonde guy at the hotel. Who was that?
“Oh. Uh. His name is Oliver. Oliver Owens.”
“And he is…” Ethan trailed off, looking over at Spencer like he was expecting more. “Does he have anything to do with what you were going to tell me?”
“Right… that.”
“Yeah. That,” Ethan said. “You’re still going to tell me. I drove five hours for you, Spencer. Don’t back out on me now, I swear to God, dude.”
“No- No, I will. I said I would, and I will. Just… uh, give me a second? Okay? It’s a lot.” The words were swirling around in his head, but he couldn't spit them out, not now. He wasn’t… riled up any more. In the heat of the moment this seemed like such a good idea, but now? Now he just wanted everything to go back to normal.
If he told Ethan… Well, there’d be hell to pay. He could kiss his life goodbye. He could kiss Hotch goodbye. He could kiss everything goodbye. No, he couldn’t tell Ethan.
“The reason… I’ve been lying to you… which I'm really sorry about, by the way…”
“Yeah?”
“I’m gay,” he said.
Ethan took his eyes off the road for a split second to squint at him. “That’s it?”
“What do you mean, that’s it? I’m gay.” Spencer scoffed. “I didn't want to tell you. You don’t know what it’s like to be the world's biggest outcast. I didn’t need to throw gay in the mix, too.”
“So, like, what? Oliver is your boyfriend then? How does that explain anything?”
“No!” Spencer blushed. “I mean… yes?” Fuck. What was he doing? “I didn’t want to tell you because… he’s older. He’s 25. And… he lives far away.”
“Seriously, dude? How is that something you need to hide. Five years ain’t nothing.”
“That’s why I was gone so much... because I was visiting him. And, uh, I don’t know E, I was scared to tell you. I thought you’d hate me. You’re always trying to set me up with girls.”
“If you told me, I would have set you up with guys!” He laughed. “Have a little faith in me, dude, I’m not an asshole. ...Usually.”
“Well, I don’t know! I’m going through an identity crisis, okay? Cut me some slack.” He twitched nervously. There was something brown and crusty on the car seat and he started picking at it. Fuck. He needed to wash his hands.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m still gonna bust your balls about it.” Ethan grinned. That asshole. He could have that, though. He deserved it.
“So he bought you all those clothes?” A wide grin spread over his face, devilish and sly. “So, what, is he like your sugar daddy then?”
“Hey!” Spencer blushed deep red. “He is not! He’s just caring and he has a real job. Besides, you can’t just assume he’s my sugar daddy because I’m gay. That’s offensive.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, I was just kidding.”
“Yeah, well, he’s just like any other boyfriend. We’re equal. And we fight sometimes.” He paused, and looked out the window again. “Like… outside the bar. When I said I got mugged… he was visiting and we had a fight, and it was heated. That’s why I was so upset. It was… traumatic.”
“Spence, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You could’ve told me.”
“I didn’t want to. It’s not about lying,” he said, even though it was absolutely about lying. Lying was becoming second nature. Lying was an easy collection of facts stored under different people. It was no trouble at all recalling who he told what. He’d never forget a lie. “It’s about not being ready. Sometimes I don’t want to share. Sometimes I want to keep it to myself. Can’t you let me have some secrets?” He bit his lip. “Without thinking I’m a bad friend?”
“I never thought of it like that, I just saw that you weren’t being real with me when you always were before. I always liked how upfront you were. All facts, an open book. I guess I never thought that you could be dealing with personal issues that you didn’t feel comfortable sharing.”
“Well… it’s okay.” They passed 15 traffic lights so far. “I forgive you.”
Ethan’s shoulders relaxed and his grip loosened on the steering wheel. “Yeah, me too.”
A comfortable silence settled itself in the car. Faint rock hummed on the stereo system and everything seemed to be just as it is. He fixed things with Ethan, that’s good. Next was Professor Hotchner.
That could wait, though. They still had a five hour drive back to campus and Ethan was bound to make at least five stops, and that was bare minimum.
Spencer asked him about what was going on in his life for the first time in... what, months?
There was so much piled up shit that he hardly knew where to start. He passed all his finals with straight As, he started hanging around with those weird drama kids that were always loitering around Madison hall, and oh, he and Elle were ‘talking’.
How did Spencer miss that? Without a doubt, Ethan was bonkers over Elle. The fact that he wasn’t shouting it from the rooftops and banging pots and pans in their kitchen was frightening. That’s how badly Spencer fucked up his friendship with Ethan; screaming from the rooftops bad.
They stopped at McDonalds at the next exit to bond over a bunch of greasy burgers and deathly salty French fries and got back to being Ethan and Spencer.
Once they were back in the city, Ethan glanced over at him with an anxious look on his face, then told him they were going to pick up Elle. That was fine. Spencer could do that.
Elle was charming. She was clever, too. As soon as she was in the car she was throwing questions at him that even he had trouble thinking through. He decided he liked her. They got back to the dorm and the three of them flopped down in front of the tv to embark on a day-long journey into the wonderful world of Star Trek. Not a bad day, to say the least.
He was curled up in bed by 11pm, staring at the wall when he couldn’t stop his thoughts from spinning. Finally, he decided to take out his cell. He would have to deal with Professor Hotchner eventually.
Bright green light illuminated his face. A swarm of unopened messages greeted him.
Spencer, where are you? H.
Spence? H.
Sweetheart? H.
Have you lost your bag? H.
Where are you? H.
Did you leave? H.
Answer me, Spencer. H.
Spencer, are you okay? Meet me back in the auditorium. H.
Are you at the hotel? H.
Spencer, answer me right now. H.
Spencer. H.
I’m worried about you. H.
You’re not at the hotel. Spencer, answer me. I’m not mad, I just want to know you’re okay. H.
Spencer, please? H.
Look, I know you’re angry with me. Let’s talk about it. Just tell me where you are. H.
Spencer Reid, I swear to God. H.
Just tell me you’re not off dead somewhere. H.
You’re acting incredibly bratty, Spencer. H.
Spencer! H.
You’re not going to get away with all of this without an explanation. There’s going to be hell to pay, darling. H.
You had better be somewhere safe tonight, Spencer. H.
Call me if you need me. I won’t be sleeping. H.
Ah, god. He was furious. There were a dozen more. He certainly shouldn’t have ignored him for so long.
Spencer typed out a message, an annoyingly long one seeing as he had to click the buttons several times to get the right letter, and his thumb hesitated on send while he started at the menacing little letters on the screen.
I’m sorry, Sir. Forgive me? s.
What if he didn’t forgive him? What if he was done with him for good? What if he’d irrevocably screwed this up?
Spencer wanted to curl up into a ball and die.
He sent the message. He was right about to shut his eyes and succumb to sleep while he waited for a response but he texted back almost instantaneously. He must have been waiting by his phone.
Where are you? H.
Ethn pckd me up. Bck home. srry. s.
My office tomorrow morning at 8 am. H.
Won't you be at the conference? s.
My bratty boy seems to like causing trouble. My office, 8 am. Understood? H.
Yes, sir. im so srry. :( s.
You’ll have enough time to apologize tomorrow. Go to sleep. Now. H.
Yes sir. s.
He did as he was told.
Professor Hotchner’s text instructed him what to wear in the morning. There was a beautiful sense of normalcy to it.
Except that he was so nervous he wanted to puke.
When he showed up to his office, Professor Hotchner didn’t say one word to him, just grabbed him by the upper arm with a bruising grip, pulled him to his SUV, and started driving.
At least he wasn’t getting yelled at, not yet. Not that he ever yelled at him, but the thought of that possibility sent chills down his spine.
Spencer kept his eyes glued outside watching the buildings pass by. They slowly transitioned from industrial and he dared a glance over at Professor Hotchner.
“Um, Sir? Where are we going?” he whispered. “We’re leaving the city. There aren’t any hotels out here.”
“Be quiet. You’ll know when we get there.”
His lower lip quivered. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
Another twenty minutes passed and Spencer felt sleepy. He was leaning his head against the window and watching the trees go by. He hardly noticed when the car stopped.
“Get inside and take off your clothes. Not a peep out of you until I say so, got it?”
Spencer gulped, his throat dry, and he looked up. “Yes, Sir.” His hand was shaking on the door handle. Professor Hotchner released the lock and let him out. An average suburban home greeted him from the driveway. White house with black shutters, green grass and a picket fence out front.
Professor Hotchner’s house.
Why did he finally decide to bring him home? He hadn't even been a good boy. A twenty foot pole wouldn’t be long enough to touch a good boy. He was the farthest thing from a good boy. He was a bad boy.
“Inside, Spencer,” he barked. “Get your head out of the clouds.”
“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.” He cowered, went through the doorway into the main hall and cataloged every inch in his memory. Dark, contemporary, minimal. Clean, but in the sense that it looked untouched.
But he couldn’t think about that. He had to strip. After he took off everything he stood there by the door completely naked, waiting for him to come back from wherever he went. He crossed his feet and bit his lip, feeling out of place. A sudden impulse has him wanting to cover his cock with his hands, but Professor Hotchner wouldn’t like that at all.
He can back a few minutes later, eyeing him up. “Follow me.”
The room over was the living room as it was just as simple. Maybe Professor Hotchner wasn’t the most present, or homely, but Spencer assumed it would look a bit more lived in given that he wasn’t a field agent anymore.
“On your knees,” he commanded.
Spencer dropped.
Professor Hotchner sat down on the couch in front of him and grabbed him by the hair at the base of his neck to pull him forward. Spencer walked on his knees with the help of his strong grip and inched up in between his legs.
“Head down. Show some respect,” he growled.
Spencer stopped looking at him and bowed his head. Below him, he felt so small.
He wished that Professor Hotchner wasn’t mad. If he wasn’t mad he could be a good boy and get fucked and played with and, Jesus, why did he have to go and screw everything up?
“Things are going to change from now on,” he said, his voice steely cold. “No more of this bratty behavior. No more taking advantage of all the leeway I give you. Clearly you can’t handle it.”
Spencer kept his head down. The carpet was speckled tan and brown and black
“Going forward you’re going to update me with everything you do. That means waking up, eating breakfast, and taking a piss; everything. No more breathing without my permission. You’ll be begging for everything. No coffee unless I say so. No reading unless I say so. No friends unless I say so. Look at me.” Spencer raised his head. “Are we clear?”
Spencer's bottom lip was trembling. Holding himself together was becoming more of a struggle but he didn’t want to show weakness. He also wanted to break apart in front of him so he could be his Daddy and put him back together, but something told Spencer his Daddy wasn’t around at the moment, so he bit his tongue.
“Yes, Sir.” He nodded and bowed his head again.
Professor Hotchner hummed. “You have a bed time now. Nine pm. You text me that you're in bed by nine every night. You wake up at five am. You go for a run every morning. Clear?”
Spencer did not want to run everyday. But what was he going to do, say no?
“Yes, Sir.”
“And enough with the ‘Sir’. From now on, you will address me as Master. Do you understand, Spencer? Look at me.”
Spencer’s head shot up; piercing eyes held him steady.
His breath caught in his throat. The room shifted. His chest felt heavy and hot.
“Say it,” he said. “I want to hear you say it.”
Spencer swallowed, felt a surge of warmth course through him. “Yes, Master.”
Professor Hotchner groaned low and barely audible.
“Recite the rules back.”
“Text you with anything I do. Wake up at 5. Sleep at 9. Run in the morning. No breathing, no pissing, no reading, no breakfast, no coffee, no friends, no anything without asking for permission, Master.”
“We’ll see how well you live up to it. I can’t expect much from a bratty little boy like you, can I? Still so resistant to follow orders. Get up onto the coffee table.”
Spencer looked at the table and back to him- he couldn’t be serious, could he?
He looked serious.
“Yes, Master.” And he climbed up onto the coffee table, hand and knees.
“Grab your ankles,” Professor Hotchner instructed. Spencer had to lean his face against the coffee table to reach down to his ankles and grab. His ass was up in the air, everything on display, and his face turned to the side, pressed into the glass, facing his Master.
As his eyes slid slowly over him, he tried not to wiggle or shift his weight. “Stay. I’ll be back in two minutes.”
Exactly two minutes later he returned with a handful of supplies and came up behind him. Every nerve inside him was vibrating. This was it: every terrible, insolent move he made over the past two days was about to be directed back at him in the most painful way possible. He could only hope that he’d learn something from it.
Otherwise, it’d just be pain.
Smooth, cold metal slid around his ankles and clicked, then his wrists, and he whimpered faintly. When he tried to move again he couldn’t get a single inch. His ankles were spread apart approximately two feet by a metal rod and fastened at each end with a metal cuff. His wrists were secured next to each ankle in their own metal confinement.
“Mmh… Master…” he whined.
“I told you not to speak unless spoken to,” he rasped. Smack. Right on his exposed ass. His dick swung back and forth with the motion. God, how embarrassing...
Spencer didn’t reply.
“This will fix that,” he said, and Spencer heard rustling around behind him. “If you want to use ‘red’, you’ll do so with a button. Understood?”
“Yes, Master.”
He placed a little button in his hand and made Spencer click it, producing a sharp pop sound. Then he waved a red ball in front of his face. His eyes glided back and forth watching it go from side to side.
“Open those pretty lips, my little slut.”
He opened and Professor Hotchner forced the ball gag inside his mouth, snugly resting far enough in that he couldn’t fully close his mouth anymore.
Without any further warning, he was pressing a slimy finger up his ass and working it in and out.
“Only one finger today, Spence. I want you to feel this. You’re going to feel every inch of my cock, whore.” He pushed in over and over, and Spencer yanked his wrists and ankles against the cold metal, powerless against it. As the finger kept pulsing in his ass, red hot warmth spread up his spine.
Uselessly, he moaned out against the ballgag but everything was muffled. His thoughts were his greatest weapon, and he was rendered completely useless; wholly at the mercy of his Master. Professor Hotchner’s tip pressed up against his hole and he shut his eyes so tight it hurt. His ass wasn’t nearly as prepped as it should be. Without a doubt, that cock was going to destroy him. It was going to rip him open. That cock was dangerous. Professor Hotchner was.
At least it was lubed, mostly. Professor Hotchner pressed in, stretching him fast. He groaned against the ballgag from deep in his throat. His ass ached with each passing second like the world was ending, or beginning, or something- he wasn’t sure, because he couldn't focus on anything except for the pain. His Master kept pressing in until he was halfway buried up his ass. His hands were clenched tight in fists, the only part of himself that he could control anymore- There wasn’t even enough room to turn his head from side to side.
A choked sob cracked from his throat. His little safety button was clenched in his fist, the corners digging little pricks into his skin. Even the button hurt. He wouldn’t press it, though. He deserved this.
A slap landed on his ass cheek, stinging and sharp.
“This is what disrespectful boys get, Spencer. This is what disobedient, bratty boys who don’t do what they’re told, get. And your punishment hasn’t even begun, Sweetheart, you’re lucky I’m even using your ass. You were such a bad boy, Spencer. So disappointing.”
“Mmgmdsoorfgy!”
“Hm? What’s that? Little whore wants to say something? What a shame.” He thrust the rest of the way in, eliciting another gasp from underneath him. “Don’t forget who you belong to, sweetheart. You don’t forget, though, do you? You choose not to listen. I’m the one who makes the rules, honey. Tonight I’ll show you what happens when you disobey.”
Struggling against the metal, Spencer lay helpless on the coffee table and took Professor Hotchner’s cock over and over again as he plowed into him. His strong hands gripped his hips and pulled them back as he thrust forward, and he slapped against him, skin on skin, in a menacing clap that stung his ass. It put an ache so deep inside him, he didn’t even know Professor Hotchner could reach that far. He was jackhammering into him relentlessly. All he could do was take it; bounce back against his hips with every thrust and take it. It burned so bad he wanted to cry.
Spencer didn’t know how long his Master had been fucking him for, maybe ten minutes, maybe a half hour, before the pain that was unbearable faded and was replaced by something far more pleasurable. That steady burn was still present, but underneath was a fire building, white hot.
His cries gave way to guttural moans and some embarrassingly high pitched squeaks. Professor Hotchner’s cock filled him up so well; when he was inside him it was as if nothing else mattered. His own cock was flush against his stomach aching, leaking, and lonely. His heart was going a mile a minute and his thoughts slowed to a crawl. In fact, there was really only one thought on his mind, and it played on loop: Please, Master, Please, Master, Please!”
The way that Professor Hotchner moved his hips started becoming erratic and harder. Spencer arched his back even deeper knowing what was coming. Every thrust hit him deeper, and his lust was reaching and all time high. His dick was leaking so much cum; it was practically vibrating between his legs. He moaned deliriously into his ball gag. Spit was flowing down his chin and getting the tabletop all sticky. His jaw ached.
Professor Hotchner groaned above him, gripping his hips so tightly that he screamed into the gag, and then he could feel a warmness seeping out of him. Cum slowly leaked out after he pulled out, sliding down his balls and thighs, all warm and gooey.
“Filthy little whore, look at you, covered in cum, spit, and sweat. Freshly fucked, ass red. You’re a bad little whore, Spence.”
Spencer couldn’t even smile right. Despite the fact that his Master just called him all sorts of vile things, it still made him want to grin from ear to ear. Master was always so nice after play.
Professor Hotchner hiked up his pants, sitting down on the couch across fro him, and didn’t so much as glance over; he still had a raging hard on! He turned the television on and clicked through it. Spencer moaned into his gag. Nothing. He rattled his wrists against the metal.
“Mhgfhhgmfg,” he moaned. “Mdfhjgjmhfg!” All that accomplished was getting more drool on himself. He was nearly having a fit trying to wiggle in his confinement and touch himself, but nothing came of it. His dick needed attention. Something, anything!
He wasn’t sure how long his Master sat there watching television, (which he couldn’t even see with his head to the side!) but eventually he got up and released the gag from his mouth, probably because he was basically dry humping the air. His cock was crying with pent up pressure. He had tears leaking from his eyes from how bad he needed release.
“Is there something you want to say, Spence?”
“Yes, Master, please, please, please!” he panted, breathy and hoarse, “Oh god, Master, please, let me cum, I need to cum, Master, please! I need it! Let me cum, oh god!”
“Not now, whore.” he spat. Fuck. He was still angry.
Spencer dry humped the air in a desperate attempt to feel something. “I’ll be good, I promise, I promise! I’ll do anything, please, let me cum, Master, please, I’ll be a good boy! I’ll be a good whore for you, Master, please—”
“Desterate little slut.” Professor Hotchner frowned.
“I’m sorry, Master, I’m so sorry. I’m so, fuck, please! I’ll be good. Let me cum. Can I cum? Master? Please? Touch me? Oh, god! Touch me, please? I’ll be a good boy for you!”
“Mmmh. You’ll be my good boy, will you?
“Yes, yes!”
“Who do you belong to, Spencer?”
“You, Master. I belong to you. Nnnf- I’m yours. Yours.”
“That’s right. You’re mine. You will always be good for me; that’s the baseline. And I decide when you cum,” he rasped. “And you don’t deserve to cum right now.”
“But, Master, please!”
He growled, low and authoritative. Spencer shivered. “Tell your Master what a whore you are.”
“I—” Spencer's head was spinning. All he wanted to do was release himself all over the table. His cock was aching so loudly it was the only thing he could think of. “I’m, I-I don't know.”
“You don’t know what a little cock whore you are? How good that little ass is at swallowing up my cock, hm? I think you do.”
“Yes, Master, I-I want your cock so bad,” Spencer whined. Cock. Oh god, Cock. “I’m a whore. I’m a whore. Your whore, Master, please, I’m sorry, please! I’m your little cock whore, Let me cum, please!”
“No sweetheart, bad boys don’t get to cum when they want to,” he said, his tone cold. “Now be still while I take this off you.”
Spencer nodded his head, getting spit smeared even more so onto his cheek while he unlocked his restraints and scooped him up. A trail of spit hung off his face to the puddle on the coffee table and he flushed with embarrassment. As soon as he placed his feet on the ground he buckled and collapsed on the rug. His legs were completely jelly.
He lay there panting; he wasn't sure what to do. He wouldn't move without permission.
“Get up,” he demanded. Usually after sex Professor Hotchner would help him up… Spencer got to his feet by himself. “Bend over. On my lap.”
“Yes, Master,” Spencer whispered with his head bowed. He leaned over Professor Hotchner’s lap and settled down on his knees, his hard cock pressing into his slacks. He moaned.
“You know you were a bad boy, don’t you? You didn’t listen to me, did you? You refused to hand over that card, you talked back, you ran away from me, you left the conference all by yourself, you ignored my messages,” Professor Hotchner growled. “Bad boys get punished.” He leaned over to the pile of supplies that he brought over and pulled out a paddle and a ring. With one hand, he pulled Spencer’s butt up and slid the ring onto the base of his cock, then let him lay back down flush on his knees. The paddle came down a second later on his ass and he yelped.
“Don’t forget ‘red’, Spencer. This is a punishment but you can still stop if it’s too much. Try to take the punishment as best as you can. You won’t learn otherwise.”
“Yes, Master, red,” he confirmed. “I’ll take it. I’m so sorr- ow! One, Master.”
He grunted in approval. “Next time you think about batting your eyes for another man, you remember how bad this hurts.”
“Two, Master. Ow! Three, Master. Ow! Four, Master.” Spencer choked out each paddle as it stung his ass. Made of some sort of cherry maple, the paddle was heavy, dense, and it stung like a bitch. “Ten, Master, ow! Eleven, Master, ow! Twelve, Master. Ow!”
“Wherever you ran off to at night,I hope it was worth this. You’re not going to sit down without wincing for a month.”
Professor Hotchner didn’t relent with the paddle. He kept it coming down at a steady pace, Thwap, thwap, thwap. Even when Spencer stopped counting, his voice going haywire, his eyes rolling back and thighs shaking, he didn’t stop. Forty came and went, then fifty, sixty, and yet he was still seething. In fact, his anger was only increasing with each swing. His hits were getting harder and harder. Spencer’s ass looked like two little tomatoes. They were starting to bruise, even. There was purple forming in the middle of each cheek where he hit the most.
Spencer was crying. Tears were flowing down his cheeks and getting Professor Hotchner’s pant leg wet. He gave Spencer ten more hits, each more satisfying than the last, and finally his anger dissipated. Spencer was good for him. He didn’t count all the way, but he took the pain like a champ, and he took a lot of hits. Possibly more than he should have given him. Guilt almost rose up in Professor Hotchner’s belly. Almost.
“Your punishment is finished. Is there anything you want to say?”
Spencer sniffed loud, wet and snotty. “Thank you, M-Master. I’m so s-s-sorry.”
“Good boy. I hope you’ve learned your lesson. You’re to listen to me: No more disobeying. No more sneaky behaviour. When I tell you to do something, you do it, no questions asked. I know what’s best for you, don’t you ever forget that.”
“I won't, Master, thank you. I’m so sorry I was bad. You know best. I’ll listen from now on, I promise.”
Professor Hotchner popped the cap of a bottle behind him. “It’s okay. We all have our weaknesses.” His voice was getting softer, much like Spencer was used to after. “My job is to help you with yours. I forgive you.”
“Thank you, Mast-oh!” Spencer gasped as cold lotion was spread onto his stinging ass. It burned so good, all cool and soothing. “You’re so good to me.”
“I know you can be great, Spencer. With a little bit of guidance, you could be so perfect. Such a perfect boy.” He kept spreading the lotion, first over his ass, then down the top of his thighs, and he nearly purred.
Hotch continued on, “It’s going to sting for a while. You shouldn’t sit on your butt. Here, come lay down on your side. Put your head on my lap.” He patted the couch next to him.
Spencer shifted so he was laying on his side, his head in his Master’s lap, with only the side of his ass burning against the couch. He closed his eyes and smiled. Following orders was easy if he let himself comply. He was a bad boy, he knew it, and he deserved the punishment. But now that he took his punishment he didn’t have to feel guilty anymore. His Master made him pay the price for his actions and all was forgiven.
Professor Hotchner turned the tv on to a movie that he couldn’t keep his attention on. Halfheartedly, he listened to the voices, more so focused on his breathing and the feeling of fingers scratching his head. A little smile wiggled onto his lips; he was so happy.
“Master?” he asked, tentative.
“Yes?”
“Can I go to sleep?”
“Yes, baby. Go to sleep,” he whispered.
Spencer hummed, falling asleep to the feeling of strong fingers scratching his head. His cock laid soft in between his legs with the metal ring still tight around it, but good boy as he was, he didn’t even notice.
Chapter 24: HOTCH
Summary:
In the last chapter Spencer came home from the conference in NY and was brought to Prof Hotch's house. He was spanked until his ass was red raw and incredibly painful. Prof Hotch gave him a new set of rules to follow and a new title to call him by.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Aaron woke up promptly at five in the morning just like every other day, except this morning he had his boy draped across his chest moving with the rise and fall of his steady breathing. Last night he carried him into the bed and let him sleep there next to him, and at some point they became entangled, wherein Spencer interlaced all of his limbs around him and held on tight.
Three were things to do, however, and as much as he’d like to stay in bed and cuddle with his adorable little sub, he needed to stretch his legs, brush his teeth, look over some files and grade assignments.
Spencer mumbled when he drew his arm out from underneath him and he whined into the pillow. His hands grasped at the bed searching for warmth, and when he didn't find any his eyelids fluttered open revealing confused eyes.
“Master…?” he whispered. Aaron’s heart leapt.
“It’s time to get up, sweetheart. No lazing around in bed.”
Spencer let out something pleading and soft, but blinked his eyes a few times before keeping them open and alert. “Yes, Sir.”
“That’s my good boy,” Aaron said. “Get up and go into the bathroom.”
It didn’t take long before he was on his feet, leaving Aaron impressed with his willingness today. He was starting to get jist of unquestioned obedience. In the bathroom, he was even more willing, with his head tipped in submission and his hands laced behind his back. Aaron prodded him into the shower and filed in after him, adjusting the water so it wasn’t scalding. He lathered himself up with soap and then soaped up his boy, rubbing him from head to toe with a washcloth, shampooing his hair, then rinsing and repeating with conditioner. He dried him off with a towel and left a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, face moisturizer, shaving cream, and a razor on the counter for him. Those orders were unspoken but Spencer still bowed his head and chirped out a ‘Yes, Master’ when he left him alone in the bathroom.
Last night’s punishment seemed to do the trick. He needed a heavy hand, that was all. Though Aaron suspected he may start to slip up again once the bruises healed and the pain faded into memory. He’d do his best to get those mannerisms imprinted as soon as he could, and hopefully they’d stick. He’d have his boy docile and begging him for everything.
He dressed Spencer in a fresh pair of blue briefs and a white tee shirt. They were his oldest clothes and thus a bit smaller, so they mostly fit, but they were still a bit loose on his thin frame. He taught him how to cook an omelette next; Spencer never cooked much in his life. It was all microwave ramen and granola bars. He cracked the eggs, stuttered his way through a few ‘sorrys’ when he dropped shells in the mix, and looked at him with a big smile when he finally folded the thing over and it looked like a real omelette. Then he made another all by himself and they sat and ate in companionable silence. Aaron had Spencer wait until he started eating first, and then clear the dishes and wash them up when they both finished.
He made Spencer kneel by his chair after he wiped his soapy hands on the towel. His head was tipped down to his chin, his legs a little ways apart, and his hands laced behind his back in perfect submission.
He ran a hand through Spencer's hair. “Such a pretty boy, you know that?” he cooed. The tips of Spencer’s ears flushed red. “Such a pretty, obedient boy. You’re being so good, Spencer. So good for me. Listening so well, being so polite.”
Spencer hummed happily but he didn’t dare to speak. He knew better than that.
“Open those pretty little lips, sweetheart.”
Aaron slipped his thumb in Spencer’s open mouth and traced his lips with a wet finger. He scooted forward in the kitchen chair and Spencer looked up towards his chest, but, Aaron noted with a smile, not at his eyes. He pulled his cock out of his pants and motioned for Spencer to come forward with a pat on his thigh. He shuffled so he was right in between his legs, and Aaron commanded low and firm, “Suck.”
He watched Spencer take his cock in between those wet lips and slide him down his throat, licking, sucking. The blowjob was slow and deep, filled with Spencer’s whiny moans and spit dripping down his face. He pulled out and came on his lips and chin at the last moment, keeping his head still with a fist curled in his hair.
Spencer thanked him after, and what a good boy he was.
Gently, he leaned down to press a kiss on his forehead which he seemed to love. He easily slipped into subspace ever since Aaron got him over the initial introduction into their little play. So he sat there content on his knees with no thoughts of anything but his Master’s presence above him. Aaron stalled a few minutes, giving him enough time to bask in his post-sex buzz before getting up and heading into his office. Behind him, Spencer looked up with wide, concerned eyes at being left behind on the floor with no idea what to do.
He beckoned him from down the hall. The sound of shuffling around floated towards him and he corrected him firmly: “No. Hands and knees. You crawl in my home.” He heard the drop back down and the padding of his palms against the tile. Spencer crawled right up to his feet, looking adorable yet sinful in his briefs and cum-covered lips. Aaron sat down at his desk and stopped Spencer from crawling in. “Uh-uh. You don’t come into my office. Stay in the doorway. Be a good boy.”
“Yes Master,” he said. Without skipping a beat he straightened his back, shuffled up to his knees, and waited.
It took around an hour for Aaron to get through the stack of quizzes that he had to grade, during which Spencer stayed completely quiet. He was quite impressed. Spencer’s back was straight as an arrow, the rise and fall of his chest steady, and a faint shadow of a smile played on his lips. There were a few things that he wanted to get done today, but with Spencer at the house there wouldn’t be time. The garage needed to be organized so he could fit his car inside- it wouldn’t do for the neighbors to see Spencer getting out of his car. This time was a mistake- anyone could have seen- but his mind was clouded with emotion. Soon he would move all of Haley’s old things from the garage and he would be able to bring Spencer over more often. He needed stability, something that he wasn’t giving him before, treating him like a secret to be kept locked in an office or hotel room. Spencer wasn’t a dirty secret, not exactly, he was growing on him everyday. If he couldn’t be open about their arrangement, he could at least try to give him more of a secure and labeled place in his life.
The clock on the opposite side of the office showed that it was still three hours before noon, and a perfect time to take Spencer on one of the trails out back for a jog.
At the very moment Aaron stood, Spencer’s head twitched in anticipation but he didn’t move from his spot. He walked over, trailed his finger along Spencer’s cheek and told him to follow to the bedroom. Patting the bed, he motioned for him to get up, but Spencer’s face was searching and timid, almost as if he didn’t believe that he could get up from his hands and knees on the floor. Aaron grabbed his arm, gently, and hoisted him up to sit. Spencer’s eyes roamed around the room, and Aaron felt as if his life was on display for those clever little eyes. As if Spencer were profiling him. Or perhaps not profiling, he wasn’t skilled quite like that, but something.
“Eyes over here,” Aaron said. He snapped his fingers and Spencer brought his attention back to the clothes he was holding in his hands, a tee shirt and sweats. They were athletic looking with an FBI logo on the shirt and a stripe down the sweats. Spencer’s mouth twitched into a frown and Aaron grinned.
“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.” He laughed, dryly. “You’ll get you to it. Running is good for you.”
Spencer didn’t answer. He took the clothes from his hand and put them in his lap. “May I get dressed, Master?”
“Yes, honey.” Aaron leaned down and kissed his forehead. “What size shoe are you?”
“Eleven.”
“Perfect. You can borrow a pair of mine,” he said, going into the closet while Spencer slipped into the sweats. He brought back a black pair of Nike sneakers and set them down at Spencer's feet before kneeling in front of him. “Foot.”
Spencer looked down at him with reddened cheeks and raised it. He slipped it on, and tied the laces up tight. “Other.”
Aaron got up and fished something out of the closet, Spencer watching him intently. When he came back, he raked his hands through Spencer’s hair and pulled it up into a stubby ponytail and wrapped a hair tie tight around it. Spencer looked at him wide-eyed. “To keep it out of your eyes. I don’t know how you let it get that long.”
Not that he didn’t find it immensely attractive.
He let Spencer walk on his feet when he led him out into his backyard. His property backed up to a forested area that ran a myriad of trails running through it. He instructed Spencer on how to stretch before giving him a gentle push and telling him to start running. He looked awkward and gangly, and he had to slow down in order to keep a short distance behind him. Spencer was hardly keeping the pace of a jog.
Since it was half past nine in the morning, the sun was already in the sky and blaring down, though the heat was a bit scattered due to the treetops, but it went a long way in keeping the chilly winter air at bay. That, and the sweat that was already dripping down Spencer’s temples. By Aaron’s calculations, they’d only made it three quarters of a mile and that was barely a warm up at most, but he wouldn’t know from looking at the gasping mess in back of him. Spencer was breathing heavy and rapid.
“Just a little bit longer,” Aaron said hegin him.
“Can’t—” he gasped. “Can't make it.” Spencer stopped, effectively doubling over. He was wheezing, and Aaron had mercy on him.
“It’s fine, it’s okay, it’s your first time,” he said, rubbing his hand on his back. “Big breaths, there you go. You’re fine. Just give it a minute. We’ll stop here, take a little break, but you’re going to jog back too.”
“I don’t know- don’t know if I can.”
“You can. I know you can. You just have to get used to it.”
“N-no, Sir—”
“You'll be able to run a mile without breaking a sweat in no time. Trust me.”
He cleared his throat, his breathing steadying some. “Okay— okay- maybe. I mean, I do trust you, Master.”
“Good boy.”
Aaron gave him another 10 minutes and after that got him going again down the way that they came. He nearly collapsed back in his yard. Aawon scooped him up and carried him to the shower to scrub off all the sweat, toweled him off, put him in a big pair of joggers and a tee, and sat him down on the couch. He put the remote in his lap and went into his office only to come back at him looking worried and not having even turned on the tv.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I was worried you wouldn’t come back,” Spencer whispered.
“Of course I would. I won't leave you, sweetheart. You’re being such a good boy today. Go ahead and watch some tv. I'm going to look over some files.” He sat right up against Spencer, thighs touching, and pressed a kiss to his head. He still seemed out of sorts from his episode the other day. Unsure, afraid, and convinced he’s going to be abandoned.
Spencer flipped through the stations idly, stopping on a National Geographic episode on honey bees. It kept his attention for a few minutes before Aaron could feel his stare. He found himself rereading the same sentence over and over again before he realized he wouldn’t be able to focus if he could feel his boy’s eyes watching him.
“Pay attention to you show, sweetheart,” he said.
“I’ve seen it before.”
“Then watch it again.”
“But I already know it all.”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to watch again, maybe you’ll learn something new.” he mumbled, his mind elsewhere.
Spencer cleared his throat, and mimicked the voice on the television word for word, “The honeybee has one-hundred-and-seventy odorant receptors which they use to recognize different type of flowers when looking for-”
He turned to Spencer, mouth hanging open. “Okay, okay. Word for word? How many times have you watched this?”
“Once,” Spencer replied. “Master.”
Aaron whistled. “Wow, that’s amazing. At times I forget you can do that.” It really was quite amazing, though not without its faults, and in that vein Aaron notes how careful he’ll have to be with Spencer knowing everything will be meticulously recorded.
“S’nothing,” Spencer said, still looking over at him. “Kind of annoying. Never turns off.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” Aaron snaked his arm around him, and pulled him close, kissing his curls. “Put something else on if you want. Or just sit there quietly.”
“Can I, uh, help you with that?” Spencer nodded at the files in front of him.
“You’re doing an awful lot of talking for a boy who I just told to be quiet and watch his show.”
Spencer scooted back and ducked his head. “Sorry, Master. M’sorry”
“It’s okay, it’s fine,” Aaron said. “I’m looking over some cold cases. Come here. Closer.”
Spencer scooted back. “My old unit at the FBI has a standing consult with me for cases like these, the ones that went unsolved. Just something for me to do, really. An old colleague of mine, I know he wants me to come back, so he’s trying to get me interested by sending me these. I don’t think I could, though, go back.”
Spencer looked at him, interested. “You can speak, Spence. It’s okay for now.”
“Thank you, Master,” he whispered. “Why couldn’t you go back? Do you miss it?”
“I do. Most days, I do. But the risk outweighs the benefit. It took too much out of me.”
“I read…”
Aaron shook his head. “I know. I remember. And it’s okay, it’s not impossible to talk about, just unpleasant.”
“Do you like lecturing?”
“It’s not that bad. It’s just more mellow. There’s not a lot to it. I don’t get that same sense of making a difference the way I did in the FBI. Hell, even as a prosecutor, not that I would ever do that again- the politics are much worse than the monotony of teaching.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,” Spencer whispered.
“No, no.” Aaron squeezed his shoulder. “Did I raise my voice? I didn’t mean to do that; I’m a bit passionate about this still, I suppose. I’m glad you asked. Noone ever asks. Hell, no one comes within shooting distance of that topic. Too scared.” He looked at Spencer and frowned. “Almost makes me feel like I’m made of glass the way they avoid it. I’m stronger than that, though.”
“I know you are, Master.” he smiled back, eyes twinkling.
“You just listen today, I’ll show you how I look these over, there’s a process. Maybe next time I’ll let you help.” He spent a couple hours teaching Spencer what he was doing and thinking, and why. It was good practice going over everything, and being able to think like a detective again. Well, an agent. A profiler. He missed it, and Rossi was nothing if not effective.
When Spencer was dozing off, still laying against him boneless from the run, no jog, he decided it was a good enough time to make lunch and had Spencer tag along into the kitchen and learn how to make more meals. They ate together, Aaron did a bit more work grading assignments in his office while Spencer sat in the doorway, and then he had Spencer clean the living room since he was kneeling for too long. Spencer dusted the furniture, vacuumed the carpet, and made sure everything was tidy. After dinner, Aaron led him, on all fours, into the bedroom and looked him up and down, deciding what he was going to do with him.
In the closet, he pulled out a tan dildo and dangeled it in front of Spencer’s eyes. “We’re going to plug you all up tonight,” he said, with a chuckle. Spencer’s cock gave an interested twitch from behind his briefs, enough for Aaron to notice. “Eager.”
He needed one more thing, and grabbed a plastic floor rug from his office, the type you use for chairs with wheels, and also the type you can attach a dildo with a suction cup to. He put the plastic mat down at the side of the bed and popped the dildo down onto it, making sure it was steady and sticking. He beckoned for Spencer to crawl over, and made him position himself right overtop. He looked a little nervous.
pop. He squirted lube into Spencer’s hand. “Finger yourself, just one for now.”
“Yes, Master.” Spencer reached back and stuck a finger up his ass, working it in and out, a look of embarrassment spread across his red face. Aaron then made him do two, and three. His eyes were blown and his mouth hanging open by the time he had the third finger up his ass.
“So pretty, Spence,” Aaron cooed. “Tell me what you want.”
“I-I want— nnuuhhhhhgg Want it. Wanna fuck.”
Aaron tsk-tsk’ed. “What do you want, little slut?”
“Wanna fuck it!” he whined, still pumping his fingers inside himself.
“Say it, then. Say ‘I want to ride the dildo, Master’ or I’ll say no.”
“mmmmmh Please— I-I wanna ride the dildo, Master, please- let me—”
“Go ahead,” he said. “Take out your fingers, lube it up, and line yourself up overtop, good boy, just like that. Now sink down on it.”
Spencer moaned, breathy and broken. “Oh, Master— s’good.”
“Atta boy. Pick up the pace. Fuck your little ass for me.” Spencer bit his lips and bounced up and down on his knees, letting the dildo slide almost all the way out, and then right back in, all the way down to the end. He saw him wince slightly, most likely from the bruising he developed after the paddling. “Keep your eyes up here, sweetheart. Don’t look away. I want to see you.”
Spencer nodded, the dildo filling him up, and he moaned openly. There was no use in having any shame; Aaron wouldn't let him. He kept up a steady rhythm, and his cock was standing straight up, hitting against his flat stomach with each bounce.
Aaron stood up from the bed and took off his pants and briefs. He sat back down in front of Spencer and started stroking his thick cock in front of his face. He matched Spencer’s rhythm and stroked along with him. Spencer’s eyes were still glued up to his eyes, but Aaron knew he was dying to look down at his cock; his cheek was twitching and his eyes kept fidgeting around. He grinned.
“Don’t stop,” he instructed. He scooted closer to the edge of the bed and his cock could touch Spencer at that point. He ran the tip against his cheek and watched him squirm and whine. He slid it along his parted lips and left a line of precum behind. Spencer’s tongue darted out but just a look from him, and he squealed out an apology and stopped. He needed permission, he knew that.
He slapped him across the face, then, with his cock. It wasn’t anything that would hurt. He did look humiliated, though, and that was exactly what he was going for. He slapped him again, this time on the other cheek, then a third. His eyes were so dilated you could hardly see the amber in them at all. He roughly shoved his cock inside his mouth and started thrusting in. At first Spencer gagged, probably startled, but began to lick and suck and try to use his head to get further down.
“Good boy, look at you, all filled up with cock. Ass and mouth stretched wide,” he growled.
Spencer swallowed in reply, and Aaron moaned, the sensation tight and rolling. “Keep going, don’t stop fucking your tight little ass, Spence.” He looked so sweet and debauched getting fucked from all directions. Aaron wanted to dirty him up completely.
He grabbed Spencer’s hair in his first and steadied his head as he started thrusting in his throat, fast and deep. Spencer sputtered and gasped. His thighs were shaking and spit was dripping down his chin, landing on his chest.
“You want to cum, sweetheart?” Aaron thrust in hard.
Spencer nodded his head with a little difficulty. He was still taking the slimy dildo up his ass over and over, nice and deep, bouncing like a good boy. Aaron waited until he loosened his jaw up enough that he could thrust his cock all the down his throat until it reached his base, and Spencer's nose was pressed up against his pubic hair, his bottom lip up against his balls. His lips and ass were both stretched wide open with cock. “Cum, little slut.” He thrust out and back again the same way, and Spencer shook underneath him, shooting out his load with his hands still gripping at his own thighs obediently, all across his own stomach, and a little bit on Aaron’s calves.
Aaron smirked, proud and honry. “What a good boy.” He slipped his cock out, pulled him up onto his lap, and placed a kiss right on his lips. His jaw fell slack. He blushed so furiously hard, even more so than when he was made to fuck himself infront of him- he didn’t kiss Spencer nearly enough. He gave him another for good measure, pressing his lips sweetly and gently on his.
“How’d that feel?” he whispered into his ear.
“So good, Master,” he breathed, “So, so good.”
“That’s my little slut.” He tipped his chin up, kissed him, and laid him down on the bed. Stepping to the side, he grabbed a sharpie from the night stand. He pulled him closer, and scribbled on his chest in big capital letters, ‘COCKHOLSTER’.
Spencer’s cock was still half-hard, red, and tired on his stomach. His eyes were still dilated, and he looked sated. Some of his hair was sticking with sweat to his forehead, his lips were wet and swollen, and his legs were parted on instinct, just waiting for him to slip in between them. Aaron started rubbing his cock, still hard and wanting from Spencer sucking him earlier and not taking his release, and he gripped Spencer’s milky white thigh with the other hand. He jerked himself off fast and tight, eyes on Spencer’s fucked out eyes and marked up chest, and he came all over it. His cum spurted out thick and hot in white ropes and landed all over Spencer’s ‘COCKHOLSTER’. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and flashed a picture quickly. There was nothing he adored more than having pictures of his work to look back on- Spencer was breathtakingly gorgeous splayed out with his fluids and marking all over him.
“Can I lick it, Master? Can I taste your cum?” he asked, while he was still half in a daze. He nodded his head, and Spencer wiped the cum off his chest and liked it off his fingers with a smile on his face until there was none left. “Thank you, Master.”
“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Aaron whispered, picking him and moving the covers aside so they could get into bed. He turned off the light and slid in beside Spencer. “Shhh.” He could feel Spencer’s heart beat rapid firing against his side. “What is it, baby?”
“Just, um, you’re letting me sleep in your bed with you. I’m happy. And nervous. Thank you, Master.”
“I let you sleep in it yesterday, too.”
“But yesterday I was so sleepy I didn’t even notice. Now, um, we’re in bed together.” He was looking back at him so earnestly.
“We are. Now close your eyes and stop talking. It’s your bedtime.” He pulled Spencer up to lay his head on his chest, and he felt a smile against his skin, returning it with one of his own, even if Spencer couldn’t see it.
“Night, Master.”
“Goodnight, baby.”
Notes:
hope everyone is doing okay, and please stay safe.
Chapter 25: Hotch’s House Part Two
Summary:
Last chapter Prof Hotch and Spencer spent the day at his house doing domestic stuff and he trained in a lot of new ways
Notes:
Okay I forgot I wrote this chapter lmao so even if I hinted against it, here it is
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“ And stop calling me out we're never going to
Put the pieces back together
If you won't let me get better
And stop digging it up or we're never gonna
See it all in bloom.”
― Neck Deep, In Bloom
In the morning it was a repeat of the day before, being washed by his Master, making breakfast, and giving his Master a blowjob under the table- he could get used to that. Apart from the running, though, the part that Spencer was hoping he would forget about. The only good part about the run was getting to feel Professor Hotchner soap him up again afterwards and getting to wear big comfy sweats. He didn’t make it to a mile again, but he did what he dubbed as his best possible effort, so he thought it was okay. He knew Professor Hotchner could have kept going for a while, probably even for miles and miles, so at least he wasn’t forced to do that.
When he was snuggled up on the couch against his Master’s side, his arm curled around his chest, and his leg in his lap, he pressed a kiss to his shoulder and sighed. Professor Hotchner squeezed his arm around him and pressed a kiss to his head, too. “I want to talk to you.” he said. Uh-oh.
“Did I do something wrong?” He couldn’t think of anything that he did wrong. He was thinking about everything that he did first; he was being very careful.
“No sweetheart, it’s about the conference.”
“Oh…” Breath caught in his throat. He didn’t want to talk about the conference. That was a lot of bad memories. A lot.
“Be a big boy, Spence. You made some bad decisions and you have to face them. That man that you punched, for instance. Do you have any idea what’s going to happen about that?”
“Um, no…”
“You haven’t thought about it at all?”
Spencer cleared his throat, feeling nervous, like there was something he should know, but didn’t. “No…”
“You could have been arrested, Spencer, that’s serious. I know you’re used to getting your way on campus, but I wouldn’t have been able to help you, or at least not to the extent that it would matter. You’d have marks on your record at the very least. Think of how many doors that would close for you, career-wise.”
“I wasn’t thinking about that at the moment… Lila… I needed to help her. I didn’t have any choice.”
“He wasn’t going to hurt her, Spence. You were having a panic attack. I talked to her that night, they were discussing the lecture. You scared her. And I spoke with Dr. Nelson. I asked him not to press charges and he agreed.”
“You did?” he gulped. “I, fuck, thank you, I’m sorry.”
“No cursing, Spence.”
“Sorry, Master,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean to do all that. I thought I was doing the right thing. I was really upset. I couldn’t think straight. You...”
“I made you upset, didn’t I?” he frowned.
Spencer looked down at his lap, feeling ashamed. “Yes.”
Professor Hotchner remained silent, and Spence spoke up again. “You were threatening me… I felt so overwhelmed. You w-were yelling and taking Oliver’s card from me when I didn’t even do anything wrong, grabbing me, and that, uh, plug was still inside me, I couldn’t… I couldn’t handle all of it at once.”
“I shouldn’t have done that. I should have realized you were getting upset.” He sighed, stroking Spencer’s arm. “I’ve been thinking about it, Spence. I can get possessive, I’ll admit that. When I saw you with Dr. Owens I went off. I was seeing red. I didn’t want what was mine to be taken from me.”
“It was scary…”
“I won’t do that again. I’ll try not to. I know I have anger issues. I’ve gone to anger management back when I worked in the BAU, after everything that happened. Perhaps I should start again.” He pulled him even closer, now sitting half in his lap, and he caressed his face gently. “Spencer?”
“Yes, Master?”
“I’m very sorry.”
Spencer smiled, hugging him back. “Me too.”
Professor Hotchner pulled away and looked at him with a stern expression. “I was surprised you ran away, though. Where did you go? I have a good idea, but I want to hear it from you.”
Spencer couldn't meet his eyes anymore. Admitting this part wasn’t going to be easy, for all he knew Professor Hotchner was going to disown him and never touch him ever again. That would be a travesty. He couldn’t lie, though. He promised he wouldn’t. And his Master would see right through him. “Um… I was with Oliver. I mean Dr. Owens. He let me s-stay with him,” he said, his voice wavering. “Double beds.”
Professor Hotchner closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “I don’t like that you did that. I guess I didn’t give you much of a choice.”
“You stole from me…” Spencer whispered. “While I was having a panic attack… you stole from me.”
“I own you, Spencer, you know, you’re mine. That means what’s yours is mine. I’m sorry I tricked you, but I’m not sorry I took it.”
Spencer picked at his fingers. “I memorized the number anyway.”
“That’s not the point. I didn’t want you talking to him.”
“Well, I did, and I like him. He’s just like me. He’s young and intelligent and he’s gone through everything I have. I don’t like him like I like you. I like you differently. I like him as a friend, and that’s it I swear.”
“That’s exactly why I was so upset, seeing you realize that. I’ve known Dr. Owens for a while now. He used to do some consulting with the BAU. Just a few times, but I could see all the ways you two would hit it off. I got a bit carried away.”
“Can I still talk to him, Master?”
“If you ask my permission first, you may.”
Spencer let out a sigh he didn’t even realize he was holding. Both Professor Hotchner’s approval and Oliver’s friendship meant the world to him and he didn’t want to choose between one or the other. “Thank you.”
“Oh, Master…” He gulped. He almost forgot. “There’s one more thing… don’t be mad?”
Professor Hotchner tensed beside him, looking him hard in the eyes.
“I told Ethan… because I didn’t have any other excuse, I swear, because he kept asking about what I was hiding, and where I was going, and who I was seeing, and I didn’t have any good answer for him because I couldn’t explain being with hotels with you, I’d never tell him I was seeing you, I swear, but, uh.”
“Spit it out, Spence.”
“I, um, I t-told him that Oliver was my boyfriend,” he squeaked. “He saw him at the hotel when he picked me up and he wanted an explanation why he had to drive five hours to get me. I told him we had a fight and I had to leave… I hate lying to him. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at me, please?”
Professor Hotchner frowned, the line on his face becoming deeper and more menacing. “Your boyfriend?”
Spencer buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry!”
“You don’t get a boyfriend,” he said, his voice cold. “You don’t have a boyfriend. Tell Ethan you broke up with him.”
“But it’s the only way I can explain… I mean I can tell him, I didn’t like lying anyway, but where will I tell him I’m going then?”
“I’ll figure it out, but you are not to pretend that Dr. Owens is your boyfriend, are we clear?”
“Yes, Master.” His lip quivered. “We’re c-clear.”
“I’m not mad.” He smoothed his hair down behind his ear. “I understand why you did that. Make sure you follow the rules from now on, and I’ll take care of everything else. I’ll take care of you.”
Spencer closed his eyes, leaned into his hand, and nodded. He could do that.
. . .
His Master let him stay for dinner, and then drove him back to the dorms for classes the next day. Spencer spent what time he did have left at his house begging and whining and trying to convince him to touch him and fuck him while he still had the chance. Professor Hotchner obliged, and Spencer got fucked over the back over the couch, on the floor in his office that he wasn’t even supposed to be in, and against the counter while they made dinner. It still wasn’t enough, and he made big puppy dog eyes at him the entire drive back that he purposely ignored.
He was sent off with a kiss on the lips and a pat on the butt, and then it was back to normal. No more surreal fairytale where he gets to play house with his Master and gets railed whenever he wants. Well, whenever Professor Hotchner wanted. But Professor Hotchner wanted to often, so it was almost the same thing. He was going to miss waking up next to him even if he only experienced it a few times. There was nothing more satisfying than opening his eyes to a brawny chest and strong arm wrapped around him protectively.
Inside the dorm, Ethan was on the couch, talking on the phone, and Spencer gave him a nod before taking his things into his room. He put away all of his clothes and toiletries, then the light reading that he packed. Since knowing Professor Hotchner he was getting a little bit neater. Just last year, he would have thrown everything into the corner of the room and dealt with it later, but now everything had to be put away. He opened up the suitcase from the conference and got to work on it.
Well, maybe he did procrastinate since he didn’t put it away when he came back home the first time, but he wasn’t back all that long before Professor Hotchner had him cover over. So, it was really his first opportunity, if you thought about it.
Down at the bottom of his suitcase he grabbed a plastic bag. The buttplug was inside. He forgot about the buttplug. He picked up the corner of the baggie and looked at it. Such a little piece of plastic, yet it held so much power. In the bathroom he washed it again and put it in a new baggie because germs. Then he stuffed it in the back of his closet inside a pair of boots that he never wore.
He looked at the clock, eight pm. He had an hour to explain to Ethan where he was and tell him about the ‘break up’. Or, he could do it in the morning. The morning sounded better, but he needed to rip it off like a band-aid before he lost his nerve.
“Hey, E?” Spencer stood at the edge of the living room, barely poking his head out from behind the wall.
“One sec,” he said, saying something Spencer couldn’t hear into his phone, and closing it. “What’s up?”
“I wanted to thank you again for the other day.”
“I’m just glad you finally opened up, man.” Ethan sighed.
Spencer walked over to the couch, looking at Ethan’s relieved face. “I’m sorry about that too. I was going through a lot. It’s not like I didn’t want to tell you, I just didn’t want to tell anyone.”
“I get that.” He looked like he was debating something in his head- he could be very thoughtful when he wanted to. He was a great friend and always looking for ways to be there for him, understand him. It was something Spencer usually needed. Now, though, he didn’t want to be fully understood. Ethan spoke up again, “We gotta stick together, though, you know? Best friends. We’ve been through some shit together. Remember when you ‘accidentally’ insulted that girl at that pep rally last year? God, she really mauled you. And her boyfriend, damn. He wasn’t gentle. I had your back, though. I’ve got the scar to prove it!” He lifted up his hand, a white line showing under his knuckle, going to the wrist. “I’m always gonna be there for you no matter what. Even if you don’t think I will be, I will. Oh- and I still don’t believe that you didn’t know ‘bougie’ was an insult. No way.”
“Hey! I didn’t know. How was I supposed to know that?” He groaned. “But, me too. I mean, if you needed me to, I’d have your back.”
Ethan smiled. “Thanks, Spence.”
“I mean it. I’ve been a bad friend lately. Not that I have a lot of practice, you were right, people just don’t like me very much, but I’ll try harder.”
“Ah, dude, shit, I’m sorry I said those things. I didn’t mean it. Well, maybe a little, but not in a bad way, you know? You’re just different. Makes you you. I like how you are and I was a fucking asshole to make you feel bad about it. I was frustrated.”
“It’s cool, really. I know how I am.” Spencer shuffled around the couch and sat down “There’s one more thing… Oliver and I broke up.”
“Fuck, dude. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t really want to talk about it, though.”
“Okay. So, you wanna watch a movie or something? Die Hard just came on, it’s only 10 minutes in.”
Spencer leaned back, kicking his feet up on the ottoman. “Nah, it’s-” He glanced over at the clock, 8:35. “It’s late, I have to get up early. I’m gonna pass out at nine.”
Ethan huffed, and turned the volume up. “Your loss.”
Spencer rolled his eyes and enjoyed the silence between and the sounds of Mclane growling on the tv. Fifteen minutes later, he brushed his teeth and went to bed, but not before sending Professor Hotchner a goodnight text.
. . .
Monday morning was harder than it should have been. First of all, Spencer’s alarm was unnecessarily loud and super early. Then on top of that, he had to fish out his sneakers from the back of his closet and run around outside like a lunatic, or a health nut, and he didn’t even get to be soaped down by his Master afterwards, and that was the best part.
He did wear nice comfy sweats, though, and decided to take all of his things to the library after, so it wasn’t that bad after the first hour or two. He texted Professor Hotchner a picture of his sneakers when he went on the run just for proof, because honestly he was surprised that he even did it at all, and okay, he was a little bit proud.
At the library, he took up an entire table just for himself. His books and papers were spread all over and he went through all of his course materials. Unlike regular students, he was taking a mixture of higher post-grad classes and lower level entry classes since he was working towards his phD as well as his psych undergrad. After this semester ended, he only had one more left before he could get in front of the capstone committee and defend his dissertation. After that, he’d be a Doctor. A real certified Doctor. Not bad for a kid who used to get shoved in lockers.
Most of the day passed at the library, he almost forgot to eat, then he hightailed it over to his lecture, and after that back to sleep. The entire week passed by just the same; waking up way too early, running, studying, and begging Professor Hotchner to touch him. His Master was mostly hands off in class, though, and after class in his office he was only going to far as blowjobs, never as far as penetrative sex. It was infuriating, and Spencer was itching for more. He wanted Professor Hotchner to buy a hotel already and fuck him senlesless, fuck all of his stress and his worries away; make him feel weightless and wanted.
He wanted to get down on his hands and knees and crawl around for him. He wanted to do it naked. He wanted to feel the weight of a ball gag between his lips, and the sting of a palm smacking his ass. Hell, he’d even take a cockring at this point. The bruises on his butt were halfway healed, not hurting nearly as much as they did a week ago, and even those he was getting a bit sad to see go. At least those reminded him of his Master’s passion and the way that he felt so possessive about him. In the back of his mind, somewhere, really far away, he knew that being possessed wasn’t healthy, but it felt really, really good to be wanted like that. He liked being Professor Hotchner’s.
His property.
His boy.
His, his, his.
Notes:
Eh, here it is. Next chap 12/23
I completely forgot I wrote out this conversation lmao
Chapter 26: The Desk
Summary:
Last chapter Spencer had a talk with Professor Hotchner and with Ethan, neither or which was very productive. While Prof Hotch acknowledged his panic attack, he still ascertained that Spencer was his to do with as he pleased, and Ethan only got a bunch more lies, not the truth he was looking for.
Chapter Text
“Got your hands bound, your head down
And your eyes closed
You look so precious now”
― Tool, 'Prison Sex'
Two weeks later, on a Thursday, Spencer found himself sitting in the front row of Professor Hotchner’s class. They were learning a section that he already read and memorized, so instead of listening, he sat with his head propped up in his hand, his mind wandering elsewhere. Professor Hotchner had him dress in a blue button-down and black slacks that morning, the ones that were just a little bit too snug, and it wasn’t helping one bit with what was going on inside of them.
Professor Hotchner was extremely attractive talking to a room full of people. He was in control, assertive, and completely at ease being the lead. If only he would start barking out things that were a little bit more sexual…
Spencer shook his head and straightened his back; his head was filling with dirty images and he was getting harder by the minute. To no avail, he crossed his legs, tried to focus- something about social cognition? The way Professor Hotchner was leaning against the desk up front, though, the one he’s bent him over so many times, ah, focusing was near impossible.
And surely he knew what he was doing, running his hand down his thigh like that? Just a few more inches to the right, he was so close, so very close, to rubbing up against, oh, did Professor Hotchner have a bulge in his pants too? God, he had such a big, thick, cock, and was under there right at that very moment. Spencer just wanted to drop down from his desk, crawl over, and beg for a taste.
“Are you paying attention, Reid?” A voice cut into his thoughts all of the sudden. Or at least what felt like all of the sudden. Spencer must have been staring and not listening at all. Everyone was staring, he must have said it a few times by then.
“Um, yes, Sir,” said Spencer. Some of the students laughed in the back.
Professor Hotchner walked over to him in the front row and looked down. “Are you sure about that?” The look in his eye was scandalous. He didn’t know what he had in store for him, but it wasn’t good, and he thought that he probably should have paid attention after all.
“No, Sir,” he squeaked out. It was so low he was sure Professor Hotchner was the only one who could hear it. Either way, it didn’t matter, because Spencer’s sole focus was Professor Hotchner and his crotch pressed up against the side of his desk; no one else in the room was even registering. Just cock and that amazing smell that was his Master, all musky and sexy, like whiskey and leather, fuck.
His tongue felt big in his mouth, and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to start drooling everywhere. Maybe Professor Hotchner would be proud; he’s developed a pavlovian response to his cock. Itchy fingers wanted to take the zipper down, and knees begged to be on the floor, too. And there was no way that Professor Hotchner wasn't doing it on purpose. No, he knew exactly what he was doing, and Spencer was sure that underneath that stoic face there was a huge shit-eating grin.
Instead of ripping him up out of his chair by the back of his shirt collar and bending him over the desk for everyone to gape at, he started asking him about the lesson, and thank God for the fact that he could go back in his mind and reread the text in two seconds flat because his voice was deadly. Plus, he wanted to impress him. Or at the very least just get the answers right. Because as long as he was down there drilling him, he could be so, so close to his cock and the way that he kept moving his hips and flaunting it. It had grown considerably bigger, the bulge, and then Professor Hotchner’s hand was down on his thigh again, oh my god, and please, please, just touch it— Spencer felt so hot he was considering ripping off his cardigan and maybe unbuttoning his dress shirt too. His face must have been red. It was nearing a hundred degrees in the room, and he couldn’t cool down. Plus, his own erection was pushing up against his tight slacks, asking for more room but not getting any, sending shivers down his spine. Ah, that hand, moving, please, just a little bit more!
He could see the outline of the Hotch’s tip all heavy and thick against his thigh, and then no! He walked back to the front of the classroom leaving him sitting there hot, bothered, and so very horny to the point where he wanted to cum in his pants. He would never, though, not in a million years, cum without his Master’s permission. Not after last time when he was made to cum over and over and over again as punishment until his cock was like one big exposed nerve. God, he was so sensitive even the air hurt him. No, he was obedient now, a good boy, so he closed his eyes and thought about math problems until he wasn't dangerously close to the edge anymore.
Then Professor Hotchner smirked at him from across the room; damnit! He knew exactly what he was doing.
. . .
Professor Hotchner beckoned him to his office after class. Spencer locked the door behind him and sank to his knees, already buzzing with arousal. He hoped that his Master wouldn’t do too much foreplay today because he wanted his cock, and he wanted it now.
“Come,” he commanded. He was pointing to the spot in directly front of him. Spencer crawled forward and looked up. He loved looking at Professor Hotchner from down low on the floor, it made the butterflies in his stomach go crazy. “Off. Now.” He pinched the fabric of Spencer’s shirt between his fingers and tugged. Spencer slid the button up over his head and then started at his slacks. He was left in just his boxers feeling so right.
There were hands all over his face, caressing his chin and cheekbones, a thumb sliding over his bottom lip. He closed his eyes and felt it all. So soothing. Then there was a pressure against his lips and he opened up, taking in the head of his Master’s cock, smiling as much as he could with his mouth open wide. He loved the heavy weight against his tongue and the taste that he could only describe as sex. He clasped his hands together behind his back and started bobbing his head back and forth, getting the cock all spit-slick and hard.
He was straining to keep his eyes open and attentive on Profesor Hotchner in front of him, and the tears were starting to well up at the corner of his eyes; he wasn’t sad, not even a little bit, but the physical sensation of having something shoved down his throat always brought that response forward. He could get technical about it, could even name the ducts responsible, but with his Master’s cock was down his throat it was no time to think about such things. It wasn’t time to think about anything.
His Master’s hand grabbed at his hair and steadied him. He started thrusting in and going even further down than Spencer could manage by himself, leading him to start sputtering and gagging, but he held on. He was a good boy, a good little cock sucker, and he’d take it all without complaint. Professor Hotchner thrust in again, hard, and he moaned from the back of his throat. Professor Hotchner bit his lip above him, a low groan emanating from him, and Spencer’s cock twitched with need.
He was thrusting in hard and fast when there was a knock at the door. Knock, knock, knock.
Then a twisting of the door knob, but thank god Spencer was on his game and locked that damned thing.
“One second!” barked out Professor Hotchner, his voice hoarse.
“I wanted to talk to you about the last draw-up of the final exams, it’s Professor Hayward,” they said from the other side of the door.
His Master looked at him on the floor, nacked except for his briefs, red faced and spit dripping down his chin, and he groaned. He grabbed his hair at the back of his neck and pulled him forward. “I can’t have a student in here with the door locked. Under the desk, now,” he whispered. “And keep quiet.”
He tossed his clothes in after him, and Spencer could hear him opening the door and letting in Professor Hayworth.
“Come in, Professor,” he said.
“Thank you.” Spencer heard the chair squeak. “Door locked during office hours? Are you busy?”
Spencer privately thought that was a better question to ask while he was still behind the door, but his Master sat down in his chair, and he lost all train of thought with his crotch up in his face. His tasty, hard cock, throbbing and wet with his spit, right there under his pants. Just waiting for him to finish it off, my god, he just wanted to finish what he started, it wasn’t fair!
“It’s fine, I just had some work I needed to focus on. You said this was about the finals?”
“Yes, the final draft is set to be reviewed, we just need you and one other professor to sign off on the changes since the last revision. Everything is nearly set for next month, the schedules are decided, everything is running smoothly. It’s just this,” Spencer heard papers being slid across the top of the desk. “That needs review.”
Spencer leaned forward and rested his head against his Master’s thigh, inhaling long. Sex. So musky and good. He rubbed his cheek against his slacks and bit back a moan. He was on his knees and in the perfect position to—
“You can go over it now, if you’d like. Actually, that would be best. We have to hand this into the board tomorrow and my next stop is Professor Avery’s office for her signature.”
Professor Hotchner let out a sigh of displeasure, Spencer could read them easily now, and he felt compelled to bow his head and apologize but it wasn’t him that he was sighing at, he knew that. Instead, he turned his head and pressed his mouth up against the bulge in his pants and smelled again. Professor Hotchner twitched underneath him.
“These all look fine to me so far.”
Spencer licked the material and Professor Hotchner twitched again. His breath was hot and wet against his pants and he wanted more. His bulge was getting bigger and harder and he knew his Master was turned on. He wanted to beg for it but he had to be quiet.
“Here, take a look at number 35,” Professor Hotchner said. “The conclusion that the student should come to isn’t represented by the answer that’s chosen.”
There was sliding of paper against the desk, and then Professor Hotchner’s hand was down under the desk and pulling down his zipper! Spencer grabbed at his cock so fast. It was still wet with his spit and he ran his hands along it, pumping slow. He couldn’t wait, he didn’t want to tease, he just wanted to feel it in his mouth, and he sank down instantly.
“Well, Professor, this one is one of the main fundamentals that’s outlined in the text, they should come to this-” Professor Hayward started.
“My apologies, no you’re right,” Professor Hotchner said, taking the papers back. “My head was elsewhere.”
“Quite alright!” he replied. “Say, Hotchner, why is there a backpack in here?”
Spencer couldn’t hear with his mind so focused on the cock he was pulsing deep down his throat.
“Hm? Oh, a student left that in here yesterday. Hasn’t been back to pick it up yet.”
Professor Hayward chuckled. Spencer swallowed against the cock and fought a moan. “Well, if they want their work, they’ll be back.”
Professor Hotchner made a grunt in agreement, Spencer wished it was him who made him make that noise, and then he spoke up again. “This looks fine. Where’s the signoff sheet?”
Spencer plunged forward and loosened up his jaw, deepthroating as best as he could. Professor Hotchner was signing off, and Professor Hayworth’s chair squeaked again.
“Thank you, Professor. I’ll email you the finals schedule some time tomorrow.” Then the door shut, and Spencer moaned deliriously.
“Such a good boy, being so quiet,” Professor Hotchner said, his voice nearly breaking. He bucked his hips up and made Spencer gag. “You’re so good for me, Spence, so obedient and so pretty, my little fuck toy.”
Spencer keened, moaning shamelessly, and ran his tongue along the underside of his cock. Professor Hotchner pulled his cock from his mouth and Spencer whined, looking at him with big eyes. “Tongue out,” he ordered.
Spencer stuck out his tongue and waited. Professor Hotchner was pumping himself and biting his lip, and then Spencer felt warm spurts running down his cheeks and the salty bitterness of cum on his tongue. He came all over his face; Spencer adored the feeling.
“Cauhn ehh tasffe Mfter,” he tried to say with his tongue still out. He wouldn't taste his Master’s cum without his permission.
Professor Hotchner nodded his head and smiled. “Yes, sweetheart, go ahead, you deserve it.”
Spencer immediately closed his mouth and swallowed, and then licked his lips with a moan.
Professor Hotchner got up and locked the door, then made him get dressed and wipe the rest of the cum off his face before he pulled him onto his lap and kissed his cheek.
“I’m taking you to my house after classes today. When you’re finished, come to my office. I’ll drive you back in the morning.”
“Really?” Spencer smiled a dazzling smile, then threw his arms around his neck. “Thank you!”
. . .
Around four in the afternoon, Spencer was finishing up Philosophy, something he was taking just for fun, when his cell buzzed in his back pocket.
Remember me? O.
He got halfway through writing out a reply when his fingers stilled on the keyboard. He should really ask his Master before sending that. For a second, he felt panicked thinking about what he almost did and how that could have led to a very painful punishment.
Master my I ask a Q? s.
Yes. H.
um. dr. Owens jst txtd me. am I allwd 2 answr? s.
Good boy for asking. Yes, you have my permission. Keep it brief. H.
thnk u Master <3 s.
“Ah,” Spencer typed out his text so fast he surprised himself by tacking a heart onto the end of it, his breath catching after he pressed send. He was getting too good at texting. He silently cursed himself. When Professor Hotchner didn’t respond, he wasn’t sure if he was more glad or sad.
of crse I rmbr. hey, Oliver S.
Just making sure! Genius like you probably has a lot on his mind O.
oh pls! I cld sy the sme abt u S.
Haha. Well I was texting you because I’ll be down in DC next weekend for business. O.
Cool! S.
I thought we could meet up? O.
uh oh. He really wanted to see Oliver but there was no way he would be allowed.
Master… cn I hng w him nxt wknd? Pls? s.
No. H.
Please? s.
No. Don’t ask again. H.
Spencer, you still there? Did I scare you away? O.
Srry! Im here. I cnt… im bsy S.
Oh, okay. Well if your plans change, let me know! O.
ok S.
Ys sir. srry. :( s.
I’ll see you soon. H.
There had to be some sort of way to convince Master to let him see Oliver. People like Oliver didn’t come around that often. He wasn’t like Ethan- Ethan couldn’t understand him like Oliver could. He had to hold on to Oliver as tight as he could and hope that Professor Hotchner didn’t pry him off. If Professor Hotchner did make him give Oliver’s friendship up… would he do it? Could he do it? He wanted both. There was no good answer in choosing between his Master and Oliver.
Slowly, he ran his hand through his hair and groaned. Thank God it was Thursday; the weekend couldn't come fast enough. And thank God he would be getting fucked tonight. Or at least he hoped he would. And if he did, he hoped to God that he would be allowed to cum.
He showed up to Professor Hotchner’s office a half hour later since he had to walk all the way across campus, and stopped to talk to Penny. (who chased after him when she saw him through the window of the student center) She begged him to come over to her dorm over the weekend, but he told her that he’d have to get back to her. She went away, but only after making him promise to let her know.
Once inside the office he locked the door and dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Professor Hotchner came over and ran his hand along his chin, and he leaned into it with his eyes closed. He knelt down and pressed a kiss to his forehead and put something in his hand. He felt it, it was a set of keys, and Professor Hotchner said, “Those are my car keys. Go wait in my car for me. I’ll be out in a little while. I don’t want anyone to see us walking out together.”
Spencer nodded. He waited until his Master stood back up and then got up himself. “Now, Sir?”
“Yes, go now,” he replied, and slapped him on the ass. Spencer blushed and exited his office.
Chapter 27: You're My Compass
Summary:
Last chap Spencer sucked off prof hotch under this desk while prof hotch talked to another proffer about the schedule for finals.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Darkness bound them closer than light."
― Orson Scott Card, Speaker for the Dead
p>Back at Professor Hotchner’s house, which still made his stomach all warm and tingly to think about, he was led inside and stripped down to his boxers again as soon as he walked in. That, and he was made to get on all fours like an obedient little puppy, so he followed his Master into the living room by trailing behind him and sighing once they got there, because the soft carpet was so much better on his knees than the hardwood in the foyer.
“Be a good boy and face the wall. Don’t make a peep, I’ll be back to get you soon.”
Spencer looked over at the wall, then back to Professor Hotchner and gulped. “Yes, Master.” He crawled over and kneeled, looking at nothing but the wall, and began waiting. There was no telling how long he would be, but he hoped it wouldn’t be hours. In reality, he would wait as long as it took. Days, even. Never again would he make the mistake of going against what his Master said.
Luckily, he heard him come back after what felt like an hour, with anticipation buzzing through him as his footsteps came up close, then right behind him. It took every ounce of willpower to keep his face forward and his hands behind his back instead of leaping up and kissing him or glomming onto his calf and rubbing his face against his thigh.
“You did very well,” he said. “Follow me.”
Spencer dropped down again to his hands and crawled after Professor Hotchner. It was tricky as he went up the stairs, but not tricky enough to make him stumble. Spencer had a proud smile on his face when he made it all the way up. Then, he was led into his Master’s bedroom. Yay.
“Up to your feet, sweetheart,” he said.
Spencer stood up. It almost felt wrong. Professor Hotchner nudged him backwards making him sit on the bed.
“I have something for you.” He looked down at his with smoky brown eyes that danced with something undefinable.
“What, Master?” He couldn’t help the awe that seeped into his voice. A present? He never gets presents, not ever. His hands fidgeted eagerly in his lap.
“A gift for you,” he said vaugely, looking him in the eye. “If you’d like it.”
His reply was instantaneous. “I want it!”
“Okay, shh. Let me show you first, and then you can make up your mind.”
Spencer nodded, though he knew he wouldn’t have to make up his mind if it was already made. Anything that Professor Hotchner wanted to give him, gift him, he wanted. It felt like heaven on Earth to him. He was thinking about him enough to go out of his eway to buy him something. Professor Hotchner brought out a black box from on top of the dresser and Spencer swung his feet happily against the side of the bed, a shy smile playing on his lips.
What a nice box. He bet it had something nice inside.
“It’s special, and it’s just for you.” Professor Hotchner sat down next to him. The bed dripped and warmth radiated off him. Spencer leaned in unconsciously. Gently, Professor Hotchner put the box in his hands and kissed his cheek. He blused, and opened the box up.
Inside was a silver necklace with a round compass charm.
“Wow…” Spencer gasped in reverence. He went to reach for it, but Professor Hotchner swatted his hand away.
“No, no,” he tutted. “This is a special necklace. Do you know why?”
Spencer shook his head.
“I wanted to get you something that would represent our bond. Our very special bond. It’s a way to remember who you belong to, and what it means to you.”
“It’s a compass.” Spencer’s eyes were still glued to the shiny silver.
Professor Hotchner gently grabbed Spencer’s chin to tilt up, so he would look him in the eyes. “Because I guide you. You listen to me. I’m your compass.”
Spencer but his lip, his eyes twinkling. “That’s- that’s so-” his heart was beating fast and hard in his chest, and he thought that this must be what love felt like. “Oh, god. I want it. Please?”
“You accept it, and you submit yourself to me. Symbolically, it’s akin to a collar. A pretty one you can wear in public. Do you want to wear my collar, Spence?”
Spencer nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes, yes. Master. Please.?”
Professor Hotchner smiled, and Spencer’s heart leapt into his throat. He took the necklace out and Spencer turned around to let him get a better angle. As he hooked it around his neck, something inside bloomed bright and wonderful, and then his Master brought him into a tight, suffocating hug.
“Thank you, Master. I’m so happy to be yours,” he whispered against his chest.
“I’m happy you’re mine too, sweetheart,” he cooed, pulling back and kissing him on the lips. “Such a perfect boy. My perfect young man.”
Spencer moaned, opened mouthed into the kiss and gave himself over to his Master. Professor Hotchner pulled him up into his lap and pulled down his boxers, then his own pants. He trailed kisses down Spencer’s neck, sucking on the skin at his collarbone, and yanked off his own shirt.
Thrusting down against his Master’s cock, he wiggled about so he was straddling him. His breathing came out heavy and labored. He never felt so happy and perfect in his whole life. Professor Hotchner grabbed at his hips and pulled him flush against him, then smacked his ass making him gasp. The bruises from his last punishment all but healed and he was still being a good boy.
Professor Hotchner grabbed a bottle of lube from the nightstand and slicked himself up before telling him to position himself over his cock. Spencer obeyed with needy eyes and felt his tip up against his hole, just waiting for his Master to tell him to start riding. Somehow, he never rode a cock before, but he’d seen it in porn and he was so ready to try it out.
“Go ahead, baby, take it in,” he cooed, “All of it.” and Spencer let out a deep moan as he sunk down on his throbbing cock. He was already loosened up from all the regular sex they had that he was almost always ready to go, but it still stretched him with a slight burn. Steadily, he built up a rhythm until he was bouncing up and down on his cock, using his shoulders for leverage, and crying out loudly.
Professor Hotchner had one hand on his hip, and the other grabbing his ass cheek, and it made his cock feel harder than ever. Everything about this position drove Spencer wild. He could see Professor Hotchner ’s dark and handsome face right in front of him; it was the closest they’d ever been during sex. He could kiss his lips, smell his aftershave. Plus, Spencer was in control, setting the pace, actually doing the fucking for once. It felt like a dream. A wet dream, but a dream nonetheless.
Keeping up the pace, the bed slightly rocking, the sound of skin slapping down on skin and moans filling the air, Professor Hotchner’s breathing started getting ragged and tense. He slid his hand up from Spencer’s ass to the back of his neck and twirled his finger around the chain of the necklace, gripping it tight. Spencer threw his head back, letting himself get lost in the moment. He didn’t care if he fell completely apart; he was loving every second of it.
He kept riding Professor Hotchner until- fuck- unitl he hit that sweet spot, and cried out. He angled it just right and kept fucking himself to feel his Master’s cock brush up against his prostate. He was going to fall apart. Moaning loudly, he dug his fingers into Professor Hotchner ’s shoulders. “Please Master, please please please, please, let me cum, please please-”
“Cum, Spence,” he growled up against his ear, for once giving him his release.
He was so merciful. Spencer let go and came all over his stomach and his Master’s, then felt the warm wetness inside him that was his sweet reward filling him up.
“So good for me, Spence. You rode my cock so well,” he purred. He stood up, taking Spencer with him like a ragdoll, and laid him back down on the bed. Spencer was letting himself be manhandled, not that he had much of a choice in the after anyway, having already given himself in his entirety to his Master, and looking up at Professor Hotchner with blown out eyes. So dark and handsome and fit, and he was his Master. All his.
“Don’t move.” He brought a washcloth from the bathroom to clean him up, and Spencer smiled as he wiped him. He scooted in beside him and laid his head down on his chest feeling like everything was right in the world.
“Daddy’s got you,” he whispered.
Spencer yelped, overjoyed, and squeezed him so tight he worried he might upset him, but he only laughed. He scooted up and nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck and breathlessly moaned out, “Dadddddddy.”
“Mm. Tell Daddy how much you liked taking his cock.”
“I love it, Daddy, I love it so much. I think about it all the time. Feels s’good”
“That’s my needy boy. Such a little slut.”
Spencer whined up against his skin, and he felt Professor Hotchner shiver.
“Daddy’s going to hold you for a little bit. Then I’ll make you dinner, baby.”
He smiled. “Thank you, Daddy, you’re so good to me.”
Later, they had dinner together. Professor Hotchner made Spencer’s favorite, chicken tandoori, which he assured him wasn’t that hard to make after he made a fuss about going through too much effort. But he must have made the effor, Spencer thought, or else why would he already have naan bread in his house? He thought it was delicious, though, and privately keened at the domestic image of Professor Hotchner cooking for him.
After, they took a shower together and watched a movie until nine o’clock, which was his bed time. Master got him in bed and kissed him, and tried to leave, but Spencer begged for his Daddy to sleep with him, and he relented, finally scooting in beside him and spooning him. Spencer slept instantly with a satisfied smile and his Master’s strong arms around him.
. . .
Spencer spent the next week studying for finals. They were coming up fast, and even having genius level intellect he still wanted to cram until the last second. There weren’t any late nights spent holed up in the library, unfortunately, (he loved the extra-quiet feeling of the library at night) because he honored his bedtime and the ungodly act of running every morning. (which, by the way, he was getting quite better at- he almost had a mile down pat)
He had until the end of the month to brush up on all the material for all his classes, or about two weeks. His class that was a prelude to his last course before he obtained his phD was proving to be the most time consuming. He may very well be able to read 20 thousand words per minute, but that didn’t mean he could write them that fast, and writing his papers felt painstakingly slow because of it.
His phone buzzed in his lap. Oliver.
Surprisingly, Professor Hotchner was letting him text Oliver, and he was really nice about it. He was allowed to exchange messages with him until five in the evening, and after that he had to wait until the next day, and he also couldn’t send more than twenty texts per day. It made their conversations limited, but he was glad for anything at that point, and Professor Hotchner didn’t really have to let him do anything at all. He should be grateful. Well, he was grateful.
And the other thing that Professor Hotchner let him do was hang out with Penny that evening. That one he almost hoped he wouldn’t allow, but It turned out to be a very fun night, and maybe Professor Hotchner knew that in the first place? He had so much more fun than he would have anticipated. It helped a great deal that she didn’t force him out anywhere and it was just the two of them watching tv and talking at her dorm. He could have done without the talking, maybe, butt was mostly Penny gushing about someone in her cybersecurity class.
And sure, when she talked about the guy she liked maybe he felt like Professor Hotchner’s name was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t dare let that slip out. Besides, he and Professor Hotchner were nothing like Penny and Kevin, Kevin being the guy from her class. They were romantic. Professor Hotchner wasn’t exactly... romantic. He was sexual more than anything else, except for certain times when he could swear that he was looking at him with hearts in his eyes, or stroking his hair behind his ear, or hugging him close on his lap and murmuring sweet things in his ear… okay Professor Hotchner was totally romantic.
It made his stomach all jittery.
So yeah, everytime Penny brought up Kevin, he wanted to gush right back about his own special someone. He wanted to tell her how he made him dinner and took him to the mall and bought him the cutest necklace ever. Instead he just fiddled with the compass between his fingers and hid a goofy grin. Even if he couldn’t say his things out loud… maybe it did feel good to gossip with Penny about boys. Well, men. Man. One man. His man.
He grabbed his phone and texted back Oliver, deciding it was time for a study break. He stuffed everything in his bag and walked down the stairs to exit the library. He walked across campus, knocked on his Master’s office door, locked the door, and dropped to his knees.
Notes:
hope u like it. Tried to edit. am low key a bit new-years drunk but thats neither here nor there. love u guys. update next week. muah
Chapter 28: Runs Are for Thinking
Summary:
Last chap. Prof Hotch gave Spencer a
collarnecklace.
Chapter Text
"She wanted to go inside. She wanted to go in,
wanting it as we want to jump from balconies,
as the glint of the rails tempts us when we hear the approaching train.”
― Thomas Harris, Hannibal
Spencer had a thought on his morning run.
A bad one.
Next semester his Master wouldn’t be his Professor anymore, and that thought was scary. It made him stop in the middle of the path and nearly trip on the pavement. Once he came to that realization, he felt like his chest was tight for two days straight. It only stopped when he was sitting on Master's lap, having just swallowed a load of cum, and he blurted it out like the words like projectile vomit.
Once out, the tightness stopped.
“I don’t want you to not be my Professor anymore. Once this semester ends… next week, what am I gonna do? I like seeing you in class. I look forward to it... Sir.”
“Don’t worry, Spencer, I’m not going anywhere.” He brought his lips to his forehead and kissed.
“No, but it won’t be the same. I need you. I don’t want anything to change. I like it the way it is!”
Professor Hotchner ran his hand up and down his arm. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s fine. We’ll see each other just as much. There’s no need to worry about missing me. I’m right here. Nothing is going to change except for the fact that we won’t see each other in class for a few hours. Besides, our class is only three times a week, it’s not that big of a change. You have to be a big boy and deal with it.”
“But I don’t want to,” Spencer huffed. He tightened his grip around his Master and buried his face in his shoulder.
“Well, you’re going to have to. The only way you’d still have me as a professor would be if you fail that class, and that’s impossible- You have a near perfect average,” he said. “You’ve finished all the lower level Psych classes, so you’re done with mine. Now, if you're interested in criminology...”
“I could fail,” Spencer blurted out and looked up. “I’ll bomb the final.”
“No, you will not.”
“Yes. I will!” Spencer looked at him with wide, fearful eyes. It was the only way to stay close to him. It was the only way for things to stay the same.
Taking the class again wouldn’t bother him. He was going to bomb the final.
“If you purposely fail my final, you will be severely punished,” he said, ice dripping from his words.
Spencer didn't care. He had his ass bruised a deeper purple than an eggplant and his dick sore beyond belief. He could do it again. They both absolutely hurt, but they faded after a while and just turned into a memory. He wanted this, really wanted it, and he would take his punishment if need be.
He didn't respond. Professor Hotchner pinched him on the thigh. “Do you understand me, Spencer? You are not to fail that test or you will regret it.”
“I understand, Master.” And he did. He just didn’t care.
Professor Hotchner took out a buttplug from his desk drawer, bigger than the one before, and made him wear it for the rest of the day.
. . .
Later in the dorm, Spencer was sitting with Ethan and watching him shoot zombies. It wasn’t the most stimulating past time, but he promised Ethan he’d hangout with him more so there he was doing it. And, if he wanted to think about his course material in his head, Ethan would never know.
His phone buzzed and Professor Hotchner reminded him to eat dinner, which he really should have been asking permission for, but like always, he forgot. If anything, Professor Hotchner was enforcing it on him. Eating was boring and he had better things to do and think about. Like watching Ethan play video games… yeah, okay, he got up and heated some chicken with rice up in the microwave.
Good boy. H.
Now go into the bathroom. H.
yes Master s.
“Hey, uh, I’ll be right back,” Spencer said. Ethan grunted and yelled at the tv.
He locked the door behind him and waited for another text. He was excited and horny just from the anticipation. His Master loved giving him tasks.
Take off your shirt. H.
He stared back at his shirtless reflection, thinking. His body looked healthier than before. Just as lanky and skinny, but now it had a hint of strength to it. Just a hint. And his hair was getting long- all the way down past his shoulders.
Sharpie. On your hip. H.
Spencer rummaged through the cabinet for a sharpie. He knew it was in there; it wasn’t the first time he’d been made to do this.
Saying what? s.
Something that makes you blush. H.
yes Master s.
The text alone made him blush, he thought. H looked at his reflection, the marker in his hand, going through all of the possibilities that might please Professor Hotchner. There were plenty of terms that made him feel embarrassed, ashamed. Humiliated. So many of the things he’s read online have made him blush like crazy.
There was a giddy feeling filling him and he made bold black stokes on the skin above his thigh and under his belly button. Professor Hotchner loved that sensitive bit of skin. He always left bite marks that lasted for days.
I finished Master s.
Good boy. Take a picture. Show me how pretty my boy looks. H.
Spencer hated this part... he never liked seeing himself in photographs. He was too awkward looking, too skinny, too ugly. Even with the newfound muscle he was still a gangly string bean. He pushed his sweats back down low so all of the words were showing, gave an embarrassed little smile, and snapped the picture.
Image0023.jpg s.
So gorgeous, sweetheart. H.
Spencer blushed harder than he did when he wrote the words. Gorgeous… he wasn’t gorgeous. But Master thought he was. Did he really think that? He wanted to say NO, but Professor Hotchner wouldn’t like him questioning if what he said was right. His word was law, and he said he was gorgeous… then he was.
No arguments.
His heart fluttered. Professor Hotchner could be really, really sweet. He reread the text over and over. And over and over and over.
Gorgeous.
He typed out his reply. thank you Master s. But he didn’t send it.
Stilling, he quick tacked on a '<3'. That was okay, wasn’t it? He’d done it before. Once, when he didn’t have time to think it through. His heart was hammering in his chest. Send it! his brain said. You like him, don't you? He puts hearts in your eyes. He just called you gorgeous! Send it.
He closed his eyes and pressed send. There. He did it.
thank you Master <3 s.
It’s almost time for bed, my good little boy. Text me later. H.
See? Fine. It was fine.
He tugged up sweats and threw his Dr. Who teeshirt back on (a surprisingly awesome gift from Penny) and went back out to the couch to Ethan who didn’t even look like he noticed he was gone for the past ten minutes.
“Dude, where’d you go? You fall in?”
Or maybe he did.
“No, I didn't fall in.” Spencer laughed, and reached over to push his shoulder and topple him over. He hardly budged.
He just laughed, “Hey! Quit it!” and threw a handful of pretzels at his face.
“Ow! That hit my eye!” Spencer gasped. “Ethan! You fucker! Ow!”
Ethan yelled at the tv again, turned, and grinned at him.
This time Spencer pushed him clean off the sofa and grinned right back. “Ah-! Oh god! No-! I died! Spence, I was so far! oh my god, the checkpoint was ages ago!”
“That’s what you get!” he laughed.
“Not that's what you get!” Ethan cried, pummeling him into the couch cushions. They’d fought like this a million times; Spencer was due to call uncle soon. If Ethan came in with the tickling, he was so done.
Yep, he was done. “E! No! Stop! Hahahahah!” He thrashed his legs out and fisted Ethan’s shirt in his hand, trying to him off, but laughing way too hard to be effective.
“Never!” he smirked, shoving his fingers under Spencer’s arms and wriggling them about. “You made me lose TWO HOURS of progress!”
“I— ah- I di— Eth— oh my-” He tried to catch his breath but the laughing and the sharp breaths just kept coming. Finally, he managed to scoot himself further up and out from underneath Ethan, but that only gave him the opportunity to grab his ankles and torture his feet which was ten times worse. “ETHAN!” Spencer half-screamed half-laughed, "ETHAN—"
He was kicking and kicked and breathing heavy but Ethan stopped without even being asked.
“Hey, man... is that— Do you have a tattoo?”
“What?” asked Spencer, looking down at his shirt that was riding up on his stomach, and his sweatpants that were almost covering his… “NO!”
“Oh, come on! Yes, you do! It’s right there! Dude—” his eyes were wild with wonder, “Come on! What is it?! I never thought, not in a million years, you’d get a tat. I mean, dude!”
“It’s- it’s not-” Spencer grabbed his sweats and pulled them up, swatting away Ethan’s hand in the process. “It’s… personal. I can’t show you.”
“Is it weird? What is it, a heart with ‘mommy’ in it? I already know you’re a momma’s boy. A pentagram? Minnie mouse? Symbol for Pi? Come on, I wanna know!”
“No!”
“But, Spence!”
No way on Earth he was going to let Ethan see 'DADDY'S FUCKHOLE’ written on his hip. Nu-uh, no. Instead, he tied his sweatpants up tight (Ethan was clawing at them) and made a mad dash for his room.
“Spence! You’re gonna have to show me eventually!”
Spencer shouted back from the closed door of their bedroom. “Not a chance!”
He slumped down against he bed and let out a breath. Wow, his heart would not stop hammering in his chest. Maybe it was time to invest in some rubbing alcohol, he thought.
Yep, definitely time.
Chapter 29: HOTCH
Summary:
In the last chapter, Spencer begrudgingly went for a run as Prof Hotch instructed him to do every morning, and then engaged in some naughty texting with him. He wrote something embarrassing above his hip and Ethan nearly saw it.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"It's a troubling paradox- I have total control, but only to the extent I have control over myself.”
―Blake Crouch, Dark Matter
Aaron was fielding calls all day from the custody lawyer, Jessica’s attorney, and the Social Services agency all morning. Matters were heating up for him after waiting so long; he’d been patient and it was finally paying off— Jack was coming home. Occasionally, but still. He secured unsupervised visitation which was the best scenario he could have hoped for given the current situation.
Sometime after the debacle, to put it lightly, with Foyett, there was a period where he felt as if he was continually on the edge of snapping. Fire. Everything was red, hot fire and there was rage that consumed him. The same rage that led him to murder Foyett in cold blood on his living room floor. Kept beating him, too, as he was dragged off his limp, bloodied body.
It made him unstable. For a while he wasn’t the kind of person that should be around a child. He was getting better, though, bit by bit. Jessica and the court were finally letting him back into his life.
He set up a date and a time, heart fluttering in his chest, for Saturday.
He missed Jack dearly.
Someday he would be the kind of father that made his son want to dress up like him for Halloween again. If it took everything he had, he’d get there.
The next morning he stocked his house full of food, games, and anything that a small child might enjoy. That meant lots of superhero everything. Spiderman action figures, Batman blankets, and red sneakers with The Flash logo on the side. He hoped it would be enough.
He hoped Jack would forgive him.
By afternoon he was on autopilot going through his lectures with a striking lack of interest. The fourth class he had was the only one that did anything for him, and that was only because Spencer was sitting in the front row eyeing him up like God.
He ignored him, mostly, careful not to give the other students any indications of his special preference for him, and went as far as shooting him obscure questions he was positive he never read about. He liked the way he would stumble over his words and admit defeat- the way that his cheeks flushed in embarrassment was exhilarating. Turning him into a blubbering idiot was his favorite thing to do.
What’s more, he could see how Spencer loved it. Deep down, that kid was getting off so hard on the way he was publicly humiliated for being everything he never was. He liked the was he made him feel stupid. He liked not being ‘The Genius kid’ for a few minutes each day. He loved it, and Aaron would give it to him because that’s what you do for your boy; you give him what he needs.
After class, he fucked Spencer over his desk, then brought him back home. Fucking him in his office was risky but the way he looked at him with those needy eyes made him cave every single time. The door was locked, at any rate, and if someone did demand to be let in, he’d simply have a repeat of what happened a few weeks ago with Professor Hayward.
He wouldn’t mind that.
As soon as he was inside, Spencer stripped down to his boxers and sunk to his knees. It was entirely pleasing to see how well he trained Spencer. He was becoming the shamelessly submissive boy that he knew he could be, that he could make him. There wasn’t anymore stuttering or struggling to ask for what he wanted. Now, Spencer begged, pleaded, and presented himself, hoping to get everything that he wanted, and Aaron wanted to give it all.
His head was tipped forward, hair spilling off his bare shoulders, back slightly arched, knees tucked under his thighs, and hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t look up when he walked away, or when he put his briefcase in his study. He didn’t look up when he passed by again, taking off his jacket and hanging it in the closet, or when he sifted through the pile of mail on the table. He sat completely still.
Spencer came forward when Aaron called for him; it was immediate. He told him to come sit at the doorway to his office and he did just that while he took the next hour going over paperwork. Managing his classes was easy enough, if not for the busy work. Spencer sat by and waited for him to finish.
After he did, he took a few minutes to admire Spencer in the doorway. It was amazing how much he held up in that head. When he thought about it too much, Aaron was amazed that Spencer seemed to want to obey him. Or had learned to like it, at the very least. It was hard to tell. Whatever the case, that genius was his boy. He wore his necklace, his collar, and he obeyed every word out of his mouth. He opened up his mouth, his ass, let him fuck him and fill him and do anything he pleased to him. And he loved it. He begged for it. How did he manage to pull that off?
He picked up a paper on the side of his desk and leaned back in his chair looking at it. It was a receipt for a desk. A desk for Spencer. One to put in his office so that he could work on his schooling. Spencer was writing his dissertation, afterall. It seemed a bit much, perhaps, but Spencer was growing on him in a big way.
“Living room, now,” he said. Spencer ducked his head in compliance and crawled away, his pert little ass swaying sinfully as he went.
He rewarded his boy by letting him suck him off. Spencer kept his eyes up the entire time, no matter how watery and desperate they had become by the end of it. He was the most enticing mixture of sexy and adorable. Everything about his red face and hollowed cheeks made Aaron want to thrust in deeper down his throat and flood it with his cum, and everything about the way that his eyes were blown wide and looking at him like he was everything made him want to scoop him up and plant kisses all over his face until he keened with happiness.
Instead, he wound his finger gently in the chain around Spencer's neck so it was pulled taut and fucked his wet mouth over and over until he came shallowly on his tongue and Spencer swallowed it all down. He wanted him to taste it.
Since he did such a good job, he let Spencer up on the couch and rest his head in his lap.
Aaron pulled out his cold case files and let Spencer help as best as he could with them. It wasn’t so much that he had any knowledge on profiling, not yet, it was that he could spot a small detail and launch into an entire encyclopedia’s worth of knowledge, and it helped put more than a few puzzle pieces together in Aaron’s mind. It astounded him.
Evening crawled by with Spencer still in his lap, dozing slightly, Aaron’s fingers scratching at his head, and when it hit five pm Aaron ordered him up to make dinner. He patted his butt and gave him instructions on what to do, knowing that by now he’d follow them to the T. There would be no more skipping on washing the dishes, and having to get spanked on the counter, or leaving out the ingredients to go bad and having to stand in the corner and count to a thousand. He could cook dinner all on his own without Aaron anticipating failure.
Aaron liked the domesticity of it. The way that Spencer radiated this interesting mix of masculine and feminine energy with an apron on did things to his heart that he wanted to push so far down that he couldn’t find it anymore. He didn’t want to have feelings for Spencer. Not true feelings, any way, only the kind that came from his hard cock wanting to feel the inside of him.
The intrusive thoughts about Spencer looking angelic and homely were not productive, not good. Under no circumstances he did want to love his boy like that. It was sexual. Possessive, even, he could admit to that. Just not… romantic.
“Dinner’s ready, Master,” Spencer said.
Aaron looked down at him kneeling on the floor. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice him crawl up. He was smiling so bright and proud, his eyes flickering back and forth from the kitchen to him, and Aaron leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead.
“Good boy,” he praised. Spencer blushed and followed him.
Spencer sat at the table eating his chicken and vegetables when Aaron noticed his eyes land on something by the door. Spencer’s brows furrowed, Aaron could see confusion and a slight flash of panic running across his features. Then he remembered what was by the door. Jack’s new shoes.
“They’re for my son,” he said, not turning around. He put his fork down. “He’s coming here on Saturday. I have visitation.”
“I didn’t know that.” Spencer's eyes were still locked on the shoes, looking funny.
“That’s because I hadn’t told you yet.”
“Were you planning on it?”
Aaron sighed. “On telling you? I’m not sure. I thought about it.” He could see the disappointment on Spencer’s face clear as day. That, and insecurity. There was a fear in the back of his mind that Spencer would react this way, and that was the reason he didn’t tell him.
“Oh.” Spencer took another bite of chicken and swallowed it down.
“It doesn’t concern you.” Aaron’s voice was strict and unyielding. “My son is my business. What you and I do is separate from my home life.”
Spencer didn’t look pleased at that, showing the first bit of defiance in quite a while. Since the conference, or, more specifically, since his punishment after. “But we’re at your home right now. And I always come over on Saturdays. That’s my day.”
Aaron raised an eyebrow at him, giving him a meaningful look. “Behave, Spencer.”
He looked down to his plate. “I’m sorry, Master.”
“You can come on Fridays instead.”
“I guess…” He sighed.
“No,” Aaron said. “Not ‘I guess’, say ‘thank you’.”
“Thank you,” he grumbled. “I guess.”
“Okay. If you’re going to be a brat, get on the floor.”
“I wasn't—”
“Now, Spencer.”
He watched Spencer's frown deepen as he got off his chair and onto his hands and knees. If he was going to act like a defiant little brat, then he wasn’t going to be allowed to eat at the table like a good boy with manners. He took Spencer’s plate and set it down on the tile in front of him. “Eat.”
“But my fork—”
“No. Eat,” he growled.
Spencer tipped his head down and started eating right off the plate with his mouth. He was messy and inefficient, getting food all over his cheeks and chin.
Aaron frowned at him. If he acted up any more, he’d have to punish him, and he planned on a nice evening, hoping to cuddle up with his boy and watch a movie before bed. He even rented a film Spencer asked to see, A Beautiful Mind, but it was too late for that now; that would be for a special day.
Spencer looked back up at him with hurt eyes but he made him lick the plate clean just to drive home the point. He needed Spencer to understand the consequences of talking back and questioning his authority. He would learn quickly what it meant to make a fuss about him seeing his son.
The only unexpected occurrence about the whole ordeal was watching the lust build up in Spencer’s briefs. Looked like his little slut liked being treated like a dumb puppy, despite how much it made him feel disrespected and hurt.
Or, Aaron figured, that was most likely a part of it.
Spanking would be next if he complained about Jack again, and Spencer didn’t like spanking one bit.
. . .
Aaron drove Spencer home in the morning. The rest of the night passed smoothly, though Spencer did act far more clingy than usual.
His classes consisted of final study sessions and reviews, and the next day was all about his son.
Jessica brought Jack over early in the morning. Aaron opened the door feeling like he was going to throw up his breakfast all over the welcome mat.
Jessica addressed him coolly. “Aaron.”
“DADDY!” Jack screamed. He bounced on his feet, teeter tottering around, trying to get impossibly close to his father. He immediately latched onto his leg with a big hug and wouldn’t let go.
Aaron squatted down and took Jack in his arms, squeezing him tight, all the longing he’d been feeling rising to the surface and making him shake. “Jack, buddy, I’ve missed you so much. I love you, Jacks. Look how big you’ve gotten!” Aaron sniffed, fighting back the tears. He rubbed little circles on Jack’s back to distract himself.
Jack grinned all toothy, (though one less than before judging by the gaping hole right in front- Aaron wondered if he still believed in the tooth fairy) standing up on his tippy toes. “I missed you too, Daddy. I did get real tall! Almost as tall as you, dad.” He giggled. “Aunt Jessica says we can hang out all day! Can we go to the arcade?”
“Yes, of course we can. And your Aunt Jessica is right. Today is all about you and me. We’re going to have a lot of fun together, and we’ll do it every week. What do you think about that, big guy?”
“Really?!” Jack gasped, bouncing again. “Yes! So cool! Aunt Jessica, did you hear that? I'm gonna see Dad every week!”
“I heard, honey,” Jessica said, smiling down at him.
“Come on, bud. Your Aunt has things to do, let’s go inside.” He held out his hand and Jack took it.
Aaron shot a look at Jessica, appreciative and genuine despite everything she did to keep them apart. He truly was trying to put it behind him. He would start by faking it. It couldn’t hurt having her friendly with him, anyway. Or civil, at the very least. “Thank you, Jess.”
“I’ll be back at seven tonight,” she said with her back already turned, going down the porch stairs.
“Seven, got it,” he called back. Ten wonderful hours with his favorite little guy.
He squeezed Jack’s hand.
“Want to see what I got you?” Aaron grinned.
Jack's eyes went wide. “Wow, a present?! Yeah!”
Notes:
Next chapter is next week! Thanks for everyone continuing to read, you guys seriously are the best. ❤️
Chapter 30: Spencer’s Day
Summary:
Last chap was about Hotch and getting some custody of Jack. Spencer spend the day at his house and then Hotch told him he couldn’t spend Saturdays with him anymore. Spencer didn’t like that.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“I fight & I fight
Just to keep the spark alive
But if there's nothing on the other side,
Why can't I leave well enough alone & go to the light?"
― Murder by Death, 'Go To the Light'
Master? s.
Prof. Hotchner? s.
Miss you. s.
Can I eat breakfast? s.
Message me back? Did I do smthn wrong? s.
Hello? s.
Need you. s.
Spencer, I’m with my son. I can’t micromanage you today. I’ll text you around 8pm. Until then, you can do what you want, just behave yourself. H.
Wait you cant leave me alone s.
Master :( s.
I dont know what to do w/o u. s.
Can I see my friends? s.
Fine s.
See u at 8. s.
<\3 s.
Spencer shoved his phone back in his pocket. Eight pm seemed impossibly far away. What would he even do with himself for so long? Professor Hotchner didn’t even let him breathe without permission and now he was giving him free reign to do whatever he wanted all because his son showed up? Not fair.
Not fair at all. He liked the rules. He liked asking permission. He liked his Master breathing down his neck for every single thing. As backwards as it sounded, it made him feel loved and wanted.
Now he felt empty. His hand itched over his back pocket. The clock told him that only five minutes passed.
Right where his heart sat was a bottomless hole, making him ache from his head to his toes. He wanted Professor Hotchner like he wanted to breathe. His Master was his air, his water, his shelter. He was everything.
Ten minutes. It was only nine in the morning. He already went on his run, taken a shower, and now… now he was going to eat without consulting Professor Hotchner, because he said he could do what he wanted.
Doing what he wanted meant eating pop tarts and soda and everything else in the cabinets that would rot him from the inside out. Ethan wouldn’t notice if he ate a few. And coffee. He could have so much coffee. No more stopping at two cups; he brewed a pot with the intention of drinking the entire thing. He put a bag of sugar on the counter, his pop tarts, powerade, and a pack of Reese's cups. Screw the rules. He wasn’t going to behave so long as his Master was ignoring him in favor of Jack.
Ethan slammed the door to their bedroom and came shuffling out into the main room, a fist rubbing at his sleep-filled eyes, and his pajama bottoms riding low on his waist. He arched an eyebrow at Spencer. “Fall off the healthy wagon?”
“Hm?” Spencer hummed with a mouthful of chocolate. “Oh, I- um. No, this is just…”
“Just candy and chocolate for breakfast?” Ethan laughed. “I’m not judging, man. I just meant you’ve been crazy healthy for a while now. I was wondering when you’d go back to coffee and air for sustenance.”
“Coffee is an essential food group.” Spencer smirked. The pot behind him beeped and he poured himself a glass in his favorite tardis shaped mug. “Besides, It’s just… for today. I think. We’ll see. I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it. How’s, uh, Elle?”
Ethan plopped down on the couch with a grin covering his entire face. “She’s great. God, she’s really great.” He closed his eyes and tipped his head back on the pillow and hummed. He seemed calm and happy. Spencer envied him immensely. He thought about the phone in his back pocket with no new messages.
His Master always made him feel the way Ethan was feeling with Elle.
“Do you love her?” Spencer blurted. He sat down on the couch next to Ethan’s feet and sipped his coffee with both hands slowly burning themselves on the mug.
Ethan’s eye flickered open. “Love?” He laughed. “Hell, yeah, spence. I fucking love her. But.” He shuffled up so his back was propped up against the arm of the couch, “Don’t you dare tell her that, you got it? It’s way too soon.”
Spencer took a sip and hummed at the flavor. He couldn’t meet Ethan’s eyes. “There's too soon? When can you… How… How do you know you’re in love?”
“Well, you just know. There’s butterflies and they’re always on your mind.”
Spencer thought about Professor Hotchner looking at him with his dark, intense eyes. He felt butterflies in his stomach. He felt butterflies in his stomach all the time around his Master. He thought about him constantly, too. Always. He couldn’t think of a time that he wasn’t thinking about him. “You know the butterfly feeling is just a physiologic response, right? It’s adrenaline.”
Damn, He couldn’t not quote research, could he? It was right there in his brain begging to be let out.
“I don’t care what it is.” Ethan yawned. “I don’t get ‘adrenaline’ around any other girls, so call it whatever you will, I just know that Elle’s the one that makes me feel that way.”
“I never thought about it like that.” Spencer yanked back his mug from Ethan’s grabbing hands. “Get your own!”
Ethan groaned, getting up off the couch. He looked back and raised a brow at Spencer. “And you know, that’s that’s because you only think about things in terms of science and evidence-this and research-that. Gotta think with your heart, dude. It’s all about heart.” He picked up the pot of coffee and poured out a glass while Spencer looked at it with disapproving eyes.
“When can you tell them? You know, that you, uh, love them?” Spencer whispered. Ethan only caught just barely.
“Heart, my man. Your heart will tell you. When it feels like you can’t keep it in your heart for even a second longer. That, or a few months in.” He laughed. “Gotta give her a few months, you don’t want to scare her away. Oh- or him. Sorry, I forgot.”
“Months.” He mused. It’d been more than a few months with Professor Hotchner, but he only felt like he might love him in the last few. Recently he was almost sure of it. It must be what Ethan meant, the heart thing, because he didn’t have any logical explanation for the way that his Master made him feel, like everything inside him was yearning for his touch.
. . .
Around noon, Spencer sat in the bathroom with his pants around his ankles and his hand wrapped around his cock, thinking about last week when his Master fucked him into the mattress so hard he had to carry him to the couch afterward. His memory was a beautiful thing; he could relive it like a movie, seeing Professor Hotchner’s red face above him, his strong hands gripping his thighs, the dark chest hair matted against his sweaty chest.
His hand worked quicker. He could almost feel the way he had held his own thighs back, his knees pressed against his chest, opened wide and vulnerable as Professor Hotchner took him. Each and every kiss he could see, almost feel. Professor Hotchner’s lips against his. Professor Hotchner’s dark eye lashes, his intense eyes. He voice, raspy and lust-ridden. The names that made his chest tighten. The passion written across his face as he possessed him. His, his his. Tension built up inside him, he was getting so close. Under his breath he whispered for permission, but his Master wasn’t around to give it. He didn’t know if he could cum, quite honestly, because this didn’t feel like behaving. He was almost over the edge though, teetering right on the brink.
He was so close. There was that raw feeling of sex and submission, giving himself, fire burning, pressure building, sweat forming. The taste of cum ghosting in his mouth, the musky scent of Professor Hotchner pinging in his brain. Please, please, please spilling out of his lips.
He couldn’t get over that ledge. He kept pumping his cock. His hand was wet with lube and sweat, and it felt like he was going to burst but he couldn’t do it. Let me, please, fuck, please-
Harder, and faster. More pressure, more urgency. His eyes were strained and images flashed behind his eyes. Master’s heavy cock above him. Master’s dark hair, well defined arms, his toned athletic legs, his lightly sculpted abdomen with that manly trail of hair leading down down down to his favorite part. Please, god, he couldn’t do it. He needed his Master. He wanted release but he couldn’t give it to himself.
He pulled out his phone from his pants on the floor.
Master, pls, can i cum s.
Pls. s.
Urgent. s.
Master s.
Plsssss s.
Pat attn 2 me s.
Need u s.
Pls pls pls plsplsplspls s.
Prof Hotchner s.
Master s.
Pls answer me s.
Why r u makin me beg s.
Im so hard s.
Cant u give me 1 minute s.
I know ur seeing this s.
Master pls i need u s.
Fuck, he was embarrasing himself. He knew that somewhere in the back of his mind, the rational part, but everything was foggy and clouded by his desire to spill his seed all over his hands. Professor Hotchner never answered. His cock pulsed and he couldn’t get himself to cum. He let out a desperate cry and groaned into his hands, which reeked of sex. Lube smeared on his cheek. He grimaced.
With only one thing left to do, he jumped into the shower, cold as ice, and yelped as it hit his skin. It was a horrible day so far. The water was torturous but at least it made his dick soften.
He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror afterwards.
He napped until two.
. . .
One shining light to come out of his horrible day was that he didn't have to feel guilty talking to Oliver.
Hey Oli S.
Spence! Hey O.
You never text me first, everything okay? O.
Yeah, fine. A lttle dwn 2day. Srry I suck at frndshps S.
Pfft, no you don't. You’re my most interesting friend. You just need a little push sometimes :P O.
I'm nt tht intrsting. I just knw a lot of intrsting thngs S.
Coming from someone who knows all those same things, you’re very interesting. Last time I saw you in person we talked for hours O.
I only sw u tht 1 tme, but yeah, I rembr S.
If you let me visit you, we could see each other again. No pressure or anything, but I really like you as a friend. O.
Me 2. S.
Maybe u cn one day. S.
I hope so. Hey- did you see that study that came out about determinism and fatalism by Roberts? Really interesting. I met her last spring at a seminar at my alma mater. O.
Yeah, I read it ystrdy actlly. I was thnkng abt u. S.
Shoulda texted me! Haha O.
Wait, did u rlly meet her? What'd she tll u? What’d u tlk abt? S.
Pfft. Next time I will txt u. S.
A lot of interesting stuff. Too much to text. I’ll tell you one day when I see you. O.
There was another thing that I read yesterday too -
Spencer grinned into the shining screen of his phone every time Oliver’s green little envelope popped up. By the time he blinked his eyes, hours had passed and he’d sent more messages in the span of one afternoon than he had since he got his phone in the first place.
A lead weight sat in his stomach and he deleted his inbox of Oliver’s messages just in case.
It was still only six, though, and Professor Hotchner said he wouldn't text until eight. He hadn’t done anything all day except eat pop tarts, try to masturbate, and talk to Oliver. It was the worst most unfulfilling day ever.
The most infuriating part was that every single thought cycled back to Professor Hotchner without fail. No matter what he did he ended up thinking about his Master. There was this itch that he couldn’t scratch. A sneaky little itch that screamed, pleaded, begged, and lit him on fire.
He grabbed a handful of books off his dresser, all of which he’s read before. He ran through seven of them in an hour. For the next hour he reread his Engineering textbook cover to cover twice. It was 7:59.
Hotch. Hotch. Hotch. He couldn’t help it. He just couldn't. His brain was on fire with want.
8:00. He stared at his phone. The minute ticked slowly by. 8:01.
Where was his Master? Why wasn’t he texting? He waited all day. He said he would text at 8. It was 8. It was 8:02.
He promised.
It’s 8 Master s.
Miss u Master s.
Hello? s.
Don’t knw wht to do w/out u s.
R u okay? It’s 8. s.
Hw is Jack? s.
R u hvng fun w/out me? s.
Y arn’t u answrng me? s.
Did I do smthng wrng? s.
Do u like him mre thn me? s.
I’ve bn a good boy, I thnk s.
Cn I see u tmrrw? s.
It’s 8. Where r u? s.
Miss u. s.
8:09.
His hands were trembling, so he shoved them under his thighs and sat on them. Then the tears came, hot and heavy down his cheeks. He really didn’t want to be crying over his Master but he couldn’t stop; the tears were pouring out. His breathing came in wracked heaving sobs, sending tremors through his chest. He missed him so much, more than anything else in the entire world. Why did he abandon him? Why did he leave him all alone? Snot leaked from his nose and he freed his hand to wipe it away.
He wanted his Master. He wanted his Daddy.
He wanted to curl up in his lap and smell his cologne and feel his soft shirt and hard chest underneath, all grounding and solid.
He dialed Professor Hotchner’s number but it kept going to voicemail, so he cursed and hit the mattress.
He peered over at the phone. Could he-?
You can do what you want. That’s what he said. do what you want.
He dialed up Oliver. On the second ring, he picked up.
“Spencer?” He said. His voice was light, but confused. “You called.”
“Um, yeah.” He sniffed, wiggling on the bed.
“Woah, you okay? You sound like you’re crying? Is that why you called? What happened?”
“Oli, um. Yeah, I’m fine. I guess I just wanted to talk to you. Feeling… lonely.”
“M’sorry, Spence. I’m here for you.” Oliver sounded like he was smiling, but sad. “I guess you know that, you called, afterall. And hey, I’m glad you did.”
“You sure? Cause I’m kind of a mess, and you’re this amazing doctor with a great job and probably ten times more maturity than me, and you don’t need me crying about my dumb problems. You’re probably at work right now.”
“Spencer, chill. I’m not at work. First of all, it’s Saturday. Second, you’re almost a doctor yourself, so that holds no weight. And third, you’re basically a little mini-me, so anything nice you say about me you’re going to have to take as a compliment about yourself too.” He chuckled.
Spencer snorted. “Nu uh, that’s not true at all. We’re the same except you’re the original and I'm the cheap worthless knock off.”
Oliver laughed again, and it made Spencer’s lips twitch. Hearing his voice for the first time in over a month was better than he expected it to be. He may have only met him once, but it was a memorable meeting and it felt like he’d known him for years.
“You’re not a knock off. We’re like two pieces of the same puzzle: slightly different but entirely the same.”
“No,” Spencer mumbled.
“Yep.”
“You’re like a peer-reviewed article, and I’m like a magazine column.”
“Okay, now I know you’re joking because that’s borderline genius.” Oliver said, his voice fond.
Spencer picked at the comforter and pulled a thread out. “Maybe a little. But that one was too good to let go.”
“You’re great, Spence. Don’t cry, okay? I don’t know what has you down, but you deserve all the happiness in the world. From one lonely nerd to another.”
“Thanks, Oli...” Spencer smiled, for real that time. “Hey, maybe…” Do what you want. “Maybe, uh, we can meet up sometime. I miss you.”
“Anytime! you know I’m here fo- hey, what’s that? You okay?”
Spencer was fumbling with his phone so hard it fell to the floor, and he cried out. It was beeping with a message. He looked at the clock, 8:35pm. Master.
He scrambled to get his phone, and pressed it to his ear. “M’fine, I gotta go. Thanks for everything.”
“No prob-” Click.
I’m here. I got held up. Coming to pick you up. Meet me in the parking lot. H.
Yes Sir! S.
He was so pent up with excitement he tripped right over feet getting out of bed and landed face first on the carpet. His nose was aching and painful, but it didn’t stop him from running out the front door.
He was so caught up in his frenzy he didn’t even notice that he didn’t bring a jacket until he was down in the parking lot, shivering in the darkness. Rubbing his hands against his arms didn’t do a damn thing against the bite, and as much as he dreaded the cold, he couldn’t bring himself to go back to the dorm lest his Master show up while he was gone. No- he’d wait.
Notes:
Checkpoint for those binge-reading! Take a deep breath and look away from the screen. Drink some water. Remember that this is fiction. Remember that Hotch is an UNSUB. <3
Chapter 31: Jealous and Desperate
Summary:
In the last chapter... Spencer was ignored by Prof Hotch and he finally, finally got a text from him at the end of the night that he was coming to pick him up in the parking lot.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“I chose to dismiss the possible instance
That the lips I love to kiss could form the words goodbye
And it was a simple lie but I told it to you
And like the captain of a sinking ship choosing to believe
The bottom of the ocean was a better source of oxygen.”
― Hotel Books, 'Nothing Was the Same'
His fingers trembled on the car door handle, both cold as ice; winter chilled him to the bone waiting in the parking lot for Professor Hotchner to show up. His nose was numb and so were his toes inside his loafers. Plus, he only had a tee-shirt on, and not even one of the comfy sweaters that Professor Hotchner so generously bought him.
Professor Hotchner, his savior. Professor Hotchner, with his toasty heated car and his big warm hands touching his face, so good. Warmth spread through his cheeks and he nuzzled into the hands holding him like a lifeline.
“Master…” he purred.
“Spencer, you’re freezing!”
“I kno’ s’cold outside,” he mumbled slowly.
“Why weren’t you wearing a jacket? Why did you leave that way in the middle of winter? Oh, Spencer, Jesus, come here- give me your hands.” He had his brows furrowed and Spencer didn’t notice the creases on his forehead or the deep set frown: he only felt his hands being grabbed and rubbed together. They warmed up slowly by the heat of his touch like his own personal oven.
“Mmmm...”
Professor Hotchner brought his hands up and kissed them, then rubbed them together more. “Don’t do this again.”
“Kay,” Spencer said, his eyes wide and staring with satisfaction. It didn’t matter that Professor Hotchner was reprimanding him— he was with him again, and that was all that mattered. He felt whole for the first time all day, like everything else bad melted away and he was left with pure bliss. “Missed you.”
“Put your hands on the heater,” he replied.
. . .
Once inside, Professor Hotchner pulled him into the living room and further before he could start undressing. That alone made Spencer feel a bit uneasy; did he not want to see him naked? Everything was suddenly changing.
The bed dipped underneath him and Hotch’s arms enveloped him. They pulled him against his chest, and pushed him down against the bed; it felt to him as if he were wrapped in a comfy blanket burrito made of his sweetest dreams. He closed his eyes and smiled, that cologne filling his head, and Professor Hotchner’s hair soft against his neck.
“Daddy,” he whined, pulling fistfuls of Professor Hotchner’s sweatshirt towards him.
“Shh, Spence. Not now. No talking,” he murmured. “Let’s get you warmed up and then I need to talk to you about something.”
He licked his lips. “About what?”
“I said shhh. Now put your hands up.”
He obeyed, and his shirt slipped over his head. His pants were next, and Master carried him into the bathroom, pushing him under the hot water, scrubbing him from head to toe. He rested his head against Hotch’s wet chest as those big hands caressed his body. All the sentiments that he accumulated all day came pouring out, mumbling sweet little nothings under his breath about how much he needed to be held, and couldn’t go a single second without knowing his Daddy was there for him.
He wrapped his arms around Master’s waist and leaned into the sensation of fingers rubbing against his scalp. Shampoo ran down his forehead and he tasted chemicals on his lips. He pressed a kiss onto his Daddy’s chest and cried a little bit without him noticing; he still felt broken even in Daddy’s arms.
Daddy left him alone all day and ignored all his messages— Why would he leave him all alone?
“Sweetheart, are you crying…?” He pushed him back to take a look at his face, and he was thankful that the shower masked his tears.
“N-No.”
“Yes, you are. Spence, why are you crying?” He squatted down in front of him, holding both of his arms in a steadying grip.
“Mmm’not…” he sniffed.
Professor Hotchner made a tsk sound with his tongue and turned off the water, ushering him out and wrapping him up in a towel. He dried him off, fetched a pair of pajamas, and helped him change before setting him back down on the bed with a blanket over his shoulders.
“We need to talk,” he said. Those words rang in Spencer’s ears like sirens screaming out DEF-CON-1. High Alert: Master doesn’t want you anymore!
He closed his eyes and pulled the blanket over his head. “No, no we don’t. Everything’s fine, Daddy.”
Professor Hotchner sat down next to him, the bed dipped down, and he pulled the blanket off his face. “Not now with ‘Daddy’, okay? Things aren't fine. You were upset today.”
“Why can’t you be Daddy?” His gut was twisted uncomfortably.
“Because I said so,” he sighed. “I needed the day for personal matters, and you didn’t handle it well. Spencer? Are you listening?
He fiddled with a string poking out from the blanket and twisted it around his finger. “Yes, Sir.”
“You texted me over 40 times.” He looked at Spencer pointedly. “That’s not okay. I need you to be able to be on your own.”
“Well, I can’t.”
“You can’t? Yes, you can. Be a big boy.”
“No, I can’t. I couldn’t. I needed you. I can’t live without you.” His chest felt tight and twisty.
Professor Hotchner cupped his cheek. “You’re not living without me. I’m right here, but I can’t be there 24/7.”
Spencer looked up to meet his eyes, his own red and watery ones met with surprisingly soft brown ones. “Why can’t you? Can’t I live here with you?”
“Oh, baby, no,” he whispered, stroking his cheek. “You can’t live here with me.”
“Why not?”
“Because you can’t. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“It’s ‘cause Jack is here now. He’s ruining everything,” Spencer whined under his breath.
Hotch stiffened against him. “No,” he said, his voice hard. “I can see you’re jealous, Spencer, but that needs to stop.”
“He’s the reason you’re not letting me call you Daddy, right?”
Hotch choked on his words, shocked for the first time in front of Spencer. “I- yes. Yes, that’s correct. Just not today, okay? Not now. I’ll still be your Daddy, Spence, I’m not going to stop.”
Spencer shut his eyes tight enough to hurt. “I feel like I'm dying.”
“Stop that right now. You don’t mean that.”
“No! I do. You don’t love me. You don’t want me anymore. You don’t want me to live with you, or stay in your class, you ignored me all day when I needed you, you like Jack better than me, you won’t be my Daddy, why don’t you love me?” Tears welled up and spilled hot down his cheeks.
Professor Hotchner wiped a tear away with his thumb. “Spencer, I... “
Spencer scooted back shaking his hand off his cheek. “I love you.”
Silence fell in the room. He could hear the clock ticking on the wall. Tick, tock.
“Why don’t you love me...?” he whispered, and his voice broke.
He wanted Professor Hotchner to pull him close and whisper in his ear all hot and gravely in that deep voice that he loved him back, but he didn’t. He only sat there staring back at him with eyes that he couldn’t understand. He didn’t know what those eyes were saying, but it wasn't love.
“I don’t like Jack better than you,” he replied. Spencer scoffed; he was completely missing the point. “It’s a different feeling between the two of you.”
He took the bait, though. The thing with Jack still stung. Everything stung, in fact. “Then why did you ignore me all day for him?”
“I told you I wasn’t going to be using my phone. I did not ignore you, you know that.”
“I didn’t agree to it.”
“You didn’t need to,” he said. “I expected you to act like a grown up and deal with it. I expected you to understand. Apparently, you couldn’t handle it.”
“I needed you.”
“It’s going to be like that on Saturdays from now on, Spencer. That’s not going to change.”
“I want you all to myself!” he said, his voice terse. “I love you, Daddy.”
“Oh, god, Spence.” Hotch’s voice dropped, and he pulled him close against his chest. Spencer got his shirt wet with tears as his chest heaved with sobs. He tried to swallow around the lump in his throat, but he couldn’t get a grip on himself. “Oh, baby. You’ll get used to it. Don’t cry… Daddy’s here for you. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you if you can be a big boy for me.”
“I can be a good boy,” he cried, muffled into his Daddy’s chest.
“I said a big boy. A big boy who can be brave and not get so jealous.”
Spencer wiped his eyes and nose against his wet shirt and sniffled big. “M’not jealous.”
“Okay, baby, we’ll work on it,” he cooed.
Spencer wasn’t jealous. Well, he wasn’t completely jealous. He was desperate and mature, needy and logical, jealous and understanding, but most importantly he was head over heels in love. There was room for all of it inside him. He could feel them all at the same time no matter what Professor Hotchner said. He gripped tighter and nuzzled his face against his Daddy’s chest.
. . .
Professor Hotchner made him breakfast in the morning and even as tired as he was after his run, Spencer barely ate a bite. His chest still felt tight and coiled from their fight the night before, and no amount of pampering was going to unwind it. The sex helped- it did- but it wasn’t enough. There was a nagging that he couldn’t ignore. (And Jack’s drawings tacked up on the fridge didn’t help as he moved his eggs around on the plate, either)
When he went home, things were slowly returning back to normal, but then Thursday rolled around. Professor Hotchner wasn’t answering his texts again. No good morning, no instructions. He didn’t pick up any phone calls. He was gone. Again.
Spencer couldn’t handle him being gone again.
He was sailing through the open air with no one to ground him. He was weightless in the worst sort of way.
Master? Where r u? s.
Master? R u ignoring me? s.
Master? I need u s.
He shot them off like bullets, each loaded to the brim with expectations, and he continued until his thumbs were sore. How could he do this? Again? And it wasn’t even Saturday.
Saturday. He sneered. How could Professor Hotchner promise to protect him and care for him, all the while throwing him to the wayside at the first possible opportunity?
And now THURSDAY, too? He should BE THERE. He promised. He was always there.
Was.
Morning turned into afternoon and afternoon turned into evening. Spencer didn’t bother leaving his room save for class, and even then Professor Hotchner didn’t show up. In his place was some drab corduroy suit-wearing Professor who showed PowerPoints. Spencer ditched before the class was even halfway over.
Where r u? s.
I love u s.
Master? s.
Professor…? s.
Master pls… s.-
Outside in the courtyard he ran right into Emily, knocking the coffee out of her hands. It spilled on the concrete with a splat.
“Fuck!” he swore. “Shit, Emily, sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
She looked at him funny, her initial flash of anger turning more into confusion, and she wiped some coffee off her sleeve. “Uh, don’t worry about it. I’ll get another one. You okay, though?”
Spencer looked down at his phone again. No new messages. “Okay? Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You seem off.” She picked up her cup from the ground and tossed it into a trashcan.
“Oh. Um, it’s- finals? They’re soon. I’m… nervous.” he murmured. As if. He could pass them with his eyes closed.
“You?” She laughed. “Nervous for a test? Aren’t those your Superbowl?”
Spencer pursed his lips. “Super Bowl? That’s football, right? I don’t know. Look, Emily, I have to go, sorry.”
“Okay- well, I’ll see you around!” She called after him. “We still have to hang out!”
Spencer turned a bit as he walked off. “We will! Promise!”
But he didn’t plan on it. He had more important things to think about than making nice with his almost-friends.
Except for maybe one, and he was definitely a friend, not an almost-friend. Someone he got closer to than anyone else in the last few years, save for Ethan.
Oliver.
Oliver genius-kid, awkward-but-not-really, better-version-of-himself Owens.
Oliver always-there-for-him Owens.
He took out his phone and dialed. Still no messages from Hotch. It’d been nearly ten hours since he woke up and not even an ‘im busy’ text.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Oli.” Spencer said, clutching his cell tightly.
“Spence!” Oliver smiled, he could practically hear it.
“How are you doing?”
“Great, actually, just finished up that paper I was telling you about. I submitted it for review today. How about you, on winter break yet?”
“No, well, almost. Three more days. I was thinking…” he trailed off.
“You want to visit!” Oliver nearly shouted with excitement. “Cool! I can’t wait to see you again, Ace.”
“Hah, yeah. Well that, or you could come here? I don’t exactly have the money for a flight.” He paused. “Nor do I have a car. Or my license.”
“Sure, I could manage a few days in D.C.- You don’t know how happy I am that you want to get together.”
“Cool.” Spencer breathed. He was… feeling better. Oliver threw him a life preserver. He wasn’t going to sink. “Same here. When do you think you could come? It’s kinda short notice.”
“Since I just finished up my project, I can come whenever. How about Monday?” That was only four days away. At the rate things were going, Professor Hotchner still wouldn't be answering his calls, if he ever did.
He was on his own and he could make his own decisions if Master wouldn’t make them for him.
“Perfect.” he said. “See you, then Oli.”
“Bye, Spence. I’ll text you the details in a day or two.”
Spencer looked down at the necklace around his neck. Maybe it didn’t mean anything to Hotch after all… maybe he didn’t want to guide him. Maybe he didn’t want to be his Master?
Everything was horrible.
He rubbed his thumb over the smooth bumps of the metal compass. He really needed guidance. He really needed Professor Hotchner.
Professor Hotchner wouldn’t have let him make plans with Oliver. He would have forbidden it without a doubt. He would have made Spencer stay in class until the end. He would have made him buy another coffee for Emily. He would have kissed him until he couldn’t stop smiling and made him get down on his knees…
But now he had a family and his family was more important.
Fuck Professor Hotchner!
Fuck him. Fuck his family and his lame priorities that didn’t lie with him.
He was just Hotch’s little fuck toy until he wasn’t.
He went right back to the dorm, slammed the door closed, and made Ethan’s day.
“You want to go out?” he asked, except it wasn’t a question.
Ethan’s eyes lit up. “Hell yeah, man!”
Notes:
As always, thanks for reading! Can't believe you guys are still interested in this lmao. Love you all. ❤️
Chapter 32: A man
Summary:
In the last chap Spencer was ignored by prof hotch all day and he’s like wtfff and he calls up Oliver bc he was frustrated and sad. Then he told Oliver he wanted to go out~
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“And you are my beauty.
And you're my violent smile.
And you are my violent prayer.
And you're not my oxygen, but I breathe your air.”
― Hotel Books, 'Wooden Floorboards'
“I can’t believe you wanted to do this!” Ethan yelled over the noise of the bar. He was sporting a mischievous grin and trying to clink his beer bottle against Spencer’s but misjudging the distance grossly, hitting only air.
“Me neither!” he yelled back. Really, he couldn’t. But he couldn’t be anywhere without thinking about Professor Hotchner, so why not think about him with his head screwed on wrong?
He took another gulp of his beer and felt his head spin smoothly around. It felt nice, distracting. And you know what? If Professor Hotchner wasn’t going to give a damn about him, he wasn’t going to give a damn about Professor Hotchner either.
He’d show him how it feels to be madly in love and tossed to the curb like it’s nothing.
Except Professor Hotchner didn’t love him… he never said it back. Not even once.
“I need something stronger!” Spencer said, getting up. “Be right back!” He knocked into a few people weaving his way through the bar, finally making it up to the counter. The bartender slid him two shots, yellow and promising.
A woman to his right turned to look at him with a smile. “Hey!” she chirped. Her voice was high-pitched and reminded him of a bird. He couldn’t quite think which one.
“Um, hi.” Spencer squinted at her. Long back hair, pink top; definitely a student from campus.
He watched her puff out her chest and bat her eyelashes like a mating ritual from National Geographic. “One of those for me, cutie?”
“Uhhh… no?” He looked back towards the table. “It’s for Ethan.” As if she knew who Ethan even was. “Gotta go.”
She stuck out her bottom lip, pouting, but Spencer didn’t like the look of her all soft and curvy and pink. Bleh.
Not the kind of person that could bend you over their lap and…
No! None of that tonight.
“Shots!” Ethan cried. “My dude!”
“Here.” Spencer handed him a glass. “Bottom’s up.” And with that, he knocked it back and the room danced.
Ethan wanted to dance, too. He pulled him up from the booth and he didn’t resist as much as he should have. He closed his eyes and swayed to the beat blaring from the speakers, slurring out every line of the pop song that he barely knew yet somehow completely one-hundred-percent knew.
Ethan snickered at him, not that he cared. What he was doing barely constituted dancing but Ethan should be happy that he even got up at all, so he could take what he could get.
When Spencer blinked Ethan had more shots in his hands, grinning at him. He tossed it back. The music was seeping into his skin and moving him about like a rag doll, each beat a separate section of the same hivemind.
“Fuck!” Spencer yelled, drowned out by the noise of the room. He felt free and weightless and completely and utterly smashed. Nothing stuck in his mind long enough for any worries to take hold. It was just Ethan’s arm bumping into him as he danced, the beat of the music reverberating in his skull, and the liquor mashing up his brains into a deliriously happy soup.
He didn’t remember getting home. Everything after the dance floor was a gray blur, all shapes and movements, unlike anything he’d ever stored in his memory before. Then again, he’d never gotten blackout drunk either.
Speaking of blackout drunk, his head was pounding. A 36-person marching band was holding a concert inside his head. As soon as he sat up, the room was tipping. Nausea rose up in the back of his throat and he made a mad dash for the bathroom, nearly missing the sink, and throwing up the contents of last night’s events.
Looking back at him in the mirror were red, sunken eyes and greasy hair. Gross.
Another wave of nausea crashed into him and he dove for the toilet bowl, throwing up more liquid courage. The bowl felt cool against his cheek as he rested his head down. Right now he felt anything but courageous. His head was throbbing. His body felt tired and weak. He wanted to go back to bed, but he didn’t want to get up, and he might need the toilet again.
Though his back was aching from sleeping on the couch, he laid down on the cold tile of the bathroom floor and it felt like a veritable heaven.
A few hours later he woke again, the nausea passed, though his head still hurt. This time when he got up he tossed back a few Advil and downed a bottle of water. It was nearly three in the afternoon and he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Back in the main room, Ethan was laying on the couch with a Gatorade in hand looking miles better than he felt.
“Ouch, dude. Rough morning?”
“Neeugh.” Spencer grunted, flopping down next to him. He leaned his head on Ethan’s shoulder and sighed. “I feel like shit. How do you not feel like shit?”
“Practice, young grasshopper.” He grinned. “Lots and lots of alcoholic practice. Where do you think I go every weekend? I’ll give you a hint: It isn’t the library.”
Spencer flushed. Right. The library, okay. That’s where he went on the weekends, not his Professor’s house to get fucked up the ass.
Actually, it never occurred to him to think about what Ethan was doing in his spare time.
He shrugged.
“So… what was that about, anyway? Why the sudden change of heart? Not that I’m complaining.” He looked down at him. “In fact, if I could figure it out, I’d made it happen more often. You really cut loose. It was fun!”
“Um, I don’t know… stress?” He certainly couldn’t tell him what was really going on.
“Is it about that guy? Oscar?”
“Oliver. And no. He’s fine. We’re friends.”
“Friends? You sure that’s a good idea? You just broke up.”
“Yeah, it’s fine. I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“If it’s the stressful thing that made yo-”
“It’s not. Please drop it?” he huffed.
“Fine, fine. You got it, dude. But I’m here if you want to actually talk instead of drowning your problems.”
“Thanks, but no.” Spencer fished around in his pocket and pulled out his cellphone.
[0] Messages.
Great.
. . .
Friday came and went with nothing from Professor Hotchner. Saturday didn’t even promise much except for the fact that finals were taking place, and Spencer doubted that Professor Hotchner would show up for them anyway.
He was right. Corduroy Professor was at the podium again, handing out scantrons and test booklets.
Spencer didn’t need a test booklet.
He filled in every single bubble with the letter ‘A’.
A for Aaron, right?
Professor Hotchner could’t get rid of him that easily.
He could ignore him, avoid him, not love him— fuck! Why didn’t he love him?
After everything they’d been through? After all the sex, the talking, and the way that he opened up about himself, the way he held him at night— why didn’t he love him?
Spencer loved him. God, he loved him so much it hurt.
Not even five minutes into the exam, Spencer flung his scantron down on the desk at the front of class, the one Professor Hotchner hiked him up over and screwed him on, and left.
He knew exactly where he was going. Despite the uncertainty swelling up in his chest, he boarded a bus going out of town and didn’t let himself think twice about it. He leaned his head against the glass and stared out at the passing streets. It was a good thing that he had a stellar sense of direction because the bus only brought him so far.
He got off on a corner that signaled the last stop and started making his way down the street. Four miles in his feet started getting sore but that’s only because he had his loafers on. All the running he did in the morning, save for the past few days, built up his endurance considerably. Now that he thought about it, he was able to run over a mile straight. Huh.
Wishing for his sneakers wouldn’t bring them, though. By the looks of it, walked for a little over an hour, and his destination was still another hour away. The sky overhead was looking gray and unwelcoming; he hoped it wouldn’t start to rain.
By the time he arrived, apprehension was bubbling in his stomach.
This was a good idea, right?
Right. It was. He deserved it.
He knocked on the door.
It opened.
A little boy swung it back, blonde hair and blue eyes everywhere. “Hi!”
Spencer waved. “Um… hi.”
From deep in the house, a voice sent chills down his spine. “Jack! What are you—? You can’t open the door to strangers!”
Jack was scooped up from the floor, giggling and pointing at Spencer. “Daddy, a man is here!”
“Spencer,” Professor Hotchner gasped.
“Professor.” Spencer tried to keep himself from running, shouting, crying, or all of the above.
Professor Hotchner spun on his heel and slammed the door right in Spencer’s face. A few minutes later, the door opened again and he came out to the porch, sans child.
“What on earth are you doing here, Spencer?” he hissed. “You can’t just show up to my home like this, not when... not ever! Anyone could have seen you, my God! What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that I didn’t even know if you were dead or alive!” Spencer yelled, not even attempting to keep his voice down. He took a step closer to him. “I was thinking that you haven't so much as said a word to me for DAYS!”
“Spencer, look, I—”
“You what?! You left me all alone! You don’t want anymore, is that it? You hate me? You think I’m just good for a quick fuck? Is that all I am to you?” He pushed forward into Professor Hotchner’s personal space, staring up at him, shooting daggers of accusation.
“No! And keep your voice down,” he spat. “I’m not going to do this here. Or inside. You need to leave. I can’t— Spencer, this isn’t— I have a lot on my plate, I can’t do this.”
Spencer took a tentative step back. His heart started thumping madly in his chest. He was panicking. No— “Are you breaking up with me?”
“We’re not together, Spencer.”
“Wha— Fuck you!” he yelled. The room was closing in. Or, the porch? The entire sky? God, why was this happening?
“Be an adult, Spencer, you knew—”
“I didn’t know anything!” he shouted. “I thought you— I thought— Ah!” he took another step back and stumbled on the steps, falling down on his ass. “Ow! Fuck!”
Professor Hotchner rushed down to him. “Are you okay? How’s your foot? Here, let me take a look.” He grabbed at the ankle that hit the steps and yanked his pants up. “It’s not broken, maybe sprained.”
“Forget about my foot, ow! I thought you might- might love me back, I’m so fucking stupid. Why did you give me this necklace? Why? If you don’t love me, then why? Why do you call me baby? Or angel? Or baby boy? Why don’t you want me anymore? What did I do? Why won’t you talk to me? Wh-wh—” his chest racked with sobs and hot tears started to fall down his cheeks.
Professor Hotchner dropped his head and groaned. “I can’t do this here in full view of the neighborhood, Spencer. Please keep your voice down.”
“No! We are going to do this! R-Right here! Right now!” He kicked his leg back. It hit Professor Hotchner in the thigh. Spencer saw red. He pushed him back, hands thudding squarely his chest, and oh my God, he hit Master! “Goddamn it, please!”
Professor Hotchner glared at him, steam coming out of his ears. It took all he had not to shrivel up and die. Overhead, the gray sky grew darker. A single drop of rain thudded down on the ground next to him.
“No, we are not,” he barked. He brushed off his shirt, got to his feet and Spencer followed suit, still breathing heavy. “You’ve crossed a line, Spencer. Go home. I’m done.”
“No! I’m not leaving!” he screamed, “I’m not leaving! I’m not—”
A sharp sting on the back of his neck dug into his skin and he swatted at it. “Ow—!”
Then he saw.
“NO!” The color left his face. “No! Please, no! No, no, no! Professor, no, please! Master! You can’t- you can’t take that! Please, please, Master, Aaron! Please!”
“Go home, Spencer,” he hissed. “I’m done.” He was halfway to the door, didn’t even look back when he shouted after him, his voice desperate and strained.
“My necklace!”
It started to pour.
Notes:
Thanks for reading! ❤️ 😝
I'M SORRY
Chapter 33: Pineapple Pizza
Summary:
In the last chap Spencer got pissed screwed his final and showed up at prof hotchs house and PH got pissed etc and took his necklace and Spencer was like boo hoo
Chapter Text
“Depending on how you choose to perceive dreaming
I spent an eternity in four seconds focusing on the thought
That maybe love was just hormones, chemical abnormalities, or social cravings”
― Hotel Books, 'Fears We Create'
He didn’t need Professor Hotchner. No. No. No.
No.
He needed Professor Hotchner so goddamn much.
He needed him like he needed air.
There was a hole in his chest where all his certainty used to be. He could fall into it if he let himself, it would be so easy, just close your eyes and feel the air rush past until you don’t know which way is up anymore.
Hell, he’s already there. Since he’s been with Professor Hotchner, months have passed wherein he hasn’t made a single decision for himself.
That’s what Master was for.
But Master turned his back, and everything looked wrong.
He didn’t know what to do. He was lost. He couldn’t find up.
Rubber on the soles of his shoes wasn’t the only thing that was slowly worn down into nothing. It was the same way with his sense of self: Who was he anymore?
He couldn’t answer.
He was a boy who liked books, a boy who would do anything to get the grade, to learn something new, to know. He’s a cumslut, cockwhore, Master’s little pet and he’d do what he’s told.
He’s Spencer. Who is Spencer?
Moonlight was shining in between the falling rain, coming down in sheets on the concrete. His shoes were worn down to the tread and his clothes were soaked by the time he got back to the dorm.
Ethan was on the couch and looked over when he walked in. “Hey, man!”
Spencer grumbled something noncommittal and made a beeline for the bedroom. Crashed.
Ethan stepped into the room, face strewn in confusion, or worry, or something; Spencer didn’t know, didn’t care, couldn’t see it with his face pressed into his tear stained pillow.
“Spence…?” It was soft, prodding, nervous.
Spencer didn’t cry. Not in front of other people. Not in front of anyone that wasn’t Master.
“Spence, what’s wrong? Are you okay, dude?”
He was still at the door. Spencer didn’t want him to come any closer, afraid that if he did the floodgates would finally burst and he’d never be able to patch them back up.
He grunted; it was all he had. There were no words for what he was going through. How would you tell your best friend you got raped up the ass until you liked it and begged for more and then never stopped?
How would you tell him you’re broken and the only one who knew how to fix you didn’t want you anymore?
There was one last try before he left the doorway empty. “I don’t know… what’s going on... but I’m here if you need me.”
Then he cried. He didn’t leave bed for two more days.
The only reason he got up was that he promised Oliver they’d meet, and he flew all the way to D.C. just for him.
His fingers stilled on the keypad of his phone five times that morning. The internal debate on whether or not to text Master was warring in his mind.
He had to. He couldn’t. But he had to. Didn’t he?
He didn’t. He couldn’t.
He’d have to pick out his own outfit, decide whether or not to go on his run and find his own breakfast. He didn’t enjoy doing any of those things but they wouldn’t get done if he didn’t.
He met Oliver at the bus station on campus.
Oliver’s hair was wild from being pressed up against the window, all mussed up on the left side. Spencer grinned at it, and Oliver was quick to pat it down.
“Spence!”
Spencer couldn’t help but teeter nervously on his feet. “Oli.”
“You look good, man. I can’t believe I’m actually seeing you again! How’s D.C. been treating you? You going to give me a tour of the place?” Oliver lugged his travel bag over his shoulder and came close, wrapping an arm around Spencer in a half-hug.
“I— a tour? Yeah. Yeah, I can,” he stuttered.
“I’m dying to see campus, actually. I almost went here, did I tell you that? And I’ve been to D.C. a lot, when I do my consultant work, but I never had time to go out.”
“All I’ve got is time,” Spencer said. He nodded towards his dorm and Oliver fell in step beside him. He had to quit his moody attitude or Oliver was going to hate him and regret coming down here. He really liked Oli, and their texting always made his day. He forced a smile. “Like I said before, I’m on Winter Break so we can do whatever. I’ve got no plans. We’ll have fun.”
“Perfect.” He grinned, looking sideways at him. “I have you all to myself then.”
. . .
Once Spencer got over his pouting, seeing Oliver turned out to be better than he expected. Meeting up again for the second time wasn’t as awkward as he expected it to be. In fact, it wasn’t awkward at all; it was like seeing an old friend. He only spent a day with Oliver in person at the conference, but they’d spent months texting and it showed.
The other upside to having Oliver as a friend was that he was just as much of a nerd as he was, so bringing him around campus to check the labs and both of the libraries didn’t bore him in the slightest. Oliver looked excited and a bit nostalgic, and Spencer could see his future in that; one day he would have to leave university too, and he hadn’t the slightest clue what he was going to do when he wasn’t here.
University was everything he’d known for the past six years and saying goodbye seemed unthinkable.
They stood on the sidewalk in front of the dining hall. It was an older building than most on campus, and it towered above the rest. Smoke from the kitchen billowed out of the roof and disappeared into the sky.
“Are you hungry?” Spencer asked.
Oliver’s nose was red and shiny and he had both arms wrapped around his midsection like an Eskimo. He smiled anyway. “I could eat.”
If it were anyone else, they would have looked at Oliver’s shivering, seen the way his fingertips grew pale, noticed the shining in the blue of his eyes, and realized that smile was more than excitement over all-you-can-eat dining hall food.
It wasn’t, though. It was Spencer, and he was lost in his own self-indulgent world of masters, rules, and red bottoms.
When he swiped them into the hall Oliver went right for the pizza. He sat down with four slices- two peperoni, one ham and pineapple, and a veggie. Spencer himself couldn’t decide on what to get so he sat down with a coke.
Oliver downed an entire pepperoni slice before he could even take a sip. The cheese was hot with steam still coming off of it, sliding off the slice as he bit into it. It looked delicious, and Oliver looked utterly content.
“My God,” he said, in between bites. “I missed campus food. There's something special in it, I swear. It’s like magic.” He plucked a pepper off his veggie slice and crunched it. “What, nothing for you? It was your idea to eat, eat!”
“I don’t know, I’m not, uh, hungry, I guess.”
“Oh come on, I’ve been with you for the past five hours so I know you haven’t eaten anything. Do you want a burger or something? I saw chinese.”
“Eh, I can’t choose.” He picked at his fingernail, “Too many options.”
Oliver slid the tray across the table with all his paper plates on it. “Here, then. You like pineapple? Have mine.”
Spencer shook his head, “No, I can’t.”
“I don’t mind, really. Besides, Spence, the food is free, I could just get another.” He laughed and looked pointedly down at the pizza. Spencer suddenly felt like a child being prodded by his mother.
The cheese was still looking hot and gooey and his stomach rumbled under his sweater. Fine. He reached for it and took a bite. The cheese was better than he thought, so utterly delicious, hot and greasy, he closed his eyes. The pineapple was sweet, but the ham was tangy and chewy and not good as all. He wished he could spit that part out but Oliver was being so nice he didn’t think he should. Master would say it was bad manners, anyway.
“What’s that face for?”
“Hm?” He opened his eyes.
“Your face is all scrunched up. You don’t like ham pineapple?”
“No!” he said. “I do, thank you.” Without stopping, he took another bite to prove it.
Oliver laughed. “No, you don’t!”
Spencer wondered if he were that transparent. Professor Hotchner always knew what he was thinking and now Oliver did too. It was only pizza, but still.
Oliver took it out of his hands and slid the pepperoni slide towards him. “Any better?”
Spencer nodded, breaking out into a little smile that he couldn't hold back, and then gasped. “Oli! You can’t eat that! I just bit it, ew!”
“Hm?” His mouth was full, but he talked around it. “Wha? I don’car.”
“Germs… though…”
Oliver swallowed the pineapple pizza he was just eating and leaned back in his chair. “Oh come on, no one ever died from sharing a slice. Besides, people swap a lot more spit than that on a daily basis. Be happy I didn’t kiss you if you’re worried about germs.”
Spencer flushed and nearly choked on his food. “I-I— it’s actually safer— ah,” he faltered.
“Oh!” Oliver laughed. “Sorry, you’re embarrassed. That’s cute.”
That time Spencer really did choke on his pizza.
. . .
After dinner they decided to call it a day and head back to the dorms. Oliver was chattering on about Dr. Who and even though he should have been interested, Spencer couldn’t keep his mind in one place long enough to follow.
It was Hotch, Hotch, HOTCH. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he thinking about him? Did he miss him? Would he ever call? Did he piss him off that much by showing up to his house that he’s done with him for good? Will Spencer ever see him ever again? Does he hate him? Were they really… done?
“Don’t you think so?” Oliver said, nudging his shoulder.
Spencer briefly looked up. He hardly noticed where they were walking, let alone what Oliver was saying. “Hm? Uh, yeah.”
“I knew you’d agree.” Oliver smiled. “Nobody ever gets that, but we’re so alike. God, I love talking to you.”
Shit. Spencer cleared his throat. Guilt. His stomach felt heavy.
They reached the dorm, Spencer invited him inside. Ethan was sitting with Elle on the couch watching a movie, Terminator 3 from the looks of it.
“Hi, Spence!” Elle looked over at him. “Who's this?”
“Hey, I’m Oliver.” He smiled at her, making his way over to the main area. “I’m spencer’s friend from New York..”
“Right.” Ethan squinted at him. “His friend from New York... Well, I’m Ethan. Nice to finally meet you.”
“Yeah, you too. Spencer’s told me all about you. Only the good stuff though, right, Ace?”
Spencer flushed, turned to Oliver, and nodded. “Uh, yeah.” Ethan was looking at him and mouthing ‘Ace?’ and he wasn’t being subtle. “Um. So... yeah, I don’t really like Terminator 3. Do you want to hang out in my room, Oli?”
Oliver nodded, then waved at Ethan and Elle. He followed Spencer into the bedroom and Spencer sighed as soon as he got inside.
“Everything okay?” Oliver sat down at the desk chair.
Spencer looked up at him. He had his back against the door and was halfway slumped down it. “Sorry, Oli, long day. Long week, actually. I’ve been going through some… relationship problems.”
Oliver shot his eyebrows up. “Oh? I didn’t know you… had a, um.”
Spencer blushed. “Boyfriend? Ex, I guess.” Close enough.
“Oh, ex.” He looked curious. “I’m sorry.”
Spencer frowned, then sat himself down on his bed. He wanted to melt into it and forget everything but he couldn’t do that with Oliver around. That was exactly why he didn’t keep friends. You can’t be by yourself at the drop of a hat if you need to. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”
“I know. Breakups are difficult though. I’m right here if you need me.”
“Thanks, Oli. Would it be okay if I went to sleep though? I’m exhausted,” he pouted.
Oliver smiled, “Mind? I’m ecstatic. I’m absolutely beat from traveling today. I can’t wait to pass out.”
After he threw himself back on the bed he looked back up with a frown. “Um, do think you’d mind sharing the bed though? The other one is Ethan’s and him and Elle are probably going to be up all night watching movies on the couch.”
Oliver shook his head and nudged off his shoes. “Not at all. Just don't kick me, Ace.” He peeled his shirt off over his head and his trousers down leaving himself in only boxers. “This okay?”
Spencer swallowed. Professor Hotchner would be so mad. “Um, uh. Yes.”
Let him be.
Chapter 34: That’s Not Necessary
Summary:
In the last chapter... Oliver came to visit Spencer on campus. Spencer showed him around. They had a bunch of fun and Oliver ended up having to share a bed with him.
Notes:
Well I was gonna proof read this but then I hit post instead of preview sooo... if there’s anything funky in here, that’s why
Chapter Text
Spencer woke up with Oliver clinging to his back. He was smaller than Professor Hotchner was, leaner, and his breathing tickled the back of his neck. He was warm, too; really warm and cozy. It wasn’t the same, but it wasn’t… bad.
“Spence?” Oliver mumbled, shifting slightly behind him. “Yu‘wake?”
“Um…” Spencer stalled. He didn’t intend to end up with Oliver wrapped around him when he invited him to sleep in his bed last night. Am I naive? he thought, or just an idiot?
No wonder Master makes all my decisions for me.
“Do you want some coffee?” Oliver asked. He shifted behind him. “I’m willing to bet good money you have some around here somewhere.”
Spencer looked up at him with sleepy eyes and flopped back down on the pillow, falling asleep. There was no way he could deal this early, and shut his eyes.
Two hours later when he woke again, the bed was empty.
He checked his phone. Still nothing.
And, right, Oliver.
Once in the bathroom he brushed his teeth, went through his routine. He still couldn’t shake the way that Hotch told him to do everything, and so what? If he was free now, free to do what he wanted then surely he could choose to do things the way Master liked. It’s a choice.
Maybe not the run, though.
And oh, the sharpie was starting to fade, the last one he sent Master: SLUT
It was so faint… right about to leave for good.
He pulled on a pair of joggers and tried not to cry about it.
Oliver was in the common room and so was Ethan, seeming like a couple of old friends the way they were going back and forth with each other. When Spencer walked up, though, the conversation dropped like a fly.
“Look who’s awake,” Ethan said.
Oliver took a coffee mug down from his lips and smiled brightly. “Ace! You’re finally up!”
Everything about it felt like a dream. Ethan and Oliver didn’t talk. What was going on lately?
“You slept like a log. And I’m talking Sequoia,” Oliver laughed, shooting him a big grin.
Ethan frowned.
“Sequoiadendron giganteum? That wouldn’t even fit on campus, let alone in my bed.” Spencer rubbed his eyes and looked away, towards the coffee maker.
“What are you guys talking about?”
Oliver turned twoards Ethan. “The world's largest tree.”
He rolled his eyes. “You two are such nerds, I swear.”
“I’m not—,” Spencer said.
Oliver chuckled. “We are.”
Ethan looked back at Spencer again. “Me and Oli made plans for tonight, dude, and there's no way to back out.”
“No! I—”
Oliver thrusted his mug out. “Here. Drink first.” The smile on his face was hard to say no to.
So he came closer and took a sip. It was delicious. Of course it was; it was coffee. “What kind of plans?”
Ethan snickered, looked at Oliver. “I’m not telling, or you’ll say no!”
“Oli…?” he pleaded.
“Sorry, Ace. Sworn to secrecy.” He mimed a lock on his mouth and threw away the key. “But! We have all day to hang out, just you and me. Come sit, we can watch Dr. Who until our eyes bleed.”
With a grunt, Spencer complied. Rotting his brain with television was exactly what he needed. “Move over.”
“Where? Squish in! There’s no more room!”
“I’m leaving anyway,” Ethan said, looking at his phone while getting up. “I’m gonna meet Elle before her next class.”
Oliver looked back at him while he was toeing on his shoes. “Text me later!”
Spencer rolled his eyes and sank into the couch. “So, you guys are friends now?”
“Jealous?” He winked.
“No!”
Oliver laughed, and nudged him with his shoulder. “Kidding. Ethan is really nice, though, even if he did give me the third degree. Talking to that guy is like being in an interrogation room. I think he likes me enough though, he really wanted to hang.”
“You talked a lot? What’d you, uh, tell him?” He took another sip of coffee and looked down the hall at nothing in particular.
“Nothing really. Just the story of my life and then some. My social security number, Mother’s maiden. You know.”
Well at least that got a smile out of him. “Oh, screw you Oli.”
“I wish,” he scoffed.
Spencer stopped thinking and turned. “What?”
Oliver turned red, embarrassed for the time that Spencer could recall. “Nothing! Kidding, obviously. Bad joke. I’m sorry.”
Right... a joke. People made those. Spencer needed to relax. He looked at the tv blaring commercials. “Which season are you on?”
“Five,” he said. “And i’m sorry if I overstepped with Ethan… I don’t often get the chance to meet new people my age. Well, you know that. I just, yeah. Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay,” Spencer shrugged, “I get it.”
He just hoped that they didn’t do too much talking. It would only take pulling on one tiny thread to unravel his whole ball of lies.
“Let’s watch,” he pointed the romper at the tv. Oliver nodded and nestled himself into the couch. It was going to be a long day.
. . .
It was long. Just not in the way that Spencer anticipated. There wasn’t an endless expanse of awkward tension, but instead lots and lots of laughing and talking about interesting things that he hardly ever got to talk about. Obscure books, poets that he thought that only he and his monster cared about, and far fetched Dr. Who conspiracy theories. Spending the day with Oliver was akin to spending the day with himself, only Oliver was funnier and gave him constant ego boots.
He should have found a genius friend a long time ago. It would have saved him a lot of loneliness growing up. Didn’t matter though, because Oliver could understand that too.
They stopped by the Two Bean Problem for coffee and lunch and took another walk around campus after their eyes were starting to hurt from too much television.
“I’m telling you, there’s something about the way NY makes a Latte.” Oliver smiled around his paper cup.
Spencer looked over at him with his own cup up against his face, warming his hands and his wind bitten nose. Oliver looked like Rudolph the way his nose was getting demolished by both the cold wind and the hot steam. SPencer figured he looked about the same and smiled.
“I don’t know, I’ve never been to New York. Las Vegas would be hard to beat, I’d imagine, and DC isn’t too bad either.”
“Mmh, nothing like NY though. We’ve got the good stuff.”
“You know, i’d think that coffee is universally of good quality since Coffee is the world’s second largest traded commodity after crude oil with over two billion cups sold daily. A third of all tap water in America is brewed into coffee, actually. That means that nearly every state in America is producing large amounts of it.”
“Yeah, but, like, think of the art of it all.” Oliver winked. “But also, yeah, NY produces approximately 8 million of those. It’s a dense state. Lots of people. It’s a melting pot of technique, and I think they’re perfected it.” He took a sip. “DC is good too. Never had Vegas.”
“Vegas coffee tastes like home,” Spencer said quietly.
Oliver tipped up the side of his mouth in a half smile and stuck his arm between Spencer’s linking them together. “You’ll have to come visit me, and I’ll show you. Maybe you can show me Vegas one day, too.”
Spencer gulped, looked up, and felt hyper aware of Oliver standing so close. “Um, yeah.”
Oliver seemed content with his stupid reply and kept walking, pulling him along. There wasn’t any reason he couldn’t go visit Oliver in NY now. He could hop on a plane tonight if he wanted to. He could go next week, next month… God, he hoped he wasn’t still broken up with in a month.
No, not broken up with. Rejected? Tossed aside? Unowned? Whatever he was, he hoped he wasn’t for long. Could Professor Hotchner really discard him so easily? Was he going to stonewall him forever? What if he showed him that he could be a good boy for him? What if he showed him that he wasn’t the kind of bratty boy that failed his tests on purpose and showed up to his house unannounced and spoke with his kid.
Because looking back at it… that wasn’t the best move for him to make, really. He shouldn’t have brought a child into the line of fire.
On the other hand, Professor Hotchner was being such a jerk! He never had a Master before, hell he never even had a boyfriend or a girlfriend before, but he didn’t think that they were supposed to treat him that way, tossing him aside when he wasn’t convenient.
“Spencer?” Oliver was looking at him, stopped in his tracks. He didn’t even realise that they stopped walking.
“Hm? Sorry. I was thinking.”
Oliver smiled. A lock of his blonde hair fell from behind his ear into his eyes and he swiped it back. “You do a lot of that. You okay? You looked… sad.”
“M’okay,” he mumbled. “It’s… I was thinking about, I don't know, my ex, I guess.”
His eyes flickered something dark. “Oh, Ace, I’m sorry. Can i give you a hug?”
Spencer shrugged, nodded. A hug from his best friend, or second best friend, (how did he get two of them?) sounded perfect. Oliver pulled him close and everything went warm and cozy. All the bad thoughts about Professor Hotchner got pushed to the wayside in favor of Oliver’s comforting cinnamon smell and his long, slender fingers massaging circles on his back.
When Oliver pulled back Spencer shot him a grateful smile and decided that he would be the one to link their arms together this time. “Another lap around campus?”
. . .
After more social interaction than he’s had in ages, Spencer got pushed into even more social interaction.
Oliver pulled him out the door by the arm, with Ethan trailing behind, a grin plastered on his face, and he walked him straight into a nightmare. Three blocks off mainstreet sat a bar that looked like any other from the outside; same gray concrete, same metal doors.
Inside was another story: rainbow everywhere.
Telling Ethan he was gay was a huge mistake. Oliver, too, for that matter. And letting them speak to each other? That was the third and final nail in the coffin.
“So whadd’you think?” Ethan pulled him farther inside and he watched his last chance of escape slip away.
“It’s…” Great, he lost his ability to talk.
“It’s amazing,” Oliver beamed at Ethan, then turned towards him. “Come on, Ace, you can’t say it’s not even… interesting? I know you have something going on up there.” He poked him lightly on the forehead.
“I…” Nope, still nothing.
Oliver slipped up close into his personal space and spoke earnestly in his ear, “Let me take your mind off that ex, huh?”
The club was really hot. Maybe even a thousand degrees, where was the thermostat? “That’s not… that's not necessary.” He gulped.
Chapter 35: I Would Have Never
Summary:
In the last chapter, Oliver and Ethan became friends and dragged Spencer out to a gay bar/club. He’s still reeling over the lost of PH but at least his crazy friends are making it hard for him to do that.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“It’s amazing,” Oliver beamed at Ethan, then turned towards him. “Come on, Ace, you can’t say it’s not even… interesting? I know you have something going on up there.” He poked him lightly on the forehead.
“I…” Nope, still nothing.
Oliver slipped up close into his personal space and spoke earnestly in his ear, “Let me take your mind off that ex, huh?”
The club was really hot. Maybe even a thousand degrees, where was the thermostat? “That’s not… that's not necessary,” he gulped.
He could actually feel the smile that played out on Oliver’s lips before he drew back, that’s how close he was. It lingered.
“I’ll get us drinks!” Ethan, always the thinker, darted off into the crowd.
“Look, if you don’t want to be here, we can go back,” Oliver said. “I just thought…”
“No. I’m sorry.” Spencer had to nearly shout above the music. “I’m being a ‘buzzkill’. It was nice of you to, uh, think of this. I just need some alcohol.”
“That’s the spirit! Hey, Ethan told me you’re killer on the dance floor.”
“Yeah, okay, what a nerd. He was messing with you. He does that. I can not dance.”
“You sure? He seems like a genuine type of guy. But maybe I should make my own conclusion. Dance with me?” Olive’s bottom lip was squished under his teeth like he was biting back his excitement.
Spencer rolled his eyes. He didn’t like the loud, pulsing music that he had to strain to hear Oliver over, or the flashing lights, but he did the way all the sensory processing was making it impossible to think about anything else. “You’re not going to let up are you?”
“It’s for science. I have to know if my hypothesis is correct.” He laughed.
“Ethan!” Spencer’s eyes lit up when he saw him pushing throught the crowd back towards them. “Give that to me, thank you.”
He took a pink solo cup out of his hands and downed a gulp. It burned his throat and warmed him up from the inside out. “Fine.”
“Fine?” Oliver grinned. Ethan cocked an eyebrow. “Awesome! C’mon.” He grabbed his free hand and pulled him towards a more diluted part of the crowd.
“Have fun in a gay bar by yourself!” Spencer shouted back at Ethan who looked like he just had the rug slipped out from under him.
“Wow, that's how you treat your friends?” Oliver let go of his hand, leaning in to talk, and moving his hips in an entirely too natural fashion for someone who claimed to be anti-social.
“He had it coming.” Spencer scoffed.
Oliver seemed not to care, tipping his cup back and moving alongside the beat. Like a lifeline, Spencer knocked back his own drink and let it work its magic down in the pit of his belly. He tried to remember what exactly he did on the dancefloor last time, but the memories were hazy like they were underwater. Useless!
“Close your eyes, feel it.” Oliver grabbed his hand and guided him back and forth. “You know, I like actually having someone to dance with for once.”
Spencer looked up, caught an honest look on his face, and moved his hips a bit to the bop, bop, bop playing overhead. At least he had people who cared about him.
He could be alone. He could be alone in his room crying over a middle aged man who dumped him—
“You got it, Ace.” Oliver winked, drawn out like a feature film, and moved closer.
Oh, what was that? The alcohol was making him feel butterflies inside.
—Besides, he could cry over a middle aged man who dumped him in a gay bar too.
Oliver gyrated closer, not quite touching but definitely teetering on the edge of it.
He didn’t care. Nothing mattered so long as he was all alone. Nothing mattered without his Master.
Scuff him up, mar him; what did it matter anyway?
He closed his eyes to the image of Oliver’s smiling face, then danced to the darkness of his eyelids and the multicolored flashes of light passising over them.
He tossed back his cup, caught the last bit of liquor on his tongue, let it slip into his bloodstream, loosening him up like taffy.
The cup was pried from his hand, and he peeked to see Oliver sliding his empty into his own, and grinning back at him.
“Having fun yet?” he asked.
All Spencer could do was nod his head. He reached out and grabbed Oliver’s hand like his own personal anchor so he wouldn’t float away. Oliver’s fingers were lively and moving, pulling him closer and steering him to the rhythm overhead.
“Yeah,” Spencer murmured, even though the question was already gone and his answer was too quiet. Yeah, he was having fun.
Then there was a warm grip at his side that dug so softly into him. “Hmm,” he mumbled out in response. He couldn’t be heard for the second time, not with the club music threatening to break an eardrum or two, though the reverberation in his chest may have been felt, perhaps, with how they were pressed up against each other.
Spencer thought maybe Oliver did feel it, if the way he squeezed his hand and chuckled was a response. When he looked up, and Oliver was looking down, blue eyes shiny and bright, there was a moment- just a moment- and he wasn’t saying that he would- or that he didn’t love his Master- /definitely/ not saying that- but there was a moment when he thought he might like to kiss him.
A kiss would be fun. Oliver looked like he had soft lips.
“Everything okay, Spence?”
He blinked, snapped out of his reverie. “Yeah, Oli. Just… drunk.”
“Off one drink? Cheap date.” He winked. “I’m a six drink kind of guy.”
“We’ll have to get some more drinks in you then,” he said.
Oliver’s breath came out hard and he missed a beat on the song; it sent them off-rhythm for a few steps until he righted it again. “Is that so, Dr. Reid?”
Spencer snorted. “I’m not a Dr.” Oliver was leaning into him, maybe he was drunk.
“Not yet!” He was really close. Spencer shivered at the breath that tingled his ear. “But you will be, Ace.”
Did he notice the shiver? Oliver pulled back, but for a split second he felt lips against the skin between his ear and cheekbone, and there was no reason for that to happen, really.
“I- I don’t want to dance anymore,” Spencer said.
Oliver slowed his movements, nodded. “Want to find Ethan?”
Spencer looked around and didn’t see anyone but nameless strangers. “Yeah.”
Ethan was tipsy, topsy, turvy, talking with a guy dressed in an AC/DC tank top who was listing all the reasons why Axl Rose was a god among men, when the two stumbled up and hand in hand.
“Well, well…” Ethan grinned. He cocked a drunken eyebrow, looked at their hands, looked back at his new friend, and then barked up a laugh.
“What’s so funny?” the new guy asked. He looked over at Spencer and Oliver with a frown.
“Oh, nothing. Just looks like someone made up.” He winked.
Spencer blushed- a hot, stomach dropping blush that sent adrenaline rushing into his system.
“Made up…?” Oliver turned toward Ethan. “What do you mean, man?”
Ethan looked at Spencer searching for something, finding nothing, and blundering on. He took another sip of beer and burped. “Well, ‘cause you know. Right? ‘Cause...” He turned towards his new friend. “Josh, Axl Rose could definitely hit a C note. I’m with you, dude.”
Josh nodded serenely. “Exactly. The money note is where it’s at, and that man can kill it.”
“Wait,“ Oliver started. He stepped closer to Ethan.
Spencer wringed his hands together nervously and got moved almost inbetwen Oliver and Ethan. “He just, he meant- Oliver- uh.”
“Hey, I gotta get another drink. I’ll get more for everyone,” Ethan said, laughing dry. “‘Cept you dude, sorry, they’re like $7 each, you’re on your own.”
Josh nodded and looked from Spencer to Oliver after Ethan left and spun on his heel. Spencer didn’t care if he left.
“What was he talking about?” Oliver shouted over the music.
Spencer dropped his head, groaning. “Uh… yeah, I may have told him a little white lie.”
“A lie?” Oliver let go of his hand. “What lie? About me? What did you tell him? Ace…?”
Spencer looked to the side. He watched as people filtered in and out of the main room into the back. “It wasn’t bad, Oli, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d find out. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.”
Oliver leaned in. “What? I can’t hear you.”
“I said—” he shouted, “I said—” someone came by and knocked into his back. “Ow! Oli, let’s talk somewhere else.”
Oliver nodded, a scowl still on his face, and Spencer pulled him toward a bright blue neon sign. Inside the bathroom the music was muted and it smelled like artificial soap. Oliver leaned against the sink. “Are you going to tell me what's going on?” he asked.
“Yeah… he thinks… because I told him… he thinks you might be, um, well not ‘might be’— he thinks you’re my ex.”
Oliver’s face went blank. “Why?”
“Because I told him you were…” He coughed. “I’m really sorry. I’m really, really sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Spencer stopped, couldn't speak, not with Oliver’s lips pressed against his, hot and dry.
Oliver stepped back looking pensive. He didn’t say a word. Spencer’s fingers touched at his lips and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say either. Only a small whiny breath escaped him, too low to be heard even in the muted bathroom.
Oliver stepped forward again; Spencer stepped back. “Spence…”
Spencer gulped. “Oli.”
“I would never be your ex because I would have never let you go,” he said, and the butterflies raged in his stomach again, only this time he didn’t have any alcohol to blame it on.
In fact, he only had one drink, and so did Oliver, and the whole situation was way too sharp for his liking.
“I— I—”
If Oliver was his boyfriend… oh, boy. That’s not good to think about. That’s not good at all.
Oliver would probably let him call him his boyfriend. Oliver would probably meet his friends and take him to the movie theater like a sappy romance novel.
“That didn’t come out right—” he mumbled, raking his hand through his hair.
Oliver probably wouldn’t let him call him Daddy and fuck him until his brain turned to mush, though.
“It’s okay,” he said. Was it?
“I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”
“Me neither,” Spencer whispered.
“But I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months. Since we first met…” He blushed.
Oh— Oliver liked him, actually liked him, had a crush on him and thought about kissing him, liked him? People didn’t like him. People didn’t crush on him. People didn’t want him.
Oliver did.
“You have?” He finally, finally, flicked his eyes up to meet Oliver’s.
He nodded. Spencer probably ought to have said something back, but he was all out of things to say.
Oliver stepped back up close. “Can I do it again?” His breath was hot and minty against his cheek. He placed a small peck on it.
Spencer nodded. A small whimper ran free as Oliver turned his head and kissed him again, open mouthed this time, and searching. His hands found their way to his cheeks, and Spencer’s own hands hung limply at his sides.
Someone walked in through the door and they both looked up, startled, red lipped, and frozen in their tracks. Some man walked right past them without even a sideways glance and the spell was broken. Oliver dropped his hands, Spencer cleared his throat, and he said, “Ethan is probably looking for us.”
“I— right. He probably is. We should get back out there.” He didn’t step back though, and Spencer didn’t move either. “Ace…”
Spencer's phone buzzed in his pocket, oh! Was it Professor Hotchner?
He fumbled with the cell, ripped it open and his face fell.
where r u ?? E.
Spencer sighed. Of course it wasn’t. “We should go.”
Notes:
As always, thanks for reading! I so appreciate it ❤️
Chapter 36: Only Oli
Summary:
Okay soooo... in the last chapter Ethan and Oliver dragged Spencer out to a gay bar and Oliver kissed him. Meanwhile PH hasn't been in touch with him since he blew up on his doorstep, not even a text. Spencer is heartbroken and reeling; all he wants is to be back with his Master.
Chapter Text
“There you guys are!” Ethan pushed two cups into their hands and shouted over music. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you two assholes.”
Oliver looked at Spencer; Spencer looked away. Both blushed. Ethan didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t seem to care. Figures, Spencer thought; Ethan was already under the assumption that Oliver was his ex boyfriend. Let him think what he wanted, though. So long as he didn’t say anything weird, he was willing to put up with some embarrassment.
Still, he really hoped he wouldn’t mention it. Ethan wasn’t the type to stir up his personal business just for the action but even he tended to be a bit of a dick at times.
“What’s this?” Spencer asked. Ethan took it as an answer, thank god, changed his tune, and grinned.
“Cranberry vodka,” Oliver interjected. He took a sip and licked his lips. (Not that he was looking at his lips- they just happened to be in his line of sight so it couldn’t be helped)
“I think I’m done drinking for the night.” Spencer frowned. “You take mine.”
He handed it to Ethan who shrugged and downed it in one go. “Hey, did you see where Josh went to? He said he was gonna let me borrow some of his records. I swear to god, if he was lying—”
“I think it was a line,” Oliver laughed. It made his eyes twinkle and laugh lines poke out.
“Great. I thought the gays were supposed to be nice.”
Oliver snorted. “We’re just as fucked up as the rest of you.”
Maybe more, Spencer thought.
“Well, hey, look, you guys seem like you’re enjoying yourselves enough without me. Spencer, you care if I dip? Elle is a few blocks over at the Fox and Hound and I wanna catch up with her before she’s plastered.”
Great, so bring him out to a gay bar against his will, force him to have fun, and leave? “No, that’s fine. I’ll see you later.”
“Maybe.” He winked. “Later, Oli. Take care of my dude for me!”
Oliver nodded, then turned back to Spencer who was watching Ethan weave through the crowd. “Do you want to get out of here now that he’s gone?”
Without really meaning to, Spencer’s shoulder slumped as he leaned forward toward Oliver. Two more inches and he would have been resting his head against his shoulder. “Yes, please. Thank you, my god, I’m so done with this place.”
“Too many strobe lights, I think. Wouldn’t be my first choice either,” he said near his ear, making it the only clear sound in the mishmash of loud noises. “The dancing was nice though.”
The dancing was alright. He would rather be home, given a choice in the matter. Going out and drinking, dancing: maybe that was what he was supposed to want at his age, but it was so far from what really appealed to him. “Lead the way.”
Oliver gave him a small smile when he pulled back and gingerly took his hand as if he was afraid he'd pull away. It was warm and reassuring in a crowd full of strangers, and pulling away hadn’t even occurred to him. Oliver steered him through groups of dancing people, ducking under raised arms and dodging hips that jutted from side to side. They were close to the edge of the crowd when one someone knocked hard into Spencer causing him to stagger to the left— crash.
“My phone!” Spencer gasped. “My cell phone! I dropped it!”
Shoes were darting everywhere on the dance floor; he could hardly see a thing. Oliver’s hand tugged at him but he yanked free of it. He needed to find his phone. Professor Hotchner gave him that phone. He couldn’t lose it! He wouldn’t.
A tall man moved to the right and he spotted a green light. It was hard to focus with everything moving- the legs, the lights, the floor- but he reached out and grasped it firm in his hand.
“Spencer?” Oliver’s hand was offered down to him. “Get up, you’ll get crushed, what are you doing?”
“My phone,” he said, with adrenaline still at the edges. “I dropped it. I got it, it’s fine.” He grabbed Oliver’s hand as he tugged him upright, leading him to the exit without any more damage.
“Oli…” He looked down at his crushed nokia. “It’s completely shattered! What am I going to do?”
“Oh, Spence, I’m sorry.” Oliver looked closer at it. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have dragged you out to a club, I’m sorry. I can buy you a new one? Let me buy you a new phone.”
“No!” he gasped. “No- uh, no. Thank you, but no. I’ll… fix it.”
It’s not like any messages were coming any time soon, he thought.
“Are you sure? I’ll look at it in the morning,” he said. “Let’s catch the bus before it leaves, it’s right there.” Oliver grabbed his hand again and they ran together towards the bus, nearly missing it before it pulled off. They sat down near the front and Spencer looked glumly at his phone. Surely there wouldn't be any way to fix it: the screen was shattered in a million little fragents looking much like the way he was feeling inside. The green light shone underneath but nothing else registered.
“Spence? You okay?’
“Hm?” He looked over at Oli; he was sitting close and the soft red light of the bus exit sign glowed on the edges of his face. “Fine, thanks. My phone, that’s it. It’s okay…”
It wasn’t okay. What if Professor Hotchner decided to get in contact with him? There was nothing he could do.
Who was he kidding, though? Professor Hotchner made it clear they were through.
“Here,” Oliver slid his arm over his shoulders and kissed his temple overtop of his messy curls. “Nothing that can’t be fixed. Everything will be okay. Things can be replaced.”
A shudder ran through him like it was the first kiss all over again, except this time it was sweet and caring, the kind his Daddy would give him: soft on the temple. He rested his head over on Oliver's shoulder and breathed out a sigh. They rode back to the dorm in relative silence as the bus tipped and bumbled over potholes in the dead of night.
Back inside, Oliver shrugged off his coat like he’d been there a thousand times before, like Spencer’s things were as natural to him as his own. In a strange way that he didn’t understand, it brought him a sense of calmness that even the alcohol failed to achieve.
They worked around each other in comfortable motions, brushing teeth, washing faces, changing clothes.
“Ace?” Oliver finally said. “Is it still okay to sleep in the bed tonight? After…”
After the kiss, the thought. And even when every instinct was telling him to stop, turn on his heel, and run far away from this disastrous decision, he nodded his head.
If Professor Hotchner wasn’t going to be there for him, at least Oliver would be.
“Can I… kiss you again?” Oliver ducked his head and looked back up with a sheepish smile and a bitten lip. So much more bashful than Spencer was used to.
A kiss wouldn’t hurt either, certainly not from Oliver with his soft blonde hair and caring eyes. Oliver knew him, understood him, liked him. Even knew he was still hung up on…
Well, he knew he had an ex, at any rate.
So he was faced with yet another complicated situation he never thought he’d find himself in, not in a million years, and nodded his head yes for a second time because Oliver looked so handsome and sincere.
He looked even better when his eyes lit up and he smiled earnestly, dipped down and caught his lips in a slow, hesitant kiss. This time Spencer was the one to deepen it, sending his tongue to go explore uncharted territory in an unfamiliar mouth.
Their lips moved in synchronicity, pressing and sliding wet and warm until Oliver pulled back and started to trail kisses along chin, cheek, and down his neck. “You have no idea how much I wanted this,” he said softly into his skin, placing another kiss that made Spencer shiver. “I can’t believe this is happening…”
Spencer hummed noncommittally, then arched his neck to the side for him. Oliver kept mouthing words against his skin and speaking in barely audible tones. “Never thought I’d meet someone like you, Ace. And you’re-” he faltered, his hand pressed into Spencer’s arm. “So handsome. You’re gorgeous, you know that?”
“M’not,” he said. He didn’t make a move away.
Oliver slid his hands up to Spencer’s cheeks and held his head in place and pressed another kiss on his lips. “You’re perfect. I… I adore you, Ace. Since we met.”
“I- uh,” he choked on his words. He liked Oliver, really liked him, just as much as Ethan, maybe more. Not as much as Professor Hotchner though, never more than him. Not even close. “I like you, too.”
He felt the smile against his cheek more than saw it, then felt his shirt being pulled up over his head. A fuse burst inside and heated him up slow. He snagged his finger underneath Oliver’s shirt hem and with force that he wasn’t sure was his own, lifted it up and over his head.
They backed up and fell on the bed in a tangle of limbs, rolled around like someone was on fire, and ended up more tanlged than a box of christmas lights.
“You’ve got such pretty hair, Spence,” he whispered into his ear. Spencer tipped his head back as Oliver raked his fingers through it, and he let a low moan escape his lips.
He trailed his palms flat against Oliver’s chest, toned and thin, no traces of life decorating it; no scars, no blemishes, nothing.
Oliver bucked up from under him and groaned at the contact before flipping him onto his back, a leg of either side of him.
Spencer gasped in surprise, looking up at Oliver searchingly. He was watching the way he moved, the way he looked handsome and familiar. The way he wasn’t Professor Hotchner at all.
Still, he was moving his hands deftly down his body so warm and smooth that he couldn’t help the steady rise under his boxers, or the moan that came out from his mouth. At any rate, Oliver was touching him in all the right places, right under his chin, his hip, this inner thigh—
Professor Hotchner squeezed it lightly. He shuddered. “My boy,” he growled.
“Harder,” Spencer begged. Master always gripped harder.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
“Of course you can,” Spencer moaned. He was his to use, to fuck, to hurt, to command, to have, to possess, his.
“No. —Ace, where'd you go?”
“Huh?” He opened his eyes. Oliver.
He bit his lip. He needed this. He needed something. This was close enough. “Fuck me?”
“You sure? We don’t have to-”
“M’sure.” Sliding his own boxers down, he looked pointedly at Oliver’s.
“Okay…” His thighs were shapely, hairy, tanned. Muscles burst from below smooth skin. His cock hung heavy between his legs, more than half erect and wanting. “I don’t usually…” he trailed off. “This is okay?”
“Yes, yes, please,” Spencer begged. He needed to be close. He needed warmth, touch, a distraction. He needed to cling onto someone so he wouldn’t completely fade away.
It started at his neck, the kissing, the tongue, then traveled down his collar bone, his chest. Oliver licked at his nipples, down his navel, slid his tongue wet along his happy trail, then stopped.
“Be rough, bite me,” Spencer moaned. “Please. Gotta feel something.”
“Spence, what’s this?” Oliver mouthed against his thigh. “Right here on your thigh, why does it say--
Shit!
It was worse in the morning. The loneliness was sharper. The stark reality of how empty he’d become was stronger. A grim face stared back at him through the bathroom mirror, and he watched as the sad boy picked up a dark black marker and moved it in thick bold strokes against his pale skin.
I’M SORRY
He never washed it off, why would he? He needed the reminder, needed the penance, needed something to ground him while his Master was… was…
“S’nothing,” he moaned. “Please don’t stop, Oli, please?”
“Uh…” His breath was hot against his balls. “Yeah? Yeah, okay...” He moved his to the right and tentatively started licking and kissing his balls, then up his shaft to the leaking head of his cock. “Oh, Spencer, God…”
“Please, just fuck me,” he whined.
Oliver nodded. He moved his tongue down, coated his hole in spit, then plunged in and started working in and out with his index finger before adding another. When his muscles were relaxed Oliver scissored them wide and coaxed loud moans from deep inside his belly.
His fingers felt heavenly, moving in tandem with his rapid heart beat. He bucked up his hips, demanded more. Oliver gave it to him, hummed praises, slid his fingers out and replaced it with the blunt head of his cock.
“Sure?” he whispered. “I can’t believe I’m about to fuck you, Ace. Jesus, I like you so much.”
“Stick it in,” he begged, voice tipping. “Please.”
His toes curled as Oliver pushed inside him. A sigh of relief escaped and let his body go lax. Let himself be fucked, taken care of.
Oliver searched out his eyes; every time he opened them he was staring back in earnest.
“Ace,” he moaned. “Oh, god. You feel so good.”
Spencer shut his eyes and clamped his mouth shut. The sensations were enough, the feeling, the stretch.
‘That’s my good boy, just like that, keep your back arched, honey.’
‘Oh, Master, please’
‘What do my needy boy want, hm?’ Professor Hotchner growled. ‘You have your ass full of cock, and you still want more, how insatiable you are, my little whore.’
Yes, Sir, please, please, need you,’ Spencer cried.
Professor Hotchner snaked his hand down and wrapped his fist around his leaking cock, rubbing slow and torturou—
“—Ace, you’re so fucking tight, oh, you feel so good.” Oliver started moving his hand faster and faster in tune with his thrusts.
“N- please, just- shhh, be quiet” Spencer groaned.
“What? What’s wrong?” Oliver sought out his eyes, but he closed them, and felt Oliver’s lips on his cheek and chin instead. “Spencer?”
“M’fine. Keep going.” he bucked his hips up and let out a low moan as Oliver’s cock pressed in deep against his prostate.
“C’mere, let me hold you,” Oliver leaned down and wrapped his arm behind his back, then pressed his mouth against the small of his neck and kissed over and over.
‘So sweet and good for me, open your legs wider,’ Professor Hotchner said, voice stoney cold and strict against his neck. ‘That’s my boy. Beg for it, sweetheart, show Daddy how much you want to cum.’
Spencer felt his cock leak in quivering pulses, felt his heart hammering in his chest and his mind go fuzzy at the sound of Master’s voice. ‘Please, please, please, Master, please, let me cum, I’ve been such a good boy, please, I need it! I need you, Master, please, let me-’
As his toes curled and belly grew hot, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to last much longer, Professor Hotchner always made him squirm until the last possible second, until he wasn’t sure he could hold it in any longer—
“Ace, ah.” Oliver kissed the side of his neck, then licked it gently. “Can you move your leg? Wrap it around my waist? Oh god, yeah, oh you feel—”
‘Not yet, sweetheart, you can take it. Be a good boy for me, I know you can do it, you’re so strong.’
‘Please, please! I can’t! I need to-’
“Oh fuck, oh god-” Oliver moaned. “I’m gonna- Oh, Spence, fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
“Wait, please,” Spencer gasped. “I need- I need-”
The movement hitched as Oliver poked his head up, blonde hair falling messy over his blue eyes. “Anything, what? What do you want?” He kissed his cheek.
Spencer squirmed, licked his hips; Oliver’s hand was still working his cock, wet and slick with precum, sliding easy and tight. “I need to cum.”
“So? Cum, then,” he laughed, breathy, and sped up his hand. “Doesn’t it feel good? God, you feel amazing. Tell me how you like it.”
“No, I need… I need, oh, give me permission, I just—”
“Permission? What? No, just, let go, cum.” He kissed his cheek. His thrusts came in faster and deeper, getting more sporadic and off-rhythm.
Spencer frowned, his eyes clamped shut so tight; his whole body was tense and pent up with want, he was going to burst at the seams, he just needed... “Pleaseeee!” he whined.
“What, Ace? I’m trying! Please, what? I’ll give it to you, just tell me,” Oliver said.
“Neeuggh-- Need to cum, let me cum, please, please, i need it!” He gripped the bed sheets with white knuckles. He was so close, So utterly close, sitting on the edge and trying to tip over. “Oh, please, I need to cum! Tell me what to do, Fuck, please just tell me what to do! I don’t know— I can’t—”
Oliver thrust in harder.
“Please, please, please please. Please,” he chanted in a broken whisper. “Let me, please, let me-”
“Cum, Ace, c’mon, let go,” Oliver squeezed his tip tight and practiced.
Everything was buzzing and pulsing, his cock swollen and leaking, but he needed something, he needed Professor Hotchner, he needed his Master to tell him it was okay.
“I can’t, oh, Spence, I’m gonna, I’m oh, I’m cumming, oh, Ace.”
Spencer felt the cum exploding inside him, wet and warm. He turned his face to the side and buried it against the sheets, hands still gripping with white knuckles, cock aching.
“Oh, God. Wow,” Oliver breathed. “Here, let me take care of you.” He continued to stroke his cock as his thrusts slowed and stalled.
‘Good boys don’t cum without permission.’ Master’s eyes bored into him. ‘Or they’re punished.’
“I can’t!” he cried. “Stop, Oli, stop, stop, stop- please. Off.”
Without hesitation, Oliver withdrew his hand and shuffled back on the bed. “I’m sorry… Did I…? Did I do something? I shouldn’t have cum first, Spencer, I’m really, ah. I messed up, didn’t I? I don’t usually… Woah, are you crying?”
Hot tears slid down his cheeks. Where was Daddy? He couldn't even manage to wipe them away, Daddy always wiped away his tears. Daddy always held him when he was sad, and Daddy always praised him when he wasn’t allowed to cum and had to sit around with a swollen, needy cock after sex.
“M’not crying,” he sniffed. “I’m fine. It was fine.”
“You didn’t finish.” He looked down. “Sex shouldn’t make you cry...” he mumbled.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry, I’m just… overwhelmed.”
Oliver frowned, but kissed him on his wet cheek. Against his skin, he mumbled another apology and drew back, looking him in the eyes again. “Was that, uh, was it your first time? I didn’t know.”
“No.” He looked away.
“If i knew...”
“It wasn’t,” he spat.
“Right, no right. Sorry? Again. Wow, I'm really messing this up, aren’t I?” he chuckled.
“Can we just… can you hold me? I want to go to sleep.”
He laid down on his side, taking him in his arms as he was curled up in a ball. “Yeah, Ace, I can do that. Let’s just go to sleep.”
Ten minutes into it, Spencer’s erection died down and he was counting the seconds until the sound of heavy, rhythmic breathing filled the room. None came.
“Oli?” he whispered. “Are you awake?”
“Yeah.” Oliver tightened his arms around his waist, spooning him like he was going to slip away.
“I wasn’t a virgin.”
Oliver’s nose nuzzled into the back of his neck, searching for skin. He kissed. “I know, that was wrong of me to assume.”
Spencer fell silent.
“I uh, I was when I was 24,” Oliver laughed. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, though. I know I was projecting.”
“You were?” he asked. Oliver was so charming. Despite the way that he described being just as lonely as himself, Spencer couldn't imagine him struggling to find someone to date.
“Yeah. I’m really not all that experienced or worldly as people think I am.” He laughed, almost bitter. “I just happen to have a high IQ. Other than that, I was just an awkward, lonely kid. And then somehow I grew up to be handsome, which tends to make people look past everything else.
“Oh,” he said. “I’ve only been with one other person.”
“I’ve been with a few now.”
“Have you... ever slept with a professor before?” asked Spencer.
Oliver twitched behind him. “A professor? No, I try not to mix business and pleasure. I find coworkers to be very off limits.”
“No I meant… while you were still in school.” The words tumbled right out of him.
“Oh.. oh! A Professor? No, no I didn't, no. Why, Ace? Have you?”
“Me? No! God, no. Same, business and stuff. Except with school. School and pleasure. No, I haven’t. I was just wondering because of what you said about being around older people.”
He nipped at the back of his neck. “Did one make a pass at you?”
“No.”
“You could tell me if that's the case. You know I would understand.”
Spencer frowned. Oliver would never understand. Noone would. “I don't know, a friend of mine slept with her professor, that’s all.”
“Does she need help? I can speak with her if you'd like.”
“No, she doesn't. She doesn't want to tell anyone and I would like to respect that.”
“I guess it's her choice... But Spencer, she should reach out and get help. A professor is in a position of power over a student. It’s not consensual as far as I'm concerned, even if she accepted his advances willingly. Even if a student wants to, that doesn't mean there isn’t an undercurrent of influence there. They control your grades, afterall, your whole future. There’s implications there about saying no.”
Spencer closed his eyes. “She’s sure. I don't want to talk about this anymore, okay? I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“I- okay. Sure. Do you wanna go to sleep? You sound tired.”
He nodded, silent and feeling more hopeless than ever before. Oliver’s breathing steadied out shortly after and it left him all alone in a dark room with a warm body that wasn’t the one he wanted.
Notes:
Thanks for reading! ❤️
DONT HATE ME
edit: The idea that sparked this fic was in the dialogue for when Spencer couldn't cum with Oliver, fun fact. It wasn't originally for that scene but it worked well and so I threw it in
THIS IS AUBSE. STOCKHOLM SYNDROME. UNSUB!HOTCH.
THIS IS NOT LOVE. THIS IS NOT BDSM.
Chapter 37: After the Night Before
Summary:
In the last chap Spencer gave in to Oliver's advances because he was feeling lonely and rejected by Prof Hotch. It wasn't what he needed.
Chapter Text
"Holy Crap,' Carolli said. 'You shot Jesus.
That's gonna take a lot of Hail Marys.”
― Janet Evanovich, Seven Up
Waking up next to Master sent a thrill down Spencer’s spine. It felt as if he were truly happy for the first time in weeks; the soft breaths on his neck, the hands filling at his hips, the… blonde hair?
Oliver.
He shot up, rubbed his eyes and gaped at the scene in front of him before lazy memories reared their ugly little heads in his direction. Right— Oliver, bodies, naked and sliding, tears, ragged breaths, dirty feelings. Bad boy.
How could Oliver, so sweet and kind, make his skin crawl when he looked at him? Why did the slope of his cheeks make him want to cry?
Why did it have to be Oliver in his bed and not Professor Hotchner?
Professor Hotchner had never been to his dorm, afterall, it was a silly thought from the get-go.
He climbed out over Oliver; luckily he seemed to be a heavy sleeper, only twitched a bit and rolled over as he slipped out the door.
The common room was empty so Ethan must have stayed out all night, or most likely stayed at Elle’s. Even so, the dorm felt suffocating. Like he couldn’t breathe. Like the walls were closing in.
Like everything was living, breathing. Noisy. Chaotic. Loud. Bad boy.
It wasn’t loud, though— it was him and an empty room. He had to get out of there, and fast.
He whipped the door open, crammed his feet into a pair of shoes and—
“Spencer!” Ethan was on the other side of the door looking startled.
“I was just leaving!” he said breathlessly. 9601, 9587, 9551
Ethan stepped passed him into the door and looked him up and down. “Woah, you alright?”
9547, 9539 “Fine! I’m fine. I’m going to get coffee.”
“If you want—”
“I’m going to Starbucks, okay? I’m FINE. Tell Oliver if he wakes up, okay? Bye.” 9533
“Spence, just wait!” Ethan called after him.
Spencer didn’t care. He was nearly out the building by the time Ethan had the time to process the situation.
He blew by the students walking to and from class, made a beeline for the edge of campus and turned out to the main part of the city. 9521, 9511 He didn’t want to be on campus at the moment, didn’t want to be anywhere near his dorm room.
The off campus Starbucks was only a five minute walk but he made it in three. Warm air rushed out at him as he opened the door, and only then did he realize just how freezing he was, once again leaving without his jacket. 9497
And real pants, it turned out, because when he looked down he was rocking Dr. Who pajamas bottoms.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. 9491, 9479, 9473
It was so packed for so early in the morning.
9467
He got in line. There was a middle aged woman standing in front of him. She was wearing a Celtic knit sweater in Olive green. Blonde hair. Really blonde. Blonde hair, sliding bodies. Bad boy. 9463
9461, 9439, 9437
Breathe. Breathe.
“Can I take your order?” 9433
The cashier was staring at him. Expectant. 9431, 9421
“I-I-I-” 9419 maybe coffee wasn’t a good idea. Why did he think it would be a good idea? 9413
“Do you need a minute to think about it?” they asked.
“I-I don’t-” he said. Bay boy. 9403, 9397, 9391
“Spencer…?”
9377
Oh, god. It was the end. He finally reached the end of the line, but guess what? At least Professor Hotchner was there. 9371 Like the heavenly figure standing in the bright white light becoming him towards eternal happiness. 9349 Professor Hotch, his savior… he always would be, no matter what.
“Spencer? Are you okay?”
With him? Always.
Just the sound of his voice made his belly full of butterflies and warm honey.
“He’ll have a caramel latte. Thank you.” Spencer barely saw a thing; it seemed like the lights in the place were dimmed down. He did feel someone yanking his arm, however. “Come here, sit down.”
“Daddy, that’s the man!”
“Sh, Jack. Play on my phone, buddy.”
“Really? Wow!”
“Spencer… are you listening to me?”
Of course he was listening; he always listened to his Master. The words wouldn’t come, so he nodded his head.
Professor Hotchner made a tsk’ing sound and he momentarily felt like he did something bad, but then he remembered that Professor Hotchner never made that sound at him, only ever things that made him frustrated.
He was away from the table for a second, and then back with a tray of drinks and sitting next to him.
He looked up: Professor Hotch was looking at him in earnest, with a soft expression he’d only seen once before, back on that day he took him out shopping.
“Spencer?” He handed him a hot cup.
Spencer brought it up to his lips and winced at how hot it still was, but took a sip anyway. “Yes, Master?”
“Oh—” Professor Hotchner flinched, and ran a hand through his hair. “Spencer, no. Not in public, please…”
“In private, then?” His eyes lit up but then was met with a frown and so he frowned too.
“No, that’s not what I meant, Spence,” he said. “You know that.” He looked over at Jack and back again. “Are you okay? I can’t have you sit with us, but I needed to see that you’re okay. You look…”
“Like shit.”
“Watch your mouth,” he scolded. “Jack is right there.”
Spencer looked at Jack, totally engrossed in the phone. He wasn’t listening. “Like shit on fire.”
“Stop that,” he hissed. “Why weren’t you answering your phone?”
Spencer snapped out of his moping instantly, and he looked at Professor Hotchner with intense, bewildered eyes. “Not answering?! You haven’t called! Wait- did you call me? I’m s-so sorry! I didn’t know!”
“I did, last night,” he said. “I wanted to—”
“I broke it! I lost it!” Spencer cried out; he felt panicked again, but this time he knew why. If he had just held out for one more day-! “I didn’t mean to!”
“That’s fine, that’s fine. I’ll get you a new one.”
“N-No, it’s not fine. I was bad. I did something bad and you should be angry with me. Punish me.”
“It was just a phone, Spencer. Keep your voice down, people are looking.” He looked around the room. “I’ll get you a new phone, it’s fine. Things happen. That’s my second blackberry this year.” He chuckled, pointing at the one in Jack’s hands. “Besides, it’s only if… you even want one. After the other day, I wasn’t sure you would have anything to do with me anymore.”
“Of course I would!” He breathed out frantically. “Of course!”
“I don’t know what I was thinking… I never know what I’m thinking anymore, these days. Well, other than the fact that i’ve been thinking about you nonstop...”
“Y-You want me back?” He felt tears welling up.
“I never should have said the things I said to you, Spence. Or did what I did.”
“I-I miss you, Sir.”
Professor Hotchner ran his hands down his paper cup, probably close to burning them. “It feels like weeks since we last talked.”
That made Spencer tick a bit— Professor Hotchner was perfectly capable of doing math. He should know exactly how long it’d been. Even if Spencer didn’t have his eidetic memory, he would still be counting each second that passed without him. “6 days, 4 hours, and 13 minutes...”
Professor Hotchner looked shocked. “Sometimes I forget you can do that,” he said. “I tend to underestimate you.”
Spencer wanted to scream at him: YES! YES, YOU DO!
But a good boy wouldn’t scream, and if he had any hope of getting back under Professor Hotchner, he had to be the best boy he could be.
“I’m only as good as you believe me to be,” he whispered.
Professor Hotchner licked his lips. “Goddamnit,” he swore. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Spencer sat in comfortable yet charged silence with him until both of their drinks were nearing their ends. It was like a dirty secret being told aloud as Professor Hotchner dragged his eyes all over his body, catching on the hilt of his Adam’s apple and the soft inward curve of his tummy.
He almost didn’t see Oliver walking towards the coffee shop through the big glass windows.
9343 No, no, no..
Oliver was opening the door and looking around. God, he really needed to be invisible. He needed to anywhere else in the world.
“I- I have to go, Sir,” he said. His nerves were on fire, his hands shaking, feeling panicked for the second time that morning, and he got up clumsily, kocking his chair back, and he swore, “fuck!”
That certainly got Oliver’s attention, as well as half the shop’s.
“Spencer!” Oliver had a huge smile as he walked over. He still had bed head; his hair was sticking up in all directions and he was dressed casually in joggers and a tee like a regular college kid waking up late.
“O-Oliver,” he said. When he looked over at him, he was looking right back at him with steel in his eyes.
“I’m glad I found you,” he said. “Thought I’d miss you. Ethan told me you went to Starbucks, but he didn’t tell me you went to the one off campus. I just came from the other one.”
“Yeah, I’m… here.”
“Oh!” Oliver turned to Professor Hotchner with a look of surprise. Spencer hoped beyond hope that this wasn’t going to blow up in his face. “Agent Hotchner! I didn’t expect to see you here. And who’s this?” he said, with a big smile on his face.
“Well, I do work on campus,” he said dryly, standing up so that Oliver had to look up at him. “And it’s Professor Hotchner, now. I’m sure you know that, Dr. Owens. This is my son, Jack. Say hello, Jack.”
Jack looked up and waved, but went right back to the phone.
“Right! Hey, buddy. Cool shirt. Dinosaurs are awesome.” Oliver laughed, totally oblivious to Professor Hotchner’s dark tone. Spencer would know that tone anywhere. That tone meant trouble. But Oliver never studied every world, every tone and inflection that Professor Hotchner used down to the last detail. How would he know how unbelievably jealous he was at the moment?
Not even just jealous- territorial.
Spencer felt a jolt inside- happiness, excitement, hope. Professor Hotchner still felt possessive over him, it was plain as day. That meant he wanted him. He wanted him, and Spencer was going to give himself all over again.
Jack was smiling and telling Oliver about the museum trip his class went on last weekend while Professor Hotchner was eyeing Spencer, the two of them having a silent conversation of looks. “Well, anyway,” Oliver continued, after Jack petered out. “I was just coming down here for a latte, and to find you, Spence. Ethan and I wanted to see if you’d be up for going bowling later?”
His immediate response was to look to Professor Hotchner for permission, but Professor Hotchner was eyeing Oliver still. And besides, Professor Hotchner couldn’t give him permission right now, not with Oliver right there watching. God, what was the right answer? Was Professor Hotchner going to be mad if he said yes? Did Professor Hotchner have any say? Did he have any right to be mad? Were they still together? Judging by the way that he reacted, Spencer would think that Professor Hotchner still wanted him, wanted to own him, dominate him, have him.
And he wasn’t going to mess that up. Not for Oliver, not for anyone.
“N-no. I can’t. Sorry. I, uh.” He looked away, trying to think of an excuse. Nothing really convincing came to mind. “I have to do something.” Smooth. Oliver knew he had nothing to do, and he was staying with him so he was being extremely rude.
“Oh? I didn’t realize you had plans today.” Oliver licked his lips.
“Yeah, something just came up. Uh, with my study group from last semester! Something about getting ahead of the curve before classes start again.”
Oliver looked from him to the counter, to Professor Hotchner, and then back down at the ground. He looked really uncomfortable, as bad as Spencer felt for making him feel that way, there really wasn’t anything he could do about it. There were bigger things at work. “Okay, well I’m going to go order,” he said, and went to the counter.
“What was that?” Professor Hotchner turned to him and said.
“Oliver…” Spencer squeaked. “You know him.”
“Don’t be smart,” he said darkly. “What was that?”
“Nothing!” Spencer defended himself. “I don’t know! It was nothing!”
Professor Hotchner sat back down at his table. “We’re going to talk about this.”
“Y-Yes, Sir.” Spencer muttered. His heart was hammering in his chest. He felt that nauseating drop in his stomach that he always got when something was really, really wrong. “I didn’t do anything. I swear. It’s not. It’s- I swear!”
“Leave, Spencer,” he said. “You’re making a scene.”
“But, M-”
“Quiet.”
“Spence?” Oliver turned around from the front of the shop with a drink in hand, and asked loudly, “You coming?”
“I- it’s not,” he stuttered, and trailed off. Professor Hotchner wouldn’t look at him. He had his eyes glued on the paper in front of him.
The only thing worse than Professor Hotchner yelling at him was Professor Hotchner stone cold and calculating, refusing to give him anything.
How did he always manage to fuck things up?
Notes:
Thanks for reading! ❤️
Alright guys we're back in Prof Hotch territory so fasten your seatbelts!
Chapter 38: HOTCH
Summary:
In the last chapter Spencer ran into Hotch at Starbucks after he ran out of the dorm (after waking up next to Oliver) and a heated, awkward conversation ensued.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Aaron stood in the aisle at Best Buy looking at blackberries and trying to understand how his life became so completely turned upside down. One of the workers came over to unlock a display case and get out a phone for him which he set up on his plan.
It was quiet in the house without Jack there. It was funny to him how quickly he got used to the commotion of a child, even after living so many years in relative silence.
Spiderman wasn’t blaring on the tv, the microwave wasn’t perpetually beeping, nor were tiny feet stamping all around. Jessica took Jack back for the weekend, something they discussed in their ongoing custody arrangement.
It was just silence, so silent it seemed to ring in his ears. He couldn’t stand it long before he was up and moving, in his car, and driving towards campus. It was noon on a Thursday, and winter break, so Spencer would be there.
He made his way up the path toward the undergraduate dorms with his head tipped down and a very uncharasteric hoodie on over his usual clothes. He had to fish it out from the back of the closet where he kept all his old college things. It was a little tight, but it camouflaged him well.
Noone said anything when he got to Spencer's door out of all the students he passed. He never visited it before, the dorms, why would he, but he remembered Spencer telling him which room he lived in on more than one occasion. He had to be quick about his actions just in case, though. Once he put down the package he was hiding in his pocket he put his head back down and hurried out, but the door cracked open behind him.
“Hey!” Someone shouted to his back. “Hey! Who are you? Dude! What’s this?”
Aaron kept walking. He took a turn at the next available opportunity and ducked into the stairwell, going down two at a time. He only breathed once he was outside of the building again, the chilly air nipping at his cheeks.
Not even twenty minutes later he received a text.
Sir? s.
Perfect. He knew he could count on his boy.
I’m going to pick you up in the parking lot this evening at 6. Be ready. H.
Yes, Sir!!! Thank you! I miss you! Thank you! s.
Aaron rubbed his hand over his face feeling drained yet more alive than he has all week. Worrying about Spencer was taking a toll on him.
The entire situation was screwed up, and no matter how much he tried to distance himself from it… he just kept making things worse. Just like everything else in his life. Foyett, Haley, Jack, Jessica…
If he could make a clean break, he thought, he could pretend like none of it ever happened. Never went to the bar. Never did what he did in the bathroom. Never convinced a student to love him.
Spencer would be heartbroken, but he would get over it like young college kids do. He’d find the next attractive guy to take his place and form a relationship like a normal young man. He would be able to have a relationship that wasn’t built on the basis of trauma.
He wanted what was best for him, but what was best and what they both wanted couldn’t be more different. He saw that now, just how intensely they were drawn to each other, like moths to a flame.
But Spencer didn’t know what he wanted, couldn’t think straight; Spencer really needed him to be the bigger man and sever ties, even when it made everything ache.
And Aaron tried to move on. He tried to be the bigger man. He tried to cut ties and give him a normal life, and the hurt was more than he could bear. He used to be a strong man, but he wasn’t anymore.
He really did want that for him, to be normal and happy…
Just not Dr. Owens. And come to think of it, not with anyone else either. Seeing him upset at the coffee shop was bad enough, but seeing him there with Dr. Owens was unacceptable. He couldn’t handle it.
The ugly truth was that he didn’t want Spencer to be happy with anyone else. He didn’t want Spencer to replace him with someone younger and more stable. He didn’t care if Spencer was borderline obsessed with him. Hell, maybe he even preferred it.
The therapist didn’t help, even if he only went to two sessions. He didn’t want to talk about his father, and he sure as hell didn’t want to talk about his fuck toy, no, his-? Boyf- Partn- His… Spencer.
Nothing was going to work if only a week apart broke him like cheap glass, shattering his will into a thousand sharp pieces.
Spencer wasn’t the only one borderline obsessed.
For the entire time apart, Spencer was the only thing he could think about. When he woke up, it was to dreams of Spencer fading away. When he ate breakfast, it was to the memory of Spencer down on the floor. When he went into his office, he could almost see him bent over his desk. When he came home at the end of the day, he half expected to find him naked and kneeling, waiting for a command.
He thought about him every second of every hour. He couldn’t focus with Jack, couldn’t focus with Jessica. Couldn’t read the paper or watch the news.
Loving Spencer was going to absolutely destroy both of them.
But not loving him was going to do it even faster.
At four in the afternoon, he hopped in the shower and cleaned from head to toe. He blew dry his hair, added some sort of product from the back of his medicine cabinet. Next he shaved his face clean and smooth, dabbed on aftershave, and brushed his teeth.
He picked out clothes, threw them back, picked out different ones. It felt like he was sixteen again getting ready for his first date- which was a ridiculous idea- he was in his mid thirties and far past feeling that sort of rush.
Only, he wasn’t. Not for Spencer.
He picked out a red tie and dark blue suit, deciding to go all out with it. Cufflinks, too. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Spencer to notice it or not, but he decided not to think about how sharp his boy was getting and what he would read out of it.
He picked him up in the parking lot right on time; Spencer was sitting on the curb bundled up in a jacket and scarf. When he got inside the house and started stripping he stopped him. The sweater and pants would stay on, he told him. For now.
The sweater and pants were bought by him, anyway. And he didn’t doubt the underwear were too. It seemed like the only article of clothing that Spencer was that wasn’t bought by him was his scarf.
“Yes, Sir,” Spencer said. He looked disappointed and nervous, Aaron could tell from the way he moved that he was one stern word away from breaking apart. He knew how Spencer worked, and he knew he would take him back, but he didn’t need to make it a bad experience for the both of them.
He was, afterall, the one that terminated the relationship.
“Go take a seat on the couch and wait for me,” he said.
Spencer looked at with a touch of reluctance. “On the couch?” he asked.
“Was I unclear?” Aaron stared at him. It wouldn’t do to have him question his orders, even if the relationship was in the air.
Spencer nodded his head. “Y-Yes, Sir.” And he did as he was told, sitting quietly in the other room. Aaron stood in the hall watching him for a minute, unseen. He sat so still and quiet, so different from the way did back when they first met all that time ago. What an obnoxious little brat he used to be.
His heart swelled up with pride.
He decided to have Spencer wait on him for a while and took his time putting away his coat, Spencer’s coat, then brewing coffee in the kitchen- something he only did when Spencer was around. Not that Spencer had to know that.
Aaron handed him a hot mug filled to the brim with overly sugary coffee.
“T-Thank you.”
“I’m sure you remember that time I took you out, and you called me Hotch?”
Spencer nodded slowly. He wouldn’t take his eyes off the mug in his hands.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
Spencer looked. “I remember, Sir.”
“Good boy.” Blood thrummed in his ears; he felt heady and powerful the way Spencer was watching him. “We’re going to do that again tonight. Tonight, call me Aaron.”
“A-Are you sure?”
Aaron didn’t answer. He wasn’t in the business of repeating commands. He was already letting go of a certain amount of power in letting Spencer use his first name for the benefit of the conversation they were about to have; he didn’t need to turn this into some mushy back and forth. What he said went.
“R-Right. I’m sorry I asked. Um, Aaron.”
“Good boy,” he said again. He took a seat next to him and reached out to smooth back loose hair behind his ear. “I want to apologize.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Aaron,” Spencer was quick to reply.
“For treating you the way that I did. For not being clear with you.”
Spencer bit his lip and started shaking with nerves, the way a leaf quivers in a strong wind. He always liked that about him.
“There’s a lot I have to apologize for if we have any chance of getting back on track. Or… onto something better than the track we were on before.”
“Better? I liked what we were doing before! I don’t want to change-”
“Because that’s the thing one you have experience with. I took advantage of the fact that you didn’t know what a proper relationship felt like, how someone is supposed to treat you.”
“We did have a proper relationship… w-wth a power dynamic is all. People do that...” Spencer murmured, then looked hopeful with his eyes shining. “You… want to get back together?”
Aaron didn’t want to get back together. Aaron wanted Spencer to find someone healthy that would treat him with respect, not settle for an old man that wanted to break him down and watch him squirm.
“Yes, Spencer.”
“Really…?” Spencer was gripping the mug so tight Aaron thought it might break so took it out of his hands, setting it on the coffee table. Spencer grabbed onto his leg instead. He looked so beautifully desperate, his big, pretty hazel eyes shining.
“Yes, baby,” he said. “I’m sorry I let you go in the first place. I won’t do that ever again.”
“Aaron...” he whispered. Aaron felt his breath catch as he said it. “...I love you.”
Aaron took both of Spencer’s hands in his own and brought each up to his lips for a kiss. Spencer blushed deep red and softened up. “I know, sweetheart. You're such a good boy with a big heart.”
“Do you want a kiss?” he asked.
Spencer nodded heavily. “More than anything, please.”
And so Aaron leaned down and pressed his lips against Spencer’s. It was just like the first and the last, and every time in between where his nerves were set alight, and his chest was full with emotion.
Spencer gripped tighter on his thigh. He kissed feverishly. He whined.
Aaron pulled away, but left his hand tangled in Spencer’s hair, holding the back of his head lightly. “My good boy.”
“Mmh, yours.” He smiled.
“There’s one one more thing.”
Spencer licked his lips. “What?”
Aaron dropped his hand and said, “Dr. Owens.”
And he wasn’t expecting that much fear. Spencer started visibly shaking, averting his eyes and breathing fast when he mentioned him. Power thrummed through him.
“W-What about him?” Spencer asked.
“Why was he here on campus?”
“He- I- uh.”
Aaron wasn’t going to repeat himself. Spencer would answer or he would be put on his knees and ignored until he did.
Thankfully, they avoided that when Spencer continued in a shaking voice, “I invited him…”
“And why would you do that?” Aaron kept his voice steeled, but inside there was a fire raging- flames soaring high and destroying everything in their path.
“B-Because…” A tear fell from his eye. “B-Because I wanted to see my friend.”
“I made it clear you weren’t allowed to see this particular friend.”
Spencer wiped the tear away. He gulped and raised his voice, a hint of anger pushing through. “You weren’t talking to me then! Y-You were ignoring me! Y-You said you were done with me!”
Right. He did say that.
But jealousy isn't a rational game.
“You can’t expect me t-to follow your rules after you break up with me,” he said, this time with his voice lower. “I can’t be at your beck and call. You said we were done. You said you weren’t my boyfriend anymore.”
“I wasn’t— Spencer,” Aaron sighed. “No, you’re right. I can’t fault you for that. Just tell me what happened.”
Spencer bit his lip. “Oliver came over to visit me.”
Aaron sometimes forgot that Spencer and Dr. Owens were so close in age. Oliver.
“And?”
“And he’s staying for the break.”
“Where?”
“Uh…” Spencer shifted nervously in his seat. He could tell there was something Spencer wasn’t telling him.
“Answer my question, Spencer.”
He ducked his head and whispered, “At my dorm…”
He was going to kill Dr. Owens.
“Did anything happen between you two?” he asked, almost incredulous, the thought of Spencer with anyone else simultaneously horrifying and impossible.
But nothing could have happened. No. Just looking at the way Spencer melted for him, fell at his feet, hung on his every word— no. It made his fists clench, hard as iron, by his sides.
“Happen? Um.” Spencer paused. “No.”
Then a wave of relief crashed over him. He didn’t realize how tense he became thinking about the prospect of Spencer giving himself to another man. Letting himself be touched by another man. Having feelings for someone other than himself.
No one touched his boy but him. No one.
“Don’t lie to me Spencer,” he said, though he doubted Spencer would lie. He was better than that. He trained him better than that.
“Nothing happened, Master— Aaron.”
And then Aaron snapped in that moment, surging forward and pinning him down on the couch. He grabbed his hair and yanked his neck back; revelled at the look of submission on his beautiful face.
“I know,” he growled. “You would never let him touch you. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” He gripped tighter and Spencer whimpered. He sent his hips grinding down and pressed hard into him. “Yes, you are. You’re my good boy. Mine.”
Aaron nosed against Spencer’s neck, inhaled that sweet scent and lost all sense of control. “MINE.”
He hooked his fingers under Spencer’s waistband and yanked down his pants and boxers in one go, then tore his sweatshirt over his head, leaving his ass-naked in mere seconds.
He pinched Spencer’s nipple and twisted. “Mine.” Spencer yelled and squirmed. He held him down and steady with his other hand until he stopped struggling.
“Master,” he whined. Aaron drank it up.
He unzipped his zipper and took out his own cock, already rock hard, and slapped it down on Spencer’s. In comparison, Aaron’s cock was much bigger. He loved it.
Spencer couldn’t keep his eyes off him. He tracked every movement he made. Every bite to his body and subtle shift, he was watching with desperate eyes.
Aaron leaned down and kissed him. He kissed him deep, shoved his tongue down his throat and dominated his mouth. Spencer moaned and groaned into it.
Then Aaon grabbed both of his thighs and pressed them back to his chest as far as they would go. He reached behind him and grabbed a bottle of lube on the side table that he squirted on his hole.
He loved the look of Spencer with his legs spread wide, hole exposed, so vulnerable, begging to be taken by his big, fat cock.
He pressed the blunt head of his dick into him, stopped, and felt the quivering of Spencer’s muscles around him, instinctually begging for more.
So he thrust in hard. Spencer screamed. He grabbed Spencer’s hips and hair, pulled out and thrust back in. Over and over and over. He was so soft and pliant underneath him. So willing to take it.
He wanted to completely conquer him. Take every last bit of what he had to give, and then some. He wanted to make him ache in places he didn’t know could ache, wanted to make him desperate and hopeless without him.
“You take my cock,” he growled. Spencer whimpered and agreed under him in between gasps and moans. “You listen to my commands.”
Aaron leaned down to bite Spencer’s neck and suck on his sweaty skin, nipping and licking. He tasted divine, tasted familiar. He loved it. Spencer craned his head to the side for him, exposing himself further as a show of submission and he slammed his cock in hard in response. He could feel Spencer’s thighs quivering.
“Aaron! Oh!”
Spencer’s mouth was open in a pretty O, spit glistening on his swollen lips and chin, so thoroughly debauched, as he pressed his lips against his and kissed him forcefully, pumping his cock in. “Oh, my god,” Aaron growled.
He pushed his tongue in next, and Spencer gasped, moaning, letting himself be kissed through it, and he clenched down around his cock. The squeeze of his tight, wet hole sent him over the edge and he pulsed out thick ropes of cum deep inside him. Claiming him. Marking him. His property. His spencer. His boy. His.
When he was finished lazily pumping his cock dry, every last drop of cum squeezed out, he grinned against Spencer’s sweaty cheek and kissed it. “Do you want to cum, baby?”
Spencer wiggled his legs into a slightly different position and licked his lips. He was blushing and looking unsure of himself in the most gorgeous way. “Yes, please, Sir.”
As much as he loved the idea of his cock keeping his baby’s ass open and stretched, keeping it stimulated, full, he had other plans in mind so he slipped out and ordered Spencer over his knee instead.
“If you can cum from spanking alone, you may,” he said. Spencer whimpered and climbed up, pushed his ass up like he couldn’t wait for the string of his palm. He was so desperate he would settle for anything. “No grinding or humping. No touching. Put your hands on my thigh and keep them there.”
Spencer did as he was told. “Aaron, please-”
He drove his palm forcefully onto Spencer’s asscheeck and shivered as he cried out. “Now count.”
Aaron had cum on his leg within minutes.
Notes:
Happy happy Hotch chap~
Enjoy guys! ❤️ Thanks for all the love!
THIS IS AUBSE. STOCKHOLM SYNDROME. UNSUB!HOTCH.
THIS IS NOT LOVE. THIS IS NOT BDSM.
Chapter 39: Breakfast
Summary:
In the last chapter Hotch interrogated Spencer for information on what he did while they were 'broken up' and he apologized to Spencer for being an asshole, and Spencer was more than happy to forgive him.
Chapter Text
Spencer woke up floating on clouds. Professor Hotchner was beside him snoring softly in an old FBI tee that fit loose against his chest in the most handsome sort of way. He looked like a God with his long, dark eyelashes, well defined jaw, and broad chest; maybe he was.
He laid there on his side just watching the rise and fall of his chest, committing every second to memory. One day, he hoped, he would wake up to this every morning, though that was a long shot if there ever was one. Professor Hotchner was so hot and cold with him that he wasn’t sure if he would ever commit to him.
Even if he didn’t dispute it last night when he called him his boyfriend and said he broke up with him. He didn’t deny that at all, actually. Which meant… maybe he was his boyfriend now they’re back together? Master, boyfriend, Professor.
No, not Professor. He wasn’t his Professor anymore despite how hard he tried to stay in his class.
He glanced at the bedside clock and wondered why he wasn’t getting up for his usual routine, but tried not to look into it too much. If his Master wanted to be up, he would. He shouldn’t question him.
But he laid there for twenty minutes, then a half hour, and he was buzzing with pent up energy so he carefully crept out of bed and tiptoed downstairs into the kitchen. Surely, Master wouldn’t mind if he made coffee.
The kitchen smelled delightful soon enough, and he sipped at his lazy morning coffee while he leaned against the counter in his boxers.
A half hour later, he was on his third cup when he heard footsteps coming down the staircase. Oh, no. He felt jittery with anticipation all of the sudden, and turned around to look around for something, but he didn’t know what; maybe try to be useful or pretend like he was cooking breakfast- god, he should have made him breakfast!
“Spencer?” Professor Hotchner said behind him.
Spencer jumped in his skin. He dropped the mug and it smashed on the ground with a piercing crash as the ceramic scattered all over the floor. “I- I’m so sorry!” he gasped.
Professor Hotchner wordlessly came up behind him, grabbing at his wrist; he was down on his knees on the tiled floor grabbing at the sharp ceramic pieces with tears in his eyes, breathing heavy. “I didn’t mean to, I’m so, so sorry, Master, I broke it, I didn’t mean to- it just slipped out of my hand! I shouldn’t have come downstairs- I should have stayed in bed- I’ve been so bad—”
Professor Hotchner shushed him, pulling his wrists up and making him look him in the eyes. “Spencer, stop. It’s okay. You did nothing wrong.”
“I did, I broke your mug, look at it! I j-just wanted some coffee, that’s it- I should have asked first, I’m so stupid…”
Spencer didn’t realize he was being picked up until he was cradled against Professor Hotchner’s chest, and his legs were moved so they were wrapped around his waist, as lanky and tall as he was. Professor Hotchner never had any trouble carrying his weight. So strong...
“Shhh, baby, it’s okay.” Professor Hotchner set him down on the couch in the living room and grabbed a first aid kit from the kitchen cabinet. Spencer’s ass was still sore from the night before. “It’s just a mug. It was an accident.”
“B-But first I broke the phone, and now the mug, and I-I’m the worst b-boyfriend ever,” he sobbed. Oh, and I cheated on you.
“I told you not to worry about the phone, didn’t I?”
Spencer looked down at his hands; there was a small cut from the glass bleeding slightly, dripping down his palm.
Professor Hotchner took his hand and dabbed it with an antiseptic. “I asked you a question, Spencer. Didn’t I tell you not to worry about the phone?”
He nodded his head. “Yes, Sir, you did.”
“You need to listen to me when I tell you something, Spence. Everything is okay. Take a deep breath.” Professor Hotchner smoothed a thumb along his cheek and he leaned into it, smiling softly. “Listen, Spencer, you mean a lot to me. Enough that I’m willing to risk a great deal on this relationship we have. Do you know how much trouble I would be in if anyone found out we’re together?”
Spencer shook his head again. He knew, and he knew Professor Hotchner knew he knew, but it wasn’t logical, really, the way he looked past everything that could hold them apart. He just wanted his Master. He didn’t want to acknowledge those things... so he didn’t.
“I thought that… you would be better off with someone that could treat you better and give you the type of relationship you deserve,” he said, and Spencer gasped lightly, cutting him off.
“—No! I don’t want anyone else! There’s nothing better!”
“Shh, sweetheart.” Professor Hotchner pressed his finger to Spencer’s lips and he quieted down. He wrapped a bandaid around his cut and then pressed the finger to his lips, kissing it softly. “I already told you, I’m not going anywhere this time. You’re mine. I won’t see you with anyone else.” Professor Hotchner’s gaze darkened. “Okay? You’re mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”
Spencer let his mouth hang open in awe at Professor Hotchner’s intensity. His eyes were sparking with desire and a dark, possessive malice. “Nothing is going to take you away from me. I don’t care about accidents, Spencer. Forget the mug; accidents happen. I’m just glad you kept your distance from that Dr. Owens.” He pulled Spencer up into his lap. “Then we would have a problem. But you’re a good boy, aren’t you? You know who you belong to. You wouldn’t dare even look at another man.”
Spencer trembled and bit his lip- hopefully Professor Hotchner would take his nervousness as worry over the mug still, because there was no way he was going to admit anything about Oliver now. Not after he dug a hole full of lies and laid in it. “Y-Yes, Sir.”
Besides, if he told Professor Hotchner, then Professor Hotchner would break up with him again- he’d hate him- and then he’d be alone! So there wasn’t anything he could do, really. He’d take a little lie over no-more-Professor-Hotchner any day.
It was something that he would have to bear, even if it meant he wouldn’t be completely open and honest with his Master. He wanted complete transparency and complete submission- both of them did- but he made his choices, he dug his hole.
“How is your finger, baby? Does it hurt?” Professor Hotchner was smiling at him.
“It’s fine,” Spencer murmured. “May I make you breakfast, Master?”
“Of course,” he replied, and smacked his ass as he got up.
. . .
The afternoon went by quickly with domesticity coming easily to them both. It lightened the mood considerably. Professor Hotchner never strayed far from Spencer. He showered him in compliments, encouraged the way he made breakfast and acted good. Spencer drank it up like he was dehydrated, and every last little word a delicious sip of water.
The only problem for him was the one between his thighs, because with each word of praise he was getting, his cock was growing more and more excited.
He didn’t know how to ask Professor Hotchner for release though; he wasn’t sure he’d been a good boy. Well, he knew he hadn’t been a good boy. He’d been a bad boy. A very bad boy. Not loyal at all. He didn’t deserve to cum.
So he whimpered pathetically, frowning at his tented boxer briefs. Professor Hotchner looked over from beside him on the couch.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
Spencer nodded but didn’t say a word. If having a painful erection he couldn’t take care of was okay.
“Oh,” Professor Hotchner grinned. Spencer felt hot and embarrassed when he saw his eyes fall down to his hard cock. “Look at you, humping against nothing. Bucking those hips, Spence, do you need me?”
“Yes, Master,” he whined.
“So needy, little slut. Open your mouth.”
Spencer opened. Professor Hotchner stuck in two fingers and he sucked. He closed his eyes and moaned; even just that was driving him crazy with want.
“That’a boy,” he whispered. “Slide off you boxers and spread your legs.”
He almost forgot how amazing it felt to listen and do as he was told. The rush of calmness and that sweet, tingly feeling of submission. He was giddy. He was on top of the world. He was completely at his Master’s disposal.
Professor Hotchner slid his fingers up his ass and scissored them while working them in and out. “This.” He looked into Spencer’s eyes and held them there with a cold intensity. “Is mine. Do you understand?”
Spencer felt his stomach grow hot and his chest flutter; there was a strange mix of devotion and guilt swirling around. Professor Hotchner added a third finger and he whined, “Yes, Master,” as his fingers took him roughly.
“Come here,” he motioned for him to get down in his lap. “Suck.” And so Spencer got on his hands and knees on the couch and opened his mouth wide to take Professor Hotchner’s cock in, finally tasting him again, smelling the musky scent of sex that he always had. Pheromones, his mind supplied him from some textbook or another. Very delicious pheromones.
Professor Hotchner placed his hand on the back of his head, pushing it down until he took his entire length down his throat, choking and heaving a little, but getting it down in the end. The other hand was reaching behind him and working his ass open again with three long, thick fingers that were relentless in their pumping.
His eyes rolled back in his head. He hadn’t felt that complete since- since last time Professor Hotchner took him. He hadn’t felt that used, and dirty, and slutty. He missed it dearly. He wanted to moan and scream and sob and declare his never ending love for him and the way he touched all his holes like a mindless fuckdoll.
Because he didn’t have to use his mind when Professor Hotchner was dominating him; all he had to do was listen and feel and he would be taken care of.
Listening wasn’t always easy, though, not with the way that Professor Hotchner liked to edge him until he cried, or saw stars, or accidentally came on himself.
His hips were being moved up, and he let his body be handled freely. Professor Hotchner put a pillow underneath him, soft against his cock. He wanted to thrust forward and feel the friction but he bit back his desire, instead forcing his head further down and gagging himself.
“Good boy,” he purred. “Go ahead and hump the pillow, sweetheart.”
And he didn’t have to be told twice. His hips were flying forward, grinding against it. His cock was pressed up nicely, squeezed in the best way. He moaned onto Professor Hotchner’s cock, his eyes up looking at him for approval. He felt guilty getting pleasure even when he was told to do so, but he was getting such a filthy, hungry look that he knew he was being a good boy.
Professor Hotchner liked seeing him humiliate himself against the pillow with his mouth full of cock and his ass full of fingers. Enjoying it. He liked seeing what a slut he was.
And was. He was a slut. His slut.
He rocked his hips forward, then back, first grinding toward the cock and deepthroating himself, then pushing back onto the fingers and repeating that forceful rocking motion until tears ran from his eyes and he shook.
“Oh, Spence. You desperate thing,” Professor Hotchner purred. “You’re perfect. So perfect.” He pushed his fingers deep in Spencer’s ass and bucked up his hips in time with his rocking- Spencer gasped, then choked.
“Cum, Spence.”
Spencer released the instant the words left his mouth, soaking the pillow in cum and clenching around his fingers. He let out deep, throaty groans as he sputtered around his cock, struggling to breathe around it. His throat and ass pulsed in rhythmic contractions.
Professor Hotchner pushed his head down hard again and came inside his throat. He could feel the cum spurting out down past his tongue and he swallowed over and over. Professor Hotchner slid out slowly and he swirled his tongue around the soft, blunt head of his cock, so utterly delicious. Salty, bitter, sex.
“More,” he gasped, his voice hoarse. He wasn't in the right mind to remember not to make demands. Professor Hotchner only chuckled.
“What, I give you a quick taste of cock, and you’re already a slut for it again?”
Spencer blushed heavily.
“No,” He laughed, and winked. “You’re always desperate for it.”
Spencer covered his face with his hands and Professor Hotchner moved them out of the way. “What did I say about hiding your embarrassment?”
Spencer let his hands fall away and reluctantly made eye contact with his Master, letting him see his red cheeks and humiliated expression. In a monotone voice, he recited, “You said ‘Don’t hide your face from me, Spence. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Be bashful, it’s cute. It suits you. You don’t have to hide anything around me’.”
Professor Hotchner rolled his eyes and laughed. “That’s exactly right, I’m guessing. But I was right. It’s gorgeous.”
Spencer bit his lip and gave him everything once again. He would do anything, no matter how big or small. No matter what his Master asked of him, he would do it no matter the consequences.
He was utterly and irrevocably his.
. . .
“What do you mean he left?”
“His flight was at 9. He left. I thought you were smart? What did you think was going to happen when you disappeared for over a day?” Ethan said with a bite in his voice.
“I wasn’t thinking…”
“Yeah, no shit. Gotta say, dude. That’s not like you.”
Spencer kicked off his shoes and tossed his coat on a hook; thinking he could creep in the door without being noticed was a pipe dream.
“Since you weren’t with Oliver, then what? Where were you? Were you that desperate to avoid starting anything up with him again that you ran away?” Ethan continued on. “He told me you guys kissed, alright? Why’d you do that if you didn’t want to get back together? What’s the point?”
He side stepped over a pair Ethan’s converse and slunk toward the direction of his room. “I couldn’t… I didn’t want anything… it was a mistake…” he muttered.
“Really shitty mistake. I like Oli, you know? He’s chill. We spent all night talking. All day too. I even walked him to the bus stop this morning. Dude shouldn’t have to leave for the airport by himself.” Ethan was getting off the couch and following him down the hall. “He would’ve understood if you told him you weren’t into it. He would’ve been fine, dude. Hurt, but fine.”
Spencer stopped and looked back at him. “He told you that?”
“Didn't have to,” Ethan said.
Spencer took out his new blackberry and wrote up a message.
I’m so sorry, Oliver. S.
Ethan shook his head and headed back toward the main room. Spencer didn’t get a reply text.
Strangely, he didn’t care.
Notes:
thanks for reading. having a stressful ass week but enjoy some questionable consent butt stuff with a man and his teacher
THIS IS AUBSE. STOCKHOLM SYNDROME. UNSUB!HOTCH.
THIS IS NOT LOVE. THIS IS NOT BDSM.
Chapter 40: The Unidentified Subject
Summary:
In the last chapter... Spencer woke up at Hotch's house for the first time in a while. He cried over a broken mug and was consoled by Hotch who tried to explain that it wasn't his fault and he shouldn't apologize for accidents. They also talked a bit more about their 'relationship' but it just ended in sex.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“I'm Armageddon's man
It's written on the wall
For a good time call...
ME
Won't you come by
Won't you give me a try
I'm easy to reach
And I'm willing to teach you EVERYTHING you want to know."
― Black Flag, Let Your Fingers Do The Walking
Spencer slept easy that night. It felt like he had a piece of normalcy back in his life. Structure. In the morning he ran, asked about breakfast, asked about clothes, asked about the sharpie.
Classes started the next day, and this time without Professor Hotchner. Four new lectures delving even deeper into the human psyche, for which he had all the material read by the end of the week. By the end of day three, really. He was holed up in Professor Hotchner’s office leafing through page after page until the stack of textbooks grew so high it nearly teetered over.
He liked the look on Professor Hotchner’s face that night; he looked proud.
Maybe in awe, even. Spencer could recognize the look on his face having seen in just about half of the people that witnessed it over the years. The other half, well, that was a strange mix of disbelief and jealousy. Though that mostly came from his competitors.
Three weeks into classes and Spencer was already having talks with ‘Hotch’ about when Jack was coming over, though Hotch seemed to schedule his visits suspiciously around the times that he had late labs and exams, or times that Ethan usually convinced him to hangout.
Things were blissful, slipping into a routine that made him happy, made him feel like he could have it all: love, education, and friendship.
His dissertation was coming along well, spanning nearly 80 pages at that point, and he was growing more and more excited about it as time passed. His thesis was brilliant, he thought, and the research he was doing was irrefutable. In just a few mere months he would be a doctor.
“Spencer?” Professor Hotchner leaned in and kissed his cheek.
His reply was soft, shy. “Yes, Sir?”
“You’re always thinking,” he said. He was smiling, looking at him in the dim light of the bedroom. “Tell me what about.”
“You.”
He grinned. “Me?”
“Yes, Sir. Always.” Spencer looked up slightly and offered up his lips for a kiss which Professor Hotchner took.
“That's not the face you get when thinking about me,” he replied against his lips.
“N-No?”
“No, baby.” He didn’t sound angry about the way he lied, sounding like he was teasing more than anything else. “That face isn’t so contemplative.” He kissed him again, softly. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Spencer licked his lips. They tasted like Master. He grabbed at his shirt and balled it in his fist, drawing nearer to him. Impossibly close. He mumbled some things against his chest about class, some things about studying, writing.
“I’m going to be a doctor soon.”
Professor Hotchner hummed. “Yes, you are.” He rubbed his hand down along his spine, large and heavy. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Will you… read my dissertation?” he whispered.
“I’d like nothing more than to read something you wrote,” he said. “I’m sure it’s just as brilliant as you are.”
. . .
Three weeks turned into four. Ethan slowed down on the Oliver interrogation seeing as he had more pressing matters to attend to, namely Elle. She was coming around the apartment more frequently over the past month, even leaving a toothbrush in the bathroom.
Spencer didn’t mind so much, although he did have to toss out his toothbrush and buy a new one because she mistakenly put hers in his cup, ew. The extra food in the kitchen, the shoes by the door, the candles on random surfaces- they were an okay exchange for mellowing out his best friend.
She even gave Spencer his space, a welcome change from being egged on until he gave into people’s requests to hangout. Penny and JJ were still begging him to go out and they wouldn’t let up. Soon he would have to say yes if he didn’t want to keep getting their text messages all day long. Text messages he could thank Ethan for, that little weasel, who thought he could give out his number to whoever he pleased as if it wasn’t a special and private thing.
And she was in his new Advanced Abnormal Psychology class, too. She sat next to him in every lecture but didn’t say a word, didn’t look at his notes, didn’t make him listen to uncomfortable stories about Ethan. She was alright.
They were at their Advanced Abnormal Psych class on Thursday morning when the professor came in and shut off all the lights. Spencer had to grip the side of his desk to keep himself from gasping. Hell, to stop himself from calling out, “Hotch!” as if he would come running in to his rescue. Darkness wasn’t exactly his forté.
The projector illuminated the room and the professor spoke.
“The unidentified subject is white, in his late twenties. He’s someone you wouldn’t notice at first. Someone who would blend into any crowd.” He paused and looked around the room. Everyone was silent. The projector cast shadows about his face as he stood blocking the picture. “The violent nature of the crime suggests a previous criminal record; petty crimes, maybe auto theft.”
The class was still silent, possibly in awe. Spencer certainly was. It may have been the first time, besides Professor Hotchner’s class, of course, that he didn’t interject with something he already knew. Because of course he knew this was an organized killer.
“Professor Gideon?” Someone asked from the back, a brave soul.
Professor Gideon may not have been intimidating, per se, but he still gave you pause.
“Yes, Ms. Carson. What’s your question?”
She shifted in her seat, you could hear it in the quiet of the room. “Doesn’t that describe just about 75% of the US male population? How could you find someone in that large of a suspect pool?”
There were snickers in the class, and Spencer himself had to hold one back because, 75%? Come on, if she did any research she would know that the percentage of white males aged 25-35, to give some leeway, with a small criminal record averaged 57.8%.
Somehow, he didn’t spit it out.
“Somewhere around there,” Professor Gideon said. “The number isn’t important. What’s important is the behaviour. The crime scene. The evidence. That’s how you narrow it down.” He clicked a button and the projector showed a new image: a dark alley wrapped in yellow tape, a body on the ground, not moving. Blood, everywhere. “The unsub is smart, careful. Psychopath as opposed to psychotic. The only evidence he leaves behind is the evidence he wants you to find.”
He clicked the slide again. A closeup of the victim’s head with blunt force trauma to the skull, bashed in with what could have been a baseball bat, Spencer thought. There was so much blood and damage that the face was barely recognizable. No identity.
“What does that tell you about the type of unsub we have here?” asked Professor Gideon
Spencer finally spoke up. “Organized.”
“Very good,” he said. “Look closely at the scene, everyone. Tell me what clues the unsub left behind.”
Spencer looked it over quickly, almost as if he were reading a book, taking in the image piece by piece, letter by letter. Key parts started jumping out at him, the things that Professor Hotchner taught him to look out for, the types of important nothings that he found over and over again in cold case files. “The positioning of the body, facing up, both arms over the midsection. The absence of a ring but an indent where it would be. A jagged cut in her hair where it was removed with a dull blade.”
He looked over, meeting Spencer’s eye for the first time. “Very observant, Mr. Reid. What can you tell us about the time of death?”
Spencer flipped through what the presented facts meant in relation to the books he’s read in the past. Blue tinted skin, dark coagulated blood, infestation of insect activity. “At Least three days, considering the biological and environmental factors. It may be indicative of targeting high-risk victims that would go unnoticed for long spans of time.”
“Exactly.” He turned away and clicked the slide to the next image showing what he said to be the second body found two weeks later. “Let’s spot the similarities in this next scene. What could tie the two killings together? How do we see this unsub and this body and put them together?”
Spencer raised his hand.
. . .
Two weeks after that, Spencer was sitting at Professor Hotchner’s dinner table with a plate of homemade lasagna in front of him. Professor Hotchner asked how his day was, told him he missed him. He said he was beginning to understand why he fought so hard to stay in his class, because it was becoming exponentially dull without him around.
Without those loaded stares or subtle touches, Spencer thought. Without the press of a plug in his ass or the wiggle in his chair and only a pleased smirk in response. Spencer crossed his legs under the table.
Instead of bringing that up and whining about it like he wanted to, he told him about what he was learning in his classes. Adolescent Psychology, Behavioral Statistics, Forensic Psychology, Forensic Anthropology, Advanced Abnormal Psychology. A heavy course load for some, but for him a walk in the park. Easy A’s, and he even had time for extracurricular activities after the fact.
Very fun, very stimulating extracurricular activities.
‘Hold your ankles and don’t let go, baby. Keep those thighs nice and spread for me. Ah, no, no. No moving. Keep still or you’ll I’ll smack these pretty little cheeks,’ Professor Hotchner kissed just below his balls and he shivered. He wasn’t going to make through the night without a red, raw bottom, he knew that much.
“He’s giving me hypothetical case studies to practice on outside of class,” he said. The case files were the only thing currently challenging him, especially because Gideon was pushing him to deduce a hypothesis from each and every piece of evidence. Critical thinking. And there was a lot of evidence.
“Really?” Professor Hotchner looked at him with interest. “What else has he been saying to you?”
“Like word for word?” Spencer said around a mouthful of lasagna.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he reprimanded. “Not word for word. Anything out of the ordinary?”
Spencer looked up and to the side, replaying Gideon’s conversations. “No, not that I can think of. Gideon mostly talks about crime scenes and unsubs.”
Professor Hotcnher put down his fork. “Gideon? Since when are you two so informal?”
“Uh…” Spencer felt like he was about to be in trouble, but he didn’t do anything wrong that he could discern. “He told me to call him Gideon. He said, ‘Enough with the ‘Professor’, kid. It’s Gideon, just Gideon.’ and then I did. Why? Is that okay, Sir?”
Professor Hotchner seemed to bristle at his reply; he didn’t resume eating either. “Yes, that’s fine.”
“Um…” he mushed around the food on his plate. Master seemed mad. He didn’t want to be a bad boy. He was already such a bad boy. He couldn't afford to mess up any more. He needed to be perfect. “Are you sure? Because… the way your forehead is creased and your eyebrows drawn together, makes you seem... upset. And you’ve stopped eating. And…”
Silence. He thought he may have gone too far when Professor Hotchner replied, “Fine, yes. Sorry, Spencer, yes, I'm upset. But you haven’t done anything wrong. Gideon is a long time friend of mine, though we haven’t spoken in quite a while.”
“Even though you both teach in the psychology department of Georgetown?” Spencer tilted his head to the side. If they were friends surely they would have ample opportunity to see each other.
“Yes. We left off on uncertain terms. No bad blood, just ties cut in an unceremonious manner. He was dealing with a lot back when he left the BAU and I don’t hold it against him that we never reconnected.”
“Oh.” Spencer paused. “So it’s alright that he’s my professor now? And that we do extra work?”
Professor Hotchner looked contemplative for a moment. “I can’t stop you.”
“Yes, you can.” Spencer lightly gasped. He could do anything. Anything.
A grin spread across his face. “Fine. I won’t stop you, then. Sound better?”
Spencer blushed. “Yes, Sir.” He loved the feeling of answering to his Master. Rules, rituals, restrictions. Something that made sense.
He watched Professor Hotchner finish his dinner and felt an itch to speak up again. “Um… Sir?”
“Yes, Sweetheart?” He looked up.
“Why don’t you… uh. Well, why aren’t you… you’re not… jealous? Or, no! Not jealous. You have no reason to be- I mean, that is, you aren’t… protective...?”
Professor Hotchner narrowed his eyes and seemed to profile him head to toe. He wished he wasn’t twiddling nervously with the table cloth.
“I am very protective of you, Spencer.” He reached out and grabbed at his chin, forcing him to look up into his eyes. “Look at me, sweetheart. I’m trusting you.” He leaned in over the small space that separated them and kissed him softly on the lips. “There’s nothing to worry about with Gideon, anyhow.” He licked his own lips and pressed his thumb into his jaw as he was holding it. “Unless you prefer it when I get possessive over you?” He grinned wickedly. “You know my therapist has been advising me to give up control, but you like it, don’t you?”
Spencer licked his lips wet and nodded. He did like it. He liked it very, very much.
He liked to be desired, possessed, wanted, cherished. He liked feeling like a prize to be won or a special thing that needed protecting. He would be just fine with Professor Hotchner wrapping him up and putting him in a pretty little box to hide him away from the world. Only his. Only for him.
His cock was straining in his boxers and he whimpered. He closed his eyes and focused on the thumb pressing into his jaw. He shivered as a near growl sounded out in front of him, primal and urgent.
Then Professor Hotchner’s hand slipped away. “Finish your meal,” he said. The look was gone. “I shouldn’t be using therapy as a aide for play,” he laughed breathily, for once sounding self-deprecating, and Spencer wished he wouldn’t listen to the therapist because getting pulled up onto the table and fucked hard against it while depraved, possessive thoughts were whispered fervently into his ear sounded like a dream come true. (Even if he wouldn’t get to cum, like usual)
“Yes, Sir.” He scarfed down the rest, and feeling him to be in a rather lax mood, whispered, “Can we watch a movie and cuddle?”
He smiled back at him and nodded. “Yes, baby.”
Spencer leaned forward and stole a kiss, blushing hard.
“Oh, one one more thing,” Professor Hotchner said while pressing a kiss to Spencer’s lips, licking at them and taking another slow and sweet. “I rented you an apartment.”
Notes:
TYSM for reading, everyone! Can't believe you're sticking around for this horribly abusive BS that has gotten way, way out of hand lmao. Just a big old SORRY fr because wtf is even going on anymore
Anyway, enjoy! ❤️
**Also, as you may have noticed, Gideon first few lines are pulled from the show’s intro
THIS IS AUBSE. STOCKHOLM SYNDROME. UNSUB!HOTCH.
THIS IS NOT LOVE. THIS IS NOT BDSM.
Chapter 41: Welcome Home
Summary:
In the last chapter… Spencer spent more time with Hotch at his house over the last days of winter break, and then started his new classes. A month into them, Spencer mentions that his new Professor is Gideon and he’s been giving him case studies to solve outside of class.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Loose nut in my head
A bolt of lightening between my legs
I can't think straight; my mind's a mess
I can only see straight when I'm being led."
― Black Flag, Loose Nut
Spencer was over the moon packing up everything he owned into boxes. It didn’t amount to much, only three in total, but it was his. The conversation with Ethan about moving into the apartment didn’t go well at first, but after a few weeks he softened up to the idea.
Spencer may have given him the impression that the University was paying for his housing via grant. It wasn’t technically untrue. At least not all the way. The university was paying, in a sense.
Elle was helping too, lending an extra pair of hands. Honestly, she was more or less watching them work. Or supervising, because she was orchestrating the entire thing telling them what to do and when.
Ethan was balancing a box on top of his head when it fell to the ground and they spent an unnecessary ten minutes putting all the clothes back in. Then they were packing it all into the trunk of Ethan’s car and heading off campus.
The apartment wasn’t too far from the University. Spencer would have been happy with it being a long drive as long as it was close distance to Professor Hotchner’s house, but instead it was about halfway from both. He could live with that.
When he turned the key in the lock and opened the door, the walls were all painted a beautifully rich olive green, his favorite color. It looked so cozy- homey, almost.
Hotch remembered his favorite color? And when did he sneak in to paint it? Or did he hire a painter?
“So, where should I put this?” Ethan shoved his way in from behind him.
Elle pointed to a corner of the apartment. “Right over there. Go grab the last box, will you, Eth?” She came beside Spencer and looked over at him with a grin. “This is rad, huh? I love the walls. And it’s got crown moulding? What kind of grant did you say it was?”
Spencer sputtered, following her into the kitchen and setting his box of clothes, the lightest one, down onto the counter and trying to formulate an appropriate response. She didn’t seem to require one, however, because she was smiling like it was funny.
Right, a joke.
“I’ve never had my own place before…” he said, to himself.
Elle nodded in agreement. “Me neither.”
Ethan came blundering through the open doorway with the third box and dropped it heavily to the floor with a thud. “That was not easy to carry up three flights of stairs!” He huffed and leaned over, out of breath. Spencer coughed awkwardly, though he was glad he didn’t have to do that himself, and managed to choke out a half-assed apology.
“Let’s sit for a second,” Ethan said. He was already throwing his arm around Elle’s shoulders and sinking them both down to the carpet in what was arguably the living room. “Oh, god. I’m beat. I’m never moving anything anywhere ever again. That’s it. It’s me and the dorm forever now. Lifetime occupancy.”
“Good luck with that one,” Elle said. “They’ll drag you out kicking and screaming the minute you’re not paying tuition.”
“That’s fine!” I’ll keep getting degrees like Mr. Smarty pants over there.”
Elle laughed and bumped her shoulder into his side. “That’s Dr. Smarty pants, right Spence?”
Spencer blushed and smiled awkwardly. “Not yet.”
“El, you’re embarrassing him.” He grinned, eyes on Spencer. He loved it.
“I am not embarrassed!” he barked.
Embarrassed was butt-ass naked with your legs spread on your boyfriend’s desk, toys filling up every possible hole, and having to maintain eye contact as he plays with them.
A blush tried to creep up Spencer’s neck at the memory, but he willed it away and rubbed at his thigh absently, a few dark letters scribbled there.
“Okay, boys,” she said. “Let’s cool it. Spence, you need help putting everything away? And where are you even sleeping?”
He licked his lips, shrugged, and imagined Hotch’s bed. “The mattress in the dorm belonged to the university. I’ll, uh, bunch up some blankets or something until I get one. Don’t worry about me.”
Ethan looked at Elle and then him. “Dude, that’s so sketchy! We’ll unpack and drive you back to the dorm until you get a bed.”
“Yeah,” Elle agreed. She got from the floor and started rifling through the box in the living room. One alarm clock, one lamp, one folded up hamper. She walked them into the bedroom and Ethan watched her as she walked away.
“God, she’s so hot,” he said absently.
Her voice carried into the living room from the bedroom. “Oh.”
“Should I turn on the air conditioning…?” Spencer looked at him quizzically.
“What is it?” Ethan called to her. He barely had to raise his voice with how small the place was.
She poked her head out of the bedroom. “There’s a bed in here already.”
Spencer’s head perked up. “Really?”
“Yeah,” she said. “And pillows and a comforter and everything.”
“What the hell,” Ethan huffed. “I wanna be a genius.”
Elle raised her eyebrows, giving Ethan an impressed look as she looked back at the bedroom, and then grabbed some more things from the box. “Me too.”
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he said. Yet he flashed through images like a camera roll, clear and crisp like it was really happening behind his eyes, all dark, hairy, and dominant, and decided that was a lie; he liked his brain very much.
Unpacking took all of thirty minutes and then the three of them were sitting on the empty boxes in the living room talking about school and their friends. Elle was slowly becoming acquainted with the group- she seemed to really hit it off with JJ- but thankfully she wasn’t trying any of the group’s usual tactics to rope him into some sort of party, or hangout, or whatever.
“Let’s toast to the new place.” Ethan pulled a half-empty bottle of vodka from the inside of his bomber jacket.
“Eth-” Elle laughed.
“I don’t think that’s such a great idea…” Spencer said. His fingers itched for his phone. He wasn’t sure if Professor Hotchner would allow him.
“Come on! It’s his first ever apartment. It’s a big deal!” He unscrewed the cap and took a swig. “We need to commemorate the occasion. He passed it to Elle who was rolling her eyes.
“It is a big deal,” she conceded. “Spencer, I’m so proud of you.” She looked over at Ethan and with her face strewn in confusion, whispered, “Is he even listening to me?”
Spencer looked up from his blackberry and blushed. “Sorry! Th-Thanks, Elle. That means a lot, really.” The phone buzzed in his hands and he glanced at it with a smile. “I’ll drink for the occasion, yeah. Just one sip.”
“Atta’boy!” Ethan whooped, way too over excited about everything as he always gets.
Elle smiled warmly at him, amused, and turned to Spencer. “But me and Eth will leave you be for the night. We’re heading over to Emily’s for drinks.”
“Wanna come?” Ethan asked as he stood up. He held his hand out for Elle and Spencer followed suit. Spencer took a drink from the bottle and felt it burn hot and sharp down his throat. He coughed and handed back to Ethan.
“No, I…”
“It’s fine, Spence.” Elle cut it. “Eth, I’m sure he wants to spend the first night here instead of Emily's couch. Come on, we’re taking a taxi over. How many drinks have you had?” She laughed.
Spencer ushered them out and locked the door behind them before rushing to the bedroom to look at the bed that Professor Hotchner bought for him. He bought him a bed.
He jumped onto it and sank down into it as it was insanely soft to the point of straight hedonism. He closed his eyes and never wanted to move again. The spring coiled dorm mattress had nothing on this.
Then his pocket buzzed.
Are you being good? H.
Yes, Sir. I’m being a very good boy, I promise. s.
Not drinking with your friends, are you? H.
No, Master. Just the one like you said. s.
Have them leave soon, sweetheart. No visitors overnight. H.
Yes, sir. They already left. I’m laying on my bed… Thank you <3 s.
You deserve it. H.
You deserve so much more than just that. H.
We’ll get you some more basic furniture next week. H.
No, Sir, you’ve already given me way too much. I can hardly accept this... s.
Do not contradict me, Spencer. H.
Now strip down and sit on the edge of the bed. In the front. H.
Yes, Master. s.
Spread your legs. Look in front of you. Tell me what you see. H.
Spencer did exactly what he was asked sitting on the bed with his legs spread wide and, oh, he didn’t notice the mirror before with his mind preoccupied on the comfy mattress.
A long, floor length mirror was propped against the wall opposite the bed.
I see myself… naked. s.
More. H.
I see my bare chest… and my cock, and balls… my legs apart. s.
Are you soft? H.
Yes, Master. s.
I want you to watch yourself get aroused in the mirror. Run a hand down your inner thigh. H.
Spencer’s cheeks grew hot but excited nerves flew out to every part of his body. He ran his hand down his inner thigh, warm and smooth, and told Profesor Hotchner he did so.
Good boy. Suck on two fingers. H.
Push them far enough back that you start to gag. H.
The texts started to come in quick succession, Professor Hotchner assuming that he was complying with each command. How could he not?
Hollow your cheeks and do a good job sucking. H.
Use tongue. H.
Imagine my cock between your lips and moan, sweetheart. You like that, don’t you? Say ‘Yes, Master’ out loud like a good little slut. H.
Spencer whimpered it into the empty room, around his fingers, eyes still locked on himself in the mirror when he wasn’t checking his phone. His lips were cherry red and glistening with spit that was dribbling down his chin.
Now take them out. Pull one leg up onto the bed and look at the pretty pink hole. H.
It’s all mine, isn’t it, baby? I own that. H.
Rub it with your wet fingers. H.
Such a little slut you are. H.
Push two fingers in, baby, you can take it. Be a good boy. H.
Scissor them and moan for me. H.
I imagine your little cock is all excited now, isn’t it, slut? It likes the fingers up your ass, hm? H.
Take a picture in the mirror of those fingers stretching open my hole. H.
Spencer’s heart rate kicked up into overdrive after reading that text and his mind immediately flashed back to the memory of the bright white flash in the hotel room all those months ago, on his back and listening to the man that would become his Master.
Professor Hotchner wouldn’t do anything with the photos, he knew that undoubtedly, and he already had a few of him already.
He raised up his fancy new blackberry and clicked onto the camera option. He bit his lips and shoved his fingers in all the way as far as they could go, he moaned, and clicked the button. The flash went off and he sent it.
Jesus Christ, Spence. You’re so beautiful. H.
My beautiful little slut. H.
You’re so hard. Is that ass aching for my cock? Answer. H.
Yes, Sir, I need u so bad, I can’t tke it, I need to feel u stretching me open. s.
Please. s.
Good boy. Take your fingers out and wash your hands. Go write ‘Please’ on your thigh and go to bed. No cumming. Be a good boy and I’ll pick you up on my way to campus. Understood? H.
Spencer whimpered rather pathetically when he read that he wouldn’t be cummning, and took out his fingers with a choked sob of disappointment. He did as he was told, down to the T, and texted back when he was snuggled up in bed with his painful, aching, boner crying in his pajamas.
Yes, Master. Anything you say. I’m in bed, I didn’t cum. My Cock hurts. s.
That’s my boy. Goodnight, sweetheart. H.
“Mmh. Daddy…” Spencer whispered, half in a moan, into his pillow. Hopefully he would cum while he was sleeping because he wouldn’t be cumming while he was conscious any time soon.
. . .
There was a knock on his door at a godawful hour in the morning, and he groaned as he sat up in bed, rubbing at his eyes and raking his messy hair back from his face.
He nearly stumbled out of bed, stretched his aching muscles, and headed for the door. The knock sounded again. He opened it.
Professor Hotchner. Adrenaline flooded his system. “Why aren’t you up?”
“I-I- I was sleeping.”
Professor Hotchner was looking him up and down. “Clearly.” He walked past him into the apartment and looked around. “Sweetheart, where are all your things?”
Spencer yawned. His nerves were frayed, sleepy yet buzzing at attention. “Hm? These are my things, Sir.”
He watched several emotions fly across Professor Hotcher’s face but wasn’t feeling up to analyzing them.
“I didn’t take much when I left home. I couldn’t take anything that wouldn’t fit in a suitcase so it’s mostly just some sentimental things from, uh, my Mother and the rest is books.” He shrugged. “And some stuff I bought for the dorm, I guess.”
Spencer watched as Professor Hotchner looked at every inch of the place; he didn’t have much to look at but he walked over to the counter where all of his photographs were haphazardly placed, and he looked back at him softly and asked, “May I?”
“Oh.” Spencer blushed. Nothing would have prepared for Hotch asking him permission for something. It almost felt perverse. “O-Of course.”
He replied without looking back, “Sit. I’ll make you breakfast.” and took his time pouring his eyes over Spencer’s photos from home. One of his and his mother from her good years at the grand canyon. He was still young, but he remembered learning so much about rocks and minerals that day. He remembered feeling how big that world was as he looked down into the canyon.
There was another of her holding him as a baby. He didn’t have any memory of that one, too young. Various other pictures had him and her on little outings when she used to take him places, then other pictures of them at home, those less frequent, around the time she started to decline. He didn’t have any of his father. He decided not to bring those.
Something about the way Hotch’s eyes were on them made him stomach flip flop and heat up. Maybe he wanted him to know everything, more than he already told him. Professor Hotchner knew so much about his past, his mother, and his home life from all those late nights at his house but he still wanted to feel that innate closeness that came with knowing everything about someone. Not that he ever felt that before, but… he could imagine.
“Spencer?” asked Professor Hotchner.
He snapped out of his reverie. “Hm?”
“I asked how you wanted your eggs this morning?”
“Oh, right. Sorry, Sir. Sunny side up, please.” He smiled at Hotch’s happy, carefree expression.
He ate his breakfast and the coffee that Professor Hotchner bought for him at Starbucks, hardly noticing that Hotch wasn’t eating himself or that he was systematically going around the kitchen and stocking up the fridge and cabinets with food.
“This ih’ so gooh.”
Professor Hotchner laughed. “Don’t talk with your mouth full like that, what’s gotten into you?”
Spencer laughed right back. “I’unno.” He swallowed. “Um… do you want to see my bed, Master?”
“Your bed? I’ve seen your bed already, sweetheart.” He winked. “No, first we need to have a talk.”
Spencer frowned. A talk about what? Everything was perfect lately.
“About your place,” he continued. “It’s your home. If you don’t want to have the power play dynamic here, that’s fine.”
Spencer had a quick intake of breath, taken aback. “Y-You don’t want to be my Master?”
“Listen more carefully, baby. No panicking. Here, in your home, if you would rather have more of a normal relationship instead of dominant and submissive, that’s your call. Of course, at my house, you still need to obey the rules. And you still have to be obedient over text even if you’re here.”
“So…” A smile spread across his face and he felt so happy he could die. “You would be my boyfriend?”
Professor Hotchner’s face tinted just the slightest hint of pink that Spencer found to be extremely handsome. “Sure, yes. I’ll be your boyfriend here. If that’s what you want. We can be on equal footing.”
“I-” He paused, only for a fraction of a second, mind whirring at inhumane speeds, thinking how dearly he would miss submitting to Hotch’s deep, authoritative voice, or the way he would still feel the overwhelming need to fall to his knees wherever he saw him but… he could only imagine freely kissing Hotch, touching him when he wanted, being cheeky and not getting spanked, well, he would miss that too but… boyfriend. Hotch. Aaron…? Oh, god. “I want that.”
Hotch looked at him with a soft expression. “Good.”
“Um, does that mean I can call you Aaron here?”
“Yes, baby. You don’t need to ask for permission in your own home. Okay?”
Spencer laughed breathlessly. “I think it might take some getting used to.” He blushed deep red. “...Aaron.”
Notes:
no 'bdsm' (UNSUB) apartment :V we'll see how that goes lmao
THIS IS AUBSE. STOCKHOLM SYNDROME. UNSUB!HOTCH. THIS IS NOT LOVE. THIS IS NOT BDSM.
Chapter 42: I Need You, Master, I'm Horny
Summary:
In the last chapter Ethan and Elle helped Spencer move into his new apartment and PH stopped by in the morning to make him breakfast and bring groceries. He even suggested evening out the playing field in Spencer’s new home so they were more like equals and less like Master and his fucktoy.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Spencer was slowly getting used to having his own place. He enjoyed it far more than he thought it would. Preferably he would have liked to move in with Professor Hotchner, but that wasn’t going to happen and his own place was the next best thing.
He could leave books anywhere he wanted, he could pile up his clothes on the floor, he could use the entire living room area just for his studies.
So he did, with his entire dissertation spread out on the floor since he lacked a table of any kind, and had each section in a pile, then each pile in sub-piles. He was slowly going over each one and marking them up with sticky notes and highlighted corrections. Iit gave him satisfaction akin to the mindless bliss he felt whenever Professor Hotchner had him clear his mind of anything except following simple commands.
Saturday rolled around eventually, and Professor Hotchner came to pick him up at his place. He promised to take him out and buy him furniture to make it look less like he was squatting in there.
Professor Hotchner insisted on driving two towns over, but he was still excited about it. It was the closest thing to being in public with his boyfriend that he would get. Professor Hotchner- Hotch- said he wasn’t allowed to hold his hand, but it was still nice to walk side by side together, to just be out together. Buying furniture like a domestic couple.
Which was kind of hard, really, because the price tags on everything were horrendous. Hundreds of dollars out of his price range, kind of horrendous. So much so that he was starting to get nervous and resorted to counting prime numbers when Hotch dragged him to an empty aisle in the back and made him kneel, take big, deep breaths, and repeat after him.
“I’m a good boy, I do as I’m told. I’m a good boy, I do as I’m told.”
“Yes, you are, baby.”
Spencer repeated the line that Hotch gave him over and over until his hands stopped shaking and his mind stopped whirring. “I’m a good boy. I do as I’m told.” He looked up.
Hotch was smiling proudly at him. “Feeling better?”
Spencer leaned forward so his forehead was resting against Hotch’s calf and he nodded into it. “Yes, Sir.”
“Okay, come on. Up you go.” He pulled Spencer to his feet and kissed him on the lips.
“Mmmh,” Spencer moaned quietly.
“Are you going to be a good boy and let me buy you some things now?” Hotch whispered into his ear. Spencer was fully hard and straining against his khaki pants.
“Yes, Sir.”
Hotch took his hand until they were back in public view and then let it drop, but kept their shoulders brushing together while he went and placed an order at the front desk. He explained that it would be easier to have everything delivered, so Spencer stayed quiet while Hotch went on talking to the clerk, busying himself with thoughts of what Hotch might have in store for him when they got back.
Fucking him face down, ass up? Making him deepthroat on his knees, or laying on his back with his head on the side of the bed? Pushing him down the moment they got inside the door and taking him on the floor like he just couldn't wait?
That was his personal favorite; he loved knowing that Hotch couldn’t control himself for a moment longer just as much as he loved how utterly rough and controlling it was to be pushed down and have his pants and boxers tugged off in a haste. To have himself fucked before being properly stretched open.
So when they got back to Spencer’s apartment and Hotch walked in calmly behind him, Spencer felt a wave of disappointment crash through him, even though he was supposed to always be grateful for what he got, and never complain, not even in his head.
“Sorry, there’s nowhere to sit…” Spencer said. He hated seeing Hotch stand there in the hall with nowhere to go.
Hotch just shrugged, though, as he took off his overcoat and laid it down on the counter. His white button up was perfectly pressed even on a Saturday. Spencer could see the hardness of the muscles in his forearms with how the sleeves were rolled up and he let out a pathetic whimper by accident.
Hotch smirked. “That’s fine. The only plans I have for you involve the bed anyway.”
Spencer blushed; there it was, the dominance that he was sorely missing. One more second and he was going to fall to his knees and beg for cock.
Hotch ran a hand through his hair and groaned. “Sorry, no. Damn it. I said I wasn’t going to control you here, and I meant that.”
“No, no!” Spencer gasped. “Wait, no. Please?”
He needed it, really needed it. He was bursting with energy and lust. He needed an outlet to let himself go and wanted nothing more than to hand over the reins to his boyfriend.
Hotch smirked, that ass.
“Please? It’s what I want. We can do normal later. But… but please, right now I need you, Master.”
Hotch crossed his arms. He walked up into his personal space. He could smell his dizzying cologne. “You need me?”
Spencer gulped. “Yes, Sir.”
“Then beg.”
“Please,” he said. He let out a sigh, a smile, and dropped down to his knees. “Please, Master? Take me? Use me? Fuck me? I’m yours, I’m your little slut to use as you see fit. I need you, please?”
Hotch grunted, unimpressed. Spencer bowed his head and whimpered. He shuffled forward and straddled his shoe, head resting against his thigh. “Please, please, please! I need you. I need to be fucked and punished. I need you to tell me what to do. I’m yours, all yours, Sir. I’ll do whatever you say. My body is yours, my cock, my mouth, my ass, all of it. Please—”
Hotch rumbled above him, a throaty, possessive growl, and he fisted his hand into his hair and pulled tight.
Spencer let out a filthy moan.
“Oh, that’s my good boy,” Hotch purred. “Undress yourself.”
Spencer had his sweater over his head quickly, then scrambled out of his pants and underwear, leaving himself naked on the floor. He pushed back a lock of hair behind his hair and wet his lips before looking back up to Hotch for more guidance.
“Hand up,” Hotch said. He grabbed Spencer’s wrist as he raised it in the air and took two fingers in his mouth. Spencer felt Hotch’s tongue slit between them and a shiver ran down his spine. His cock pulsed and started to harden immediately.
He wanted to shut his eyes and mindlessly start moving his hips, but he forced himself to look up and catch sight of Hotch with his lips around his fingers and it felt like he could cum right there on the spot.
“F-F-Fuck,” he whined.
Hotch pulled back. “No cussing, you know that.” The look in his eyes grew stern. “Finger yourself.”
“Master,” he pleaded. He was already craving his hands on him, his much larger fingers pushing inside and loosening him. But, he didn't disobey. He pushed his own fingers up ass and cried out. It was wet, tight, and hot. Wet with Hotch’s spit. He loved that more than anything. He finger fucked his ass until he was red in the face, staring up at Hotch, and told to stop.
Hotch picked him up and flung him over his shoulder, as if with ease, though muttering “God, you’re heavy,” under his breath, and then slapping his ass a few times before making his way into the bedroom. He turned his head and kissed Spencer’s red bottom, then flopped him down unceremoniously onto the bed. His hair was a mess. He was flushed, ass red, asshole swollen.
“Hold your knees to your chest, sweetheart. Legs spread. Good boy. Tell me what a pretty little slut you are for Master.”
Spencer bared himself wholly. “I’m a pretty little slut for you, Sir.”
His eyes darkened, lust washing over his face, and he licked his lips. “Yes, you are. Stay.” He left the room and came back with a black bag. “I bought you some toys. I was going to wait, but this seems like a perfect time to try them out.”
Spencer wiggled on the bed in excitement. Toys.
Hotch plugged his ass up with a lubed up purple plug. It was at least twice the size of his last one. It hurt going in, but Hotch was shushing him, stroking his face and telling him to take it so he did.
“What do you think about this, my slut?”
Hotch was holding a cockring. He bit his lip in reply.
“Too big, right? I think it might fall right off that little cock of yours,” he tutted.
Spencer whimpered and blushed like mad, his cheeks red and blotchy. He looked away from the cockring but Hotch grabbed his jaw and forced his head straight. “Do you think so?”
Did he really have to answer that? Of course it was too big! Look at it! He bought a big one on purpose!
“Hmm, Spence?”
“Yes, Sir…”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, it’s too big…”
“Be a good boy and use full sentences.”
Spencer groaned, immediately regretting it, and tightened his grip on his legs where he was still knee to chest with his plugged ass on full display and his cock sitting pretty on his belly. “Yes, Sir, the ring is too big for my little cock,” he murmured.
“Mh, yes, I thought so.” Hotch smirked. He rummaged in the bag only to fish out a smaller ring and held them both up to compare. “Small?”
Spencer didn’t think he could blush any harder than he already had, but again his whole body felt like it was on fire with embarrassment. He felt humiliated yet incredibly turned on, as if admitting how small his cock was in comparison to Hotch’s was the most arousing thing in the world.
“Yes, Sir. The small one, please.”
It felt snug and cool around him. The metal had a strangely soft feeling. Then Hotch brought a black strap out of the bag. He waited patiently with his legs up as Hotch laced the strap onto the bigger metal ring and clicked a spidery looking piece of metal into place on it.
That ring was never for my cock, Spencer thought with a bite of anger. He wanted to yell about it, whine, maybe, and complain that that wasn’t fair at all, but he didn’t want to be bratty and ruin whatever Hotch had in store for him next. Or get smacked.
“Open up, little slut.”
He opened his mouth. Hotch stuck the metal ring in his mouth just behind his teeth. It held his mouth open in a wide ‘O’ shape but it wasn’t plugged up with a ball. It was fastened in the back of his head so he couldn’t take it off, not that he could even if he had the option.
“Remind me how big that ring is around my little slut’s cock?” Hotch teased.
Spencer couldn’t move his mouth, let alone close it, so he did the best he possibly could. “Sm’auuh.”
Hotch laughed at him.
Spit dripped down his lip and otho his chin and he squealed in embarrassment, trying to close his mouth or move his tongue, but nothing worked. He groaned, humiliated again, and looked up at Hotch.
“M’aaauuh, pleeeuuh!”
“Hmm? Are you trying to say something?” He chuckled.
“H’tttthh!”
Hotch laughed. He stuck his finger in Spencer’s open mouth and dragged up along his tongue making him taste his salty skin. Spencer desperately wanted to close his lips around it and suck. So, so badly.
“Say your safe word,” he said.
“Reeeeehhh.”
Hotch leaned down and kissed his cheek. He smelled dizzying. “Do you want a blowjob?”
Spencer’s head shot up. It hit Hotch’s and he swore for the first time that Spencer could remember.
“Ssooooohhh! Soooh!”
He rubbed at his head and laughed like it was the most amusing thing in the world. Spencer didn’t think so. Spencer’s mind was already going to a red, sore bottom and having to count to fifty with the ring in his mouth making him sound like an idiot.
And worst of all, no blowjob.
“Aw, is my little cockwhore excited to get a blowjob? Is it his first one?”
Spencer squirmed, humiliated. He hasn’t ever had his cock sucked before and Hotch knew it.
“Or maybe you’re upset because you’re such a cockwhore that your greedy little mouth wants to be the one sucking? Is that it, baby? Are you jealous? You want to be the one sucking cock instead?”
Hotch knew goddamn well he was not jealous.
“Don’t worry, Spence, you’ll get some. You just have to be patient.” He smirked.
Hotch pushed him back further on the bed, layed down between his raised legs, and licked a stripe up from his asshole to his balls, and all the way up to the tip of his cock. Spencer was shivering.
“But my little cockwhore is so patient, isn’t he?” Hotch licked his tip. Then, by the grace of God and everything holy, wonderful, and divine, Hotch wrapped his lips around his cock and sucked ever so slightly while his tongue lapped at his little slit.
Fireworks.
“Very patient. Such a good, good boy. Always doing what he’s told.” He took him in his mouth again half way, then bobbed up and down for a minute before popping off again.
“Aw, and look at his hard little cock already trembling for release after only a minute. I bet you want to cum already, don’t you?”
Spencer nodded his head violently. He was ready to burst. The only thing holding him back was the ring now tight against his swollen cock. “Yyyeeeeuuuuh! Plleeeeuuhh!”
“Aw, baby. I can’t understand you. Did you say keep going?” Hotch smirked, sucked his entire cock into his mouth and hollowed his cheeks so all he could feel was this immense pressure of hot, wet tightness. Hotch was incredible. Such an amazing Master. Everything.
Spencer fisted the sheets with white, tense knuckles, struggling to keep his hips on the bed like he knew Hotch would want. Hotch was deep throating him easily and he couldn’t bear it. The pressure, the stimulation. Tears were streaming from his eyes down the sides of his face. He loved it, adored it, wanted it to never, ever stop, but couldn’t handle it for a second longer.
“Aaauuhhhh!”
“You can take it, slut. Take it for me.” Hotch said when he came up for air. He didn’t give Spencer any break before going back down on him.
He stopped when Spencer started to involuntarily tremble in his arms and legs. “Look how easy it was for me to fit you in my mouth,” he purred with a hoarse voice. “The whole thing, no problem.”
Spencer whined and thrashed from side to side. He thrust up his hips and Hotch smacked his belly. “Don’t go and be a bad boy now when you’ve been so good, Spence. You can take the rest of it. I know you can do it. I know, because you are. You’re going to take it and then you’re going to thank me.”
Hotch pulled on the butt plug without removing it, just enough for him to stretch out wide and then back small again around the tapered end. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yeeeuuu Ma’uuuh,” he said. Spit was all coating his chin and lips, sloppy and wet.
Hotch took him back in his mouth and worked his tongue expertly around it. He bobbed his head and took him down deep, heard him moan and felt him tremble. He pulled on the plug simultaneously stretching him over and over again. Spencer’s breaths were ragged and shallow and he knew he had to give him release soon or he would cum even through the ring.
“Since you've been such a good, slutty little whore for me, I'll let you cum when I take off the ring. Understand? Nod your head.”
Spencer nodded hard and fast and sweat flicked off his forehead.
Hotch stalled with Spencer's cock deep down his throat and lubed his hand to slide the cock ring off easily. Then he began swallowing around spencer. He was cumming in seconds flat. Hotch swallowed it down, salty and thick, a possessive twinge in his belly twitching as he took him.
Spencer was moaning a bit off kilter with throaty, desperate sounds coming through his open gag. Hotch popped his mouth off and swiped a bead of cum that pulsed out of Spencer’s cock to bring it up to Spencer’s open mouth and smear it on his tongue. He nearly growled as he did it.
His own cock was pressing hard against his pants and he quickly undid his fly to jack off on Spencer’s face, tongue, and chest. Thick white ropes of cum decorated him so prettily.
“Keep your legs up,” he instructed. He grabbed a sharpie out of his bag and drew big bold letters on Spencer’s ass.
W H * R E was printed on it, two letters on each cheek with the purple plug taking up the role as the ‘O’.
Spencer whimpered. He didn’t yet know what was written on him, but he imagined it was demeaning and embarrassing, and that he was going to love it.
“Stay still for one more minute,” Hotch mumbled. He reached into his back pocket for his blackberry and pointed it at Spencer. “Nice and pretty for the camera, Spence.”
A bright white flash, and then Spencer saw the picture as Hotch turned the screen to show him and, yes, he was right: it was extremely demeaning, and he fucking loved it.
Notes:
Did I except to write 3k worth of smut when I started out this chapter? No, but you can't stop the horny.
Enjoy ❤️
Chapter 43: Dr. Spencer Reid, PhD
Summary:
In the previous chapter Hotch did some dirty nasty things to his little genius. And they bought furniture. Honestly the entire thing was mostly smut.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“My scar is from a polar bear, my curse is from a witch,
I've caught a giant squid in all the seven seas
I've picked up rocks from distant moons astronomers will discover soon
But I would give them all back just for you."
― Ludo, Anything For You
Midterms were slowly approaching, not that Spencer cared much about them. Moreso on the forefront of his mind was his dissertation and the defense he was giving at the end of the week. For the past year and a half his PhD consumed him, made him dream in numbers and graphs. (When he wasn’t having wet dreams)
Normally academics helped to keep him on track with a purpose, something to run towards; a big, overarching goal. But at the end of the week he was going to be ending a chapter on one of his best accomplishments.
So far, Hotch kept telling him. One of your best so far. You have a lifetime ahead of you. Don't worry, there will be more degrees. Just enjoy this.
But he didn’t want to stop learning about Engineering and he didn’t want to say goodbye to the professors that he came to know as family over the past few years, and he definitely didn’t want to speak in front of them when they already knew every inch of what he was going to say. Best that could happen, he would pass. Worst, well, he could think of many different scenarios, all of which end with him running out of the room with tear streaks running down his face.
The end of the week came faster than expected, and even with Professor Hotchner’s sweet words of assurance, he couldn’t shake the nerves vibrating through him. In just a few hours he would be walking into a room full of a panel or professors that would decide if his dissertation would grant him his PhD.
He was all showered from his morning jog around the block (the short way) and was pacing around the room for the millionth time, back and forth, back and forth, when the doorbell rang. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Not Ethan, not Professor Hotchner. He stopped his pacing, grabbed a sweater, and was wrangling it over his head when he opened the door and was met with his Master’s devilishly handsome face smiling at him.
Nothing like jet black hair and the unshaven dust of five o'clock shadow from the day prior to greet him hello. Hotch always looked so heavenly. His good looks were effortless.
He even had a light flush across his cheeks and nose from the cold outside, wrapped up in his long black coat even as he was. “Hey, Sweetheart.”
Spencer moved aside as Hotch invited himself in, easily slipping past him and into the main room where he doffed his coat and slung it on the back of one of his new kitchen chairs.
“Master.” He smiled cheek to cheek.
Professor Hotchner brought him into a hug, warm and consuming, yet cold where their faces met and Spencer could feel the bite of the temperature outside on his cheeks. He held up a bag and Spencer took the cue, sitting down at the table for a late lunch that was going to be made for him. He watched him prepare everything, and listened dreamily as he reminded him how he doesn’t have to call him Master here, and how he’s so proud of him for finishing his paper.
Telling him he’s so intelligent and sharp. Telling him everything he’s heard a thousand times before, but somehow putting meaning into in a way that it’s never had.
Coming from Professor Hotchner’s mouth, every word of praise felt like a boost to his ego, every word filled with beautiful truth.
“-And there’s something I want you to wear,” he continued on. “If you want it.”
Spencer watched with bated breath as Master brought out a long grey box and opened it up to him.
“M-My necklace.” His breath felt caught in his throat.
“I know the circumstances in which I took this back from you weren’t—”
“I want it!” Spencer cut him off. “I want to wear it. I want it. Please?” He reached for the box, so eager.
Professor Hotchner swatted his hands away. “Let me put it on you,” he said, before coming close and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Move your hair, sweetheart.”
Spencer swiped his curly hair, perhaps a tad bit too long, out of the way and felt Professor Hotchner’s hands circle around his neck clasping his necklace together. He blushed. Master left one hand on his shoulder, the other sliding up from the back of his neck to right under his chin, and it gripped with light pressure. “Mine,” his voice was deep with gravel as he spoke.
“Yours,” he responded, almost reflex.
They ate together at the table and Spencer asked all about what was going on in his life, happy to have the opportunity to be able to ask him questions freely, even if it meant he wasn’t getting dominated at the moment.
Spencer put his dishes away and moved close to Hotch, hugging him from behind. He pressed his face in between his shoulder blades, only inches shorter than him, but slouching over and happily melting into him. “Thanks for coming over and making me breakfast. I’m so nervous. I wanted this for so long.”
Hotch turned around and hugged him tighter against his body, pressing a kiss into his curls. “There’s one more thing.”
Spencer raised his head to look into Hotch’s eyes only to find a hint of devious amusement.
. . .
“Spencer! My little genius!” Penny came bounding up to him at record speed only just avoiding crashing into him because he decidedly side stepped out of the way.
She was absolutely over the moon excited for him, babbling non stop about his soon to be doctor-ness and how amazing it was. Spencer was hardly listening. After her, JJ and Emily walked up at the rate of normal human beings and seemed engrossed in their own conversation. He almost appreciated the lack of acknowledgment.
He managed to shoo her away after a good ten minutes and he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A small movement, then Professor Hotchner was grinning at him and walking up without reserve.
“Reid,” he said. “Congratulations.”
Spencer blushed. “A bit preemptive, don’t you think?”
“I have no doubts about your abilities. One day it’ll be three times over.”
“Three?” Spencer scoffed. “I have to get the one, first.”
“Well, good luck, Sweetheart,” he whispered. It was so low, only for his ears.
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Spencer Reid?” A voice sounded behind them. “You can come in now.”
Spencer looked back at Professor Hotchner, his stomach going wild with flips and turns. What did he get himself into? Oh, god.
“Go get 'em, tiger.”
And Spencer’s eyes snapped up in disbelief as he laughed— tiger?
Professor Hotchner only winked.
He marched into the double doors of the small auditorium and faced the panel. His hands were shaking at his sides.
“Respected members of the examination committee, my name is Spencer Reid and today I will be defending my thesis on—” oh.
Oh, no, no.
bzzzzzz
“On—”
His ass was buzzing, vibrating, begging for attention.
“—contextual organizing of maps for subset data and integral processes—”
Spencer swallowed big, trying to reign in the desire to fall to his knees in a blubbering mess of moans because now was decidedly not the time to do that, and soldiered on even if all he could think about was the vibrator buzzing away.
Because Hotch was somewhere nearby with the control and his big, calloused thumb pressing down on it the way he’d like it to be pressing down on his—
“--Considering the work done by Dr. Wycott in his 1993 study of node alignment—”
The entire performance was a haze, all thirty minutes of it. Spencer felt the elation when the professors stood out of their seats and clapped for him, the way they assured his passing, but he couldn’t remember much else. He stumbled out of the room with a flushed face and ran right into Gideon.
He gasped and stumbled back. “Sorry, I—”
“You ought to watch where you’re going,” Gideon laughed. “How did it go?”
“Oh, I, yes. Yes, I passed. They accepted my defense.”
“Are you alright? Nerves getting to you…?” He stepped closer, inspecting his face, noting the flush and the sheen of sweat.
“I’m fine. Just fine. I need to go to the bathroom, though, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Dr. Reid,” Professor Hotchner appeared at his side.
Right. The bathroom could wait.
If he didn’t cum in his pants from the sight alone of Master, that was. Or the sweet, musky smell of him, all whiskey and leathy, deep and warm.
Wait… did he just call him…?
“Ah, Aaron. Good to see you. Ever find that file I’m looking for?”
“Not quite yet, I have a lot to check through.”
“In due time,” Gideon mused, and turned back to Spencer with a playful laugh. “Come to see the genius make history?”
Spencer shifted weight from one foot to another, silently begging Professor Hotchner to excuse them, turn the vibrator off. Take them somewhere private and dark. Stick his big hands down his pants and-
“I wouldn’t miss it. This one just passed my Abnormal Psychology course without batting an eye. The final took him all of what, two minutes?" He turned to Spencer as he said it, equal parts disdain and amusement playing out on his grin.
“Professor, I-”
“Anyway, Jason, good to see you. Still on for thursday?” he asked, to which Gideon nodded, and then he turned his sole focus to Spencer like a hundred watt bulb melting him down to a puddle on the floor. “And you, Dr. Reid, I expect I’ll see you around campus.”
Spencer watched him go, mouth agape, feeling like he got a whole lot of something, yet nothing at all, feeling like he would rather be hiked up over Hotch’s shoulder with his ass in the air being hauled off to the dearest dark closet even if it meant the humiliation of having the entire campus see it, than standing there like an idiot.
“Well, like I was saying earlier, Spencer, you seem off today. Maybe you should sleep it off. How about we postpone the case studies this evening? Maybe go out with your friends, celebrate a bit.”
“Yes, I should, actually I have to go, but thank you.” Spencer was already halfway across the hall. “I’ll see you in class!”
. . .
Spencer went straight to Professor Hotchner’s office.
Professor Hotchner opened the door looking like the devil with a grin so wide it slid right off his face.
Spencer was face down on the carpet in five seconds flat. The vibrator was gone, replaced by a huge, throbbing cock, and he was fucked into the floor until he couldn’t even remember his name.
Master let him cum into his big hand and praised him so good.
Told him he was a good boy, told him Daddy would do anything for him. Told him he was so smart and sweet and lovely.
He was hoisted up off the ground and sat in Daddy's lap for a few minutes, cuddling him close and hearing pretty things whispered in his ear between kisses. Master eventually cleaned him up and said that he was taking the rest of the day off and drove him back to his apartment where there was a suit there waiting for him, perfectly tailored to his size.
He absolutely marveled at himself in the mirror. Not once had he ever worn a suit made for him or even bought for him, all of the times before having to wear some too-large hammydown that swallowed him whole or was too short and rode up way too high on his ankles. This one, however, this one with his lanky frame, tall and thin and awkward in all the right ways almost made him look… almost kind of good?
“Gorgeous.” Master whispered in his ear. He came up behind him and wrapped his hands around his waist, looking at the two of them in the mirror. “The most beautiful boy in the entire world.”
His breath was hot and wet in his ear and it tickled in a brilliant way. He shivered from head to toe.
“Not more handsome than you…” He blushed.
Professor Hotchner laughed and gripped tighter in his hug, nearly lifting him up off the floor. He never felt safer, never more loved, never happier than in that exact moment.
“Let's finish getting ready. I’m taking you somewhere nice for dinner to celebrate.”
“Somewhere that requires suits?” Spencer paled. “I’ve never been anywhere like that before, Hotch, I can’t—”
“Shhh. No talking.”
Spencer pouted but stopped talking about it, figuring that Hotch was going to take him out where he planned either way so there was no reason to argue. And he couldn’t fool himself that the prospect of going out to an expensive restaurant didn’t make his stomach flutter with excitement.
“May I go to the bathroom?”
Hotch let him go from his hug and kissed his cheek. “Yes.”
Notes:
Idk I've been getting weirdly insecure about my writing lately leading to writer's block so enjoy this dealyed-ass chap. Thanks for reading and enjoy ❤️
(also anything I said about Engineering- don't judge me, I never took an engineering class in my life hahaha)
And we're ramping up for some big stuff soon so great ready.
Chapter 44: Listen to Me / HOTCH
Summary:
In the last chapter Hotch gave Spencer his necklace back. He teased him at his dissertation. He was sweet to him, let him cuddle in his lap and cum like a good boy. He promised to take him out for dinner to celebrate his big day.
* Please read the notes / tags
Notes:
* TW for this chapter; heed the tags! *
* There is a POV change halfway through this chapter *
* If you want to avoid the TW, then stop at the POV change *
Be safe and healthy! ❤️
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“I carry the seeds of death within me
And plant them wherever I linger long enough to love."
― Orson Scott Card, Speaker for the Dead
Spencer’s fingers twisted-untwisted the cufflinks on his wrist upwards of a hundred times by the time they reached the restaurant that Hotch promised him. It was fifty minutes out of the way but entirely upscale, complete with a valet service and everything.
He grabbed onto Professor Hotchner’s arm with a quick, nervous look up at him. “Ma- Hotch, are you sure…?” He glanced out the window at the elegant architecture. “Can you afford-? No, I mean- what I mean is, isn’t this a bit too… extravagant?”
Hotch killed the engine, leaned over, and placed a kiss on his cheek, grabbing lightly at his jaw and turning it to face him. “To celebrate you? Absolutely not. And don’t you worry about my finances. That isn’t any of your concern. Understood?”
He swallowed and nodded softly in Hotch’s grip. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good boy. Now stay seated.” He got out of the vehicle and Spencer’s heart fluttered.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to—”
“Hush,” Hotch whispered. “Be good.”
“I just—”
He grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the car, taking him inside the restaurant and leaning in close to whisper in his ear. “You won’t be fussy tonight. No refusing because you don’t think you don’t deserve it, okay? That’s an order.”
Spencer squeezed his hand and hummed his understanding. He couldn’t bring himself to argue with that…
Hotch led him to their reservation, even pulled out his seat for him. Everything was so… perfect. Professor Hotchner looked like a dream sitting across from him in his nice suit; the one that brought out his eyes and complimented his dark hair. He was everything a man should be. Spencer sat staring at him as the waiter was speaking about breads and wines.
For once, he was exceptionally glad to have his eidetic memory. He never wanted to lose the sight of Professor Hotchner smiling across from him on their first real date. Mood lighting, candles, and more silverware than he knew what to do with. They even checked his coat.
If only his nerves would quiet down.
“Did you know that in the time of the early renaissance, dating back to the 15th century, the wealthy began to commission table pieces called ‘salt cellars’?” Spencer picked up the intricate glass salt shaker on the table. “One of the most renowned salt cellars was made by Benvenuto Cellini for King Francis I of France; it was made of gold and ivory, with the god and goddess of sea and land, Neptune and Tellus, sitting with their legs entwined. The salt cellar represented the world and all of its land and sea, so when King Francis moved the piece about the table it was as if he were moving the world itself...”
Spencer could feel Hotch’s boring into him and he set it down on the table before meeting his gaze. He had a fondness in his eyes, the sort that always seemed to appear when he went off on a tangent. One of the only times that he was really allowed to ramble on endlessly without being told to quiet down- he knew Hotch enjoyed listening to his endless facts so it only encouraged him to do it more often.
He watched Hotch pick it up and tip it over his filet-mignon. “Is that so?”
Spencer swallowed. “Thank you for taking me out to dinner, um, ...Aaron.”
“Oh-” Hotch nearly dropped it and cleared his throat. “Of course, Sweetheart. I told you, you deserve it.”
“I’ve been good?” He flushed.
Hotch reached over and grabbed his hand on the table for the entire restaurant to see. Butterflies and nerves exploded in his stomach; he couldn’t catch his breath. “You have been such a good boy, Spencer, I want to tell you something special tonight, I—”
“More wine?” A waiter cut in.
“No!” he quipped. He could have murdered the waiter in that moment.What was Hotch about to say…? There was no way he was about to say… that he loved him, ...right?
“Thank you.” Hotch nodded politely. He didn’t return to what he was saying when the waiter left, only smiled vaguely at him. “Ah, no. No, never mind.”
Spencer could feel his one chance at happiness slipping through his fingers. Why was life so cruel?
They finished their meal in relative silence though his thoughts were whirling around his head, only stopping when Hotch’s deep voice pulled him out of it. Does he love me? Do I deserve it? Have I been good? Does he love me? Does he?
“Listen to me,” he commanded.
“Hm?” Spencer was standing in his house.
“Keep it on. I want to keep you dressed up pretty.”
He inhaled sharply— he forgot. Standing in Hotch’s house and he forgot to undress when he came in the door.
Hotch brought him into the main room and sat him down on his lap, showered him in kisses and whispered things he didn’t deserve in his ear. He sat there for so long, babbling softly himself about this and that while Hotch ran his fingers through his hair.
He talked about Gideon asking him to be his TA, which as it turned out Hotch was already aware of, about his new special interest of fractionated morse cyphers, and landed on soft memories of his mother- the good ones- before he was feeling calm and happy enough to melt right into him. He almost almost forgot about… Oliver.
“Sweetheart, you know you’ve been such a Good boy lately, right?”
Spencer smiled nervously and nodded into his neck. “Mmh…”
“You make Daddy so proud.”
Spencer whimpered, breath caught in his throat, and he grasped at Hotch’s lapels as he moved himself up to look at him. He swung his leg to the side and sat straddled in his lap. “Daddy?”
“Yes, baby.” He kissed him softly, sweetly, on the lips. “So perfect. My sweet boy. So smart.”
Hotch snaked his hands up to cup his cheek and whispered against his lips with hot breath in that perfect voice, “My Angel. All mine. Daddy adores you. He’ll always be there to protect you. Congratulations on your dissertation acceptance, Angel.”
Shivers. All down his spine. But Spencer couldn’t look in his eyes… he wasn’t an Angel. He didn’t deserve protecting. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Skin, skin, skin. Stretching. Ah. “I love you, Daddy.”
He hummed back deep and rumbling. “Mh, baby I know you do. You’re so precious.”
Spencer whined. Maybe Daddy wouldn’t say it back because he knew he was hiding something. Maybe he could sense he wasn’t being a good boy. All of the praise seemed so… empty ever since… Oliver. He didn’t deserve any of it!
How could he expect to have love and trust with his Master when he kept secrets like a bad, bad boy? Why did he have to lie? Why didn’t he just tell the truth?
“Daddy’s going to strip you down slowly and kiss every inch of your skin.” He punctuated it with a kiss on the soft of his neck below his jaw. “Then I’m going to fill up your needy little hole with my fingers. Would you like that?”
Spencer nodded softly. Yes, yes. He wanted it so bad. He didn’t deserve it but god, he wanted it. Hotch's fingers pushed against his lower lip so he opened up and sucked.
“Good boy,” he purred.
Spencer kept sucking on his fingers softly, moving his tongue underneath.
“Then Daddy is going to take your pretty little bottom. I’m going to fuck you slowly. Do you want to ride Daddy’s cock?
Spencer gripped tighter on Hotch’s lapels and let out a desperate, shaky breath around his fingers while spit slid down his chin. He pushed his hips down and felt Hotch’s cock growing hard underneath him.
“D-Daddy…”
“Mmh, baby. Shh, I’m going to take good care of you.”
Spencer’s stomach turned, almost queasy with guilt. Hotch took out his fingers. “Daddy… I…”
“Hush, sweetheart,” he murmured and slid his hand up the back of his dress shirt, warm and firm against his lower back.
He doesn’t deserve this. 9343. “Hotch….”
One by one Hotch undid the buttons on his shirt, and slid it down his shoulders. “H-Hotch…” 9341.
He unbuttoned his slacks and slid the zipper down. 9337.
Then Daddy’s big, calloused hand slid lower down— 9323. “Wait!”
Hotch looked up, face strewn in concern. “Spencer, are you alright?”
“No!” 9319. 9311. 9293. 9283. 9281. “I—”
. . .
“—I slept with Oliver!”
Aaron’s blood ran cold. “You what?”
“I’m sorry! I don’t want a-any secrets…”
A chill ran down his spine. “You slept with Dr. Owens?!” He felt paralyzed. “You let him touch you? Fuck you?” His mind was hazy, silent, until it snapped and he was back in motion.
He saw red. Blood red.
He grabbed Spencer by the neck and threw him down into the couch beside them, climbing over top and pressing him hard into the cushions.
“Ow! Daddy! Hotch! Wait, I-I’m sorry!”
“When did this happen?” he growled. “Answer me, Spencer!”
Spencer’s face was buried in the couch; his voice came out muffled and weak. “W-We were broken up…”
“And you let him? How could you? You let him put his dick inside you? You stupid little whore.” He let go of his neck and grabbed at his pants, forcing them down to the ankles, and with both hands tore the dress shirt in two before yanking it overhead, leaving him naked on his belly underneath him.
Sounds of whimpering and crying were already coming from his little slut; good. Let him cry. Aaron grabbed his hips and flipped him over. He slapped him swiftly across his cheek. Hard. “You let him touch my property. I told you this belongs to me.” Another slap. Red cheeks.
His hand came away wet with tears. “You greedy thing. Disobedient, bratty little shit—”
“P-Professor—”
“—Letting that arrogant prick have my boy. I gave you everything, Spencer—”
He smacked him again across the face. Spencer yelled. Pathetic. Lying there like a used up whore, snotty and disgusting. “One man isn’t good enough for you, Spence? Did you even think it through, fucking him? Or were you thinking with your needy little cock? Fucking slut.” He slid his hand into his curls, long and soft, and gripped painfully hard, yanking him up and throwing him off the couch. He crumpled to the floor in a heap, all arms and legs.
“Master, please…” Spencer scurried back and curled up in a ball, face buried in his hands. “I’m sorry, I- I didn’t think— it was a mistake! Forgive me!”
“Fucking another man isn’t a mistake, Honey,” Aaron said with an icy cold voice. He bent down to grab him by the waist and hauled him up over his shoulder. He kicked and screamed, crying and pleading the entire way to the bedroom.
“Ah!” Spencer fell gracelessly onto the mattress.
“Turn over. On your belly, now.”
“I can explain, Hotch, please, it didn’t mean anything—”
“NOW, Spencer.”
Spencer didn’t move a muscle; he was so busy sobbing and shaking that Aaron flipped him over and grabbed him by the ankles to slide him to the edge of the bed. There was no preamble as he struck his ass with an open palm. The smack reverberated in the room. The cry was piercing.
Each blow only served to fuel his anger. He was seeing red. Heat spread through his body like fire. He used all his force to smack Spencer’s red bottom another time. How many had it been? A welt was forming already. Purple mottled skin reared its ugly head.
“H-H-Hotch, enough! Please! Please, enough! It hurts! I’m sorry!”
“Enough?” he seethed. “Didn’t think you had enough when you were begging for Dr. Owen’s cock, did you?” Smack. Spencer cried.
“N-no, I-I wasn’t!”
“Wrong answer.” On the bed beside him laid a line of toys Aaron originally planned to use on his boy for his special day. What a world away that seemed.
Spencer was fucking around on him, giving hiself out, spreading his legs for another man and he had the audacity to lie to his face, accept his gitfs?
Aaron leaned down and spit on his crack. “You like cock so much, have some,” he deadpanned. “You were so perfect, Spencer. I took your virginity, didn’t I? I was the only one to take that sweet little ass of yours, isn’t that right, sweetheart? But not anymore.” He grabbed a dildo and unceremoniously shoved it up Spencer’s ass to the sounds of his frantic crying. “How fucking dare you whore yourself out. I own you. This body is mine. You are mine.”
“Oh, god, it hurts! Hotch!” Spencer struggled underneath his hand and he pressed the dildo in down to the hilt. “Ah! H-Hotch! Stop! Take it out!”
“I thought you liked having your little ass filled? You’ll let anyone who gives you the time of day shove their cock in it; don’t lie to me. If you want to be such a filthy fucking whore, then I’ll start treating you like one.” He fucked the dildo in and out of him forcefully, stopping at nothing. Not Spencer’s whimpers, his kicking legs or endless apologies. His head was swimming with rage; the possession he felt for him was flaring up beyond anything he ever felt before. How could Spencer do this to him?
He couldn’t imagine his sweet Spencer with his knees to his chest begging Owens to use him. He couldn't imagine the soft little moans that escaped him as he was pounded. He shoved the dildo all the way back in and gripped at his thighs, spreading them apart, soft and inviting as they always were. Slutty. Flushed red with heat. He gripped so hard with resentment that his fingers pressed in and immediately left bruised imprints. He slapped at them, slapped all the way down his thighs, left angry red handprints— red, red, red.
Everything was red. He was seeing red. Burning red. Red hot rage thrummed and pulsed through his veins. He couldn’t catch his breath. He gripped Spencer's waist and slapped his ass. His hip. His back.
Fuck. His sweet little Spencer ruined- that fucking little whore. His chest was swelling with heat. His cock was rock hard in his pants either from the adrenaline or Spencer’s bruised red body underneath him he wasn’t sure.
“How could you lie to me?!” He raised his hand again; Spencer's cries flooded the room. He could barely hear them through the blood pounding in his eardrums and used all his force to smack down on the reddest, most painful parts of his ass, aggravating the worst nerves. He wanted to see welts. He kept hitting one after another. He was well past fifty and not keeping count. Angry red handprints Smack. Red ass. Smack. Red. Smack. Red. Smack. Red. Smack. Red- Red- Red-
“Red! A-Aaron! Red! Red! Stop! Please, Aaron, stop! Red!”
Fuck.
Aaron stilled. Oh, god.
“Red, red, red! P-Please, no more. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, stop, please, it hurts. I learned my lesson, please- Never again, I-I -I p-promise, please. Take it out, p-please, red. I’ll be good, please. Nine thousand two hundred seventy seven. Nine thousand two hundred fifty seven. Nine thou-”
What has he done?
He lowered his hand and swallowed; dread flooded his stomach, just barely masking the rage.
Spencer fucking slept with Dr. Owens and lied to his face. Jesus christ. Spencer was still babbling into the bedsheets, ass up and stained red.
He stepped back and took a deep breath. What has he done?
Spencer was nearly hyperventilating when he sat up on bed, a complete mess of spit, tears, and bruises. Curly hair flying in all directions. They locked eyes and Spencer’s lip quivered. “I s-said the safe word so many times!”
Aaron came closer. He didn’t know what to say. He hardly knew anything at all these days.
What do you say to the boy you raped into submission?
He reached out to wipe the tears from his cheek. “Shh, It’s for your own good, Sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.”
“O-Okay?!” Spencer cried. His breathing was getting worked up again; he was starting to hiccup. “I said the safe word! You didn’t stop! You told me if I said it, you’d stop! Why didn’t you stop?!”
“I’m sorry, Spencer…” he whispered. Was he?
“You’re not! You’re not sorry! Y-You took my necklace a-and you ignored me! And I didn’t think you would ever talk to me again! You h-have no right to punish me!” Spencer’s eyes were wild, pinpointed and wide.
“Calm down, Sweetheart.”
“NO! ALL I DO IS LOVE YOU AND YOU DIDN’T WANT ME! I WAS CRYING ON YOUR DOORSTEP! WHY DIDN’T YOU WANT ME, HOTCH?! AND YOU KNOW WHAT? I THOUGHT ABOUT YOU THE ENTIRE TIME,” Spencer took a long, ragged breath and balled his fists at his side. “Where were you!? Where were you when I needed you!? I’m always at your beck and call! I love you, Hotch! You can’t be mad at me— I WAS RIGHT THERE WAITING FOR YOU.”
“Stop yelling!”
“No! I want to go h-home!”
“No.”
Spencer licked his lips, avoiding his eyes, and scooted off the bed. His face was strewn up in pain, nearing agony. Cum was dripping down his thighs. “I want to leave.”
Aaron was up quicker than light, grabbing his wrists. “Stop it! You’re not going anywhere.”
“I am! I’m leaving! I don’t like this! I said the safeword, Hotch!”
“Spencer,” Aaron’s voice dropped. “Listen to me.”
His eyes came up, obedient as always. Aaron bristled.
“Spencer… Sweetheart, I love you.”
His jaw dropped.
Notes:
Let me know what you thought! ❤️
Checkpoint for those binge-reading! Take a deep breath and look away from the screen. Drink some water. Remember that this is fiction. Remember that Hotch is an UNSUB. <3
Chapter 45: Taboo
Summary:
In the last chapter, PH took Spencer out to dinner, wanting to spoil him after he earned his doctorate. Spencer couldn't take the guilt and confessed everything he did with Oliver which sent PH into a blind rage. After Spencer took the brunt of his anger, he finally stood up for himself saying the the things he never dared before, telling PH how unfair we has being, and how he completely ignored his safe word, until he heard 'I love you.'
That shut him up real fast.
Chapter Text
"The tombstones were waiting
They were half-engraved
They knew it was over
Just didn't know the date"
― Fall Out Boy, Bang the Doldrums
“You what?”
“I love you.”
Spencer sat back down on the bed; he couldn't stand for a second longer. His legs were giving out, and not from the pain. “But,” he stalled, looking around the room though not knowing for what, and swallowed with a dry mouth. “You…” None of his thoughts seemed to link together. “You hurt me… really, really badly.”
“I know, honey. I did it because I love you.”
Spencer’s face flushed with heat. Could he really mean that? “I don’t know… That doesn’t make sense…”
“We all love in different ways, Spence. I love you so deeply. It drives me mad.”
“But you—” he started.
“You lied because you love me.” The bed dipped down as Hotch sat down beside him. “You love me so much that you lied about what you did, isn’t that right? Love drove you to do a bad thing.”
“Well… yes. And, and I’m so sorry.”
“When you told me what happened with Dr. Owens I was so blinded with my love for you that I lashed out. I feel for you so strongly, Spencer. You make me crazy. No one else has ever made me feel the way you do.”
The burning on his ass was becoming too much sitting down, and he hopped back up. “You beat Foyett to death because he killed your ex wife.”
“That’s- that was different.”
“No, you said you’ve never felt this way for anyone else.” Spencer huffed. “That... that’s a lie. You killed for her.” He wrung his hands together nervously and avoided Hotch’s eyes, so intense. “You have a history of feeling like this. I’m not special. You just wanted to punish me!”
“No, I didn’t- Spencer, God. That’s not something I- Jesus. I killed him because he was a serial killer, not for her. And quite frankly, you needed to be punished.”
“Would you kill for me?”
“Sweetheart,” Hotch sighed. “Be good. I need you to focus, and don’t say things like that.” A beat passed in which Spencer looked miserable. “But I would do anything for you. I’d kill a thousand men for you. I’d rip out my own beating heart for you. I love you, Spencer, never doubt that. I do have a history with my aggression but you’re the only one I would drag myself through hell and back for. Just you. Only you. No matter what.”
Gosh, Spencer never heard him open up so freely before. Almost as if he was seeing him for the first time. What he saw was honest, raw. It was everything he ever wanted from him. Love, trust, communication.
Red! Red! Stop! Please, Aaron, stop!
Spencer shuddered and swallowed. “You really love me?” Love was a terrifying thing but it bought out breathtaking emotions. Passion beyond compare. The feeling of being wanted so vehemently was intoxicating and he never wanted to lose sight of it; of the way Hotch bared every sour, scary impulse and the way that he himself was the one that made Hotch have those impulses.
No one would ever make him feel like this again. No one.
Hotch brought his hand up to rest on the back of his neck and he shivered, leaning into the heaviness of it.
“Yes, I do,” Hotch whispered.
“And that’s why you didn’t stop when I asked you to?”
“Yes, sweetheart. You made me so furious over what you did with Dr. Owens. I had to remind you who you answer to.”
“I’m sorry,” he trailed off. “I didn’t mean to make you angry… we weren’t talking at the time. We… broke up…”
“You’ve made that clear. But I don’t care how long we go without talking; you’re still mine. This isn’t a relationship, Spencer. This,” Hotch accentuated his words by grabbing at the back of his neck tightly. “Is ownership. You’re my boy, my slut. Noone else lays a finger on you but me. I want to make that crystal clear.”
Spencer tipped his head down and looked at his feet. He was feeling overwhelmed with emotion, with stimulation, and clashing ideas. The past hour had been such a whirlwind that he was barely keeping his thoughts straight. He could remember the last time Hotch said he owned him; he was a bad boy then, too. “I own you, Spencer, you know, you’re mine. That means what’s yours is mine. I’m sorry I tricked you, but I’m not sorry I took it.”
“Hey, hey? Look at me. Spencer.” Hotch reached for his hand and pulled him closer in between his legs. Soft and sweet, he wiped under his eyes. “I promise this will never happen again.”
“You do…?” A tissue would have been good right then with the way he was sniffling, eyes wet.
“Yes, I promise. Do you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because we’re not going to use safewords anymore. You love me, don’t you, Spencer? And I love you. I know what’s best for you. From now on I want your complete devotion. What I say goes. You and I have a special bond. I see you, Spencer. I want to give you what you need. No matter what happens, you are to obey me.”
Red! Aaron! Red!
He gasped at the words coming from his Master’s mouth; implicit trust? Complete devotion? Such strong words, their meaning rooted in that of commitment and love, something he’s wanted from Master for so long. Finally, his chance to give himself fully and be given back everything in return.
If he had to go through a bit of pain at the hands of his… owner, then so be it. He could do complete devotion. The price he had to pay was worth it. He could be better, do whatever it took. He would be worthy of Professor Hotchner’s love.
“Yes, Master.”
“And I warned you about entertaining other men, didn’t I? Tell me what I said to you. I know it’s up there, sweetheart.”
Millions of deep tones washed through his head in an instant; soft praise, seductive whispers, cold demands, a darkly passionate warning rumbling in his ear in a room full of crowded people. Dr. Owens looking at him for the first time, his ass stinging as he’s bent over a knee,“‘Next time you think about batting your eyes for another man, you remember how bad this hurts.’”, he parroted.
“But you didn’t remember. Now, you will,” Hotch rasped. “Thank me for your punishment, and tell me what a good boy you’re going to be from now on.”
Spencer quivered on his feet, and sank to the ground right in between Hotch’s legs. Both hands slid behind his back and he rested his forehead softly on the bed right in front of Hotch’s groin. “I will never disobey you again, Master. Thank you for punishing me. I was bad and I regret every single second of it. Please forgive me...”
A hand came firm on the back of his neck. “Good boy, Spence. Don't you feel better? I love you so much.”
“M-Master,” he whined. “I was s-so s-scared.”
“Shhh, stand up and turn around.”
Spencer did as he was told as Hotch briefly left the room and returned with several bottles, then laid him down on his belly with a pillow under his groin, ass sticking up. Even the air felt like too much on skin, and Hotch ran a heavy hand through his hair, leaning down to give him kisses before he gave warning and spread lotion over his damaged skin. At first, everything was fire. A blaring alarm going, going, going in his head and he helplessly squirmed and whimpered until it faded into a dull, aching soreness.
Hotch changed out of his suit into a pair of flannel bottoms and an old, soft tee from his alma mater, the old he occasionally let Spencer wear, and slid into bed, softly cuddling him.
A buzzing sounded from across the room.
Master is leaving! Spencer reached out to grab him, but he was gone in an instant. The bed was so lonely without him. So cold, alone…
“Your phone is ringing.” Hotch thrusted it at him; he looked at it owlishly and flipped it open.
“Uhh, hello?”
Master slid back in bed, almost making him forget he was talking on the phone as he snuggled up close, whiskey and leather and everything earthy and wonderful smelling about him filling his senses. Master. Love.
“Spence! Where are you, dude?! I texted you like a billion times! Let’s celebrate!”
“Uh? I can’t.”
“Yesss, you can! You’re a Doctor now, my man! Let me in, me and Elle are here at your apartment. We’re going out!”
Spencer gasped against Hotch’s chest and looked up to find him raising an eyebrow in question. No doubt he could hear Ethan yelling on the other side of the line. “I’m… not home, E.”
“What? Where are you? C’mon, I know Penny is out of town tonight sooo open up. You’re home. It’ll be fun!”
“I’m… uh, I’m out with my Professor,” he stuttered, quickly adding, “-s. Professors. It’s customary? Tradition, you know.”
Master wrapped an arm around his back and stoked his fingers up and down his spine. It took more effort than he knew he had not to close his eyes and purr.
“Who, Professor Gideon? Sounds lameeeee. Hey- ditch and come out with us.”
“No! It’s not lame,” he was suddenly offended and nuzzled even further into Hotch’s warm, hairy chest. “Yeah, Gideon. And Professor Avery. And uh.” He looked up at him and found dark eyes looking back. Swiftly, he covered the mic and whispered, “Can... Can I say you too?”
The answer was immediate and hushed. “No.”
“But... he knows you’re a professor of mine. It won’t be odd.” Spencer just wanted that one small validation of telling his best friend about the man he loved. It was right there on the tip of his tongue. It always was, but never an actual chance to say it.
“I said no, Spencer. Now wrap up your call.”
“E? I gotta go. I’ll see you later.”
“What? Wait! Spencer!” he whined. “If you hang up, so help me god I will drag you kicking and screaming to this party. You’ve been isolating yourself in that apartment of yours, I haven’t seen you in ages! You're coming to this party.”
“I’m no even h-”
“—or we’ll bring it to you!” He could hear Elle straining to be heard next to the phone.
“Oh, shit, that’s a great idea, El.”
“Alright, smart guy! Peace.”
“E, wait—!”
Spencer shut the phone and buried his face in Hotch’s loving embrace.
“You know you can’t mention me to anyone, Spencer. You’re smarter than that.”
“I know,” he whined. “I just thought…”
“You and me is just between us.” Hotch pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Our little secret.”
Spencer smiled. “Our secret.”
“You and me, no one else. Not your friend Ethan or anyone else for that matter. No one. You. Me. That’s it.”
Just them.
He didn’t let go until the sun came up.
The next day was a hazy blur in which he managed to extricate himself from Professor Hotchner’s car, not that he wanted to, and trudge back up to his apartment. At least he could get dropped off now, because riding public transit with his ass feeling the way it did would not have been a pleasant experience.
First thing he did was rub more lotion on his skin and then it was straight to the coffee pot. He texted Professor Hotchner about taking a nap and curled up on his side, hoping to spend the next few hours in sweet unconsciousness.
There were dreams about things he hadn’t thought about for years, memories floating right under the surface. Flashes of his Mother’s face with a rare smile. Those road trips she used to bring him on as a child. Sticking his hand out the car window and feeling the wind rush through his fingers. Not yet knowing all the names of the organisms flying past and getting stuck to him, though his well versed adult brain happily supplied those, and a list of creepy crawlies common to that location, temperate, timeframe, and a dozen other precise variables invaded.
Okay, so his unconscious wasn’t any less exhausting at times, but at least he was getting the comfort REM while he worked through his compulsions.
A knock startled him hours later. Ethan was banging at the door. He came inside like a hurricane with bottles upon bottles of liquor and an equally chaotic Elle to match his own energy. As soon as they were a step inside the doorway, an explosion of color reigned down and Ethan screamed, “Poppers!”
“That’s not what we were going to say!” Elle chided through her laughter.
“Oh, right- Congratulations, Dr. Reid!”
“Dr. Cutie!” Elle bopped Spencer on the nose, much to his immediate disgust.
“Guys, what are you doing? I told you no party, Ethan.”
“The party hasn’t even begun, dude! This is just the beginning.”
"A party is a must,” Elle said. “Everyone is coming.”
“No! No more people,” Spencer whined.
But Ethan was hell bent on having a party, and the invitations were already out. People started arriving over the next two hours until his apartment was full, mostly with people he knew, but also some faces he could place as having seen around campus, but never having spoken to. Ethan’s friends, probably.
Professor Hotchner wasn’t so keen about him hosting a party, but there wasn’t much he could do short of pulling the fire alarm, and that wasn’t something he was willing to do. That’s a misdemeanor according to the code of the District of Columbia.
As soon as Penny arrived, the whole mood changed from ‘excuse to drink heavily’ to ‘yay Spencer!’ with all the streamers and flashy signs she tacked up everywhere. Seeing his name in big sparkly rainbow letters definitely reminded him why Penny was his favorite. That, and the sign that read ‘Dr. Boy Wonder’, the sign that read ‘Dr. Adorable’ and about a dozen other Dr. variants.
Emily showed up with a wicked grin and made sure that he was drinking, JJ and Will made an appearance, and even some of his classmates from the psychology dept. showed up, not that he talked to them much.
Emily and JJ mostly ganged up on him halfway through the night, emboldened by the alcohol flowing through their veins and became hell bent on becoming his best friend, making him answer question after question until they finally figured out the key to his heart was boardgames. Even tipsy, he completely obliterated everyone in poker, then Uno, Pit, and even Monopoly. Turns out a Monopoly game with Dr. Spencer Reid only lasts for a maximum of twenty five minutes. They tried it three times. Eventually they had the coffee table all set up with Taboo because it didn’t involve any logical sense. No counting cards, no probability; just one person trying to get their partner to guess their word while they weren’t allowed to use the obvious clues. Spencer was on a team with Penny, Ethan with Elle, Emily with JJ, and Will with some kid named Jordan that he talked to a total of two times in his life.
Spencer probably shouldn’t have picked to be on a team with someone who thought mostly in rainbows and glitter, but they did both share an extensive knowledge of both British dramas and funky B-list horror. Which he used to his advantage and ended it in a strange near-ESP shared language that no one else could decipher; turns out Spencer didn’t need numbers to utilize his genius powers. Since he kept winning, rules changed that the winner had to take a shot with each right answer, and that’s when things really got hazy for him.
There was lots of shouting, nonsensical words, and roaring laughter. Spencer was swimming in it. His head was full, his limbs heavy, and everything was hilarious.
“Okay, okay… Focus, Em!” JJ yelled. “You get it, uh… no, it’s… colorful! Round, but long.”
“Um, um. What? How can something be both?”
“It’s round at the top and then stick thin?”
“Uhhh…”
“It’s, you suck on it!”
Emily looked puzzled, and slurred, “A dick?”
“A dick?!” Penny collapsed in laughter and fell into Spencer. He gasped as pain shot through his asscheeks.
“What kind of dick is thin with a round top?” Elle laughed. “It would topple over!”
“Hey! Don’t judge me! I’ve never seen one up close,” Emily scoffed, then smirked. “Grosssss.”
JJ looked defeated, but she was sporting a fierce blush. “Ok, ok. It was lollipop, alright? Elle, you go. Please.”
Elle grabbed a card and started laughing so hard she started choking. Ethan was sitting next to Spencer and he was puffing out his chest, ready to guess.
“It’-s oh god- it’s remember that night with the lobster rolls and-”
Ethan toppled Spencer to the ground when he jolted to a stand and screamed, “MICKEY MOUSE!”
They both took shots.
Everything went downhill from there. Spencer didn’t remember when his memory started recording on an empty tape, but somewhere along the line everything went black.
It was well past noon when he groaned into existence, his head pounding and throat sandpaper dry. Everything hurt: his bruises, his head, his legs, and there was a sharp new pain stinging on his hip. Once he pulled his trousers down enough he could see a new bruise starting to form. It looked like he jabbed his side into something sharp, maybe the counter. No matter, though, he’s had worse. He has worse.
A blind sweep of his bed didn’t reveal his phone and he begrudgingly started pawing at the floor. No more drinking. It wasn’t worth it. Everything was too much noise, too much movement. Once he got his phone he was going to cuddle up around it, pull the comforter over his head, and text Professor Hotchner good morning. After that, maybe back to sleep if Master was feeling generous.
But, damn. It wasn’t on the floor and that meant getting up to look for it in the living room, so he dragged himself out of bed. Nausea hit like a wave when he was right side up and he staggered to the side, grabbing hold of his desk and biting it back. The room was spinning. It was possible he was both hungover and still slightly intoxicated...
He went for the door and it wouldn’t open. Locked.
Locked from the outside?
Just beyond the door he could hear Ethan’s voice whispering vehemently into what Spencer assumed was his phone.
“Oli, I swear to fucking god. You tell me-” Ethan stopped and listened. “No! I don’t give shit what you-” Another pause. “Then how-”
Spencer knocked on the door and Ethan stopped. “Hold on,” he whispered.
“Spence?”
“Can you open my door? It’s stuck.”
“Uh… no.”
“No? E, c’mon, I’m thirsty, help me with the door.”
“I’ll get you some water.”
“Just open the door?” Spencer groaned.
“...No.”
“I’m not in the mood for this right now. My head hurts.” He turned at the doorknob again. It would turn just fine, so it wasn’t locked he decided, but something was keeping it from opening. “Is this, what’s wrong with the door?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ethan said, close this time. “We need to talk.” He was just on the other side.
“What do you mean, talk? Let me get my phone and some water first.”
“No, that can wait.”
“Really, I need my phone, I just have to send—”
“Spencer.”
“Send a message and then—”
“Spencer, stop.”
“Just help me open this, E.” Spencer yanked at the doorknob. “I need my—”
“Spencer!” Ethan yelled.
“—my phone.”
“Spencer!” There was silence. “I saw the bruises. And…” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “And the uh, the… words.”
Spencer’s head swam as his brain tried to process what Ethan was saying; it wasn’t working nearly as fast as it usually did, but when it caught up panic set in like a toxin, paralyzing him from head to toe. His breath was gone. You could hear a pin drop in the apartment. Stomach on the floor. The words hung in the air between them.
Then Spencer pushed his pants down to his thighs and looked, but he already knew what it said.
COCK SLUT printed on his right inner thigh, I’M SORRY printed on the left.
Oh, fuck.
Notes:
Thanks for reading! I'm so grateful for everyone who is still into this story, love you guys!
* And a big thank you to Brillianthijinx and Thaddeusly for listening to my insane PH rambles and more importantly, helping make PH even more evil XD
Chapter 46: I Don't Fucking Care
Summary:
In the last chapter Spencer accepted Hotch's apology, went home to be dragged into a celebration party, got waster and woke up to being locked in his room. Ethan told him he saw what was written on his thighs and his entire world just... stopped.
Notes:
TW panic attack
TW mild SH (example: pressing fingernails into palm, biting cheek, etc)
TW for mentions of stuff in the tags so read the tags
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“And the bruises. Dude…” Ethan’s voice was trembling. “Spencer, what’s going on…?”
Spencer’s fingers were trembling just as much as Ethan’s voice, maybe more. A wave of nausea hit him again crashing into the side of his stomach like a tidal wave. This time it wasn’t from the hangover.
“Spencer?”
No, no, no. Spencer bit back the acid bile rising up his throat, barely managing to keep himself together. His amygdala was laser beaming at his hypothalamus telling it to WAKE UP.
Epinephrine started pumping through his system, expedited to every last cell by the beat of his rapidly drumming heart. The process happened so quickly he wasn’t able to notice the changes, quantify the amounts, observe the far from subtle shift in physiologic behaviour.
His blood vessels dilated to increase flow to vital organs and his bronchioles dilated to ensure maximum oxygenation. His body was primed and ready for fight or flight- but he froze.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
“Spencer?”
“He’s not answering,” Elle said. When did she get there? “E, we need to make sure he’s okay.”
“He’s fine. There’s nowhere for him to go.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she hissed.
“Spencer? Dude? Answer me.”
He slid to the floor with his pants around his ankles.
COCK SLUT COCK SLUT COCK SLUT COCK SLUT COCK SLUT COCK SLUT COCK SLUT
“Spencer!”
I’M SORRY
“SPENCER.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He wasn’t talking to Ethan. “What do I do? Tell me what to do.”
“Spencer? Tell me what’s going on. Who did that to you?”
“Spencer, Honey,” Elle said against the door. He never heard her say honey before. It sounded wrong. Everything was wrong. “I’m going to come in.”
When he looked up Elle was crouching down beside him. He brought his knees to his chest only in boxers, pants still around his ankles. She didn’t say anything about it. In the moment, it felt inconsequential.
“Those are severe bruises, Spence.”
“They’re not that bad,” he countered. “It barely hurt.”
“They're black. Actually black. They’re such deep purple they look black. Ethan and I saw everything last night while you were passed out.”
“There’s nothing to see! It’s just a little bit. Ethan was drunk, he’s exaggerating.”
“No, I saw too.”
“You were drunk.”
“I’m not drunk now,” she said.
Spencer shimmied and pulled his pants all the way up as if he could lock all his secrets in them. “There’s nothing there!” he shouted.
“Spence, hey—” She gasped at him.
“I SAID THERE'S NOTHING THERE! YOU'RE IMAGINING IT!”
“Shh, stop that.”
“LET ME OUT OF HERE AND GIVE ME MY PHONE!” Spencer scrambled to his feet. His ass stung; he stumbled. Elle was right- the bruises should have oxidized into a deep black color by now being approximately two days post trauma.
Equations flashed in his head a mile a minute while Elle was talking. He didn’t want to hear what she was saying. It was all lies anyway.
Ignore her. Hb(Fe2+)O2 + H2O2 → Hb(Fe4+ = O2−) + H2O + O2. He paced back and forth from the bed to the door. Nowhere to go.
“Spence, honey?”
Hb heme iron dissociating. Ferric heme. MetHb. H2O2. Oxidation. Black and blue. Pain, ow. intramolecular electron transfer.
“Stop that.”
“NO!” he barked. He stopped in his tracks and looked at her. “LET. ME. OUT. OF. HERE!”
“Eth?” Elle called. “I don’t know what I’m doing…”
“Hold on,” he said.
Spencer rushed after her and grabbed at the door as she slipped through it. Ethan pulled from the other side.
“Stop it!”
“No! Let go, Spencer!”
“YOU CAN'T LOCK ME IN HERE!”
“YES I CAN.”
“THIS IS ILLEGAL.” The lock clicked.
“YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT LEGAL?” Ethan shouted. Voice terse and full of conviction, Spencer never heard him like this before. “WE’LL TALK ABOUT LEGAL, CAUSE THERE'S NO WAY WHAT WAS DONE TO YOU WAS LEGAL.”
“No, you don’t und—”
“LOOK IN THE FUCKING MIRROR SPENCER, JESUS!”
“YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!”
“YEAH, BECUAUSE YOU WONT FUCKING TELL ME! JUST LIKE GODDAMN ALWAYS!”
“ITS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!”
“SPENCER, I SWEAR TO GOD!”
Spencer kicked the door and yanked at the knob to no avail. “Leave me alone!”
“SPENCER!” Ethan yelled. “SPENCER? ANSWER ME! Spencer?”
“I think he’s ignoring us now,” Elle whispered.
Ethan got right up against the door and spoke through it. “You’re going to have to explain yourself at some point. I’m not letting this go.”
Except he didn’t have to explain himself if he didn’t want to. So he shoved himself into the corner near the door and the wall and let out a shaky breath. Fuck.
Four hours later he was still in the same spot. His hangover was gently receding so the headache only pounded at half strength, a small miracle in light of what was happening.
Professor Hotchner would be furious if he knew. What if Ethan finds out? Hotch would lose everything. His job, his reputation, what little visitation he had with Jack. He would break up with him again! Oh, god. He just promised he would keep it a secret.
You and me is just between us. Our little secret. You and me, no one else. No one. You. Me. That’s it.
Hotch promised him, and he promised Hotch. Their secret. He couldn’t go back on that. Not when it was the first time that Hotch really promised him back. Hotch made a promise to him.
He loved and he promised him.
Yeah, he’d tell Ethan over his dead body.
Ethan knocked on the door again. Every hour he would try, but Spencer didn’t have anything to say to him. “Spencer?”
Another knock. “Spencer, come on. Answer me. Quit being so childish. I just wanna help.”
What did Ethan think was going to happen, he would just spill everything? Give away all his best kept secrets? Betray the man he loved?
“Spencer. Oh, hold on-” The bell for the front door chimed and someone was talking with him out in the hall. “Spence? There’s someone here to see you.”
Spencer’s heart started thudding in his chest. To see him? Who? Hotch? How had they figured it out?
“Spencer?”
Oh shit.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. No.
“Spencer, it’s me, Oli?” A knock sounded on his bedroom door and he stumbled back, tripping over his desk chair and crashing to the ground with a cry. God, his ass hurt.
“Spencer!” Oli shouted. “Ethan, let me in! I need to see him.”
“Nah, I can’t he’ll make a run for it like with Elle.”
“Come on, man. You just asked me to drive several hours down here to see him, so let me see him.”
“...Hold on.”
Spencer still sat on the floor of his bedroom listening to the scene unfolding outside. Oliver? Ethan brought Oliver here? Could this situation get any worse? He could hardly breathe.
Everything was crashing down around him.
What if Professor Hotchner found out Oliver was at his apartment, the one he bought for him?
“Before you do, let me just show you what I found on his phone.”
“Right, yeah,” Oliver reluctantly agreed. “Are you sure we should be looking through his things?”
“Believe me, you would’ve done the same thing if you saw what we did.”
Elle chimed in for the first time, “I’m Elle, by the way. Ethan’s girlfriend.”
Oliver sounded disjointed in a way Spencer had never heard him before, bewildered and almost far-away. Like he’s in over his head, unable to process anything. “Yeah, nice to meet you...”
“Not under the best circumstances, I know,” she murmured. “We can actually show you what we saw last night, though. Ethan took pictures. Show him, E.”
“Oh, yeah. No, I did.” There’s some rustling around, silence, and then—
“HOLY SHIT!” Oliver never cursed in front of him before. “Spencer? Ace? W-What the fuck happened?”
Banging on his door again. Thump, thump thump.
Banging in his chest again. Thump, thump, thump.
“G-Go away, Oli!”
“Spencer, you tell me what happened right now!”
N-Nothing happened!” Nothing he would ever admit. Nothing he didn’t want.
“Don’t pull that with me, Spence,” Oliver’s voice wavered. “What else, Ethan? What else was there? Show me.”
“There’s like, all these weird messages…”
Spencer wanted to scream, tear down the door and rip his phone out of their nosy little hands, how dare they look at his private conversations! Dear god, his skin was crawling.
“Why is he asking permission to eat? And what to wear? This is weird.”
“Yeah, I know!” he whispered.
“He’s… he’s clearly…” Oliver paused. “He’s being groomed, man.”
“What the fuck?”
“It's a form of control,” Elle told him. “An abusive tactic to placate your victim. Spencer obviously knows who did this to him… intimately.”
“What else does he say? Look for a name,” Oliver whispered.
“There’s no name. We checked it all. It just says ‘H’.”
“Have you tried calling it?”
Ethan nodded. “Yeah, but the line was quiet.”
“That’s because you spoke first!” Elle snapped. “That was stupid. Of course they wouldn’t answer after that.”
“I panicked! This is a tense situation!”
Oliver shushed them with his hands to stop their bickering. “Did you check it against the numbers in your phone?”
“Yeah, nothing.”
Elle looked to Oliver. “You try.”
“Me? I don’t know anyone down here.”
“C’mon, just do it,” Ethan said while Oliver took out his phone and started typing it in.
“Uhhh…”
“Well?”
“No, nothing.”
“Shit.”
“Well, have you asked him?”
Ethan laughed, dry and exhausted. “Yeah, we’ve asked him. He’s not budging. I don't know what to do… that’s why I asked you to come down. Do you think we should like… call the police?”
Oliver’s voice didn’t waver for a second. “Absolutely.”
Spencer crashed into the upturned desk chair trying to scramble up from the floor and yelped in renewed pain. “No!”
“Oh, shit, he can hear us,” Ethan swore.
Elle shrugged. “It’s not like he won’t find out when the cops come bursting through the door.”
“You can’t call the cops!” Spencer yelled. He was pressed up against the locked door. “Please don’t. I told you I wanted it!”
“Nobody wants that, Spence…” Oliver’s voice bled sadness.
“I did! You're just making a big huge mess out of nothing!”
“You either tell me who did this to you,” Ethan said. “Or I’m calling the cops. And I swear to god Spencer, I’ll do it. You know I will.”
“I can’t— I won’t say. It’s not even relevant!”
“Fine, then I’m calling the cops.”
“No!”
Oliver pressed up against the opposite side of the door and sighed. “Spence, you have to tell someone about this. Clearly we don’t know all the details but you need help. Let us help.”
“I don’t need help. I need you to let me out of here so I leave my own apartment.”
“Last chance, Spence! I’m dialing…” Ethan warned.
“No! NO! STOP IT!” Spencer screamed. He started banging on the door; Oliver jumped in surprise. “STOP! YOU CAN’T! PLEASE!”
“It’s ringing.” Ethan had his phone pressed up to his ear waiting to be connected.
“ETHAN! ETHAN, HANG UP!”
Oliver ran a hand through his hair looking distraught, and he groaned. The air was thick with tension for everyone. “Spencer, come on! Be reasonable! You have to tell someone.”
“Hello? Hi, my name is Ethan,”
“HANG UP! HANG THE FUCK UP!” Spencer shrieked.
Hotch is going to murder him.
Will Hotch still love him?
“Yeah, uh, I don’t know exactly what I’m reporting…”
“FINE. FINE! I’LL TELL SOMEONE. I’LL TELL SOMEONE. JUST— JUST NO COPS. PLEASE, ETHAN, PLEASE? ETHAN! ETHAN, PLEASE!
“You promise, Spence?” Oliver’s voice was drenched in worry.
“I fucking promise just hang up! Hang up, hang up! Now! HANG UP RIGHT NOW!”
“Eth, c’mon, listen to him,” Oliver whispered.
“Uhhh,” Ethan stalled. “Uh, on, uh second thought. Sorry, I don’t know— I think… crisis avoided. I’m sorry for calling. My mistake?”
Spencer thumped his head against the door and broke down in relieved sobs.
“Spencer, man. You’re really… kinda losing it,” Ethan said, bewildered and holding his phone with a shaking hand.
Elle came forward and hugged him; she wrapped her arms around him and whispered sweet things in his ear.
Oliver was still pressed against the door. “Ace? Can you tell me, then?”
“No.”
“Don’t be stubborn again. Ethan will just call the cops. You’ve got to report it to school security at least.”
Oliver waited long enough that everyone was sure there wouldn’t be a reply. Then Spencer’s voice came out frayed and small. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yeah, good. I’ll take it,” Ethan murmured. “Good. Let’s go now.”
“You’re going to have to let me out then.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“Hey, cool it, Eth,” Oliver said.
Ethan stuffed Spencer’s phone in his pocket and unlocked the door. “Don’t try anything funny.”
Spencer flinched away when Ethan tried to grab his arm and thankfully he let it drop, not escorting him out of his own apartment like a prisoner.
All four of them hopped into Oliver’s Subaru, Elle riding passenger and Ethan keeping an eye on him in the back as they drove the short distance to campus. Spencer's heart was beating like mad in his chest, more fear and worry coursing through his veins than blood.
He had no idea what he was going to do. Ethan was watching him like a hawk; he couldn’t run.
He also couldn’t actually go to campus security- that would be a joke. No way in hell or any other theological place of repentance was he going to what was essentially watered down cops.
He also couldn’t go to Professor Hotchner. It was too risky. It may have been the first idea that came to mind, to placate his friends by going to a professor for support, but Oliver would catch on too quickly. He couldn’t risk it. Hotch would never forgive him if he put his whole life at stake, his custody agreement, his career, his reputation. Not to mention the promise they made…
He would receive a punishment so severe he opted not to think about what it might entail.
Campus arrived far too quickly and Ethan ushered him outside the car. The weather was freezing and goosebumps pricked at his skin.
“Let’s go.”
“Ethan, please…”
“Stop. You already agreed. Don’t back out on me. I’ll never forgive you.”
“I can’t do this,” he whispered. It was hardly loud enough to be heard over the wind.
“Yes, you can.” Elle wrapped him in a hug and warmth enveloped him. “You can. Trust me.”
Spencer frowned. Oliver was taking up the rear, walking a few steps behind their little group. Spencer wished he didn’t come all the way down from New York for this. Or at all, for anything.
Ethan tapped his foot impatiently as Spencer stood there by the car door looking at campus. “Stop stalling.”
Right. He marched straight into it and headed for the psychology department.
“I’m not telling security. I’m… I’m gonna tell my professor.” Spencer stood in the hall of the psych building, a place where he spent countless hours over the past few years, and looked like a fish out of water. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about it to a stranger.”
Oliver looked to Ethan, and Ethan to Elle. All three looked worried and unsure. Ethan was the one to give the OK under the condition that security would be the next stop if the professor doesn’t pan out.
“Wait here,” Spencer said, and before he went into the office he looked to Ethan with his hand out. “Can I get my phone?”
Ethan laughed. “Are you kidding me?”
“Ethan, don’t—” Elle started.
“No. Of course you can’t have your fucking phone. Go.”
Spencer bit his lip. “Eth, please…”
“Or I’ll use your phone to call the cops.”
He dug his nails into the palm of his hand so hard it bit at his skin and sucked in a big breath. It was this or bust, so he had to make sure everything went perfectly. The fate of his future was counting on it.
Of Professor Hotchner’s future. Of their future.
“Fine. But don’t come in, I need privacy.” He shut the door in their faces before they had a chance to respond and turned around to face his professor.
He motioned at the seat in front of him with an eyebrow quirked, expression reading curiosity as plain as day. “Spencer?”
“Uh… do you need any help with your grading, Gideon?”
“No, I’m just about finished for the day,” he said. “What brings you by? It’s rather early for you.”
“Um, I just figured I could get an early start on some paperwork.”
“The semester just ended.”
“Well, uh. Yeah, but, yeah— I guess you’re right.” Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His head had the remnants of a bad headache and he still felt slightly icky from the hangover. Nothing was making sense to him, least of all what was doing walking into Gideion’s office. But he knew that he wasn’t going to compromise his Master any more than he already had, and Gideon seemed like a safe enough bet in terms of seeming like he was supposed to be there, not confessing to getting beaten and raped. Hopefully. But not even a confession, really, he wanted it after all.
“Is everything okay? You don’t look so good, Spencer.”
“No, I’m perfectly fine. Really!” He laughed nervously. He just had to get through a good twenty or thirty minutes of this before he could go back to his friends and pretend like Gideon was going to handle it.
Sure, he was going to go through the proper channels. Sure, he was on his way to the dean right now. Sure, he seemed very concerned. Sure, Sure, Sure.
As long as Hotch was okay.
“You’re acting shifty.”
“I’m not.”
“Your friends keep looking in the window.”
Shit.
Gideon leaned in towards him, his hands folded neatly on his desk. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Oh, they’re just… they’re waiting for me. Because we’re going out after this. To get lunch.”
“You’re lying.”
“No!” I’m- I’m not!” he tried.
“Spencer, I’m a profiler.”
Maybe Gideon wasn’t the best option after all. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He’s a stupid boy. A bad boy. Hotch was right. All those times, he was right. He was always right.
“They found out, didn’t they?”
“What? Sorry— what?” Spencer looked up, dumfounded.
“About Aaron.”
His heart started thumping, adrenaline spiked. “Excuse me?”
“It’s okay, Spencer, I know all about it,” he said with a nonchalance that didn’t fit the situation. “Don’t worry, I won’t say a word. I’m glad you came to me about this.”
“I didn’t,” Spencer spit. Because he didn’t. And his head was spinning uncomfortably. Breath lost. 9283.
How did he know? What on earth was going on? How did he know?! 9293. 9311. 9319.
It was a secret. Their secret. Who else knew? And why was he so calm?
“Calm down, Spencer.” 9323. “Aaron told me all about your little arrangement. It’s fine.”
Gideon grinned.
Spencer swallowed. 9337. He felt nauseous. 9341. His gut was twisting uncomfortably. A small, festering, ugly lump sitting sick in the pit of his stomach.
Hotch told? 9343. Master told? 9349. Told their secret?
You and me is just between us. Our little secret. You and me, no one else. Not your friend Ethan or anyone else for that matter. No one. You. Me. That’s it.
That’s it. Him and Master and no one else. That’s it. Not Ethan, not Gideon, no one.
Except Etahn knew and Gideon knew, and maybe he had known all along?
How long had he known? 9371. Was Master telling him everything behind his back? 9377. 9391. 9397. He thought what they had was special.
“Hell, he’s shown me quite a bit,” Gideon said through a sly grin. “Almost didn’t believe it until I saw for myself. Didn’t think you had that kind of spark in you, kid.”
“Stop it!” Spencer cried. 9403. Stop! You don’t know anything!”
“Relax, I’ll take care of your friends' worries.”
9413. 9419. 9421. “He showed you the pictures?”
Gideon didn’t say a thing but the look on his face read that yes, he saw every lewd pose that he put himself in for Hotch, read every nasty, degrading word etched across his body, and liked it.
“Those weren’t for you! He shouldn’t— he said— He told me—”
“Ah, right.” Gideon shrugged. “He did ask me not to say anything to you, but seeing as the cat is already out of the bag…”
“He’s keeping secrets from me…” Spencer muttered under his breath. “How could he...?”
“I especially liked the one where you were fingering yourself, how many was that again, three, four fingers? He sure has trained you well. But I myself would have kept you a bit tighter.”
9431.
A moment passed, no words, nothing. What else could be said?
Spencer got up from the chair in a rush, sending it skidding back with a loud screech. His eyes were boring into Gideon’s, and for the first time in a long time he felt like he was seeing things clearly. “I need to go. Tell my friends whatever. I don’t fucking care.”
Notes:
Thank you to Brillianthijinx who helped beta this chap!
Hope you enjoyed! LMK what you think ajshdjaslkjf
Chapter 47: Bros Before Hoes
Summary:
In the last chapter, Spencer reluctantly went to campus to tell his professor Gideon about what was happening. He intended on tricking his friends and not saying a word, but Gideon seemed to know all about it.
And his perception of everything just... cracked.
Heed the TWs. TW kidnapping
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Tell my friends whatever. I dont fucking care.”
He shot out the door, smashing into the other side of the wall and pushed Ethan back with both hands. He stumbled back, hitting into Oliver. “ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?”
“Spencer, I—”
“ARE YOU? I TOLD.”
“I’m not happy, Spencer, you need help—”
“Spencer, calm down!” Elle whispered.
“EVERYTHING IS RUINED!” he shrieked. Ethan took a step back as Spencer advanced on him- Ethan barely looked able to register what was happening as Spencer grabbed at his back pocket and withdrew his phone.
He flung it at the ground with a loud crack in the resulting quiet of the hallway. Stepped on it too, for good measure, and ground it up under his shoe until it was just a nasty hunk of buzzing electronic parts. “You’re such an asshole! Always sticking your nose in my business! You have no right to know anything about my sex life! Screw you!”
“Spencer—” Ethan stared slack jawed at the broken phone and the huffing, red faced image of his friend standing over it. ‘Hey- Wait! Where are you going? Spencer? Come back here!”
He was halfway down the hall, running like his life depended on it. “Just leave me alone!”
A voice sounded from inside the classroom, and they all turned. “Would you three come in here, please? And shut the door.”
He didn’t stop until he was at the edge of campus boarding the bus toward the only place he could think to go.
Master.
What a complete violation of trust. After everything they’ve been through together, Hotch still went behind his back and did the one thing he promised not to do. How could he?
He thought Hotch loved him.
After an hour in rush hour traffic, the bus finally dropped him off at the city limit and he headed on foot in the direction of Hotch’s house. Last time he walked this path… no. He pressed his necklace between his fingers and pushed the thought away.
By the time he arrived the sun was beginning to set in the west, and he crept to the side of the house where none of the neighbors could see him. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
He was going to confront Hotch and demand answers, demand why he did what he did. For once, he had solid ground to stand on: he made a promise and he broke it. There wouldn’t be any talking his way out of this one. Unless, of course, he had a plausible explanation, which he might, because Spencer knew deep down inside that Hotch only had his best interests at heart.
Everyone makes mistakes. He made plenty himself. And if Hotch made such an abhorrent one then he would have to understand that it wasn’t his fault that his friends found out. God, he kind of regretted telling Gideon to say whatever he wanted to his friends.
But, he would cover. He would. Now that he was apparently knee deep in his nude photographs, of course he would. His ass was on the line too.
Fuck him! Spencer’s chest burned anew with red hot shame. Fuck him for looking! Fuck Hotch for showing him! Why did he show him?! What did he do to deserve that?
Why did Hotch break his promise?!
What could he possibly say that would make this better?
Hotch’s house was next. Hopefully the back door would be unlocked. The evening was quiet, only the gentle sound of birds in the distance and crickets chirping just out of reach. He crept along the side and turned for the backyard when Hotch’s voice caught him off guard. He stopped in his tracks. The window to Hotch’s study was cracked open and he was inside.
His heart kicked into overdrive. Adrenaline, tingly limbs. Breath caught in his throat.
“Yes, Jason, I know,” Hotch said. “But I don’t see why you had to tell him you knew. You could have played along.” There was a pause; Hotch was listening. “Really? How upset?”
A chime went off somewhere in the house, and Hotch must have left the room, Spencer wasn’t sure. No way he was going ro risk being seen by peeping over the windowsill.
He pressed his back against the siding and slid down to the grass, shoving his hands in his hair. His stomach sank. Now he's talking to Gideon about it? Admitting that he knew he wasn’t supposed to tell him? That he broke their promise and lied about it?
His hands were shaking, eyes stinging. He bit down on his lip and drew blood.
He wanted everything to go back to normal, back to before his friends found out, before Hotch punished him so badly, before he cheated with Oliver, before Hotch ignored him because Jack came around, before, before, before…
But not before Hotch took him in the bathroom stall when he used to be such a know-it-all brat. Back when he didn’t know just how good he had it…
He wanted to wipe the slate clean and start his devotion anew——
“Sorry about that, I had macaroni on the stove for Jack. Hm? No, he’s fine. I set him up in front of A Bug’s Life. He’ll be occupied for at least an hour. Tell me what Spencer said.”
Spencer held his breath in the resulting silence. He could hear the pounding of his heart in his ear drums.
“Shit. You really said that? Jason, come on, he has feelings.” Hotch sighed. “No, no. It’s fine. He’ll forgive me.” Then, a chuckle. And what did he have to laugh about at a time like this? While Spencer was completely falling apart at both ends? “Yes, you’ll definitely be seeing his apology. I’ll send you some pictures tonight. Thank you for handling it.”
——but that wasn’t possible.
The anxious feeling in his stomach turned and bubbled into a sick, nauseous wave, nasty and biting at his throat. He lunged to the side violently and retched into the grass. He slapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide, and listened for any indication that Hotch heard him, but he was still talking away with Gideon. “...have some time to go over a few cases, the Harris one in particular—”
Mustering all the strength he had left, he crawled to the backyard, leaving behind Hotch’s voice and emptying the contents of his stomach into the dirt. His chest heaved painfully as he kept spitting up bile breath after breath.
How could he do this? How could he? After everything he’s done for him? After he gave himself to him? Obeyed every last word?
Offered up his bleeding heart on a silver platter?
He was going to make Hotch see what he was throwing away. He was going to have him graveling at his feet, begging for his forgiveness.
Only then he’d take him back.
Spencer stood up.
He kept low and crept to the back window peeking into the living room where Jack was eating a bowl of macaroni in front of the tv.
He tapped on the glass.
Jack looked over, looked owlish. His spoon dropped back into this bowl. Spencer motioned him over and watched as his attention flickered from A Bugs Life to the window and back again, but ultimately got up off the couch.
Jack got on his tiptoes and looked out the window, face to face with Spencer on the other side. “I know you! You’re that man!” he said. Loudly.
“Shhhh!” he whispered back. “Your Dad is working, we have to be quiet.”
“Ops, I forgot,” Jack giggled.
“I’m Spencer, your Dad's friend. You do know me, remember we met? At the cafe?”
“Yeah, Dad bought me a big brownie and apple juice!”
“Well, your Dad said he’s really busy with his work right now and he wanted me to take you out for ice cream.”
Jack licked his lips and frowned. “But he said we’re gonna bake cookies tonight.”
“That was before his work stuff came up. Doesn't he always spend forever in his office?”
Jack nodded with some hesitation but agreed nonetheless.
“So he sent me to take you to get dessert.” Spencer’s eyes darted from Jack to the door to Hotch’s office in quick succession. He needed to hurry.
A moment passed as a flurry of emotions passed over Jack’s face and a grin erupted. “Okay!”
“Shhh!” Spencer hissed. “Go get your shoes. But be quiet. Your dad said we can’t go if we’re too loud. Can you be quiet?”
Jack nodded with seriousness dripping off his expression and marched over to the closet where Spencer watched him plop down on the floor and pull on a pair of Jurassic park sneakers.
Spencer crept slowly along the side of the house to the patio door and peered through the glass. Jack was struggling with the left shoe and he groaned. He needed to hurry up.
Hotch could be any second. And if he caught him now…
He couldn’t think about what would happen then.
Jack looked up at him through the glass door and undid the latch so he could come bounding out. “Dad didn’t hear me!”
“Shhh! Jack, please, be quiet.”
“Stilllll?” he whined.
“Yes, still. Now c’mon we have to hurry before the ice cream shop closes.”
“Okay,” he agreed. He grabbed the straps of his backpack he must have grabbed and set out towards the frontyard.
Spencer grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “No, we’re going through the backyard.”
“But Mrs. Peters lives there. I’m not allowed to go in her yard.”
“She gave me permission,” Spencer whispered. He took one last anxious look at Hotch’s house, turned around, and started off in the direction of Mrs. Peter’s fence, not leaving any more room for arguing. Jack followed close behind and barely managed to keep himself quiet.
Once they were obscured enough behind the bushes, Spencer breathed a sigh of relief. Now Hotch was going to have to take him seriously. This was going to show him just how much he was hurt by his lies.
A bubbling little satisfaction inside said Hotch is going to know what it feels like to have his whole world ripped out from under him.
And Spencer hoped it would feel just like it did for him.
“We have to hop the fence.” Spencer looked down at Jack. “C’mon, I’ll toss you over.”
Jack looked incredibly excited and was bouncing on his heels as Spencer lugged him up and plopped him down on the other side before clumsily climbing over himself.
“Okay, now crouch down while we walk by the windows, okay?” There weren’t as many bushes by the side of the house as there were in the back, where they were currently covered.
And as energetic as Jack was, he was able to follow directions well, emerging on the other side of the house victoriously where the sidewalk was waiting for them.
The walk back to the bus station, though, that was the real feat.
An half hour into the walk and Jack was already complaining nonstop.
“I’m boredd!”
“How much longer?”
“I never finished my macaroni!”
“I want ice cream!”
“Where are we goingggg?”
Spencer groaned. “Jack, stop it! We’ll be there soon!”
But it took another fifteen until they were at the bus stop, and they had to start acting quickly because Hotch was bound to notice Jack was missing any minute. By Spencer’s calculations, A Bug's life would run for another 25 before the credits started rolling but he could figure it out at any point, really.
There could be officers at the bus station ready and waiting for him with handcuffs.
“Oh! Ice cream!” Jack yelled. He bolted to the left and ran in the direction of Dairy Queen, Spencer on his heels. “Spencer! Look, we’re here!”
He grabbed the back of Jack’s backpack and pulled him away. “Not there. There’s a better place!” His voice shook with nerves. They needed to be on the bus now.
“But I like Dairy Queen! Dad always gets me bubble gum flavor!”
“Come on, Jack. Now,” Spencer pleaded. The bus rolled up the curb and the doors swung open. “Now. I mean it.”
Jack stomped his foot. “No!”
“I’ll buy you bubble gum flavor! And chocolate. And cookie dough, and strawberry. Okay?”
Jack looked at him incredulously. “I can have four scoops?”
“You can have as many as you want if you come right now. We have to go to the special store, that’s why we’re taking the bus.”
Jack frowned, looked back at Dairy Queen, and sighed. “...Okay.”
Spencer grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the bus and across town where they ended up doing the same song and dance at the train station. Spencer was able to convince him it was just a little bit further, though, and soon they were heading full speed toward city limits and beyond.
“Are you sure Dad said it’s okay for me to be out this late?” Jack was pressing his face against the train window. “He says I’m not supposed to be outside after the sun sets.”
“Attention, passengers,” the conductor crackled overhead. “Please ensure you have a valid ticket for travel. An attendant will be checking tickets shortly. Please be ready to produce your tickets when asked to do so."
“It’s fine. He told me it’s okay.”
“I could see my shoes.”
“What?” Spencer didn’t understand children.
“My light up shoes! I could see them. Dad lets me wear them inside at night but now I can use them outside for real. When are we getting ice cream?”
When was he going to drop the ice cream? Spencer had much more important things to worry about. “When we get there.”
“When will we get there?”
“In a little while.”
“How long is a little while?”
“Soon, Jack.”
“How long is soon?”
“Soon.”
“You said we were getting ice cream,” he pouted. “You lied!”
“I didn’t lie,” Spencer groaned. “Fine. Just wait here.” He wandered down through multiple long traincars and sets of doors until he reached the dining car and paid for some ice cream. Thankfully they were on a long distance train, since just under fifteen percent of regular trains still came complete with dining carts.
“Yay!” Jack hopped out of his seat and grabbed the bowl out of Spencer’s hands when he returned.
“Be careful,” he warned.
“Wait, this isn’t bubble gum…”
“It’s a hot fudge sundae, just eat it. It’s good,” Spencer said, but it wasn’t needed; Jack was already stuffing his face with it.
He took a deep breath and opened up his messenger bag for his deck of cards and slapped it down on the table. “Do you want to play War, or Go Fish?”
Jack’s enthusiasm shot through the roof yet again, and he yelled through a mouthful of fudge. “Go Fish!”
. . .
“Attention, passengers, this is your conductor speaking,” The overhead buzzed. The time is One-thirty in the morning. We’re nearing our next stop at Cincinnati Union Station. Please be mindful of the gap between the train and the platform when exiting.”
Spencer stirred in his seat, head pressed uncomfortably against the glass window and didn’t remember falling asleep. He could hear Jack snoring across from him and his eyelids fluttered closed and it slipped to black.
“Attention, passengers, this is your conductor speaking,” The overhead buzzed. The time is Two-fourty five in the morning. We’re nearing our next stop at Kansas City Station. Please be mindful of the gap between the train and the platform when exiting.”
Spencer shifted and curled his knees up to his chest, trying to slip back into his dream. His breathing evened out, and he faded to black again.
“Attention, passengers, this is your conductor speaking,” The overhead buzzed. The time is Three-thirty in the morning. If you’ve been a very bad boy recently, make sure to mind the rules and behave going forward.”
Spencer dragged his hand over his ear and groaned. He just needed some sleep- he was so, so tired.
“Attention, passengers, this is your conductor speaking. There’s a very naughty boy on board who never listens to his Master. Why did you fuck Oliver, Spencer? Did you want to be punished?”
Spencer whimpered and pressed his hand harder against his ear, but he could still hear it all the same.
“No wonder he lies to you, Spencer. Do you really think you’re worthy of that kind of love? Maybe if you didn’t screw up every chance you got, he would treat you better.”
“Stop it!” Spencer whined.
“Cock slut,” the conductor hissed. “Are you sorry?”
Spencer let out a choked sob and felt his eyes pricking with tears. “Yes. Yes, I’m sorry!”
“A good boy would be groveling at his Master’s feet, not halfway across the country with his kidnapped child.”
“I didn’t- it’s not like that,” Spencer whimpered. “I just want him to understand how I feel!” He bit his lip and breathed in ragged, uneven breaths through his nose as tears started to steam down his hace. “He b-betrayed me. I love him so much.”
“If you loved him, you’d just spread your legs. Stupid brat.”
“I’m sorry!” he cried. He could hardly breathe, hardly press any harder on his ears. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
The train jolted to a stop and Spencer flung himself into the table with a gasp.
“Attention, passengers, this is your conductor speaking,” The overhead buzzed. The time is Five O’clock in the morning. We’ve just arrived at Las Vegas Central Station. Please be mindful of the gap between the train and the platform when exiting.”
“Jack,” Spencer sniffed. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and cleared his throat. “Jack, wake up. We’re here.”
Notes:
Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! ❤️
Also that train ride would take so much longer but idc about logistics lmao
AND I just posted a new collab story about traumatized-mute-spencer that's basically going to be a Daddy kink fic. Check it out!
OH! AND. Next week is the one year anniversary of posting this fic! Yay~
Chapter 48: Darkness
Summary:
In the last chapter… Spencer was spiraling after his friends found out that someone was abusing him. They forced him to confide in his professor, Gideon, who apparently already knew and saw dirty photos of him. Spencer was livid as Hotch promised it was their secret and he snapped, took Jack, and boarded a train for Las Vegas.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Jason, hold on, I have to put Jack to bed. The movie is just about over. I’ll call you back.” Hotch hung up the phone and went into the living room to find the couch empty.
“Jack?” He grabbed the remote and turned off the television, walked down the hall to Jack’s room and looked inside. “Jack, bud? Time for bed.”
He wasn’t there—Hotch’s heartrate spiked—usually Jack was running around screaming at this time of night. Where was he?
“Jack?” He ran into his office. “Jack?” His bedroom. “Jack?”
He was just about to rush outside to the backyard, but the sliding glass door was open. And thank god— Jack always went outside on his own to play despite how many times he told him he needed to wait for supervision.
When stepped onto the patio the motion sensor light sparked to life overhead. Little bugs danced in the beam. There was no sign of him. “Jack?” The swing set was motionless. “JACK! TIME FOR BED!”
He didn’t come.
. . .
“Where are we going, Spence?”
“You’ll see. Hey, did you like the zoo?”
Jack jumped up and down, his smile huge and eyes all lit up. “Yeah!”
“Your Dad said you really like lions. Let’s keep going, we still have one more thing to do.”
Spencer took Jack's hand and boarded a bus he’d taken a million times before while he was growing up.
So far, he took Jack to the LV strip— the family friendly section, the zoo, and in quite a few ice cream and candy shops. The day was already more than halfway over, and he didn’t even bother to try and book a hotel yet.
There was still one more thing he had to do.
Spencer was combing over the back of a NASA pamphlet he picked up on the strip while Jack was busy babbling about things out the bus window.
The Mars rover is 104,388 tons and spans 7 yards, and has a velocity of 24,784 miles per hour as it rockets out into space. In zero gravity, the force by which—
“—uh huh. Yeah, a bus! And I went to the zoo! I saw a lion, a real one!”
“Jack!” Spencer gasped. “What are you doing? Who are you talking to—”
“Hold on, Daddy, Spence is yelling,” Jack put down the phone. “What?”
“Whe-” Spencer stopped breathing as time stood still. “Where did you get that phone?” He reached out for it with a trembling hand, but Jack pulled it away. “Y-You’re talking to your Dad?”
“Yeah, he called. He put a phone in my backpack for emergencies,” he said. He put the phone back up to his ears “Daddy, you said this phone was for emergencies? Are you gonna get in trouble now?” There was a pause, and Jack smiled.
Spencer grabbed the phone from his ear and clicked it off.
“Why did you do that?!” Spencer hissed.
“What?” Jack frowned. “I wanted to tell Daddy all the fun stuff we did!” Jack kicked his feet into the seat in front of him and pouted. “How come Daddy didn’t come on the trip with us?”
“I told you, he has work. He was going to come but they called him away.”
“I hate when he does that,” Jack mumbled.
“But you didn’t tell him where we are, did you?” Spencer’s chest tightened. What if he did?
Jack shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I mean I don’t know! I don’t remember!” Jack looked out the bus window and then broke out into a smile as he roared at Spencer with his fingers barred like claws. “I told him about the lion!”
“Oh, god,” Spencer groaned.
If Jack told… they would have a day at most and eight hours at the least depending if Hotch drove or flew. He went over the conversation in his mind as best as he could; he wasn’t actively focusing on the first part of the call so it was a bit hazy, but he had perfect recall of the later half, and there was no specific mention of Las Vegas.
He took a deep breath. Hotch didn’t know. He didn’t.
Well, now he knew that he took Jack, but he was planning on getting figured out at some point, right? Right…? That’s what he wanted? To be taken seriously, for Hotch to understand the severity of his wounds? How the callousness of his actions that resulted in this?
Yes. Yes, eventually. But eventually seemed so far away in the moment… eventually wasn’t now. Eventually was… eventually.
Oh, god, what has he done?
Spencer brought his knees up to his chest and groaned. He needed to take this one step at a time. First, see his mother. That was it. Just go see his mother and after that… that was a problem for another time.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The bus rattled on and Jack played with plastic rocket ships beside him. One step at a time.
They arrived at Bennington’s and checked in at the front desk, each getting a flimsy white sticker with ‘VISITOR’ printed on it and their names scribbled in red ink.
A staff member brought them both back to a sunroom lined with couches, one of which his mother was sitting on, book in hand and readers sliding down her nose.
She looked up when she heard them. “Spencer? Is that you?”
He waved. “Hi, Mom.”
“Spencer! Honey, it’s so good to see you!” She rushed off the sofa and grabbed him into her arms, hugging him tight. “I’ve missed you dearly.”
He smiled. “I’ve missed you too, Mom,” he whispered, and wrapped his arms tightly around her. “So, so much. I love you.”
“I love you too,” she said with conviction. Then she cocked her head to the said and asked, “And who is this?”
“I’m Jack!”
“That’s Jack, uh. My friend. My friend’s son.” Spencer coughed. “Uh. Jack, this is my mom. Mom, Jack.”
“Nice to meet you, young man. That is a wonderful shirt you have on there. Lions are magnificent creatures. Often depicted in classic literature as powerful protective deities, actually…”
“Mom, he’s…” Spencer started, but she was already laughing.
Jack stopped listening at ‘lions’ and was doing his best impersonation by roaring and sneaking around the couches. She turned to Spencer. “Not listening, I know,” she said. “I raised you, don’t you forget that. I know how children operate.”
Spencer smiled, blushing. “I know.”
“Take a seat. We have a lot of catching up to do, Mister.”
And he sat.
Two hours flew by like dandelions in the wind, and they covered every topic under the sun from his academics to her book clubs, and his friends to her daily reginime. Everything, really, sans his love life.
Of which the child of such love was making a mess on the floor with playing cards, crayons, books, action figures, and whatever else he could scrounge up.
“Let’s retire to my room, shall we?” Diana stood up and gestured for the two of them to follow. “This place gets drafty in the evening. Awful insulation in here, really.” She stopped and waited for Spencer to help Jack shove his toys inside his backpack, and the facility’s things back on the shelf.
When they were done, she led them through a series of halls and up a flight of stairs to a cozy, dimly lit room covered in books. Somehow, it reminded Spencer of home…
“Take a seat boys,” she said.
Jack plopped down on the floor again, and Spencer at the desk while she stood by the window, looking out at the Nevada desert.
“Spencer, will you mail me a copy of your dissertation, Sweetie?” She picked up a shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I can’t wait to read it. You know, when I was researching my own PhD, I scoured hundreds of books on the 15th century, so many different styles of literature. It was such a rewarding experience.”
Spencer nodded. At his reading speed, he himself went through nearly the entire engineering section at the Georgetown library. Even further, his dissertation was probably a bit different, he figured.
“Jack,” she said. “Will you grab that box for me please?”
Jack hopped up from the floor with a childish smile and stood on his tippy toes in order to reach a blue box up high on a shelf. He nearly dropped it when he finally got it, and presented it to her proudly.
“Thank you.” She opened it up and presented it to him. “Do you like candy?”
“Yeah!” He jumped up and down in excitement. “Can I have three?”
Spencer’s mom looked at him. And for what, permission? Jack wasn’t his son. Jack was Hotch’s son. It’s not like he was his step-dad or anything like that. Although… If he did end up marrying Hotch, Jack would be his stepson, wouldn’t he?
That certainly never occurred to him before.
Wasn’t he supposed to be a genius?
He shrugged.
“Take one for now,” she said. You can have another before you leave.”
Jack pouted. “Aww, okay.”
“How about you, Spence, Honey?
“No, thank you,” he said automatically. Hotch wouldn’t want him to have sweets without asking. But… right, he really needed to stop that. Hotch was mad at him- no!
He was mad at Hotch.
“Well, maybe one, mom.” He took a candy, and placed the wrapper on the desk, and—
What was that?
Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump—
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“W-What is that?”
“What’s what?”
Spencer pointed to a flimsy white sticker with ‘VISITOR’ printed on it and a name scribbled in red ink.
Aaron
“W-Who- When did—?” Was the room spinning? He blinked his eyes once, twice, three times- surely he was seeing things. But, no— still there.
Aaron
“Hm? Oh, that nice fellow must have left it here this morning. Very tall man, that one. Handsome, too. Sort of a Cary Grant type, big brown eyes with a startling intensity.” She looked back out the window. “I wonder if he’ll come back.”
“He was here this morning…?” Spencer’s voice quivered.
“That’s what I said.”
“Aaron was here this morning. Here, in your room?”
“Spencer, honey, are you okay? I just said he was.”
Spencer gripped the edge of the chair because he felt like he was going to fall right off, sink right through it, or get sucked into an invisible blackhole. “A-And what did he want…”
“Oh, this and that. Nothing important really. Asked a lot of questions. Too many, actually. I think he was sent by the FBI.” she turned to him with her face turning thoughtful. “Throw that out. Outside in the hall. It might have a listening device in it.”
“It’s not, Mom, it’s just paper—”
“Don’t argue with me, spencer!” she barked.
Jack looked up from his dinosaurs.
“Sorry,” he whispered. He crumpled the nametag in his hand and stuffed it into his pocket when he got into the hall. His heart was thrumming and he was pretty sure he felt a bead of sweat slide down his temple. “Actually, we should probably go now. Jack? Come on, bud, it’s time to leave.”
“Already?” She looked dejected.
“Sorry, mom. I-I have to go. I love you, It was great seeing you.”
He turned and shut the door behind them.
“Wait!” Jack turned around. “Candy!”
Spencer groaned yet again, is this what it was like having kids? “Oh, come on, I’ll get you candy at the hotel!”
“But—”
“Give me your cell phone.”
“That’s for emergencies!”
“Your dad called you on it, so I can call on it too. Give it to me.”
“You’re being mean,” he pouted.
“Yeah, well, I’m the adult here, so deal with it.” He paused. “I’ll buy you a souvenir later, okay?”
Jack seemed to think on it, and then tugged off his backpack and handed over his phone. “Fine. I want-”
Spencer pressed in the number he knew by heart, and not because of his eidetic memory.
“About time,” Hotch said.
Spencer gulped- his hands were shaking. He had to lean against the wall. “How?”
Jack was running in a circle looking at his light-up shoes.
“I’m smarter than you,” Hotch said. “Did you forget that?”
“No,” he said easily; it flowed like water from his lips. “No, Sir.”
“Did you think you could get away with this?” Hotch rasped. “What a pathetic cry for attention.”
Spencer’s lips trembled as he watched Jack spinning.
“What, cat’s got your tongue, Sweetie?”
“N-No-”
“Don’t think I can’t find you wherever you go.” There was an eerie silence. “You’re going to pay for this.”
“I-I’m sorry-” he squeaked.
“You will be.”
The line clicked dead.
Spencer watched Jack spinning, spinning, spinning. He grabbed his hand and he toppled over, off balance. “C’mon, get up!”
He tugged him out of the Sanitarium and into the darkening evening light. The bus stop was right around the corner, only a five minute walk. From there, it wouldn’t be that difficult to find a hotel to book for the night, there were enough tourist spots that someplace would turn up vacant.
“Spence, look at my shoes!”
The sanitarium was fading behind them and he could hear the bus rumbling down the street, headed their way. The motor was humming and it stalled right beside them.
Except it wasn’t a bus.
It was a car.
Someone stepped out.
“Daddy!”
Oh, god. Spencer tripped while he was stumbling backwards and fell hard on his ass.
Professor Hotchner towered over him. “Hi, Sweetheart.”
Spencer gulped. He looked livid- he should be. After what he’d done, taken his son from right under his nose and brought him cross country in the dead of night? Jesus, what was he thinking?
That’s not what a good boy does.
“Jack, hop in the car, bud,” Hotch said above him.
“Okay, daddy!”
Spencer wishes Daddy were here.
“What am I going to do with you, hm?”
Spencer shook his head; he didn’t know.
But Hotch didn’t wait for an answer. He bent down and grabbed him by his waist, threw him over his shoulder, and walked around the back of the car.
“When I got this rental,” Hotch said, his voice plain, even, devoid of emotion. “I made sure there was no emergency latch in the trunk.”
And that’s all he said before he tossed him in and slammed the top down.
Darkness.
When they arrived, Spencer was shaking, tears staining his face. He was curled up in a ball, or at least as well as he could in the confines of the trunk.
“Get out,” Hotch said.
Spencer looked up to see him holding the lid of the trunk open, a streetlamp bathing the back of him in bright light against the dark night.
“I said get out.”
Right.
Spencer sprung to life and climbed out of the trunk- his joints ached and his head throbbed.
“Daddy, why was Spencer back there?”
“Spencer likes to ride in the back,” Hotch said. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you into bed. It’s far past your bedtime.”
Jack stomped his food and it lit up bright green. “But I’m not tired! I wanna play!”
“I’ll tell Aunt Jess if you pout.”
Jack blinked wide eyed and lost his steam as Spencer watched. He himself turned his attention to Hotch and faltered under his intense glare.
“And you,” he said. “Not a word out of you.”
Spencer shook his head, yes, Master, and followed him into a hotel. He led them up several floors in the elevator and stopped in front of a door.
“Get inside. Get undressed,” Hotch whispered against his ear. “On your knees, facing the wall, hands behind you back.”
Spencer nodded. Hotch swiped the keycard and pushed the door open for him. He scurried inside and the door shut behind him.
He was in trouble. Big trouble.
Why did he do this, why did screw up so royally, why did he think this was going to be a good idea, that it would make Hotch love him, understand him?
Why did he think it would end in anything other than punishment?
Him, on his knees. Waiting, naked. Waiting, patiently.
But isn’t this what he was looking for?
Isn’t this why he stole his son in the first place?
Isn’t this why he couldn’t get him out of his head, no matter how hard he tried?
Yes.
And then the door opened.
Notes:
Thanks for reading! ❤️
And thanks to Brillianthijinx for beta'ing!
Chapter 49: HOTCH
Summary:
In the last chapter, Spencer took Jack to Las Vegas where they had a fun day and then visited his mom. Turns out Hotch somehow managed to track him down first, ambushed him, and took him to a hotel making him kneel in the corner of the room while he waited quietly for his punishment.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
After Jack finally fell asleep, Aaron grabbed his bag and made his way over to the next room where Spencer was kneeling; waiting for him.
The door clicked behind him and Spencer didn’t so much as flinch, just stayed stock still with his arms behind his back, his ass bare for the room to see.
He looked so precious. So much so that Aaron almost had second thoughts about what he was going to do.
But, not quite.
“Get up. Turn around.” He deserved everything he was getting.
Spencer silently did as he was told with his eyes trained on the floor, head submissively tipped down. No amount of sweet, submissive demur was going to save him now.
Aaron took a seat on the bed. “Come.”
With his red skin and soft cock presented openly, offering himself up, completely at his mercy, he looked so pretty; as pretty as the first the first time he saw him drop to his knees.
Spencer needed guidance at the best of times, and a very heavy hand at the worst. How was he going to teach his boy to behave when even the most extreme measures failed to work?
Maybe it was fruitless. Or... maybe he needed to be broken down even further. How did he get it in his mind that it would be alright to take his son? He may have broken a promise, been careless with his personal privacy, but what Spencer did was crossing a line you couldn’t uncross.
What he did was unforgivable.
With an open palm, he struck Spencer’s left hip, leaving behind a nasty red handprint. “Did you enjoy yourself, coming to Vegas?”
Aaron didn’t wait for an answer; he grabbed Spencer’s ballsack between two fingers, lifted it up, and smacked it with his other hand. Spencer yelped.
“I thought I told you to keep quiet?” As if he could do that with his balls stinging. “Speak.”
“I’m so sorry, Master!”
He slapped again; Spencer jerked to the side but got back in place.
“Tell me what went through your head that made you think it was okay to mess with my family, hm?” The family ripped from right beneath his fingertips. The family he fought with bloodied hands to protect. The one link he had left connecting him to Haley.
“B-Because I love you… I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Master, I’m sorry!”
“You don’t seem sorry to me,” Aaron growled. “How dare you touch my son.
“I-I-I don’t know,” he squeaked. “I wasn’t thinking- I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry. Please, Master...”
He slapped him a third time, then a fourth, and a fifth until he was shaking, balls bright red and throbbing. Then he grabbed the little head of his cock between his fingers and pinched.
“AH! M-Master—!”
Spencer knew how he almost lost Jack once. He knew he was struggling to deal with the aftermath of it all and he went ahead and made one of his biggest fears come true.
“Hurts, doesn’t it? Do you think this is what a good boy deserves?”
“N-No—”
Jack! Time for bed! Jack? Jack! Jack, where are you? JACK!”
“But you haven’t been a very good boy, have you, Honey? You’ve been bad. Very bad. And bad boys are punished; bad boys deserve to be punished.”
He pinched again.
“Ow! I-I’m sorry! I j-just wanted you to see how much you h-hurt me. You lied to me...”
Where was Jack? Who took jack? Was Foyett back? —NO. Foyett was dead— he strangled him with his own two hands—
“I can lie to you if I want to. Tell me who owns you, Spence.”
He ran outside through the still open door, frantic and not knowing what it was he was looking for until he found it: an open window, dirty fingerprint on the side of the house, sickness in the grass. He took a deep breath- he could profile this.
“Y-You do. You own me,” he sniffled.
“And don’t you forget that. You’re mine. Mine to lie to if I please.” He leaned closer to whisper vehemently near Spencer’s ear. “You will thank me for putting up with your bratty, insolent behaviour; no one else would. You’re lucky that I love you, Spence, or I would have called the cops the second I realized what you’d done.”
Spencer supposedly left Gideon’s office and where would be the first place he would go? Aaron could read him like a book, but even for him, this was completely hysterical. But if he did take Jack, then there was no way he could call the cops. That would thrust this entire situation in to light, and that was not something he could afford in his line of work.
Spencer whined and mumbled a weepy apology.
Aaron pinched again. He had to take matters into his own hands. “No,” he said slowly. “Tell me what a bad boy you’ve been, Spencer. What did you do that Master needs to punish you for?”
Aaron watched Spencer squirm and blush bright red as he hesitated to answer, and he gave him a warning slap to his red, inflamed balls.
His answer came out small, whispered. Aaron could hear the shame in his voice. “I need to be punished,” he said. “For betraying you. And taking Jack, and f-f-for,” he paused and took a deep breath; Aaron saw tears start to prick in his eyes. “Talking to Gideon.”
“Why did you go to Gideon, hm? Did you want him to know?” Aaron teased. No harm in having a little bit of fun while he punished his toy now that he knew his son was safe. Humiliation looked so good on him, afterall.
“N-No!”
“So your little cock doesn’t get hard knowing he finds you fuckable, wants to use your wet little holes like I do?” Not that he would ever let Jason touch him.
Fresh tears rolled down Spencer's cheeks and he shook his head no.
“You’re lucky the pictures were the only thing I shared with him,” Aaron hissed. He reached around and squeezed Spencer's ass hard. “I don’t like sharing my property.” He pressed a dry finger into Spencer’s ass and grinned when Spencer yelped. “Are you starting to understand, Sweetheart?”
“Yes, Master. I understand.”
Aaron let that moment hang in the air before he pinched lightly on Spencer’s cock again. “And were those the kinds of things my good boy should do, Sweetheart?”
“No, Master…”
Aaron took his hand off his ass and let it travel up Spencer’s body—his hips, his chest—a brief pause at his neck near his collar, and came to rest under his chin, cradling it and tipping it up so Spencer was forced to look him in the eyes instead of the ground. “Go ahead, you can cry.” And he bristled as Spencer choked back a whine, tears streaming down his face and onto his hand. “Tell me then, have you been a bad boy?”
“Yes, I’ve been a b-bad boy.” His voice was shaking with nerves.
“Do you think I wanted to follow you around the country while you acted like a spoiled little brat?”
Spencer shook his head as best as he could in his hand. “No, Master.”
“What made you think you were entitled to do something like that, hm? That you aren’t just my cute little plaything that does as he’s told, and accepts what he gets? I thought I made it very clear when I did this to you.” Aaron grabbed at his ass and squeezed; it was bound to still be sore from his last beating.
“I don’t k-know,” Spencer whispered. “I j-just…”
Aaron tightened his grip. “Don’t look away. Eyes on me.”
“I just… y-you lied.” Another tear rolled down Spencer's cheek. “You told G-Gideon about us… and you showed him…” He faltered.
“Go ahead, say it.”
“Y-You showed him my n-naked photographs.”
“My photographs. I own you, Honey.”
“Y-Yes, Master, but—“
“But what? This isn’t a two way street. You listen to me. I make the rules and I can change them any time I see fit. When I say don’t tell anyone that means don’t tell. You don’t need to concern yourself with what I’m doing.”
Spencer’s voice shook. “…Yes, Master.”
“So you won’t tell a soul,” Aaron said, flatly. “This stays between us. Just you and me.”
Aaron allowed that to sink in: the same promise, different meaning. Showing Spencer what it meant to accept what he got, and not to question it. That he was the one in control, he could do what he wanted, he could tell who he wanted. Anything. Spencer was his to use and abuse.
Completely his. Complete submission.
Spencer’s lips quivered; his eyes flicked to the side but quickly came back to rest on Aaron’s, and he took a deep breath before he nodded. “Yes, Master. I… I understand now.”
“Good boy,” Aaron whispered, not a hint of praise within it. “I knew you would understand eventually. Now, what to do about you, hm?”
He stared Spencer down with cold eyes, let him feel the intensity of his anger, and pressed his thumb into his jaw, seeking an answer.
“I should be punished. I deserve it. P-Please punish me.”
There it was.
Aaron pinched the tip of his cock hard. Spencer tried to jerk back but he had him held firmly in place. “Don’t look away,” he reiterated. He kept his eyes trained on him as he blushed and groaned.
Aaron pinched one more time, slapped his balls, and then roughly slapped his hip. “Over my knees.”
Spencer climbed on his lap and gripped at Aaron’s thighs. His bottom was still bruised from last time, just like he thought; apparently Spencer never learned his lessons.
The first spank came down hard, fast, and completely unprompted. Spencer shrieked and squeezed Aaron’s thigh so tightly a bruise was sure to form.
Aaron grabbed a pillow beside him and shucked off the case, balling it up, and shoving it into Spencer’s mouth. “Bite down and be quiet.”
Blow after blow, Aaron kept striking, fueled by the terror of the past day, and the sheer rage in his veins of it all. Arrogant, entitled little brat. He passed ten, then twenty. How dare he take his son. Thirty flew by, then forty. Spencer’s ass was now a pretty mixture of bruised and bright red. How dare he think he has any agency at all.
Fifty. He stopped. Spencer was shaking; the pillowcase was drenched in spit, snot, and tears. “Do you have something to say to me?”
Spencer nodded his head. Aaron removed the pillowcase from his mouth, grabbed his hair, lifted up his limp head, and he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Master. I was a bad boy.”
He craned his head back farther. “What else?”
“Thank you for punishing me, Master.”
“Louder.”
“Thank you for punishing me,” he said. “I'll never disobey you again. I’ll listen, I promise.”
“Good boy.”
Spencer sighed.
But Aaron was far from done with him; he pushed him off his knees and he clattered to the floor with a gasp. He stood up and towered over him, pressing his foot down on his cheek. It squished his face into the carpet. “We’ll see if you’re forgiven by the morning.”
He saw Spencer shiver, saw the desperation and devotion shining in his eyes. “Up.”
Spencer got up to his elbows and knees when Aaron pushed hard on his side and he fell to the floor again. “Up.”
Spencer complied but was pushed to the ground yet again. He whimpered and yelped, but the devotion stayed. So much love and desire, the deep need to do anything to please his master despite it all. A fire burned hot inside Aaron watching him.
“Up.”
Spencer scrambled up, not even hesitant in his motions despite the looming threat of being kicked over for a fourth time, and looked up from his knees as if asking for permission for more. When he finally got on his feet, Aaron snapped into motion- he grabbed his neck and slammed him down onto the bed.
Aaron twisted one of his nipples and smirked at the scream that left his pretty lips. He had half a mind to stuff the pillowcase back down his throat, but then he wouldn’t be able to shove in his cock. Which he did after roughly turning him around on the bed, using harsh and unpleasant movements so his head was hanging off the side.
Spencer barely opened his mouth in a gasp when he rammed his cock inside and started fucking. He gripped Spencer's neck with one hand and squeezed tight, the other pinching at his nipple.
He kept thrusting deep down in his throat at a feverish rate, nearly jackhammering into him. Convulsions inside Spencer’s throat massaged at his cock and he tipped his head back, moaning. Spencer’s hands came up and swatted at his hand, gripped and pulled, but Aaron held his neck firm. “Stop fighting,” he barked. With the lack of oxygen, he let it slide.
Spencer’s face was quickly turning a deep red when he finally pulled out and allowed him some air. One wracked breath was all he got before he plunged back in and took him again. He repeated this over and over until renewed tears were streaming down the sides of his face and he started to shake.
In a swift motion, Aaron grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked him up, then slammed him down, positioning him on his elbows and knees. He climbed on top of him and spit on his cock, wiped his hand on Spencer's ass, and fucked it. There was some resistance as he pushed in but he powered through it; Spencer would take the burn. He deserved it. He wouldn’t need the prep if he was a good boy that got fucked on the regular, but he wasn’t.
He was a bratty little shit with ideas too big for his own head. He bottomed out in Spencer’s ass and pulled back, fucking him at a fast pace. If he wasn’t a bad boy who broke the rules he would treat him better.
All he needed to do was be a good boy.
Unfortunately for him, Aaron needed him to learn his lesson. He pushed his face into the bed and twisted one arm behind his back like the criminals he used to chase.
He kept going, faster, harder, deeper. Spencer screamed into the hand that was covering his mouth.
“You deserve this. Bad. Fucking. Boy,” he rasped in tune with his thrusts.
He lowered down and pressed his lips against Spencer’s ear. “You made me do this. You never behave. You’re a bad toy and I should throw you away and replace you with someone better.”
Spencer gasped, finally breaking orders to scream, “No!”
“Ah, ah,” Aaron tutted. “See? You don’t listen.”
Spencer bit his lip and closed his eyes looking like he was on the verge of tears yet again. Aaron could tell he was trying so hard to shut his mouth instead of unleashing a litany of apologies.
He slammed his cock into him and slapped his face. “A good boy keeps his mouth shut when I tell him to.”
Spencer’s brows tipped up in desperation and regret. He didn’t make a peep.
Aaron spit on his dick and fucked harder into Spencer’s ass, pushing him up and down on the bed with each powerful thrust. He slapped his cheek over and over until it was red and throbbing.
“Touch yourself.”
For a split second, Spencer hesitated, eyes darting up in disbelief before he wrapped his hand around his cock and started stroking.
“Atta boy,” Aaron said. “You’re close already, aren’t you?”
Spencer nodded his head.
“Tighter.” Aaron kept fucking in and out as he hovered over top. “Don’t stop, little whore.”
Spencer’s cock throbbed so bad that precum slid down his tip and he whined with need. “Please, Master…”
“Cum and I’ll spank you until your bottom is red, raw, and bleeding.”
But he didn’t cum despite how incredibly difficult it must have been to hold it back- the want, the need, the pounding ache inside threatening to take over. Aaron pumped his cock inside him so deep, filling him, spreading him, and making him go crazy just like he always did. Spencer loved cumming on his cock.
He was so close. Any second, Aaron could tell, and he looked terrified.
“Good slut,” he murmured. “Hands off.”
Spencer immediately withdrew his hand and Aaron slipped out of him for a moment to grab something across the room in his suitcase.
“Don’t move,” he instructed. He flipped him over onto his back and placed a metal cage on his belly, then went to grab the complimentary bucket of ice on the desk.
He got back on top of Spencer, straddling him, pinning him, looking down at him with disdain. “Look at that pretty little cock,” he said. “Too bad you won’t be using it for a long, long time.”
Spencer screamed when he shoved an ice cube up inside him and he struggled, kicking and thrashing against the cold. Aaron pushed another one in and savored his cries. He slid another down his little cock. Spencer was fisting the bedsheets obediently, not daring to touch or swat. His chest felt warm and tight while he watched his toy take his punishment so well; just the right amount of pain, resistance, and submission.
Water leaked from his ass and Aaron shoved another cube inside. He pressed two more to each of his nipples until they puckered up and hardened, then slid them down to his belly and focused on his cock again- Spencer was gradually losing his erection and from the tortured look on his face he could tell it wasn’t easy.
But Aaron didn’t care if it was easy. Hell, he wanted it to be as agonizing as possible. Next time he would think twice about his actions. Start thinking like a good boy, even. Only once he was completely broken would he be a good boy.
The perfect little cockslut.
Aaron thought he’d broken him before, but Spencer was resilient. He was holding on to his last shreds of dignity and defiance with everything he had.
He stuck a lubed up finger up Spencer’s ass and watched him cry. It was freezing cold, and he fucked his finger into the ice cubes inside, moving them around. On the bed, Spencer’s knuckles were white and his eyes were red with tears streaming down, but he was looking up at him with fierce devotion. He was taking it.
“Look how soft you’ve gotten,”Aaon teased as he poked his flaccid cock. “Don’t like cold, Sweetheart?” He picked up the metal cockcage he bought earlier that day and fastened it around him. “We’ll have to lock you up until you learn some manners.”
Spencer whimpered and his eyes trailed down to his caged cock. Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Don’t cry, my little whore.” Aaron picked up another metal piece. “We’re not done yet.”
Spencer’s eyes slid back up to him and he smirked, brazenly asserting his will. He pinched Spencer’s cock through the cage to keep it steady and inserted a metal rod into place inside his cock. He clicked the ending into the spot that was made for it on the cage, and tapped on it for good measure.
Seeing the shiver run up Spencer’s body was a bonus. “No more cumming until you prove you’re capable of listening. That means no more outbursts, no more talking back, and no more thinking you know best.”
Spencer nodded.
“Who knows what’s best for you, Sweetheart? Speak.”
Spencer swallowed. “Y-You do, Master.”
“No thinking, just listening and obeying.”
“Yes, Master.”
Aaron hummed and tapped on the metal of Spencer’s cage. Ice cold water was still leaking out from inside him. Aaron steadied himself for a moment, lubed himself up, and pushed his cock inside, forcing himself past the uncomfortable sensation of the ice; he wanted Spencer to feel himself getting fucked like this, so he pushed through, picked up the pace, and jackhammered into him.
After a minute or two, he pulled out to the pretty pain etched on Spencer's face and groaned in pleasure. His hole was red, wet, and throbbing. Aaron gripped his cock and stroked himself over Spencer's body; he could feel his orgasm fast approaching.
He gripped at Spencer’s thigh and pressed his thumb into the softer inner skin. “You’re sorry, hm? Little cock slut.” Aaron wouldn’t give him the pleasure of knowing how pleased he was to see the words written on his thighs. I’M SORRY. COCKSLUT. As true and earnest as they were, as much as they highlighted his guilt, his penance, his submission- they didn’t stop him from doing what he did, did they? He still broke every rule and then some when he decided to be an entitled little brat.
“Sorry, isn't helping you now, is it, Love?” Aaron teased. “Stupid fucking brat. You’ll learn.”
He squeezed the base of his cock and came on Spencer’s chest and face. He groaned with an intense satisfaction as he covered him in cum, watched as thick ropes of it slid down his cheeks, his forehead, over his eyes. “Fuck, Darling.”
Spencer’s eyes perked at the learned promise of sweetness returning after he came; Aaron always made sure to baby him after he used him. “Oh, no. It’s not over yet.” And when it was, there wouldn’t be any cuddling.
He slapped Spencer across the face- tears, cum, and all, and it sent a sharp stinging clap into the silence of the hotel room. Aaron stood up, grabbed Spencer's hair, and dragged him off the bed onto shaky legs, nearly supporting his limp weight in his grip, and pushed him to the floor.
“Go kneel in the corner,” he said. Right as Spencer was trying to get to his feet, Aaron kicked him back to the floor. “Did I say you could stand up? Crawl.”
He watched the submission wash over his face as plain as day as he wordlessly crawled to the corner and got to his knees, hands behind his back like he was used to.
Aaron grabbed his wallet from the dresser and took out two quarters. “Lift up your knee,” he said. “You’re not to move a muscle.” He placed one under each of Spencer’s knees and turned off the light. “If you’re not in that position when I come back in the morning, there will be consequences.”
Notes:
Thanks to BluePenguinLightning and Brillianthijinx for beta'ing this chap!
Thanks for reading! ❤️
ALSO! There is a Dark Fic Exchange going on that I'm so excited about! Sign ups are until Oct. 1 and then you will have until the 31st to write a 500word+ fic for the prompt/user you got assigned to. I think it's such a great way to get some dark and spooky fics out there, which you all know I'm a huge fan of. XD
Chapter 50: Going Home
Summary:
In the last chapter, Hotch took Spencer back to a hotel and punished all night. He left him in the corner kneeling on quarters to stay there all night long thinking about his mistakes.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
How long had it been since Master left him kneeling in the corner…? Hours, days, weeks? It felt like an eternity.
It felt like no time at all the way the sun refused to rise. That was the only chance he had at gauging the time, and he was in complete darkness
The quarters burned into his knees at first. A sharp, acute pain. Blades, needles, knives. Ow, ow, ow. After a while it faded to a dull throbbing and after that it just became numb. Ice leaked from his numb asshole as well, sending shivers up his spine and goosebumps erupting over his skin head to toe. No way in hell was he going to mess up this time around. Now way was he going to mess up the punishment that Master gave him after being a bad boy for long.
All he wanted was to be good.
He was finally back with Hotch; he wasn't going to mess it up. Master punished him for everything he did wrong. They could start with a clean slate! Master knew every little bad thing he ever did and he still found the mercy to forgive him. Warts and all, Master still wanted to train him into his perfect boy. That’s what acceptance feels like.
He truly didn’t deserve Master. After everything Hotch went through, all his accomplishments and all his hardships, how incredibly smart he was- Spencer didn’t see what he saw in him. Sure, he could accurately recite a book he read cover to cover three years ago, but what did that matter, where was the thinking in that, the critical thinking? He was a walking, talking encyclopedia. He never thought. He never thought.
He wasn’t thinking when he slept with Ollie after knowing him only a month, nor was he thinking when he told Gideon, or when he, uh, kidnapped Jack…
Dear god, he was such an idiot. It was a miracle that Hotch didn’t call the cops on him and send him away for a long, long time. Master was so good at forgiveness, and all he needed to do was prove his loyalty and dedication by taking his punishments. He wouldn’t cheat like last time. He would crack his knees wide open than take the easy way out.
If there was one thing he learned with Master, it was that what they had wasn't about ease and comfort. It was about suffering for the one you love. Bearing your entire being to them, and trusting them to keep it safe.
Spencer ground his teeth together and thought about what their relationship meant to him to keep his focus pure and he endured the pain that he deserved. Come morning, he would feel absolved.
Eventually, light streamed in through the curtains and Hotch wasn’t too far behind, coming in through the door silently.
“Good slut,” he said. “Come on, get up.”
Spencer felt so stiff when he tried to move, and ended up falling to the side with gasp. Master held out his hand, and he took it. When he was on his feet, Master was looking down and the quarters were still sticking to his knees, nearly embedded in them.
He squatted down and pried them off, then kissed each knee. Spencer’s heart soared.
He blushed furiously and looked away, but Master wouldn’t have that, and when he came back towering over him he tipped up his chin and kissed his lips.
“I didn’t think you had it in you.”
And his heart sank.
“Get dressed and meet me in the hall in ten minutes. We’re catching a flight home, and then I’ll figure out what I’m going to do with you.”
Spencer nodded his head. “Yes, Master.”
“And call me Aaron in front of Jack. If he hears you call me Master, there will be severe consequences, understood?”
“Yes, Master.”
Spencer slipped into the clothes from yesterday that Hotch left on his bed. He must have washed them overnight because they were folded neatly and smelled like pine.
Jack was bouncing off the walls again when he came running out of Hotch’s room. They were driven to the airport with a quick stop at McDonalds, then waiting at the terminal for boarding. Hotch largely ignored him while they sat there with Jack running circles around the bench.
When they were called in, Jack took his hand and pulled him forward with Hotch trailing behind. Jack wanted to sit by the window and Hotch insisted on sitting in the middle, which left Spencer with the aisle seat. He catalogued every word the stewardess said as she explained emergency precautions, and his head started to spin with statistics on airplane fatalities, because they were surprisingly high and did everyone in the plane even know the percent chance of a rudder breaking, or the fact that there are five essential parts within them, all of which if damaged would lead to major mechanical failure and possible crash or emergency landing, because it was not in their favor, and if the last few decades had anything to say about it, then they were definitely going to crash and burn in a high speed fiery ball of steel and—
“Spencer, take a deep breath,” Hotch said.
He fidgeted in his seat, took a deep breath, and whispered, “I’ve never been on an airplane before.”
“You’re going to be fine, I promise.” Hotch reached over to Spencer’s lap and laced their hand together, squeezing tight. “I’m right here.”
"I'm scared." Spencer felt hot tears pricking at his eyes but blinked them away fast; he needed to keep his composure. He didn’t feel like he could manage a thank you without sounding choked up, so he pressed his lips together and nodded his head, squeezing Hotch’s hand back.
The engine gave a kick and he gasped; the plane was rolling forward and gaining speed. The pilot was overhead informing them of takeoff. The sides of the plane rumbled with the force of the wind.
With a heart dropping shake, the wheels were off the ground, and tears were streaming down his face. When did he start crying?
Hotch wiped his tears and whispered to him. He couldn’t focus on what he was saying, but the sound of it was comforting. Eventually the plane leveled out and they were soaring steadily through the air, which eased his fear enough to let go of the armrest that he was gripping with white knuckles, and Hotch’s hand that he was probably cutting off the circulation to.
Six hours to go. Hotch made him count to ten thousand forward and backward in his head for an hour straight until he got so sleepy that he fell asleep, only waking up as the plane was descending. Hotch’s hand was still in his own, only it was the other hand, and his arm was around his shoulder so that his head was slightly resting against his chest.
“M’sorry,” he mumbled, still sleepy.
“Squeeze my hand,” Hotch whispered. “There’s going to be some turbulence on the descent.”
“I fell asleep—”
“Shhh, be quiet. Hold my hand. You were tired, you needed the rest.”
Spencer nodded, squeezing his hand tight as the plane shook with the force of the wind against it, but he didn’t cry, not even when the bump of the wheels against the tarmac nearly lifted him off the seat.
Jack cheered when the plane came to a stop, babbling about how cool the cars looked from way up high, like little ants, and the trees, lakes, and mountains, and all of it.
Leaving the airport was quick since none of them had any baggage, and they were in a taxi shortly thereafter driving home. Jack was dropped off at Jessica’s, and he gave Spencer a big hug, telling him he had so much fun. He returned the sentiment even with Hotch’s eyes drilling holes into the back of his head, and when the door shut, the mood in the taxi turned.
Hotch gave the address for his house, and didn’t spare him a single glance until they arrived. He waited by the front door for Hotch to come unlock it and stripped down to his briefs once it was shut behind him.
“At least you still have some manners,” Hotch said.
Spencer looked up from where he was kneeling, and crawled after his Master into the living room. He lifted him up over the arm of the sofa with his ass up in the air and came back with a paddle, which he smacked him with, 25 strikes each cheek.
The sting was breathtaking, his movements rough and consistent as the paddle kept coming down again and again in quick succession, not allowing any time for him to recover. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched, and his cockcage was digging painfully into him the way it was squished against the couch. “Thank you for punishing me, Master,” he whimpered when the spanks stopped. “Thank you for teaching me a lesson.”
The desperate, pained noises slowed down until he was panting silently, waiting. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck and Hotch’s thumb swiped it against his skin. “I hate to punish you, sweetheart. You know I only want what’s best for you. Are you going to be a good boy from now on?”
“Y-Yes, Master.” His voice quivered.
“Go kneel in the corner while I make you lunch.”
“Yes, Master,” said Spencer. “Thank you.”
Some forty five minutes later, Hotch beckoned him into the kitchen and set his plate on the floor. He had to wait there staring it as Hotch finished his own food, and then was allowed to eat. Afterwards, Master had him clean the house top to bottom. Everything from scrubbing the showers to dusting the ceiling fans, he made sure everything was sparkling clean. It was late afternoon when he tiptoed to the door of Master’s study and peeked in to see him working at his desk with a hard expression.
Focused eyes, straight back, forehead creased, he looked like the picture of authority. He looked like the man that he hated all that time ago, the way he first saw him in class with his pressed suit and clean cut hair, only now it looked so… sexy.
Back then he had no idea what lay below the surface. Master wasn’t some cookie cutter bureaucrat, a boring government drone. He was passionate and powerful. He was the only one who could set his heart on fire, make him feel like he was drowning in emotion. The only one who knew the real him.
“Excuse me, Master?” he whispered.
Hotch looked up. “Yes, Sweetheart?”
“I finished cleaning. Is there anything else I can do?”
“Come here,” he said, motioning him in, but giving him a warning look. “Hands and knees, darling.”
Spencer wouldn’t have forgotten, but he blushed red and dropped down without arguing. When he was at Master’s feet he sat back with his arms behind him and looked up expectantly.
“There’s one more thing. Stand up and sit on my desk.” Hotch cleared a few papers and helped him up. Hotch was looking up at him from the chair, and Spencer blushed again at the angle. He wasn’t often above him.
Hotch hooked his fingers under the waistband of his boxers and shimmied them down so he was left completely naked. He rubbed both of his nipples until they stiffened and said, “I’m taking away your necklace.”
Spencer gasped. No!
“Sit still.” Hotch reached around and unlatched it; Spencer started crying. He put it in a desk drawer and locked it away, but grabbed something else from the drawer. “You’re going to wear a collar until you earn it back. When I trust you enough, you can have it.”
Spencer nodded his head, and Hotch wiped the tears off his neck before placing the collar around it. It was a thick leather collar, all black except for the silver hoop hanging off the front, and the small lock in the back.
“Do you like it, sweetheart?”
“Yes, Master, I do,” he whispered. “I will prove myself to you, I promise.”
“Yes, you will. Now…” Hotch pinched his nipples again, then slid his hands down his stomach and toyed with his cage. There wasn’t much that needed to be said about his cock; he wouldn’t be using it for a while, that much was abundantly clear. “Under the desk. Use your mouth, I have some work to finish.”
“Yes, Master, thank you.'' Spencer climbed down, kneeling between Hotch’s knees in the dark confines of the desk and unzipped him with his teeth. He nudged out his cock with his mouth and wrapped his lips around it. He knew exactly what to do, because Spencer knew everything that Master liked. It was wet and slow, pushing against the back of his throat. When he had a long time to suck, Master liked it languid. He took his time pushing his cock down his throat, deepthroating himself over and over, swallowing around it and swirling his tongue as he brought it out. He sucked at the tip and massaged it with his tongue. He moved his attention to his balls and licked, sucked, pressed his face into them as he slobbered. Gently, he sucked Hotch’s ball into his mouth and popped it back out, repeating that several times and going back to give more attention back to his cock, which was throbbing and leaking. He took it deep down his throat and kept it there for as long as he could manage, each time coming off of it gasping for breath, spit running down his face and hanging off Master's cock.
His own cock kept getting hard in its cage, but every time his boner grew enough, it pressed up against the metal bars and the pain made it soften again. He must have had at least five erections while he was throating. Master’s precum was salty and bitter on his tongue, so delicious, and he moaned around his tip. Above him on the desk, Master was moving things around, and then he wheeled his chair back- Spencer had to quickly crawl forward, trying desperately to keep his cock in his mouth.
“Almost done,” he said. “Sit back, open your mouth, tongue out.”
Spencer did as he was told, his hands on his thighs as he waited. Hotch gripped is cock and finished himself off, spurting thick, hot ropes of cum all over his face. It was the most amazing feeling when Master gave him a facial; he felt so utterly possessed, like Master was marking his territory. Not to mention how much he always came; there was so much of it. Spencer never managed to cum that much in his life, but Master always left his face dripping. Cum was splattered in his hair, on his forehead, over his nose and eyes, his cheeks, his lips, in his mouth and on his tongue, everywhere.
Waiting patiently, he kept his pose, mouth open, dripping cum off his tongue until he was given permission to lick himself up. He could do this. He could be good from now on.
“Good boy, Spencer.”
Notes:
Thanks for reading, and thanks for sticking around! Next update will be quicker than the last- I didn't mean for a month to pass but I opened my eyes and it was November?!
❤️
Chapter 51: Not yet
Summary:
In the last chapter Hotch took Spencer home, punished him more, and used him like a little slut.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ethan’s voice was bewildered. “What do you mean he went to Las Vegas? He didn’t even say goodbye.”
“Spencer is taking some time to get away from the situation he was in,” Gideon said. “That’s what you wanted for him, wasn’t it? He needs the distance right now. I’m taking care of everything else on this end for him with his advisor and counselor.”
Ethan stalled, looking conflicted. “...He’s okay?”
Gideon nodded slowly. “He’s doing much better now. He asked me not to share too many details, but he’s fine and he’ll return when everything settles.”
“But who was it?” Elle piped in. “Who gave him those bruises?”
Gideon leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together in his lap, face blank. “He asked me not to disclose that.”
“They should be in jail! Don’t you have a duty to report abuse?” Ethan barked with his finger shooting out in front of him, pointing at Gideon with accusation.
“You can’t force someone to file charges. Spencer isn’t in any danger.”
“What about when he comes back? What happens then? He could go right back to this person,” Elle said.
“Yeah, that’s right! Who’s to say he won’t start right up again? Spencer’s not going to say no. He’s head over heels for this fucking asshole, whoever he is.”
“I have it under control,” Gideon deadpanned. “Your friend is safe. Go focus on your own studies.”
“Can you atleast tell him to call me? I don’t know his mom’s number and he broke his phone.”
“I can pass on the message, but he doesn’t want to talk to you. Any of you, or your friends,” he said, extending his gaze over to Elle.
“This is ridiculous,” Ethan huffed out. He pulled Elle from Gideon’s office and down the hall and out the front entrance. “What are we gonna do?”
“I don’t know, he doesn’t want us to push it. Maybe we should respect the fact that he doesn’t want us poking in the details. I mean, he was… assaulted... I don’t...” she stuttered. “I don’t know, do you really think he’s handling this? He didn’t want anyone involved to begin with, maybe we shouldn’t stick our noses in this anymore? What would we even do if we found out who? He doesn’t want the cops involved. I mean we got him out of there, maybe we should just let him take his time healing, you know…”
“No. We have to find out who did this to him. I don’t know what I'm going to do to that bastard when I find out, but he’s going to wish he never laid eyes on my friend,” he hissed.
“But Professor Gideon said—”
“Screw him. Screw all this fucking bullshit. And Spencer. He doesn’t know what he needs.”
. . .
In the bedroom, Spencer watched from his knees in the doorway as Hotch got up from bed, eye following, body not moving an inch. The only time he was allowed to wear clothes was early in the morning on their jog, and lately even that was starting to feel forigen. Two weeks passed since Master brought him home and explained that he wasn’t going back to his apartment, that he wasn’t permitted.
Master paid for it after all... he could take it back, Spencer supposed, and the prospect of being allowed to live with him at his home was so much better than having an apartment anyway; living with him wouldn’t have even been one of his wildest dreams back when they first started seeing each other!
Spencer cooked breakfast after the jog; he got much better at cooking with his lessons everyday, and soon enough he was able to serve Master his meals like god boy.
The coming of the new semester came and went without Spencer even asking if he could sign up for classes. Master would have enrolled him if he wanted to, but he didn’t mention anything. He just earned his phD after all so he felt okay taking some time off and the University would have no problems with him taking back after a leave of absence, he was sure of it; Universities all around the country were constantly trying to recruit him.
“Spencer, come in here,” Master called from the laundry room upstairs.
He put down the plate he was drying and got down on his hands and knees automatically to attend to him. His heart was thumping when he kneeled in the doorway waiting to be spoken to.
“Do you know why I called you in here?”
“No, Master,” Spencer replied, because while he could only assume he messed up as was his disposition, he didn’t know what exactly he did wrong.
“These have been done for over an hour,” he said. Spencer looked up to see Master holding a button up shirt in front of him full of wrinkles. “Why didn’t you hang these up?”
“I’m sorry, Sir!” He was so busy focusing on other tasks that it slipped his mind.
Master was looking at him with those cold eyes, the same ones that appeared after… the incident. He was scared of those eyes. “Why can’t you do anything right?”
“I’ll iron them! I’m sorry!” Spencer tipped his head in an act of submission, his shoulders folding like a house of cards.
“Yes, you will. Get up and lean over the dryer.”
Spencer whimpered, wanting to argue, wanting to say no, that the dryer was going to be so cold against his bare skin, or that it would be so embarrassing as his cock cage clinked against it, metal on metal, but he learned not to object by now. If he objected, it would only make his punishment more severe, and he didn’t want a repeat of this first week together when he turned getting ten spanks into 100 with the paddle and writing I will not talk back to my Master 100 times in his punishment journal.
He bent over the dryer. His cheeks were burning red with embarrassment and he folded his arms behind his back like he was taught.
“On your tiptoes,” Hotch instructed, and he obeyed.
Smack. Clink.
No! he whimpered as his cage hit against the metal but kept his mouth shut. Why did the sound of his cage make his stomach drop everytime? The sheer humiliation of it, the utter control, the reminder that he was an insolent little brat?
“One, Master.”
Smack. Clink.
“Two, Master.”
Smack, clink, smack, clink, smack, clink...
When he finally took his spanking his ass was stinging and he was melting against the dryer in shame. Everytime he took his punishment, he came out on the other side feeling a lightness in his chest as if he could float away. Mind blank, body on fire. No thinking, just feeling. Listening for Master’s directions.
“Thirty five, Master. I’m sorry I left the clothes in the dryer, I’ll do better next time, I promise.”
“And?” Master said.
“And thank you for teaching me a lesson.”
“There you go. Iron these and then I want 50 lines of ‘I will pay more attention to my chores’.”
Spencer waited until Hotch left the room before he peeled himself off the dryer and got to work taking the ironing board out of the closet. A little over a half hour later everything was hung up and folded away in their drawers, his own things in the drawers that Master cleared out just for him.
In his notebook downstairs, he wrote his lines again and again until he reached 50 and his hand was aching, I will pay more attention to my chores swimming his mind on loop, and he resumed washing the dishes he left off on before he was called up for his punishment.
Living with Master was a lot more work than he expected, much more than his fantasies used to be when he would think about them late at night wishing to touch himself. He thought it would be frenzied, kinky sex 24/7 but that wasn’t the case at at. Life didn’t just skip around to the highlights, and he was finding himself doing a lot of boring activities that had nothing to do with getting fucked up the ass.
And what was worse, the cage around his cock prevented him from staying aroused for any long period of time, so he was living in short, frustrated spurts of arousal all day. Any time that Master so much as looked in his direction his cock would harden to the point of teary eyed pain, and he’d deflate against the metal. The last time he came was before the cage, before the trip… if only he knew it would be the last time. He should have appreciated it more when he had the chance, but he couldn’t have known this would happen.
He flicked at the metal and swore under his breath, putting his finger in his mouth to ease the pain. He wanted it off. How long would it go on for, this never ending punishment? He would take hundreds of spanks with the paddle over this horrible denial any day of the week. Turn him black and blue, beat him until he couldn’t walk, but let him cum…
He crawled up to Master’s bedroom door and knocked softly on it, tender and mild mannered.
“Come in,” he said.
Spencer crawled inside and pressed his cheek up against the side of the bed as he knelt there, hands behind his back, waiting like a good boy. He knelt for twenty minutes while Master silently read a book until he couldn’t take it anymore, and he whimpered.
His eyes crept up to Master’s broad shoulders, his messy black hair hanging down the way it only did in the privacy of his own home. Master turned a page, and Spencer whimpered again. His face was burning, his cock pressing up against the metal, tears feeling like they weren't too far off. He was so desperate. All he wanted was for Master to slide that white shirt off his handsomely muscled chest and… and look at him. Just… look at him. Please.
“Is there something you wanted?” Hotch turned the page and paused.
“Yes, Master,” Spencer whispered. “The cage…”
“Mh, you want to cum, is that it?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Perhaps you should have thought about that before you were such a bad boy. Unfortunately for you, there were consequences to your actions.”
“B-But…”
“You might want to think about what you’re going to say very carefully before you finish that, Spencer,” Hotch said, before he turned the page again.
Spencer fell silent and tried his hardest to let his tears fall without noise. He rubbed his eyes into the comforter and took deep breaths.
“Spence?”
He looked up and Hotch had his book shut in his lap. He was eyeing him carefully, but not yet smiling. He missed those.
“Yes, Master?”
“Don’t be a brat and cry about it.”
Spencer’s face flushed red with embarrassment and his fingers fidgeted restlessly behind his back, but he forced himself to keep Master’s gaze. He nodded his head.
Hotch trailed his eyes down Spencer’s neck, resting at his collar, and asked, “Who do you belong to?”
The reply was instantaneous, as basic as breathing. “You, Master. I’m yours.”
“Mine,” Hotch hummed. “That’s right. So you’re going to learn to like what it means to be my property. Everything it entails.”
“I’m so sorry, Master, I wasn’t thinking, I appreciate what you’re doing, I’m sorry.”
Hotch looked away and picked up his book again. “If you want to play with your hole, you may. Fuck your didlo against the wall.”
Spencer fell over trying to scramble over to the drawer beneath the bed where Master kept his toys. “Thank you, Master!” He grabbed his dildo and pressed the suction up against the wall then covered it in a generous amount of lube, turned around, and backed up against it until the tip was pressing against his hole.
He didn’t want to prep himself; he wanted to feel the burn. Every time he fucked himself open on the dildo it sent shivers up his spine thinking about the way Master would sometimes come up and take him where he stood, interrupt whatever he was doing and fuck him silly, no forplay, no nothing. Master using him like that was his favorite.
Master was reading his book again and it was clear that he wasn’t going to get an audience so he backed his ass up and pressed the dildo all the way inside. He kept his eyes on Hotch the entire time, blurry with tears of overstimulation, and he didn’t stop until he could feel his ass cheeks pressing against the wall.
Another page turned, he still wasn’t paying attention. Spencer wanted to throw a fit and scream look at me! but that wasn’t something a good boy would do. He just fucked his ass steadily while he watched his Master, letting soft, tortured moans out into the room. His cock was hard and squished, the prospect of cumming completely off the table, but the ache in his ass from being so full was enough to keep going, absolutely desperate for it.
The pleasure kept building and building, completely driving him mad yet so frustratingly unsatisfying. Sweat dripped down his forehead and his entire body was flushed pink with exertion as he continued to slide the dildo in and out of himself, fucking it and like it was Master’s cock and he wanted to please it.
All he ever wanted to do was please Master. He was completely at his mercy, naked and caged, down on all fours, and permanently collared just seeking his approval and he could hardly even get a glance every few minutes. The feeling of being so exposed yet ignored was making his chest burn and mind whirl with desperation until all he could do was vibrate with nerves.
Hotch got up from bed some time later, and Spencer’s eyes trailed him as he brushed his teeth in the bathroom and slid out of his sweats, his toned thighs bulging out beneath his boxers. A little bead of precum squeezed out of his cock and tickled him as it slowly dripped down and fell to the floor. He whimpered and whined, kept fucking his ass and watching Master, a little hope still alive that it might be the night that he was finally allowed to cum.
Hotch turned off the bedroom light and said, “When you’re finished being a pathetic slut, you may clean yourself up and go to bed.”
Silence fell in the room and he coudln’t help but fuck his ass a little bit longer, at least until Master fell asleep so that all chances of getting something more died for the night. He slid himself off with an aching, abused hole and cleaned everything up, put it away, and crawled into the corner where Master put the twin mattress from the guest room onto the floor. He wrapped the blankets around him and willed away the arousal coursing through his system. Maybe tomorrow.
Notes:
Thanks for readingggg!
Chapter 52: Who was it?
Summary:
In the last chapter Spencer acclimated to home life at Hotch's house where he spent a lot of time doing chores and trying to be a good boy. Hotch had him collared and caged and was focusing on training him to be more obedient.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Are you ready, Darling?”
“Yes Master, please,” Spencer breathed. He was never more ready for anything in his entire life than he was for this moment.
Two full months down to the day, Hotch finally took off the cage. Spencer’s cock flopped out, soft and free. He hardly remembered what it felt like not to have the weight of the cage hanging from him or the ever present chill of the metal against his skin.
“Thank you, Master. I promise I won’t touch myself or cum without your permission.”
“I know you won’t. You’ve been such a sweet, docile thing, haven’t you? You haven’t needed a punishment in weeks. I bet your little cock wants some attention, doesn’t it? It was locked away for a long time.”
“It does, Master,” Spencer whispered, ashamed, almost as if he hadn’t been dreaming about this moment for weeks on end. Every morning, every night. Every time Master fucked him, made him suck his fat cock to completion.
He whimpered pathetically. “Please touch it? Please let me cum, Sir?”
Hotch looked at him as if to appraise him, and the hint of a smile ghosted his lips. “You’ve been a good boy. Nice and patient for your Master.” Leaning forward, Hotch pinned him between his arms where he sat atop the table, legs spread and cock limp, empty cage sitting to the side. “You’ve gone so long without touching that pathetic little thing between your legs.”
“I don’t need it,” Spencer whispered and found that he meant it. “I don’t need to touch it. I only need what you give me, Master.”
“And here I thought that slutty little nature of yours would never be tamed. What is your body for then, sweetheart?”
“To please my Master,” Spencer said. “My body is for your pleasure, not my own.”
Hotch grinned, pressed his lips against Spencer’s cheek and whispered with a deep, low voice, “That’s absolutely right, sweetheart. I love the way your tight little holes grip around my cock so desperately, like they’re begging for it and can’t get enough. Always begging. Never satisfied.”
Spencer’s breath was caught in his throat.
“Do you want me to take you hard and fast, pin you down like a pathetic whore, and take what’s mine? I’m going to fuck you so hard you feel me for days and cry out my name at night when you wake up covered in sweat and lust.”
He slipped his finger in the loop of Spencer’s collar and tugged it gently, just enough for him to feel the pull of his ownership. “Hm? Isn’t that what you want, my little whore?”
“It’s what I want, Sir—" he gasped.
“You’ve been so good,” Hotch said with dark eyes. Territorial. He leaned in and bit at his ear lobe, lickslee at and kissed until gooseflesh erupted down Spencer’s back. He looked so pretty when he was flushed and undone, waiting for the next command. “My little fuckpet. So eager to please.”
“Yes, Master—"
“Spread your legs wider.”
Hotch stepped further in-between Spencer’s thighs, forcibly spreading them as wide as they were able and hiking them up, showcasing the tight, pink little asshole between them, still flushed and swollen from its last abuse. He was so tantalizingly beautiful.
“Play with your nipples,” he instructed as he squirted lube onto his hand and rubbed circles around Spencer's sensitive hole, at the same time taking out his own cock and stroking it. “Harder. Let me hear your moan, sweetheart.”
A wrecked breath left his throat the moment he squeezed his nipples harder, both hands working the little nubs in between his fingertips. He watched with hot, burning envy as Master pumped into his own fist over and over. When Master’s finger circled him another time he felt all control slip away and he moaned, whined, let out every desperate cry he had inside him.
His cock was standing at full attention, flushed, and bobbing against his stomach where a sticky line of precum dabbed against his abs. Throbbing, pulsing, filled with blood and achingly hard after its two month hiatus.
Still, Master was teasing. The finger was circling, circling, pressing but not enough to enter, and Spencer would never ever try to buck forward and suck in inside, no. He was patient. He was a good boy. He would hold out while Master played with his body the way he liked, never protesting.
Hotch withdrew his finger and replaced it with his cock, pumping inside with a swift motion, and thrusting almost frenzied, haphazard, like he was lost in the moment, driving blind on passion alone. True to his word, he fucked him hard, and if not for the extensive training Spencer would have cummed himself in an instant, but he held out like his life depended on it. Somehow sex with Master always felt like life and death; burning heat, fervor, frenzy, devotion. Love.
Eyes rolled back into his head, he let Hotch take his body, bouncing up and down with the motions as he was ravaged until-
Master grabbed his cock, spread his precum down, and masturbated him with a tight first. Tears pricked at his eyes within an instant, building up and falling down his cheeks; it was all too much.
“Good boy, good boy,” Hotch chanted into his ear in a deep, far away voice. “You cum when I say.”
Spencer let out a sob and clenched in an effort to hold himself back, but it only made the feeling so much better, his ass tighter, Master’s fist faster. “Please, Master—" he begged.
“Not yet,” Hotch rasped. “You’re being so good, such a good boy.”
Spencer’s toes curled as every part of him sang with overwhelming pleasure, and his orgasm crested right on the edge of fruition. Hotch’s thrusts stuttered and he all but growled against his ear, and Spencer knew he came inside. It was only a matter of time—almost there—Hotch’s hand was still masturbating him so beautifully.
“Fuck,” Hotch said softly. He pulled back and kissed Spencer on the lips, lingering for a moment, and whispering to them, “Does my good boy want to cum?”
Spencer shook his head so fast, tears going flying, and he cried out for it. Hotch thrusted inside him again, hand working tight and fast on his wet, engorged little cock, and said, “Cum for me” just as he pulled out his cock and withdrew his hand.
Spencer screamed in confusion- he came, cock pulsing, threads of cum splattering onto Master’s shirt, through a ruined orgasm. All in an instant he wanted to scream, cry, and pound his fists against the table, grab his cock and squeeze it tight as the rest of the orgasm blew through him. He didn’t; he felt cold air against his cock as it pushed out the last of his cum, deeply unsatisfying like an itch he couldn’t scratch, and he saw a flash of light as his head was lolled to the side, still trying to catch his breath and screw his head on right.
Looking up, Master was watching him with a smirk, waiting.
And Spencer did the only thing he could think to do, the only thing that felt truly right. “Thank you, Master,” he said through his tears. “Thank you so much.”
. . .
Ethan sat at his desk with a Windows Word Document opened up and three lonely things written on it: The fact that there was an unknown man, the letter ‘H’, and a phone number that didn’t register any search results online.
Was Spencer really out there in Nevada holed up with his mother, who didn’t even own a home? Without a phone? Without school?
Realistically, he could understand Spencer not calling; the guy hated cell phones and the fact that he had one at all was nothing short of a miracle after he refused for years. He could write, though. Spencer wrote a letter every single day. No doubt he would have reached out, that’s just the kind of person he was.
He would have written, Ethan was sure of it, if only to let him know he’s okay. Or yell at him, or something...
What did Gideon do? Where did he send him? Who was helping him?
There was no new information that he could think up from nothing, he just kept going in circles. Bringing up internet explorer, he searched the institute that Mrs. Reid lived in and dialed it up. As it was ringing, he called into the living room, “Elle? Can you come here? I’m being an idiot.”
She poked her head in and he set the phone to speaker. “Welcome to Bennington Sanitarium. If this is a doctor or hospital with an urgent matter trying to get in touch with the on call physician, please press 1. If this is a patient with a true medical emergency, please hang up and dial 911. All other calls please wait on the line,” it parroted.
Elle’s eyes went wide. “What are you doing?” she mouthed.
He looked back at her was a bewildered expression; he hardly knew himself.
“Good afternoon, this is Trisha. How can I assist you today?”
“Uh, hey, hi. My name is Ethan, I’m trying to get in touch with a patient, Diana Reid.”
“Hold on, please,” she said, and elevator music clicked on. “Okay, I see your name here on the call list, per the POA.”
“Right! Spencer! He’s the POA.” Ethan looked at Elle and whispered, “He put me on the list?”
Trisha clicked off the line and it connected to Spencer’s mom’s extension.
Diana’s voice filled the quiet dorm room. “….Hello? Who is this?”
“Hi, Mrs. Reid? Um, this is Ethan, Spencer’s friend.”
“Ethan… Ethan...” she murmured. There were sounds on papers rustling on her end. “Yes, he’s written about you, hold on. Yes.”
“I was wondering how he was doing?” He scratched at his neck.
“Spencer? He’s fine, just fine. He’s such a wonderful boy.”
“But he’s there with you, he’s visiting you? You’ve seen him?”
“Um…” Diana blew out breath slowly, like she was racking her memory.
“I just wanted to make sure he’s—"
“He was just here, yes,” she said. Ethan let his head drop and his shoulders sag with relief. Elle smiled at him and turned for the door right as Diana finished, “With that nice man. Handsome fellow.”
“A man? ...Who was it? What was his name? What did he look like?”
“You have an awful lot of questions, young man,” she said slowly. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Ethan, Mrs. Reid. Spencer’s best friend.”
“I don’t think Spencer knows an Ethan. Who are you really?”
“His best friend, I swear. He wrote about me in your letters.”
“How do you know about my letters?” she gasped.
“Mrs. Reid, please—"
“Goodbye!” She clicked off the line.
Elle was paused in the doorway looking at him with rapt attention. “Do you think he followed him there? No, right? Gideon would have found out.”
"Spencer's totally in love with him. They could be hiding it, or... it could have been anyone,” he said. “It could have been a doctor, a nurse, anyone…”
Elle crossed her hands over her chest and took a seat on Ethan’s bed. “I don’t think it was just anyone.”
Leaning back in his chair, Ethan let his head tip back and all the air whooshed out of his lungs. Just a few minutes ago he felt like there was possibility, the hope, that this could all be a big misunderstanding, that Spencer was holed up somewhere hiding away from the world, from his friends, from everything, maybe…
Now he was more sure than ever that something was going on beneath the surface. For months, months, Spencer was feeding him lie after lie. He just wasn’t the same person he was more than a year ago, he was dodgy, manipulative, evasive. He brushed every uneasy feeling under the rug, trying to give him space but he hit his limit. He was going to track down his best friend if it took everything he had.
“No, I don’t either. We should call everyone, Emily, Penelope, JJ... we're going to need all the help we can get.”
Notes:
Thanks for reading lmao
Chapter 53: HOTCH
Summary:
In the last chapter, Spencer fell into routine living with Hotch while Ethan got his first lead in tracking down Spencer when he called up his mom at Bennington's
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Things got a little better. After a brief period of adjustment wherein Spencer fumbled around trying to adhere to the rules laid out for him, he started to get the hang of submission.
Aaron knew he could do it, knew it from the moment he laid eyes on him how sweet he could be with a little nudge in the right direction. Once Spencer could go a week straight without any slip-ups, he started giving him a little leeway; a good boy deserves some after all. Spencer fell asleep curled up in his lap one night, permission not given, and Aaron draped a blanket over him, stroking his hair and letting him rest.
It was never quiet in the house anymore. That was arguably the best part about having Spencer live with him full time: no more aching silences that cut deep to his core, extending from weekend to weekend, just the empty house and him.
Now there was always something; the sink running, laundry spinning, books being moved in the study. Domestic chatter ringing throughout the house. On Saturdays, Jack visited. Spencer read in the study, locked, without a single complaint. Sometimes gagged, other times not. Sometimes locked inside the crate that he bought for him, just big enough to sit up inside comfortably.
Aaron was surprised at how well Spencer responded to the cage. There would be days he would find him already inside having finished his chores or unsure what to be doing. The sheer submission of that simple act would drive him wild. After he took him—sometimes in bed, other times against the desk or on the study floor when he couldn’t find it in himself to wait—there would be something more, a fondness creeping in.
The same fondness that made him want to pull Spencer close and kiss his cheeks, telling him that he was loved, that Daddy was never going to let him go. It wasn’t Spencer’s fault, everything that happened over the past year, not exactly, from the explosive emotions to the rash decisions. He wasn’t out of the game long enough to miss the profile. The lonely, love-starved young man willing to do anything for his attention. Lying, cheating, stealing. Practically screaming from the rooftops in a desperate attempt to be noticed.
Growing up, he was never like that. A drunk father, sure, but a loving mother and a baby brother that looked up to him like he hung the moon and stars, Aaron never had to look too far for attention. Haley not too long after, sticking by his side through thick and thin, and thicker, and thicker, and thicker, even when he didn’t deserve it, when he put her second and trusted she would stay.
But one day he woke up and everything was gone. Parents long passed, baby brother that wouldn’t take his calls, ex-wife murdered in his mess, a child the courts didn’t allow him to raise.
He could understand clawing his way to what he wanted, fighting tooth and nail, fighting messy, fighting hard. Spencer was a little fighter, it was something he liked about him. It made training him enjoyable, to watch that defiant spirit be molded into something different, a determined loyalty, a drive to be perfect the way he was taught.
Aaron looked for Spencer down in his empty cage. “Sweetheart?”
Footsteps pattering, and Spencer’s face peeked at the edge of the door. “Yes, Master?”
“Come here, Darling. Daddy wants to talk to you.”
He would never tire of the way his face lit up upon hearing that. So much power in a single word. If he reached out, he was sure he would feel the butterfly of his pulse fluttering in his wrist. He laid Spencer’s head on his shoulder and wrapped his arms around him tightly, kissing his head. “Are you my good boy?”
Against his shoulder, Spencer nodded. “Yes, Daddy, I am.”
“You know I love you, Sweetheart. You are my entire heart.” He surprised even himself. “I don’t know what I'd do without you.”
“Neither do I, Daddy,” Spencer breathed.
“We’re coming up on an anniversary, you and I,” Aaron said, and Spencer whimpered, speechless. Something about the way he clung so heavily, every breath on his neck almost electric with emotion, Aaron felt paralyzed underneath him.
. . .
On campus, Ethan breathed on Penny’s shoulder while he watched her work. Weeks of squirming through back doors, and she finally managed to hack into the security system at Bennington’s without leaving a trace.
A fist slammed down on the desk. “There he is!”
Elle got up from the couch, peering at the screen. “Who?
“Let me see if I can get a better angle…” Penny murmured.
“Can you zoom in? Fix it, make it less blurry,” Ethan rushed out, red cheeked and pulse rising. “C’mon!”
“Sweetie, I can’t just make the resolution better.”
“Yes, you can! Do some of your computer tricks!” As hard as he tried, however, he couldn't make Penny magically fix the image, something about the type of the cameras used.
Frustrated and disheartened, the only good image they could find was so pixelated you could hardly even tell if it was human, the only distinguishing factor being the timing of the incident.
In all honesty, Ethan wasn’t sure if the figure on the camera was the man they were looking for at all or just another visitor. He’d hoped there would be more clarity if they found surveillance, that they would see someone recognizable and have everything fall into place... but no.
“Alright, this was obviously a bust. Let’s think of something else.”
. . .
Spencer panted, body spent. Completely fucked out. Master was wiping cum from between his cheeks and placing a kiss on each one. They just had some of the most amazing sex yet, full of Daddy and sweet promises, cumming, praises, and achey stretched holes.
Daddy was present now more than ever, cuddling him almost every night. It was a dream come true. It was more loving than he’d ever had, completely surpassing anything from before. Now, Daddy loved him. He loved him and it showed.
He looked down at his hips, tracing the marker on his right side, just underneath the hip bone, DADDY’S BOY.
Master caught him staring when he walked back in the room, gave him a sly smile and a light slap on the outer thigh. “Are you enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” He sat down on the bed beside him.
Spencer blushed, bringing his eyes up to meet his. “Yes, Daddy. So, so much.”
“Put your head on my lap, there you go,” he said, and ran his fingers through Spencer’s hair as he watched his eyes slip closed. “Would you like me to continue where we left off in The Narrative of John Smith?” Aaron grabbed a book on the bedside table and opened it with one hand, not waiting for a reply.
“Mmmh,” he hummed.
Aaron read until he could feel steady breathing and quiet snoring in his lap, then moved to silently turn off the light and slip into bed. He gathered Spencer against him, pulled the covers over their tangled bodies, and pressed a kiss on his forehead.
It was moments like those Aaron felt a complicated sense of regret, wherein he wished that he and Spencer could have met under different circumstances. Any other circumstances.
He imagined a young new professor, certainly too young to be in such a prestigious position, meeting his eyes across the hall. Asking his name, and introducing himself as his colleague. Hired right out of school, he would say, the very same one they were at. He would be teaching high-level mathematics, engineering, and chemistry. He’d be pushing the entire sciences department to an early retirement. Aaron would start buying two cups of coffee every morning instead of one, waiting outside his classroom and acting as if he’d just arrived.
He imagined attending a conference only to find a scrawny young man on stage as the main speaker. Everyone in the audience would be whispering, but he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off him. He’d listen to every shaky word, every pause and hesitation. He would wait outside the auditorium until everyone left, catch him off guard and offer his business card. He wouldn’t give any pretense of business, any collaboration he wanted to do together, just an earnest request for a call next time he was in town.
He imagined a bright eyed young agent, still wet behind the ears from the academy, shaking his hand for the first time as he welcomed him onto his team, years and years of experience and memories ahead of them.
But he made his bed and lied in it. Spencer was, by all accounts, his dirty secret. Perhaps when enough time passed, years down the road when university and Spencer’s friends were long gone, they could start to have something real. He could take him out to dinner without driving an hour away. He could let him come and go from the house as he pleased without wondering whether or not he was off fucking another man.
Pulling Spencer’s warm body closer to his chest, he nuzzled against the back of his neck and closed his eyes, happy.
Months rolled by. Spencer was starting to tentatively ask about re-enrolling in university, but Aaron wasn’t ready to let him back on campus. The time they shared together was peaceful, secluded, and untouched outside influences. He preferred it that way, enjoying how Spencer came to rely on him for everything. From the food he ate to the clothes he wore and the books he read. Everything went through him first.
He enrolled Spencer in online courses so he could complete his work from the comfort of home. They would work together in the office, Spencer working diligently at the desk he bought him so long ago.
When he was finished for the day, Aaron would have him crawl inside his cage, complete his chores, or have him on his knees sucking cock like a desperate whore.
And he sucked so well. His gag reflex was nearly nonexistent those days. Aaron could have him tongue out, throat relaxed, and press his cock all the way in, fucking it without Spencer even making a sound beyond a moan. He was becoming talented in many ways, Aaron thought. He could ride cock just the way he liked it, his thighs now strong when they used to quiver and give out, he could bend his knees all the way back to his chest, spread wide, and keep them there without complaints. Spanking his ass redraw with bruises, Spencer would only give his thanks and ask for more.
He would let himself be edged once, twice, ten, fifteen, twenty times, not cumming at all, or cumming on command. He could go from soft to spurting on his belly with a simple command.
Spencer was happy, he was happy. It was everything he could hope for.
. . .
“Are you guys there?”
“Yeah, hey Ethan! Will’s here, he’s just getting his laptop, hold on.”
“Hey, JJ,” Elle said. “You’re on speakerphone.”
JJ paused. “Is Penny joining the call too?”
“She’s in class. She’ll be on later if she can make it,” Ethan said, leaning back against the couch from his spot on the floor.
“Alright. And oh, here’s Emily. Hey, Em,” JJ said with an obvious smile.
“Perfect. Oliver’s joining the call too once he gets out of his conference,” Elle chimed in. “He’s down in D.C. for the weekend.”
“Baltimore, but close enough,” Ethan corrected.
“So, we’re finally doing this, huh?” Emily got up close and personal with the microphone. “Really trying to figure this out? Spencer wouldn’t like it, I can tell you that much. But everything else has fallen through so we might as well go all in, right? What do we have?”
“I’ve been trying,” Ethan huffed, then sighed. “Almost nothing. But we’ll figure it out. If we get everyone’s head together. They discovered magnets with only two paper clips and a wad of gum. If one person can do that, then we can figure this out. It’s not rocket science. Spencer is smart, and he’s private, but he’s still an idiot. There’s got to be a way to track this fucker down.”
Elle closed her eyes. “What he means is, we know he has some weird power dynamic with this guy, he listed him as “H” in his phone, is there with him in Vegas now, or at least the guy visited him way back when he first got there, and he… bruised him pretty badly. ”
“And turned him into a liar,” Ethan mumbled.
“All right,” JJ said. “Let’s backtrack. When did he meet him? We should figure out when this all started and work out front there.”
“It’s hard to remember when,” Ethan said. “But I just remember thinking that something was different like I couldn’t trust him anymore. I think he got mugged and I remember knowing he was lying. Around when he was spending all his time with Oliver.”
“Well, they broke up, you said, right, JJ?” Emily questioned. “What if Spencer was cheating on Oliver with this guy and that’s why he was being so evasive? That would make sense.”
“Oh, hold on,” Elle said. “Oliver’s ringing. I’m gonna add him on the line.”
“Unless Oliver was the one who did the bruising…” Will mumbled.
“Nah,” Ethan brushed him off.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Oli,” Ethan said. “We’ve got almost everyone on the line. Elle, JJ, Will, and Emily. We’re trying to see what we can remember about the whole Spencer situation. How’ve you been?”
“Fine, yeah, thanks. Hi, everyone,” he said.
The group chattered their hellos, and Emily broke the resulting silence. “So did Spencer cheat on you?”
Oliver paused. “Huh?”
“Sorry,” JJ laughed nervously. She’d never even met Oliver in person. “We were wondering… why did you and Spencer break up?”
“Oh.”
“We thought you might’ve come into contact with whoever this guy is, if there was some overlap… you might be able to remember Spencer mentioning someone.”
“The thing is…” Oliver said, slowly, awkwardly, knowing that he’s made a mistake from the dread begging to pool in his stomach. Realizations too late were not fun at all. “He and I never dated…”
“…What?” Ethan hissed.
“Uh, yeah. He asked me to pretend that we were an item. I forgot about that, it seemed like such an innocent lie at the time. He said he was getting over an ex, and honestly, I was trying to win him over… I wanted him to be my boyfriend,” he laughed self consciously as everyone listened. “We were out, I think, at that club. He mentioned that he lied to you about me being his ex and then I kissed him. It was an off handed remark. We never talked about it. He never said who his ex was…”
He kissed him, took him home and made love to him.
His chest still ached when he thought about it, the way Spencer wanted nothing to do with him after the fact.
“Actually, I thought you were his ex, Eth,” Oliver continued. “When you picked him up from that conference. He was so upset, something about his friend Lila. He never talks too much about what’s bothering him.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be her,” Emily said. “Being a her and all.”
“He could swing both ways…” JJ mumbled. “People are versatile…”
Ethan groaned. “Okay, but do you really think she beat him? And I know it was a dude. Spencer referred to him as he.”
“Focus, guys,” Elle scolded.
“Listen, I have a networking dinner I have to get ready for,” Oliver said. “Please keep me updated. We need to keep sharing ideas, that’s the only way we’re going to figure this out.”
Oliver hung up and tossed his phone into the hotel bed, feeling frustrated. No one has heard from Spencer for months and months now, and despite Ethan and Elle working hard on getting some answers, everything was falling flat.
As hard as he tried, as everyone did, there was nothing to be done. Ethan was being told that Spencer was doing well back in Vegas with his mother and even the police didn’t seem concerned about a college dropout that went back home.
Oliver straightened his tie and ran out the door to meet with the other conference speakers for after hours drinks; most networking happened outside of the conference with some alcohol involved. Spending time with a bunch of men twenty to thirty years his senior was never ideal, but it was the route he chose.
He shed his suit jacket, looking around the dining room of the restaurant to see his table filled with obvious researchers; sweater vests, bow ties, suspenders, and all. Weaving in between tables, he heard something and stopped dead in his tracks.
He knew that voice.
“I love it. Thank you so much,” he said.
Oliver turned around.
Spencer.
A few tables down, Spencer was sitting at a table with a smile on his face.
What the fuck?
Notes:
Thanks for reading! ❤️
There's a HotchReid fic exchange going on for Valentine's Day! Fill out the form here to participate . It's HotchReid pairing only and you'll be assigned a trope to play around with. Hope you guys join too~
Chapter 54: Let's Bang the Night Away
Summary:
In the last chapter, Spencer went out to dinner with Hotch for their anniversary, and who happened to see them but Oliver right after his conversation with the gang about scooby doo'ing him.
Chapter Text
“Hey, I need the pain
I need the dopamine spiking in my brain
Insane
Hey, what’s left to say?
You are a rusty needle draining my vein
Bloodstained
Apprehensive generally
Anger, hate, and jealousy
Panic stricken homicide
When everything is justified”
― Zebrahead, ‘If You’re Looking For Your Knife… I Think My Back Found It’
Oliver froze.
Standing there watching Spencer as he laughed across the table from a man, the man, his thoughts raced, yet he felt paralyzed with fear, unable to move.
Then the man turned and everything clicked into place.
Agent Hotchner turned, handing the check to the waitress.
No…
“Oh,” Spencer said. “I’ve only been with one other person.”
Oliver nodded. “I’ve been with a few now.”
“Have you... ever slept with a professor before?” asked Spencer.
What if that question didn’t come out of thin air?
“A professor? No, I try not to mix business and pleasure. I find coworkers to be very off limits.”
“No I meant… while you were still in school.” The words seemed to tumble right out of him.
Spencer was upset at the conference.
Agent Hotchner was at the conference.
“Oh.. oh! A Professor? No, no I didn't, no. Why, Ace? Have you…?”
Professor Hotchner.
“A friend of mine slept with her professor, that’s all.”
“H”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
“Ace,” he whispered. It spilled from his mouth. Spencer was getting up from the table. Oliver’s heart began to race. He was going from zero to a hundred, frozen solid to red hot and buzzing with energy.
“Ace!” he whispered. “ACE!”
At the precise moment that he and Spencer made eye contact from across the room, a chill ran up his spine. His hands were shaking violently. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his system. Spencer was silently shooting him daggers, motioning for him to be quiet.
“Bathroom,” Oliver mouthed.
Spencer shook his head no.
Oliver set his face in a look of indomitability. He wasn’t fucking around. He didn’t care about making a scene. “SPEN—”
Spencer bolted, gesturing at Hotch and running for the bathroom. Oliver followed suit.
“Leave me alone, please, Oliver,” Spencer begged when he opened the door. “Don’t tell anyone what you saw, please.”
“Agent Hotchner, Hotch? Is he the one who hit you? It’s been him the whole time?” He stared at Spencer who was backed up against the sink looking pale as a ghost. “I saw the pictures.”
“You saw…”
Oliver ran a hand over his face and groaned. “The bruises, Spencer! All over your body! It was horrific!”
“You can’t tell anyone.” Spencer looked toward the door. “Please. Please. Promise?”
“No, this ends now.” Oliver stared him down, time slowing to a crawl. They were at an impasse. But Oliver wasn’t going to let this go. Spencer would be in a police station by the end of the night or he would die trying.
And then Spencer rushed at him, pushing him back with both hands and knocking him to the ground.
“Spencer!”
Oliver’s phone clattered out of his pocket and Spencer deliberately crushed it under his shoe before flinging open the door and darting out.
“Wait!” He got up on a sore knee and kicked the door open where there was a chair blocking it on the other side. Looking around the restaurant, he couldn’t spot Spencer anywhere and made a dash for the exit. Outside, Agent Hotchner was getting inside a SUV. Oliver darted to his car, ignoring the squealing of his tires as he floored it.
He slipped into place behind the SUV, matching it turn for turn, falling behind and catching up, maintaining a safe distance as he tailed it out of Baltimore and into D.C., all the way to the city limits and into a quiet, residential suburb.
. . .
Spencer was clutching his seatbelt with clammy hands, staring in the rearview mirror with terror filling every cell in his body.
Master, no, Aaron. He was allowed to call him Aaron since it was their anniversary. Their special night that was supposed to be romantic. They were going to sit down for dinner and make love at home together after– but Oliver was throwing a wrench into the mix.
Ruining. Everything.
What would happen when Oliver told everyone he was in a relationship with his professor? When Ethan went to the police and said he was being abused, abducted, and who knows what other lies?
Abused.
He wasn’t.
HE WAS IN LOVE.
“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” Aaron asked beside him.
“Yes,” he clipped.
Yes. Everything was just fine.
Jesus Christ. Nothing was fine.
“You seem upset.”
Spencer closed his eyes and started counting. “I’m not. I love you, I’m not.”
Should he tell him that Oliver was following them? Ruin their date? Possibly their entire relationship? What if he thought that he and Oliver were still in contact? What if he thought that he told him everything?
What if he went to jail? No…
Maybe he could talk Oliver out of whatever he was going to do… convince him to keep his mouth shut. It’s not like Oliver had much of a basis to stand on, right? If he refused to press charges then Oliver couldn’t prove that Aaron hurt him in the past. Plus sleeping with your college student isn’t illegal. It would be he-said-they-said.
Aaron pulled the car into the driveway. It was now or never.
Tell Daddy everything, or make it all go away…
“Can I meet you upstairs in a few?” He grabbed Aaron’s hand across the console. “You’re right, I’m not feeling great. I think I need some air.”
“Of course, Sweetheart.” Aaron kissed his cheek and left him in the car. Headlights poured onto the street behind him as another car came rolling up. He pulled his jacket across his chest and faced him.
Oliver was staring from across the driveway, bathed in the glow of the streetlight.
“Fuck. Ace…” Oliver said eyes narrowed, coming towards him with confusion written all over his features. He looked worried, almost apologetic. “I had no idea…”
“You still don’t,'' Spencer spat. “Go home, Oliver. I’m not kidding. You need to leave right now.”
“Or what? Are you that afraid of him? I’ll only leave if you come with me. I can protect you! The police can! Spencer, we can drive right down to the station and have this all over with. Let me take you there.”
“No. No! I love him!” he shrieked. “You are not my savior! You’re not my knight in shining armor come to the rescue. I want to be here. I want to be with him. Aaron loves me and I love him. You don’t know the first thing about our relationship, so stop acting like you do. You want me to be just like you, but I’m not! So we both have a high IQ, so what? It doesn’t give you the right to tell me how to live my life.”
“This isn’t love, Spencer, you’re not thinking clearly…”
“You don’t know the first thing about love! You’ve never even been in love! I’ve never been more clear about anything in my entire life. I don’t care if you’re some lonely nerd with no friends who’s obsessed with me. I didn’t even want to sleep with you, okay? I love Aaron! Maybe you’re just jealous.”
Shit, he knew exactly what to say to make each word cut like a knife, slicing open each and every insecurity that Oliver once whispered to him in confidence. He watched as Oliver’s face fell, eyes shining with tears he hoped would fall.
“You don’t mean that, Spence… You’re upset. You need help… Let me help you.”
Oliver advanced on him, grabbing his wrist, and Spencer’s heart leapt into his throat. The air around him was stifling hot, his shirt damp on his back with sweat. He was spiraling. 9421.
“Get OFF me! Don’t fucking touch me!” 9419, 9413
“Spencer, come on! Be reasonable! Can’t you see what he’s doing to you? Just come with me! We’re going to the police. I even know a few local guys down here–”
9403, 9397, 9391 “No!”
“You either come with me, or I’m going by myself, but either way it’s happening. This toxic bullshit you’re trying to hide? It ends tonight.”
9377, 9371, 9349, 9343
9341, 9337, 9323, 9311, 9293, 9283, 9281, 9277,
9257, 9241, 9239, 9227, 9221, 9209, 9203, 9199, 9187, 9181, 9173, 9161, 9157, 9151, 9137, 9133, 912,7 910,9 910,3 909,1 907,1 105,9 904,9 904,3 904,1 902,9 901,3 9011, 9007, 9001–
Spencer took a deep breath, felt his lungs burn with the cold night air. “Okay.”
“Okay? Yeah, good. Good, okay. Come on, Ace.”
“Let me just… grab some of my things.”
“Yeah, I’ll wait here,” Oliver said with a sympathetic smile.
Spencer felt devoid of emotion. His brain shut off. He walked inside. Stripped to his boxers. Folded his clothes by the door. Walked into the study. Opened Aaron’s safe. Pulled out his Glock 17. Turned around. Walked back outside. Shivered in the cold.
Pointed it at Oliver.
“Ace…?”
Clicked off the safety.
“Spencer, oh my god-”
And shot him.
8999.
“Holy shit!” Oliver screamed. “You fucking– y-you shot me–”
Yeah, he did. Shouldn’t have threatened Daddy.
“Y-You’re sick, Spence… Fuck, Jesus, aaah!” Oliver was pressing his palm into his abdomen as the stain on his shirt grew larger. “Oh god, oh, Jesus Christ, I c-can’t, oh f-f-fuck, aah…” He crumpled in on himself as he staggered forward.
Oliver grabbed his arm, smearing dark red blood everywhere, and fell to the ground.
Spencer thought this might be what it felt like before you break for good; a quiet peacefulness. He wondered if it would keep growing and growing and swallow him whole.
Would he feel numb forever?
Someone was screaming. It sounded so far away; Piercing ringing in his ears muffled the sound. He didn't notice when Aaron dragged him inside.
The sirens hardly registered. Red and blue flashing lights were getting brighter. He couldn’t focus his eyes on anything.
Someone was shaking him—
“D-Daddy,” he whispered.
“Spencer! What did you do?! Spencer, snap out of it! Focus! Spencer!”
“M’sorry, Daddy.”
“Look at me! Eyes up, now. Spencer, I’m warning you,” he hissed.
Spencer looked up. Daddy’s brown eyes. He loved Aaron so much.
“I need you to get it together, Spencer. Put on your jacket and go.” Daddy shoved his jacket on his chest and pushed him backward. “Go out the back door. Sneak through the neighbors and don’t get caught. Be careful, I mean it. Go to your apartment and grab what you need. I need you on a train back home as soon as possible. No one can know you were here. You weren’t here tonight. Understood? Go. Now.”
“What? Then who—”
Aaron grabbed a fist full of hair and dragged him out the back door. “I said NOW.”
BANG, BANG, BANG.
“Police! Open up!”
Aaron shut the door in his face.
He stood there for a moment, the commotion now dead in the quiet of the backyard, and thought of absolutely nothing. Mind blank.
Then flashlights to the left, three of them, appeared on the ground. Shit. And he bolted, the world back in motion. He put on his coat as he ran. All but jumping over Mrs. Peters fence, he hit the ground hard, rolling his ankle and getting right back on his feet. Branches smacked him in the face. Shrubbery cut against his bare legs. He weaved low to the ground between houses until he finally made it to an unknown street, and ducked into a poorly lit sidewalk.
He wasn’t wearing anything except for his jacket and his boxers. And his collar. Rocks pricked his feet as he walked. Then jogged, then ran.
And didn’t stop until he was at the bus terminal with a stitch in his side and overused lungs.
He needed a quarter for the bus, though. Digging around in his jacket pocket he pulled out a handful of coins with bloody hands.
Shit. He dropped all his change. His hands were trembling. Shaking violently.
He didn’t remember there being that much blood.
Making a beeline for the public bathrooms, he thrust his hands in the sink, scrubbing them with soap, and watched the water turn bright red. Then pink, then clear.
Was he really going to leave Aaron at a time like this?
. . .
“Come out with your hands up!”
So much blood.
So many sirens.
So little time.
“Show us your hands! Turn around, face away from us!”
Aaron did as he was told.
“On your knees! Hands behind your head, now!”
An officer came up behind him, twisting back his arms and cuffing them behind his back. “You’re under arrest for suspicion of murder,” he said. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”
He felt the same sense of eerie stillness as the first time he was booked on suspicion of murder. Except last time he saw the life leave his victim’s eyes as he beat him. Now, as he walked past the pool of blood on his driveway, he wasn’t sure if Oliver was still alive in the ambulance or dead on arrival.
Spencer…
. . .
Of course he wouldn’t leave. Not when the man he loved was being arrested for... for something he didn’t do.
Buying clothes in the outlet store, the cashier gave him a strange look, but he was walking back in new shoes and sweatpants, so he didn’t care much about what anyone thought. Hell, he was sure the cashier had seen worse.
It was pitch black in the shadows as he crept back up to the crime sc– Hotch’s house.
Yellow tape covered the front yard. There was white chalk on the ground where Oliver laid. The scene investigators only used chalk when they needed to transport a wounded person. If the victim was dead they would stay there. So… Oliver was alive.
Somehow he wasn’t sure if that was comforting or not.
He hadn’t felt anything since before his conversation with Oliver. Everything since then has just been… dull, like a shadow of itself.
There was a crowd gathered outside. Neighbors, news crews. Law enforcement buzzing around like flies.
He could almost see himself fighting with Oliver there near the garage. Oliver coming towards him… his arms steady as he brought up the gun.
The feeling of the trigger against his fingertip, the heavy weight of it.
Spencer closed his eyes and listened to the sounds going on around him. They filled his head, ballooned it with commotion until he couldn’t think straight.
He needed to protect Daddy. Oliver was going to tell, to ruin everything. He was going to turn them into the police!
But the police were here anyway…
And Daddy’s was at the station being cuffed to an interrogation table.
He just wanted Oliver to go away. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?
“Sir, back up,” an officer shouted at him. “Away from the tape. Now.”
Spencer took a step back, pressing up against someone he doesn’t know and flinching. “Me? Sorry… uh, Officer? What happened here?”
“Shooting,” he said. “One victim, on route to the hospital.”
Spencer picked at his nail until he felt blood on his fingertip. “Who, uh, who did it?”
“Homeowner.”
“...Mr. Hotchner?” He feigned surprise. “Really? Are you sure? Is he getting charged? What are the charges?”
He looked Spencer up and down. “Do you live around here?”
“Yes,” he said, and there was no reply. The officer was staring at him, talking into his radio and he quickly took one last look before turning away and jogging down the street. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t get inside, couldn’t even get on the driveway.
Maybe he just needed that one last look.
He ran until he couldn't hear the sirens anymore and stopped. His hands were shaking violently. Falling to the pavement, he sobbed.
Every emotion pouring out of him.
What has he done?
Notes:
Thanks for reading! ❤️
*PSA - I'm working on the next chapter -slowly- as I'm having a stressful time IRL. So, be patient with me!
Chapter 55: Why Are You Here?
Summary:
In the last chapter Hotch took Spencer out for an anniversary dinner and Oliver happened to be there networking. He followed them home and Spencer freaked out. Oliver threatened to tell the cops what was going on and feeling like he was trapped in an impossible situation, Spencer grabbed Hotch's gun and shot him. Hotch made Spencer flee the scene and took the fall.
Now what?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Painful lust, two aching guts
They tear through each other in the mirror”
― Pierce The Veil, Floral & Fading
Back in the dorms Ethan and Elle were debating on sending Oliver another message, despite having two gone unanswered already. Ethan was sure he would have had the time to text them back even if he was driving back to New York from Boston already. Rest stops existed, hello.
A knock at the door interrupted them, prompting a look of confusion on both parties, neither having invited anyone over.
When Ethan opened the door, he nearly fell to the ground in shock. “Spencer?!”
“Uh, hey…” Spencer stood there awkwardly, looking nervous and twitchy. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.”
“Fuck, man!” Ethan launched at him, enveloping him in a hug and squeezing him tight.
“I’m so glad to see you,” Elle smiled warmly.
“Where the hell have you been, dude? You have no idea how worried I’ve been! Couldn’t you have called? What, they don’t make phones in Vegas?”
“Eth, I-I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Whatever, just come inside. C’mon, sit down.”
Spencer let Ethan usher him to the kitchen table while Elle started to fret over how tired he looked. The bags under his eyes were even worse than his usual sunken appearance, and hair sticking out in every direction; he looked like a trainwreck. Because he was.
Ethan passed him a steaming mug of coffee and gave him a look. “Start at the top, where the fuck were you? …Were you even in Vegas?”
“I was. But, uh, Eth, I’m not here because I’m back. I’m… uh. I came because I heard Oliver was hurt.”
The sound of utensils clattering on the table had him jumping out of his skin as his friends stared at him in slack-jawed silence.
“Oliver? What happened to Oliver?” Ethan gasped.
“I don’t know! I saw something on the news and I took the first flight over. I didn’t know what to do or where to go, I-I don’t–”
“Turn on the news!” Ethan barked, but Elle was already sitting on the couch flipping through stations until she landed on FOX and a news broadcaster blared through the dorm.
“-in custody. Just last night here in downtown D.C., a young man was found shot outside of this suburban home. Mr. Owens, a 27-year-old forensic researcher from New York was found in critical condition sustaining one gunshot wound to the abdomen and transported to George Washington University Hospital. We’re waiting for an update about Mr. Ownens’s condition, but no information has been made available to the public at this time. Back to you in the studio, Maria.”
“Holy shit. Holy fucking shit! Elle, you were so right! Jesus, how did this happen?”
“We should go to the hospital,” Elle said.
Spencer paled. “N-No, that’s not a good idea. He needs to recover.”
“No, he needs his friends there when he wakes up.” Ethan was slipping into his coat by the door, checking his pockets for his keys and ready to move. “Listen, Spencer, I like Oliver, okay? Whatever beef the two of you have over your breakup, or whatever the fuck happened between you guys, that’s your issue. He’s my friend and I know for a fact that he doesn't have any family or anyone down here, so I’m going. Elle, you coming?”
“Of course,” she said.
Spencer followed them out, unable to resist. He needed to know the result of the terrible thing he’d done. Was Oliver even alive? Would he make it? He was still important to him despite what he’d done, and they’d been friends for a while, one of his closest ever, so just because he needed to protect himself, it didn’t mean he didn’t care. He truly cared about Oliver. Oliver just shouldn’t have threatened him the way he did.
The hospital had him in surgery, so they were stuck in the waiting area until it was over. Hours and hours passed by as Oliver was worked on, landing him in the surgical ICU when it was all said and done. Since the shooting the night previous, he’d gone through several operations to repair the internal damage.
The sickest part of Spencer’s mind kept prodding at his thoughts, telling him that everything would be better if Oliver never made it out of surgery at all.
Eventually, an employee came out to the waiting area and escorted Ethan and Spencer back, leaving Elle behind in the waiting room, in accordance with the visitation policy.
Despite it all, he was so incredibly relieved. A weight lifted from his shoulders and he breathed the first easy breath since it all went down. Oliver was going to live. He wasn’t a murderer.
“General anesthesia can potentially affect your memory and coordination for a day or two, that’s completely normal,” a nurse addressed him and Ethan outside of the room where he could see Oliver’s bed. “He’s awake and agreeable to visitors, but he needs to take it easy. His body has been through an incredible amount of stress in the last 48 hours. He’s on bedrest with multiple surgical sites, so keep the movement to a minimum for now and be careful of his left side where dressings are. Do you have any questions?”
“Uh… no,” Spencer murmured, barely listening and looking in the window of the room. He couldn’t see Oliver from where he was standing, only the end of the bed where his feet were. He felt like he was going to be sick. Oliver was just beyond the door. Was he going to call for the police when he saw him, send him away forever? Lock him up to rot?
“Okay, well my name is Alex. Use the call bell if you need something.”
“Thanks,” Ethan said, and walked into the room. Spencer stood by the door, peeking in just barely, swallowing down the lump in his throat. An impending sense of doom washed over him; he felt as if the air was weighing him down, being pulled by a heavy gravity.
When he walked in the room, the TV turned off and the two went quiet. Oliver was lying in the bed, slightly propped up, and staring at him in astonishment.
“What are you doing here?” he gasped. “Ethan, why is he here?”
“He came back to see you, Oli. We’re all here for you.”
Oliver struggled to sit up in bed, causing Ethan to stop him. The wince on his face was heartbreaking. “I-I don’t want him here! Get him out of here!”
“What, why?”
“Oliver, I’m so sorry,” Spencer whispered.
“The hell you are!” he shouted. “You want to know why I don’t want this asshole in here? Huh, should I tell him, Spence?”
“Please, I– Oliver. Please, don’t,” Spencer choked out.
“What’s going on…?”
Spencer and Oliver stared at each other, locked in a stalemate. He wouldn’t tell… there was no way he would tell, right? Shit, shit, shit. Spencer backed up against the opposite wall of the room, back cold on the wall, and wrapped his arms around his sides.
“Seriously, guys, what the fuck…?” Ethan paled.
Oliver was silent for a minute until it wasn’t clear that he would speak again, and then he said, “Spencer was the one who shot me.”
“Oliver!” Spencer shrieked.
“What, is it a lie? Is that not the truth? Do you think I owe you anything? Do you think this is the kind of thing that I’d keep to myself? Why the hell would I care what you want? Huh, Daddy’s Boy? You almost fucking killed me!”
“I didn’t mea–”
“You tried to kill me, Spencer!” Oliver yelled. “You fucking psychopath!”
Sliding to the floor, Spencer buried his head in his arms and cried.
“No! Get up! Get the fuck up and get out of my room!”
“Oliver, you’re confused…” Ethan sputtered.
“I’m not,” he hissed.
While Oliver and Ethan argued, Spencer got to his feet without making a fuss and slipped out the door. He stood there numbly in the hall, tear tracks down his cheeks, and just breathed until his heart calmed down in a steady rhythm.
He needed to leave, otherwise the police would be taking him away, and he couldn’t have that. Not when Aaron made it clear that he wasn’t to get in any trouble. He couldn’t let Oliver tell the authorities that it was him, how would he explain that away? How could he explain how he was at Aaron’s in the first place and why he felt like violence was the only answer?
Head spinning, he walked out into the waiting room to find Elle sitting anxiously on the edge of her seat. “Spencer! Oh, Jesus, is he that bad?”
“H-He’s fine,” he said, selfishly wondering if that was a relief or not. “You can go back, I guess.”
Elle looked at him for a moment and pulled him into an awkward embrace; neither of them were huggers. He leaned into it after a moment and sagged against her, wrapping his arms around her waist and crying into her shoulder.
She shushed him and sat him down, telling him she wasn’t going anywhere, and they’d wait for Ethan to come back before she went in. And, despite all of his protests, he couldn’t get away from her without making a scene.
Slowly, painfully, an hour ticked before Ethan’s face emerged from a pair of double doors.
“You’re still here,” he said.
Spencer nodded dumbly.
“Good. Let’s go. Elle, you wanna say hi? He’s asking about you. I’m gonna take Spencer to the car.”
“Yeah, I’ll meet you down there.” She kissed him on the cheek and disappeared.
“Fuck you,” was the first thing Ethan said when they locked eyes. “Let’s go.”
. . .
Back in the dorm, Ethan manhandled him all the way up the elevator and shut the door behind them. He stood there guarding it while talking to Elle in hushed voices, and Spencer hardly kept himself from falling apart.
He sank down on the couch and turned on the news, flipping to the first station with a news broadcast. Elle passed behind him minutes later without saying a word, slamming the bedroom door behind her, and he wrapped a blanket around himself, wishing he could cocoon himself into non-existence.
Ethan eventually left the dorm and Elle sat in the kitchen without speaking to him, probably keeping watch if his suspicions were correct.
He kept his eyes glued to the TV for any bits of information on the investigation, but it seemed to be on the backburner as other crimes permeated the major headlines.
Later that evening, Ethan came back with several bags of groceries, and what Spencer would later find out to be a padlock that Elle installed on the front door.
They told him he wasn’t leaving.
They didn’t trust what he would do if he left. But he was surprised they trusted him enough to be locked in the same 550 square feet as them.
Over the next few days, he mostly cried on the couch. Aside from that, he slept on the couch, thought on the couch, watched tv on the couch, and dissociated on the couch. He wrapped himself in blankets and didn’t stand upright until he was dragged into the bathroom.
The groceries went unwanted on the coffee table.
A week passed, and he would only begrudgingly drink water. Even that felt like a monumental task.
Then a headline rolled across the screen and his eyes went wide, suddenly at rapt attention. The screen cut to a reporter and he turned up the volume. “Last week, a retired FBI agent, Aaron Hotchner, was arrested on the alleged attempt of murder at his residence in downtown D.C., late at night, critically injuring the victim identified as 27-year-old Oliver Owens. Police arrested Hotchner at the scene following a 911 call that was made at the result of gunfire.”
Spencer leaned into the TV screen, hands tightly wound in his blanket, circulation completely cut off as he sat squeezing, raptured by the broadcast.
Next to the reporter’s face, a mugshot appeared on screen and all the air left his lungs. Aaron was looking into the camera with wild hair and sunken eyes. A grim expression across his features. He looked fearsome, unnerving.
“Officers say there was a domestic dispute between Owens and Hotchner, though further information about the dispute has yet to come to light. Hotchner is currently being held at the Central Detention Facility in southeast D.C. as he awaits arraignment. Arraignment is scheduled for Thursday morning of this week at the public DC courthouse on main with Judge Catarro. We will continue to follow this riveting case as it progresses. Back to you, John.”
“Thank you, Julia, the residents of this quiet suburban southern D.C. neighborhood have been absolutely shocked at the events of this case as they continue to unfold. Moreover, an armed robbery has just been reported in–”
For the first time in a week, Spencer got to his feet and walked himself to the bathroom for a shower. Silver dots swam in his vision and he had to grab onto the wall for support, but he was able to make it through.
Come hell or high water, he would be at that arraignment tomorrow, and if he had to bust through the front door with an axe that’s what he would do.
Ethan was agreeable to the idea, however, and even drove them to the courthouse. Spencer sat in the passenger seat, formally dressed in a suit that Aaron bought for him. His hair was combed and his shoes were wiped sparkling clean.
It would be the first time since the incident that he would be seeing Aaron in person and he didn’t want him to see how much of a wreck he’d become, especially after how much he’d done for him. How much sacrifice he made. So much mercy that he didn’t deserve.
They sat on a bench at the back of the courthouse, as the first few rows were packed full of people he didn’t recognize.
Opening remarks were made eventually. They seemed to wait forever as the courtroom waffled about, suits talking to other suits and documents being passed around.
Eventually, the judge walked in and the room fell to a stifling silence.
Oliver was seated at the front of the courtroom to the right at the plaintiff’s table, and then the door behind them opened. Spencer turned, seeing officers leading Master in. Hands cuffed at his waist and chains connecting to restraints at his ankles, Aaron shuffled forward.
The air left the room as they locked eyes. Aaron’s dark, smoldering gaze holding him hostage, pinning him down and suffocating him. Master!
He wouldn’t scream; he wouldn’t! He wouldn’t cry out or make a scene or be a bad boy, no!
‘I love you,’ he mouthed, and then all he could see was Aaron’s back as he continued down the aisle, taking a seat at the defendant’s table. He was somehow still breathtakingly handsome even clad in an orange jumpsuit. The public was going wild with chatter, yelling, cries for statements and cries for justice. Ordering everyone’s attention, the Judge forced the media to leave the courtroom, and the frenzy died down.
A clerk rose and addressed the judge. “Good morning, your Honor. Today we have criminal cause for arraignment in the trial of the United States versus Aaron Hotchner case number 101281. Counsel, please state your appearances.”
“Attorney Micheal Hombach for the United States.”
“Federal defender Jillian Snyder for Mr. Hotchner.”
“Thank you,” the Judge said plainly. “Sir, please tell me your full name.”
“Aaron Hotchner, your honor.”
“This is an arraignment for you, Mr. Hotchner. I am going to read you the indictment as follows:”
Ethan nudged Spencer on the shoulder, whispering, “What’s that?”
Spencer huffed. “Be quiet. An arraignment is just to inform the defendant of the charges against them. Stop asking me questions and listen.”
“The grand jury charges, Count One, Attempted Homicide in the second degree on February 18th, 2009, wherein the defendant Aaron Hotchner did knowingly and intentionally attempt to take the life of Mr. Oliver Owens. Count Two, Aggravated Assault with a deadly weapon, Count Three, Reckless Endangerment and extreme indifference to the value of human life surrounding the imposition of bodily injury to the victim in the second degree,” and he paused.
Spencer held his breath, looking from the Judge, to Oliver, to Aaron, thoughts flying a million miles per hour.
“Lastly,” the Judge said, “Count Four, Rape in the first degree.”
The mood in the courtroom was eerie as the judge lowered his glasses and took a moment to look out at the defense before continuing on with the legal framework of the case. Spencer kept his eyes glued to the back of Aaron’s head, cataloging every movement he made; every subtle shift and nod of the head.
Jesus, he had no idea that Oliver was going to lie in court! Fingers white against the wooden bench, Spencer was hardly aware of the tears streaming down his cheeks.
The case continued on but all he could hear was the same line repeated on loop in his head:
Rape in the first degree. Rape in the first degree. Rape in the first degree.
“Mrs. Snyder, have you discussed the charges set forth in the indictment with your client?”
Master was not a rapist! Or a murderer! He didn't do anything; he was an innocent man standing trial for the sins of the one he loved!
“Yes, your Honor,” Aaron’s attorney stated.
And Spencer sat there accepting his sacrifice like the ungrateful, unstable brat he always was.
“And does your client wish to enter into a plea for Counts One through Four?”
Spencer’s eyes shot up. He held his breath. Watched the back of Aaron's head.
“Yes, your Honor. Mr. Hotchner will plead guilty to each account.”
“Very well. After reviewing the charges against the defendant, the court has set forth a bail amount of 2 million dollars. If Mr. Hotchner can not afford this bail, he will continue to reside in D.C. Central Detention Facility.
In the interest of a speedy trial, court will be scheduled on March 11th at nine-thirty am. Time is excluded for the review of discovery on both parties. Will the government be ready for trial, Mr. Hombach?”
“Yes, your honor.”
“And the defense?”
“Yes, Your honor,” Mrs. Snyder said.
“Then we will see you in court on March 11th. Thank you.” The judge got up from the bench and left.
Spencer shot up from his seat and yelled into the noisy courtroom, now erupting in frantic voices. “Aaron! Aaron!”
For a split second, Professor Hotchner looked back and winked before the officers pulled him forward and he was ushered out.
Spencer could feel his heart in his throat. “Come back!”
Notes:
Thanks for reading! ❤️🤪
Chapter 56: HOTCH
Summary:
In the last chapter, Spencer visited Oliver at the hospital and hid out on the couch while he waited for Aaron's sentencing. Much to his surprise, Daddy pleaded guilty but... but he knew he had something up his sleeve.
Notes:
I have no background in law so this is all made up nonsense!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“I'm in love
But I'm a liar
And I push you and we break down slow
When I called you from the jail
Ashamed I would put you through it
And I called myself a man
I never was
Even if the low is much too low
Even if the high is high oh
Don't jump, I'll drown
Jump I'll drown
Don't jump, I'll drown”
― Drown, Squid The Whale
“Listen up, inmates. Most of you have been through this song and dance already, but I’m required to give you all an introduction, so here we go: Your cell is now your home, got it? Treat it with respect. Keep it clean. Any paraphernalia not on the approved list will be confiscated and will be discarded. You will keep your mouths shut, and your heads down. You are to be up and in the cafeteria every morning by seven. You are to go where we tell you to go and do what we tell you to do. We tell you when to eat, when to sleep, and when to shit. There will be no fraternization, no fighting, no fucking. I suggest you take whatever frustration you have out during your exercise hour because there is a zero-tolerance policy for anything other than model behavior,” said a guard.
Aaron fumed inside but kept his head down. If there was one thing he could do well, it was understanding the behavior around him. There wouldn’t be any problem blending in it if that’s what was required to stay under the radar.
“Most of you will be out of here before I can learn your name. I’m not asking, I don’t care. Follow the rules and keep your noses out of trouble. Save it for state prison, where I have no doubt you’re all headed next. Now get out of my face.”
The group of detainees scattered like mice across the cell block. There were groups of inmates huddled in various parts of the floor, some with bodies built like bulls and barely an inch of skin untouched by a tattoo gun, others were wiry and thin, sunken eyes, jittery hands.
Aaron bypassed the stares and headed straight for his cell when footsteps sounded behind him. A bruising hand grabbed the back of his collar, yanking him back, and a second wiry, drugged-out man leaned into his face. “Word is you’re some big hotshot cop or somethin’,” he sneered.
The larger man pinning his chest to the wall dug his hand in harder; Aaron could feel the air rush from his lungs.
“Wha’? Nothin’? Scared, now, are you? Guess you know what we do to pigs like you in here, don’t ‘e, Cal?”
“Fuckin pig.” Cal spat on Aaron's cheek.
“Hey! Break it up, inmates!” An older, tired safeguard huffed and looked at Aaron. “You Aaron Hotchner?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Come with me.”
Aaron shook the men off and left them behind without the satisfaction of his reaction. When he was out of eye line, he wiped the spit off his face with the sleeve of his orange jumpsuit, already clad in various stains and discolorations.
The guard led him through three locked gates into an office-looking wing of the building. There were nameplates on the doors and potted plants in the corners.
“Here he is,” the guard said briefly as he knocked on an office door and turned the other way to leave.
“Come in,” they said.
Aaron didn’t recognize the voice, but when he saw who was sitting inside relief flooded out of him. Jillian Snyder, his defense attorney and long-time friend from Harvard was present, as well as Judge Russel Catarro and his old business partner Fredrick Rodney from back in his days of law.
“Aaron, you look like shit,” Fred laughed, a smirk on his thin lips.
“I’ve been better,” Aaron scoffed. “Jillian, Russ, good to see you.”
“This is the senior VP for all of the DOC facilities in the Virginia and D.C area, Bob Ledger.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir,” Aaron said, striding forward with his usual air of authority and grace to shake his hand, and the body language wasn't lost on them. It was so easy to work a room full of people who don't have any experience with profiling; he only wished he had that sort of edge back in the day.
"Have a drink, Hotch!" Fred handed him a glass of whiskey and winked.
He took a seat and chatted with for a good while, exchanging pleasantries and moving on to old stories from years ago, memories and long forgotten achievements coming to the surface as he and Jillian reminisced over sleepless study sessions in the law library, and he and Fred laughed over all the incompetent lawyers they used to go up against. The two of them dominated the field. They were unstoppable.
Russ and he went way back as well, having had many drinks over the years in the back of a courthouse, Fred included, as they worked out the details of the cases behind closed doors.
Just like they were now.
When he called up Fred a few days ago and got his eager acceptance to help out an old friend, he knew he had it made. There was no way that Owens would be walking away with him behind bars, seeing as he was still alive and still going through with the proceedings. Almost made him wish that spencer's little outburst had worked. Seeing Owens's face in the courtroom said everything; he knew all about his and Spencer’s relationship. He probably found the solution of him rotting in Spencer's place even more just than having Spencer going away for it.
Unfortunately for Owens, the legal system never did run on justice alone, nor laws or regulations. Everything always has been and always will be about who you know. People to sway, deals to be made.
And Aaron knew a lot of people. He knew what kind of deals they wanted.
If he could walk away from all of this with a few months severed and a year or two of house arrest with an expunged record, he would be more than happy. But there was no way in hell he would be serving 5 to 15. It would be a cold day in hell before that happened.
After a couple of hours, everyone had gone their separate way, and Aaron was escorted back, not the main cell blocks, but to the visiting area of the facility.
The person at the glass wasn’t who he expected to see though.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ethan,” he said, pressing the phone up to his ear and looking Spencer’s friend dead in the eyes.
“It’s really not, actually.”
Aaron looked up to see Spencer peering in impatiently from the waiting lobby looking confused, concerned, and annoyed.
“What can I do for you then, Ethan?” he asked in an even, cold tone.
“I just came here to say FUCK YOU!” he spat. “I know what you are. Spencer might not see it, but I do. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Eyes still locked on Spencer who was now staring back at him in unparalleled awe, Aaron said idly, “I’ll take that into consideration."
Ethan slammed the phone back on the receiver and said just as clearly through the barrier, “You dick! You’re going to get what’s coming to you. You’re going to rot in prison for the rest of your fucking life. Spencer is going to forget your name and you’ll be nothing but the old sick perverted man that used to abuse him.” before turning around and storming out of the room.
But not before Hotch could grin at him and say, "He never forgets anything."
In the waiting room, he could see Spencer tugging against Ethan's grip and protesting loudly from the looks of it. The two were shouting at each other, arms flying and tempers raised before a security guard pulled them apart.
Then Spencer came into the visitor's room.
And rushed for the phone.
And pleaded into it, spilling his love into desperate whispers for Aaron’s ears.
“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “It’s– This is all my fault, Sir, everything, I made such a mess. I’ve been so bad. I don’t know what t-to do.” He paused and lifted his watery eyes to meet his. “How will you ever love me now?”
“Stop.” Aaron put as much authority into his voice as he could without sounding angry—It was a delicate balance with Spencer who was already begging to be scolded. “I do love you. You need to trust that I can take care of this. You do trust me, don’t you, Spence?”
“Yes, Sir, I do,” he gasped.
“Then be a good boy and shut your mouth,” Aaron hummed, watching the blush that spread across his cheeks.
He glanced up past a now silent Spencer for a fraction of a second to see Ethan waiting behind the glass.
“That’s my good boy. Tell me what my sweet boy wrote on himself today.”
Spencer turned dark red and rubbed his thighs together absently. Aaron’s heart raced.
“M-Master’s whore,” he whispered.
“Louder so I can hear you,” Aaron said darkly.
“Master’s whore,” Spencer choked out.
“Atta boy. Where is it, your thigh?”
“Yes, Sir.” Spencer gulped.
Aaron wanted to reach across the table and rip his pants down to his knees so he could run his tongue over those claiming words. “Touch it for me.”
“N-Now?”
“Are you telling me no?” He raised an eyebrow in question, only to see Spencer’s eyes go wide and his hand fall below the desk.
“I’m sorry.”
“When was the last time you touched yourself?”
“With you,” Spencer said through half-lidded eyes. “I haven’t touched myself without permission. I promise. I would never.”
“Your little cock must be eager,” he hummed.
“A-Always, with you, Sir…’
“Press down, and buck your hips into it.”
Aaron sat back and watched the show as Spencer did what he was told. Lip between his teeth, eyes obediently on him, Spencer shamelessly rubbed his hard little cock. Ethan was watching in horror as it dawned on him what Spencer was subtly doing.
“Such a good boy,” Aaron hummed. “My good boy. I bet you’d like Daddy’s thick cock between those lips for you to suck on while you rub yourself, wouldn’t you?”
“Y-Yes, yes, Daddy, yes, please,” Spencer panted.
“Press harder. You want to feel my cock sliding down your throat until you gag like the cock hungry whore you are. Swallowing it down until you can no longer breathe, just feel the weight of me inside you.”
Whimpering and wiggling in his seat, Spencer’s pants tented lewdly.
“I would take my cock covered in your spit and stretch open your slutty little ass. Do you think it would burn, or would you suck me right up? That eager little hole of yours is always begging for me.”
“It w-would suck you up,” Spencer moaned with a blush.
“And you’d take me like a good boy, wouldn’t you? With your hands pinned over your head and your legs spread wide for me.”
“Y-Y-Yes, Sir—”
“Unable to move even if you wanted to, hm? Completely at Daddy’s mercy? Both your little holes ready for me to play with? And perhaps I would make you suck on my fingers like you were pleasuring my cock. Using your tongue, taking them down until you gag while I fucked you nice and deep.”
“P-P-P-Please—”
“Fucked you hard while you begged for release. But good boys don’t cum without permission, do they? Put your hands on the table.”
Aaron looked at the sound of commotion in the next room to see Ethan arguing with a guard, pointing his way. He was shouting, making a scene, and getting nowhere.
Spencer had both hands on the table and tears in his eyes. Red ears, face flushed, heaving chest.
“Sir, please, I’m... I'm leaking,” he begged.
“Does my good boy want to cum?” Aaron teased. He loved to watch Spencer fall apart, almost amazed at his self-restraint.
“Yes, Sir!” he whined. “Please! Please, I want to!”
“Cum for me, Spence,” he said deep and commanding into the phone.
And Spencer came in his pants, both hands still gripping the edge of the table, now with white knuckles, phone wedged in his shoulder.
“Good boy,” Aaron hummed. “Don’t worry about anything. I have it all under control. The trial, everything. Just keep your nose out of trouble. Can you do that?”
Spencer looked like his mind was swimming, but Aaron knew he would be able to remember even if he wasn’t one hundred present at the moment. He shook his head yes.
“Go get yourself cleaned up, then. I’ll see you in a few days.”
“I love you,” Spencer smiled. He got up from the table in a daze and headed out of the room.
“I love you too,” Aaron said to the empty phone.
From behind, a guard was standing his post by the door and muttered, “Fucking freak.”
Somehow, Aaron didn’t mind.
It even thrilled him.
. . .
The days passed slowly in the detention center, even if it was only two weeks. Thanks to Hotch’s new friend the VP he was able to be removed from the gen pop areas and spent most of his time isolated in the library. There was no one to talk to, but he didn’t have much interest in making friends with anyone there anyway. He spent his time reading and thinking, going over the events of the past years in laborious detail. What else was there to do?
Spencer called daily. He came on each visitor's day and did exactly as instructed. Hotch looked forward to riling him up and sending him home with instructions to withhold himself from orgasm yet again. He only ever wanted Spencer to cum in his presence, with Spencer looking him in the eyes, knowing who is letting him have it.
During the last visit, he had Spencer rub himself discretely until he was on the verge of tears, then made him count himself down from it, explaining how he was going to be a good boy and listen to what he was told. He loved to see the struggle. He sent him home with instructions to get naked on his knees in front of the mirror and jerk himself off until he was right on the edge and then stop. Rinse and repeat until it would be too painful to continue. Spencer called the next day telling him how he made it seven times before his dick was burning to the touch.
The day before the trial was set to take place, Hotch met again with his attorney Jillian and the judge, Russ, nailing down the final details of the case. He was going to settle for six months served with two years of probation. It was a great deal considering, having pulled an incredible amount of strings to have everything pushed through. Average served time for attempted murder rangled only from as little to 2 years all the way up to 15, so he wasn't contesting that one too hard, but the rape charge was proving difficult to manage as it carried a minimum sentencing of 5 years and could range up to a maximum of 25.
Thankfully Judge Catarro was willing to work around the sentencing discretely, putting in good words to people who mattered and were willing to look the other way for an ex-FBI agent and respected ex-defense attorney.
They parted ways that evening, and the morning came swiftly after. The courtroom was packed when Hotch entered through the side door, hands shackled in front of him, and the room went quiet. Spencer was sitting in the courtroom looking like a wreck, but otherwise staying quiet.
Everything was set to begin as the minutes ticked by and court failed to convene.
The media was chattering low in the background, curious whispers, and speculations spoken in hushed breaths. It was 9:25, a quarter after court was set to start, and nothing. Hotch kept his eyes cast down, waiting, lest he riled up the media. Better not to give them anything to talk about.
At 9:30, the side doors opened and a group of stone-faced individuals walked in. One was dressed formally in judge robes, and it wasn’t Russ.
He took a seat behind the podium and spoke flatly into the microphone, “Judge Catarro has been removed from this case pending suspicions of serious ethical and criminal misconduct. In accordance with The United States Constitution and the guidelines set forth through the American Judicature Society, a court may willfully remove any federal or district court judges suspected of Treason, Bribery, or other high Crimes and Misdemeanors, and furthermore, under Article III, Section 1, has failed to uphold the standard that a government official shall run their Offices with good behavior. For this reason, I have been appointed by the United States Courts of the District of Columbia Circuit of Washington, to preside over this case.”
Hotch felt his heart drop in that moment; a bone-chilling feeling. The world seemed to stand still for a brief moment as the information sunk in. A new judge. A new ruling. No deal.
Nausea crashed over him, a sick sense of dread. He felt heavy as if he were being pulled down to the floor. The air seemed to have vanished from the courtroom.
Jillian was whispering in his ears in fevered panic.
“Mr. Hotchner? Please, state your full name for the court,” the judge repeated.
Aaron rose to his feet, and he cleared his throat, steeled himself. “Aaron Hotchner, your Honor.”
He looked to his right and caught a glimpse of Oliver’s grinning face at the bench beside him—triumph.
Aaron sat down and started to argue with Jillian in hushed whispers, frantic and severe, but she was just as blind-sighted as he was.
She attempted to motion for a rehearing, to delay the trial in light of the changes in court, but Judge Nguyen denied the request.
Then she motioned for Aaron’s guilty plea to be revoked with a new sentencing and trial date, but he denied that on grounds of insufficient causality as his request didn’t fall under the umbrella of reasonable recourse.
Oliver’s attorney, Mr. Hombach, began the case by outlining the supposed sequence of events that transpired, which sounded awfully similar to his relationship with Spencer. It seemed that Oliver put a lot of pieces together about him and Spencer and was seeking his own sick gratification and justice.
When Oliver took the stand to recount his experience, he played the jury like a fiddle, bringing them and the entire courtroom to tears. Even the lack of evidence supporting some of his claims seemed inconsequential the way he was able to hit the nerves of the jury, systematically profiling each one of them.
Then the witnesses started filing in. A professor from the conference back in New York, one that Spencer had punched during his spiral, gave testimony that Oliver was indeed the one who punched him and that Aaron had dragged him away kicking and screaming. That Aaron was all over him at that conference, and they had phone records to prove they were communicating.
Aaron remembered calling him over ten times that night trying to locate Spencer, knowing that he may have run to him. Fuck.
And then his neighbor gave the same sort of testimony; she saw Oliver outside his doorstep screaming to high heavens late one evening, an emotional wreck. She said she didn’t think anything of it at the time, just another young college student upset about a grade, but now it was clear what it really was.
Hotch had Jillian try to argue the reliability of eyewitness testimony, which was exemplified perfectly in just how unreliable it was—in this particular instance alone since neither the Professor nor the neighbor correctly remembered Spencer— by giving the judge and jury statistics on low reliability rates in the 20%’s, and the many cases that were overturned on false testimonies, but the testimony that Oliver and Mr. Hombach were spinning was proving too compelling.
The only witness that Hotch and Jillian prepared never showed.
Apparently Gideon had a family emergency, one that took him out of state last minute, but Aaron knew that was bullshit. He didn’t want to get mixed up in the legal proceedings, probably even ditching the court when he saw Oliver managed to have the judge removed.
They didn't think to prepare for this. They never saw it coming.
It was supposed to be open and shut, a deal already made.
He took the stand himself and could feel the disdainful eyes of the jury on him. All the tactics he tried to use to sway them failed miserably as the evidence amassed against him loomed over his shoulders. Their minds were already made up; he could see it in the way they held themselves, the micro-expressions chasing across their features.
Then Judge Nguyen broke the excitement in the courtroom with a bang of his gavel, and silence ensued. The jury filed back into their seats from the deliberation room.
“All rise,” the clerk said.
White flashes and the sound of shuttering cameras sounded out like vultures circling a carcass.
“Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?” Jude Nguyen asked.
A woman no older than Aaron himself stood and nodded. “Yes, we have, your Honor.”
The clerk retrieved a form from the juror and brought it to the judge, who lowered his glasses to read it. “We the jury, in the case of The United States versus Aaron Hotchner, find the defendant guilty of all charges.” He looked up to catch Aaron’s eye and continued coldly, “Mr. Hotchner will hereby be sentenced to 15 years State prison with the possibility of parole for Count One Attempted Homicide in the second degree. That will run consecutively with Counts Two through Three, Aggravated Assault with a deadly weapon and Reckless Endangerment, with a sentencing of 10 years, and the last and final Charge, Four, Rape in the first degree, with a concurrent sentencing of 25 years.”
He thanked the jury and left the courtroom as the media exploded behind him.
Aaron didn't notice the yelling and shouting. All he could hear was a deafening ringing in his ears, almost blinding him. 25 years.
Someone was tugging on his handcuffs, taking him out of the courtroom, and his feet moved underneath him without his say-so.
And a voice cut through the deafening ring.
One single voice.
“AARON!”
Notes:
Thanks for reading! ❤️😏
I’m working on the next chap but I got a lot of IRL stuff going on right now so be patient! Thanks
Chapter 57: Twenty Five Years
Chapter Text
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Chapter 58: HOTCH
Summary:
In the last chapter, Hotch had Spencer touch himself in the visitor's area and his lawyer was fighting a losing battle trying to find some sort of loophole or backdoor deal that would get him out of jail. He was sentenced to 25 years state prision.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“I know our love won't be a give and take
I'll keep on giving, giving, giving and hope someday you do the same
'Cause I would give you my everything
And get nothing, nothing, nothing in return for wasted days
But I, I like you the way you are
And I, I wouldn't mind if you broke my heart
Then sit and watch as I slowly fall apart”
― What a Shame, Telltale
“Twenty five years? Jesus Christ, Jill! Explain to me what the fuck happened out there?” Aaron slammed his palms down on the table, metal handcuffs cutting through the quiet room. Already they had him under lock and key waiting for the bus to arrive that would take him to state prison.
“Listen, Aaron…” Jillian laughed nervously. “That Oliver kid, we had no idea he had that kind of pull. You had no idea either…”
“Twenty five years, Jill! I’m– I’ll die in there!”
“Calm down, please. We’ll figure something out. There has to be a deal we can strike. There’s no way you’ll serve that.”
Aaron attempted to run his hands down his face, but it was jammed by the chain connecting his cuffs to the table. He grunted in aggravation. “With whom? The Judge that we have in our back pocket? The DoC VP that hasn’t returned any of your calls? I’m as good as dead.”
“Aaron…”
“Fuck you, Jillian!”
. . .
“Twenty five years…?” Spencer murmured under his breath. “Twenty five– AARON! COME BACK! COME BACK, AARON, AARON! I LOVE YOU!”
He kept screaming and screaming as the courtroom dwindled. He screamed until his lungs gave out. Profanities for the judge, curses for the jurors, and declarations of endless love for a man that didn’t deserve it.
“Stop it, Spencer! Pull yourself together, man,” Ethan hissed.
Elle looked on sadly without saying anything. Perhaps there wasn’t anything left to say.
They soon dragged him from the courtroom kicking and screaming to the dorm where he resumed his hibernation on the couch. Channel 7 news blared on loop as it covered Aaron’s case every half hour. For those three minutes, he was enraptured.
Ethan kept yammering in his ear about how this was the end, but it wasn’t. He was wrong. They would call and write and he would visit every chance he got. Aaron would rule him with an iron fist from behind two inch thick bulletproof glass and that would be enough. Day after day, after week, after year, he would love Aaron in whatever way he could.
And so he picked himself up off the couch the day he got the news that Aaron was situated all the way over at Virginia state prison and boarded a bus.
He didn’t look good.
Which felt like treason slipping across the forefront of his mind.
Spencer sat in his seat and put his hands in his lap, looking down at the dirty table until Aaron told him to pick up the phone.
“Master,” he said.
“Sweetheart,” Aaron sighed. “Have you been sleeping?”
“No.”
“Sleep more.”
“Yes, Sir.”
A silence ran between them with the hustle and bustle of prison activity surrounding them, but Spencer felt removed from it all, trapped in a timeless, spaceless vacuum. Just him and his Master and two inches of bulletproof glass separating them.
“I’m going to get out of here—”
“I’ll wait for you, I love you—”
“Spencer,” Aaron sighed. He caught Spencer’s eyes and tipped him a sad smile. Slowly, he raised his hand to the glass and Spencer’s heart skipped a beat as he matched it with his own. “Spencer, I’m so sorry for everything. Look, I’m going to figure this out. This is only temporary.”
“You promise?”
Aaron’s eyes flickered from Spencer’s down to their matching hands. “There’s nothing that could stop me from being with you.”
Spencer sucked in a deep breath and looked at their hands where the glass separated them just barely. Semantics. “Do you promise?”
“I promise,” Aaron whispered. “It may take a month or so, but you can be a good boy for me in the meantime, can’t you?”
“Mmhm,” he nodded.
“Use your words, sweetheart.”
“I will be a good boy for you.”
“There we go,” Aaron whispered like prose into the phone receiver. Spencer blushed.
“You’ll call, Sir?”
“Every evening at six when you’re not visiting.” He paused. “And I want you to answer with nothing on. Are we clear?”
The scandalous image of his cellphone pressed to his ear while he lay there naked in bed, hand eager to touch but never quite getting to sat heavy in Spencer’s mind. “Yes, Sir.”
“That’s my boy.” Aaron sat back in his chair, slipping his hand away while Spencer whimpered at the loss, and he raked his eyes predatorily down his body. “Now tell Daddy what you wrote for him and where.”
. . .
State prison differed greatly from the Central Detention Facility. The detention facility was a walk in the park, a slap on the wrist. State prison was where they sent you to fester and rot.
Everything was covered in dirt and barely functional. From his cell which stank of piss to the cafeteria which also stank of piss, it was a complete shit show. Clearly, the entire place was overpopulated and underfunded. A fuck you from the US Government.
He put guys away in shitholes like this, he didn’t get sent to them. He didn’t deserve this sort of inhumane treatment. Fuck one naive student and suddenly you’re faced with an entire building full of criminals that would love nothing more than smashing the skull of the FBI agent against the concrete floor.
But Spencer didn’t deserve to be here either, despite the mistake he made. He wouldn’t make it out alive.
Aaron mostly kept to himself when he could. He hid in plain sight. Made himself unassuming. He knew to never get caught alone but never get noticed either. In his first two weeks, there were four stabbings and an overdose, so his presence didn’t rank the highest on prison gossip. Still, he did have his arm fractured by a gang that he looked at the wrong way. Allegedly.
Spencer didn’t take well to the fracture, and Aaron couldn’t decide whether he was proud that he picked up so easily on the injury that he was trying to hide, or annoyed that he wouldn’t stop fretting even when he was told to be quiet. It was hard not to notice how far Spencer had come with his profiling skills even without in-field training.
After a month of dragging himself out of his back breaking cot and shuffling around the prison like a zombie, his lawyer Jill called with news about his appeal. It was denied. He banged the phone against the concrete and swore deadly curses into the stale, disgusting prison air. A guard yelled at him but he paid no mind, putting the scuffed receiver back up to his ear. “What do you mean, denied? We weren’t even asking for the entire sentence to be dropped. It was supposed to be more of an ongoing conversation. Jesus, a negotiation.”
“I know, Aaron, but this judge doesn’t play ball. He’s new, he’s from upstate New York, he’s playing by the rules and sticking to them. I can’t get a single thing past him! It’s not like it was way back when.”
“He has to have a weakness. Bribe him, threaten him, blackmail him for Christ's sake! I don't know, but if you don’t figure something out soon I’m going to lose my fucking mind in here,” he whispered like the cut of a knife.
She sighed heavily on the other side of the line. “You know I’m trying.”
“Not hard enough.” He thrust the receiver at the phone box and left it dangling with a dial tone as he walked away.
She didn’t try any harder. Or maybe she did. It didn’t matter because another month passed by and he was still clad in a moldy orange jumpsuit with a huge target on his back. His twice fractured arm was already healing a second time.
“We’ve hit a dead end,” she said, and it sounded like she meant it. Shoulders slumped, brow creased, fists clenched, Aaron could almost picture her sitting at her desk, shaking, with the receiver pressed up against her ear and waiting for his response. So he was really going to serve twenty five. Twenty five fucking years. She exhausted every avenue. “I’m so sorry, Aaron. I don’t know what else to do–”
He drove his fist into the wall and fractured every bone in his hand.
He then drove his first into the first face he saw and didn’t stop beating it until he was pried off by a pair of guards who threw him into an empty cell.
Solitary wasn’t fun.
From outside the cell, he could hear the screams of the other prisoners locked in tiny cages.
From inside his, nothing.
For the first couple days he kept busy with physical activity, pushups, crunches, jumping jacks, but even that started to wear on him. Though he couldn’t tell the time of day, he tried to keep track of the meals and figured it had to be evening on the fourth day.
The silence became deafening. Only the chatter of his own sour thoughts filled the room, and those were ones he didn’t want to listen to.
He thought about the incident. The numb look on Spencer’s face as he held the gun, blood spattered on his bare chest, the way he looked to him for answers so sincerely, as if every single solution in the world lay with him. As if he were bulletproof, infallible, larger than life.
And hadn’t he built himself up to be like that for him? To be his savior? Someone he would do anything for, yearn for, be desperate for?
Pull the trigger of a gun for?
He never meant to twist Spencer’s mind in that direction, but he did. It was his fault that Oliver was lying in a hospital bed and his fault that Spencer had to bear the burden of what he did to his friend. In the silence of his mind, it couldn’t have been more clear: he was pulling the strings and making Spencer dance like a murderous marionette.
He deserved prison. He deserved to rot.
He got Oliver shot.
He got his son kidnapped.
He raped that sweet boy in a bathroom bar and made him lose his fucking mind.
Maybe twenty five years wasn’t long enough.
Aaron hit the back of his head hard against the concrete wall and groaned, pain shooting through his spine to various parts of his body. The nerves in his left arm buzzed and flared then faded.
It was his fault that Jack would grow up without a father. Time after time he continued to fail his son to the point where he wasn’t sure he was ever meant to be a father in the first place. Clearly he wasn’t up to the role. Some men are merely monsters.
His thoughts spun on loop; the pain, the regret, the shame. Another week passed and he became one of the screaming lunatics he balked at when he first arrived, spilling his sorrows into the empty air for no one to hear, no one to care.
What was worst of all was knowing that Spencer was still out there with hearts in his eyes willing to do anything for the love he was promised, even if it meant waiting twenty five long years for it. After everything he put him through, Spencer didn’t deserve that.
As much as he’d like to keep him on a short leash even from behind prison bars, he realized that he’d done enough damage. The game was over. He lost; they both lost. He needed to let Spencer go.
The guards pulled him out limp and listless, dumping him back in gen pop like the past weeks never happened. Maybe they didn’t.
He didn’t call Spencer that evening or the next.
Jill was yet to return any of his calls. The gang from block B refractured his arm. He had his mattress stolen. Someone carved ‘pig’ in his cell.
Spencer showed up for visitation as Aaron suspected he had every available day while he was gone. He debated for a moment on leaving him there to wait. To come back another day when his thoughts weren’t so depressingly realistic.
But he walked out into the visitation room to see his lover sitting across the glass with anticipation and hope in his sunken, red eyes, ones that told a story of sleepless nights and painful tears.
The first of many, if he didn’t set him free. And if he did.
This was it: the defining moment where he either grabbed onto Spencer and dragged him down into the dark depths never to resurface again, full of emotional suffering and onesided gratification, or he let him go: released him back into the world. Let his broken heart heal. More acute pain in the short term, but a wound that would scab and grow anew until it was a just dull ache or a numb memory. A story.
In ten years, he would still be rotting in his cell. Spencer didn’t need to be rotting alongside him. Because he would. Him and his beautiful bleeding heart. Aaron would destroy it if he wasn’t careful.
Spencer looked at him desperately, lip quivering, hands clenched around the receiver, waiting for him to say something. Trained perfectly to the point of differential silence even when he was dying to profess his feelings.
“Spencer, darling,” Aaron breathed. He sat down and ran a dirty hand over his face, propped his thrice fractured arm up on the table without wincing.
“Sir,” Spencer gasped. “W-Where were you? I’ve missed you. Are you alright?”
Aaron nodded his head slowly. Looking at Spencer in the flesh, he wasn’t sure he could go through with it. He loved him more than he could have ever thought possible. “I’m fine. I was unavailable.”
“I sent you a package–”
“We need to talk–”
“Sorry,” Spencer squeaked. “Sorry, go ahead.”
“Spencer, we need to talk about this. There’s been no progress with my case. I could be in here for a long time. I will.”
Twenty five years.
Spencer looked up to meet Aaron’s eyes even though he felt tears brimming in his. “I’ll write every day. And we can talk on the phone. I love you.”
“Spence, I know, but—”
“And I’ll visit every day! Well, three– three times a week during the visiting hours. I’ll be here like clockwork every moment I'm allowed. I promise. I’ll be so good. I don’t have university anymore, I can devote all my time to–”
Aaron removed the phone from his ear and it clattered to the table in his hand. What he said was audible even without it. “Stop.”
“Please, Sir—”
“I won’t say it again,” Aaron said.
Spencer wiped the tears from his cheeks and sniffled wet and disgusting. “You look handsome in that jumpsuit. You even make orange look good.”
“Spencer.”
“You do!” he cried.
“Listen to me. I’m not getting out. Hey, look me in the eyes, Spencer.” Aaron waited until Spencer dabbed at his tears with the wet sleeve of his sweater then brought his bloodshot eyes up obediently. It sent a shiver down his spine. “Spencer, honey, I love you, but… this can’t continue. I’m not getting out and quite frankly, love, I deserve this." He paused to take a deep breath. "I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through in the past two years. I need you to know that. That I was selfish in what I took from you. And I need you to be strong now. To be a big boy for me and not be upset. Will you do that for me?”
“No, no, no,” Spencer chanted softly through a sharp intake of breath. Devastation played out plainly on his face, Aaron was defeated at the sight of it.
“You’re so brilliant, Spencer, more than you realize. You’re beautiful and empathetic. You’re strong, so strong. You’re going to get through this without me. You have to.”
“I don’t want to!” he cried.
“Spencer, calm down, sweetheart.”
“No! No! No, you’re not doing this!” he screamed. “E-E-Eight thousand nine hundred seventy-one–”
“Sit down,” Aaron barked. The guards looked at him in warning. “Spencer.”
“You’re not doing this. You’re not leaving me. Not after everything! Everything we’ve been through! You can’t do this! I-I– I won’t let you!”
“We have no future. I have no future.” Aaron looked down, for once showing something vulnerable and open, something that shook Spencer into silence. “You still do. Please, Spencer. For me, make something of yourself. You don’t need an old, selfish man weighing you down from prison. You’re so young. You have your whole life ahead of you. You’re going to do so many great things. I know it.”
“I can still do them with you in my life.” Spencer’s voice cracked.
Aaron went on as if he didn’t say anything at all. “You can work on finding a cure for schizophrenia like you’ve always dreamed. You’ll be such an amazing researcher. Any field you go into will be immeasurably lucky to have you in it.”
“These things aren’t mutually exclusive…” Spencer said with hot tears rolling down his cheeks. He wasn’t bothering to wipe them away anymore.
“They are. You’re not wasting your life being tied to me.”
“I want to. It’s not a waste. It’s my life, and I want to.”
“I won’t allow it.”
“I-If you’re n-not my,” Spencer’s voice cracked and he took a deep breath, looking like he couldn’t continue, “my… Then you don’t get to allow it.”
“Spencer.” Aaron looked at him with a dark and intense glare. “I’m taking you off the visitor’s list. Ask your friend Ethan for help. I know you can do this, okay? You’re stronger than you know.” He paused, then put his hand up to the glass. “I love you, baby. Don’t contact me again.”
He stood as Spencer’s hand reached to match his, missing it by a split second.
He could hear sobs as he left. He didn’t look back.
Twenty five years.
And this was just the beginning.
He headed straight for cell block B and beat the man who fractured his arm bloody and broken against the concrete floor until he was blinded by his own pain screaming to overtake him.
He was done laying low.
He was just done.
Notes:
Thanks for reading! ❤️🤪
Chapter 59: Never Give Up
Summary:
In the last chap Hotch was sent to solitary confinement where he did a lot of thinking about the past couple years. When he got out, he broke things off with Spencer for good.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Make you beg to be my whore
Do my bidding day and night
If you can take it and survive”
― Possession, Danzig
NO.
He’s not breaking up with him, no.
Not after everything they’ve been through.
He’s not giving up on Master when he needs him the most. No, when they need each other most.
Aaron may not realize it but he doesn’t mean what he’s saying. For once, he wasn’t right. As much it pained him to think about, it made sense— he’d just been through an incredibly traumatic ordeal. Taking the fall for him, losing his son again, being sentenced for nearly two decades… he wasn’t thinking straight.
He was thinking with his heart, trying to set him free to have a better life, but he didn’t understand that any life without him wasn’t worth living.
He owed Master his life, he owed him everything. It could have easily been him behind bars but Master protected him. He loved him. He did it to save him and he didn’t deserve it. Now he was trying to push him away, and for what? For a better life? No.
Absolutely fucking not.
Come hell or high water, he would get Aaron back. If that meant calling him up twenty-four-seven, writing him letters, and showing up for visitation, then so be it. He would wear him down. He would show him he was in it for the long haul.
He called the prison every day for a week with no answer. It was becoming unbearable, the rejection, but he could do it. He’d been through worse. But his heart was aching for Aaron; it hurt, physically hurt, to be apart from him.
Early one morning while Ethan was sleeping, he slipped out of the dorm and started walking. It was a miracle he made it out of there as Ethan was keeping him under lock and key, watching over his every movement like a hawk. Ethan even tried stealing his new cell phone but there was no way he would let that thing out of his sight long enough, not when it was his only connection to Aaron. He was even sleeping with it clutched to his chest now.
After a long bus ride, he got out at a familiar station and started walking. The way to Aaron’s house was comforting, swarming with past memories.
There was something wrong when he got to Aaron’s house.
Spencer gasped and stumbled back, taking in the big bold letters graffitied onto his garage doors, RAPIST.
Master was not a rapist.
Fucking Oliver. What did he ever see in him? Why did he have sex with him? Why didn’t he listen to Master? He deserved every bit of punishment he got for that. Master was so right. He was always right. He wasn’t sure why he always doubted him…
He broke in through the side window and sat for a few minutes slumped down on the floor, his head resting on the wall, as he closed his eyes and breathed in Aaron’s scent–the distinct smell of his house that he’d come to love.
He tried the prison on his cell, but the phones weren’t on at that hour.
Taking a big deep breath, he got to his feet and headed for the bedroom. Everything was exactly as he left it that night of his celebration dinner, down to the petals on the bedspread.
All of that could have been his…
He could only imagine the night they would have shared had Oliver not shown up and ruined everything.
Aaron pulling him into the bedroom with praise falling from his lips.
Setting him down on the bed and removing his clothing piece by piece.
Placing kisses on each bit of exposed skin, flush and sensitive with anticipation.
Soft music floating in the background, candles dotting the room.
Silky petals sticking to his bare back, littered over his chest.
Aaron hovering over him with his dress shirt opened wide.
His fat cock hanging from his undone zipper.
The feel of his fingers spreading lube over his needy hole.
The burn of his blunt top pushing inside.
The crash of submission washing over him as he took it all.
Being held in Master’s arms as he rocked into him, fucking him to his limit.
He could have had it all.
Now he had an empty bed with the sour reminder of his foolishness screaming back at him. He sank down to his knees and rested his head on the mattress, wishing to feel Aaron’s knees spread wide on either side of him, the warm, inviting bulge of his boxers pressed up against his lips. He longed for the taste, the smell.
His cock twitched inside its silicone cage and behaved, not growing an inch. Bad boy. Can’t get aroused without permission.
He found the cologne he loved so much on the bathroom counter and splashed it on his neck. He smelled just like Master.
Inside the closet, he stripped bare and changed into Aaron’s clothing: his teeshirt and old Yale sweatshirt, his boxers, his sweats. They smelled just like him, felt just like him, almost as if he were in his arms being hugged.
In the mirror, they looked huge on him. The neckline of the sweater threatened to fall off his shoulder. He adored feeling small and vulnerable in Master’s clothes.
He got an idea and kicked off his pants. The soft purple of the silicone cage looked so pretty next to the navy blue of the sweatshirt and he pulled it up to show his belly too. Over the past few weeks he lost so much weight. Hopefully Master still found him attractive.
He held up his cellphone and clicked a photograph, a full-frontal nude.
YOURS and FOREVER stood out on his pale inner thighs.
He sat on the carpet, then, spread his legs wide, and snapped a photo.
Turned around and bent over, his penis hung down in its cage, spreading his ass with one hand, and he snapped a photo.
He wasn’t going down without a fight.
. . .
He woke up in the morning sprawled naked in Master’s bed, clutching a pillow to his chest that was stained with tears. For just a moment, before reality sunk in, he lay there as peaceful memories of Master’s bed washes over him, even convincing him everything was perfect again.
Then it sank in. The bed was colder. The light falling in through the windows was too bright, the birds too loud. The sheets itched and he needed to get out.
Downstairs, he found a large bucket and bleach, carrying it outside onto the driveway and filling the bucket up with the hose. He put on some latex gloves and got to work.
Scrubbing off the spray paint was more difficult than expected. Even the bleach didn't pick it up as well as he’d hoped. The “R’ was halfway gone and an entire hour had passed. His arms ached from the strain, but still, he scrubbed and scrubbed.
Rapist.
Master didn’t rape Oliver. He hated that everyone thought that. He didn’t. He would never touch Oliver. Not when he had him. He would never cheat on him. He wouldn't. He loves him. He adores him. For Oliver to lie and accuse him of that… he wanted to punch something. A fit of sharp jealousy stung in his chest. His Master, not Olivers.
Master wouldn’t. Master would never.
A beat-up blue clunker pulled up the driveway in the late afternoon while he was still elbow deep in murky water, and chaos ensued.
“I goddamn knew it!” Ethan shouted.
Spencer whipped his head around.
Elle climbed out of the car too. “Spence, what are you doing…”
“Nothing. Leave.”
“We just want to help. Come back home.”
Spencer threw the brillo on the pavement and it splashed all over. “I am home!”
“Oh, get real, dude!”
“No, you get real!” Spencer shrieked. “I love this man! I don’t care what you think about it!”
“Yeah, well, I don’t care what you think either so get in the fucking car or I’ll force you in it.” Ethan’s eyes flashed with a passion that Spencer had never seen before. This wasn’t the Ethan he’d always known.
Spencer bolted, heading for the front door and Ethan was quick on his tail. He caught the hem of his sweater and crashed him down onto the walkway. Spencer groaned in pain.
“I told you, didn’t I?”
“Get off me,” Spencer hissed.
“Fine.” Ethan grabbed his wrist in a death grip, letting him stand. Despite the noises of pain and protest, he twisted it behind his back, yanking him towards the car. “Let’s go.”
“Elle…” Spencer begged.
She looked back at him pleadingly but made no attempts to stop it.
Spencer banged on the windows as they drove him away. Ethan brought them to the dorm and sat him down at the kitchen table. Elle was leaning against the counter with a sad look, looking between them both.
Ethan strode away, into the bedroom and came back with two trash bags stuffed to the brim. He turned to Spencer, hand on his hips with a deadpan face. “Is this everything he gave you?”
“What…?”
“That fucker, Professor Hotchner, is this everything he gave to you?”
“W-Wh-” Spencer lept from the chair to the floor on his knees, clawing up the trash bags only for his whole wardrobe to come spilling out. His soft purple sweater, mickey mouse, and the green one with ducks flying across it. He loved that one! Master bought it for him so long ago… back when they first met, first started dating… “You’re not throwing these out. They’re mine.”
“No, they’re garbage and that’s where they’re going. You’re not walking around with the clothing that your rapist bought for you. Not happening.”
Spencer gasped, falling back on his ass, and looked up to Ethan, horrified. Not a single drop of empathy was on his face. He grabbed at the clothes, stuffing as much as he could to his chest and standing up on shaky feet. “You’re not the boss of me!”
“No, I’m just your fucking friend, somehow, and I’m trying to look out for you. Jesus, Spencer! Use your head for once! It’s for your own good!” Ethan picked up the second bag, but Spencer grabbed at it too, trying to tug it from his grip. The two of them pulled relentlessly as the black plastic stretched, turning gray with strain, until it ripped open and Spencer’s dress clothes fell to the floor, vest, button up, ties, all his favorites that Aaron loved ripping off him.
Spencer darted down, scooping up as much as he could and running for his room, but Ethan caught him by the neck of his shirt and yanked him back.
“Let me go!” Spencer tumbled back to the floor on top of Ethan, a grunt sounding from him as he took Spencer’s elbow in the stomach. They struggled and rolled around on the floor, pulling and pushing, trying to get the upper hand. Ethan got to his feet and grabbed an armful of clothes, stuffing them into yet another bag while Spencer desperately pounded his fists against him.
“Elle, get the door!”
He dragged the bags outside, down the hall, past the curious gazes of the other students, and into the courtyard outside, brought his lighter out of his pocket, and set them aflame.
“No!” Spencer screamed. “Put that out– No!”
“Stop! Stop struggling!” Ethan wrapped Spencer in a bear hug and hauled him back off the grass. They stood there watching the flames grow higher into the night air as something inside of Spencer broke.
He dropped to his knees. Tears streamed down his face. “I will never forgive you for this,” he said.
And he meant it.
Notes:
As always, thanks for reading! ❤️
Thank you to everyone reading and commenting on this fic, I really love all of you. This fic will be updated in July, I hope. I'm going through a very rough time IRL with some things going on and so I don't always have the motivation to write this. But, it will be updated! Thank you for your continued patience.
Chapter 60: The Spiral Doesn't End There
Summary:
Okay sooo in the last chapter (a month ago omg sorry) Spencer went to Aaron's house and found it spraypainted up with "RAPIST" on the garage door and Ethan found him there days later scrubbing it off. They got into a huge fight, Ethan tried to speed up his recovery by burning all of the things PH gave him, and in conjunction with PH completely ignoring him, he broke down. (yet again)
Now...
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Fatality is like ghosts in snow
And you have no idea what you're up against"
―Vampires Will Never Hurt You, My Chemical Romance
They fought for days. Venomous curses and things that couldn’t be taken back; the fracture in their friendship was beginning to seem insurmountable. Spencer didn’t care to repair it, anyhow. Ethan stopped being a friend the moment he meddled in his personal life with his own self righteous agenda.
He would have left the dorm if he had anywhere else to go. Even Aaron’s house wasn’t a possibility anymore; people were swarming it constantly, news crews, case workers, and who knows who else.
Family, once. Spencer saw from across the street where he had been accustomed to sitting on the sidewalk, watching. A young man with sandy brown hair but the same dark eyes and athletic build. Something inside his heart fluttered at the site–Aaron never mentioned a brother, a cousin?
From his pocket, his phone rang. Penelope was calling him again for the fifth time that week on Ethan’s insistence, no doubt. So had Emily, JJ, and even Will who he’d never even shared a one on one conversation with.
“What?” He cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear, watching the younger Hotchner man go back and forth from the house to his car.
“Hey, Sweetie. Just checking up on you, thanks for answering.”
“Eh,” he murmured. “I’m fine. I don’t need checking up on. Tell Ethan I’m fine.”
“He didn’t– Spencer, he’s just worried. I’m worried too, Sugarplum. This isn’t like you. I don’t know what’s going on but all your friends are here for you.”
“You guys aren’t my friends.”
Penelope huffed. “Look, I know you’re upset and I won’t take that to heart. Let’s get together and watch some Doctor Who, get some take out. Just you and me?”
“I don’t need your pity, but thanks.” His head perked up as the younger man stood on the porch across the street staring right at him. “I’ve got to go. Bye, Pen.”
“Spencer, please–”
The man crossed his arms and yelled across the street, “What’re you staring at?”
Spencer shook his head. “I’m not,” he started.
“You take your camcorder or whatever it is you vultures carry and beat it. I’ve had enough with the press hovering around here, I’ll call the cops for trespassing.”
“I’m not press!” Spencer flew to his feet. “I’m… I’m a student. I was his student.”
It wasn’t exactly a straight out lie, he was his student, it just so happened that their relationship went a lot deeper than that. Student, slave, boyfriend, lover.
“Well, what do you want?”
What did he want? To walk inside and have Aaron standing in the foyer waiting for him to undress? To be pushed down to the ground and taken without so much as a hello?
To have Aaron pull him into his arms and tell him that everything was going to be okay? Yeah, all of the above, mostly. Only he wasn’t in there waiting for him, he wasn’t anywhere waiting for him. It was just the remnants of his possessions scattered around the house as his brother took them away.
“Well?” he prompted.
“I just, I wanted to say goodbye, I guess,” he said lamely.
The younger Hotchner sighed and waved him over as he balanced a box on his hip, lugging it towards his pickup. “Whatever you’re up to, just make it quick, okay?”
“Thank you! Uh.”
“Sean.”
“Sean Hotchner,” Spencer breathed. Hotch never mentioned him, not once. “Brother?”
“Yep. But just barely,” Sean scoffed. “Aaron left home when I was only seven. No, he left me. He left me all alone in that house with him.” Sean froze and looked back at Spencer for the first time since he walked up to the porch. “Shit, didn’t mean to say that. Sorry, man.”
“That’s okay... He, he never told me anything about uh, your father?”
“That’s because he’s a sad, shitty excuse for a man. He ruined everything he ever touched. I don’t know why I’m tellin’ you this,” he laughed without humor. “Aaron got it the worst, though. I can’t even blame him for leaving. He couldn’t have stuck around just for me. He was only a kid too.”
“I’m sure he loved you,” Spencer whispered.
“Love don’t mean shit. Not when you’re left behind to suffer by yourself. But then again, look where it got him.”
“Where did he go when he left?” Spencer inched closer to him.
“Hell if I know.” Sean shrugged. “We haven’t talked in twenty years. Just another thing Dad ruined…”
Spencer watched as Sean threw the box onto the truck with more force than was necessary. Something inside the box broke but he just turned away unaffected. He was clearly done with the conversation. Spencer kept his mouth shut about it and journeyed inside the house while he wasn’t looking.
Screw Ethan for burning all of his things. Master’s closet was still full of clothes, and he pulled down his old college sweatshirt, Yale stitched across the front. Last time he wore this, he was wearing only this and Aaron was fucking him slowly for once, draped over the back of the couch, ass in the air. He felt so full then, full of love and full of cock. One of the happiest times in his life.
He slipped it on and sat cross legged on the bed, pulling out his phone and pressing speed dial.
“Welcome to Virginia State penitentiary. The inmate you are trying to reach is not available. To leave a message–”
Spencer pressed in the digits he’d pushed a thousand times already and let his voice quiver into the receiver. “Hi, Master. I miss you, I miss you so much. I’m, um, I’m at your house, I have your Yale sweatshirt on. Remember that one time? I wish you’d answer my calls. Please, Aaron, I’ll be good this time around, I swear. I’ve learned. You taught me so well, and now I can be good for you. Master, please, just give me one more chance. Call me back? I met your brother, Sean, he seems really nice. Troubled, I guess. You never told me you have a brother? I thought we told each other everything… Anyway, call me back, please?”
He slipped out the door before Sean could say anything about the sweater and headed home. There wasn’t much to do without having enrolled back in school unless you counted all the time he spent dodging the calls from the guidance office, surely wanting to walk him through job applications.
Every day was an open expanse of longing and waiting. He had to be ready for the day Master finally called him back, ready to start their relationship up again. It’s been almost three months since the last time they spoke to each other, that damning conversation where Master said he didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.
Back at the dorm, Elle was waiting for him with Penny, Emily, and JJ in tow. They barely gave him any room to breathe as they dragged him from the dorm out to the same club Ethan took him to last year, claiming that blowing off a bit of steam would clear his head. There was only one thing he could blow that would clear his head, and it wasn’t steam.
He tied the arms of his sweater around his waist and nervously shook as Penny and Emily danced around him. He never knew that Emily was queer before that night, not that it made him any more willing to be there but it was comforting to know, and she said there was even someone she was waiting for too.
The lights overhead flashed in blue and purple, the music thumping as loud as could be, possibly shaking the floorboards with the reverberation. All he wanted was a quiet night in with his cellphone pressed against his ear listening to Aaron tell him about his day. He would listen for hours, he would listen for days. It didn’t matter how mundane and repetitive it got, he would listen with bated breath every time that Aaron called him. If only.
His phone buzzed in his pocket just then, and it couldn’t be any of his helicopter friends this time. He couldn’t hear whoever was on the other side of the line over the swell of the music, and darted towards the nearest exit, shouting into the receiver, “Hold on! Hold on, don’t hang up!”
Knocking his shoulder into an emergency exit, he burst into the cool night air and the music receded behind him. “Hello? Who is this?”
“Spencer?”
“Aaron!” Spencer gasped. “Y-You called! I can’t believe it, thank you.”
“Stop hanging around my house, and don’t talk to my brother,” he said. “I told you, we’re done. You need to forget about me. Spencer, I mean it. Move on and leave my family out of this.”
“Aaron, wait, I–” The line went dead.
He wiped the tears that were running down his cheeks with a shaking hand, but they kept coming, then the racked breaths, and pained whimpers.
Sobbing in the dingey back alley of a gay club, wasn't exactly what Elle had in mind, (or Ethan, more likely) but he couldn’t help falling apart when the man he loved rejected him again with such finality.
He was ugly crying, half sagged down the concrete wall of the club when a man around his age sauntered up.
“Leave me alone,” Spencer muttered.
“Shit, what happened to you?”
He drew in a deep breath as his chest staggered on his breathing and out came a fresh torrent of tears. He let himself drop down the wall all the way onto the wet concrete below and let it out. “N-Nothing. Nothing happened.” Nothing at all. Though he wished it had. Something, anything, just one bit of attention from his Master was all he needed.
“Well you sure look upset over nothing,” The guy said. He leaned his back against the wall and slid down to Spencer’s level. “I’ve got something that could help.”
“I’m not interested in that.” Spencer scoffed. “I have, I-I had a partner.”
“What? No, I’m not hitting on you, Jesus. No, I meant this.” He held up a little baggy with some tinfoil inside and tapped on it with a hazy grin. Spencer hadn’t realized how slurred he was talking before now.
“I’m– I’m not into that either.”
“Oh c’mon, it’ll help you forget whatever’s going on up there.” He flicked Spencer's forehead and laughed. “Whoever he is.”
“He’s…” Spencer choked up and cried. “I can’t. I can’t forget anything. Ever.”
“Trust me. This will make you forget, I promise.” Beside him, the guy rooted around in the baggy and sprinkled some powdery substance on a spoon he made appear from his hoodie pocket of all places, and underneath he clicked his lighter to life. “This is the good shit. You won’t even be able to remember your own name.”
And the truth was, he desperately wanted to forget. Not forever, not everything, not every beautiful moment he shared with Aaron, but the pain, the rejection, the fiery disaster in which he blew up their relationship…
He just needed a moment to live in a reality where Aaron wasn’t screening his calls and demanding he move on.
“Here.” The guy strapped a band around his arm and flicked at his skin.
“Are you g-going to disinfect that?” Spencer whispered, then hiccuped.
He laughed. “With what? Just be still.”
“What is it?”
The guy pressed the tip of the needle against his skin and he gulped; he could feel it go all the way down his throat. The guy looked up and met his eyes, staring with intensity. “Hell dust,” he said.
Spencer felt the needle sink in with a sting and then his world exploded. A serene sense of euphoria washed through his head, so full it felt like it could burst at any second, but he didn’t mind because everything felt right. His heart was throbbing with love, with pleasure, with everything that was good in the world. He was finally happy, so utterly and completely happy like he’d never felt before. What had he even been so upset over? Life is amazing.
Distantly, he heard some shuffling, footsteps, and raised voices, but he slumped further down the wall until he was laying on soft, pillowy clouds, and smiled.
Elle threw the first punch that landed square on the guy’s jaw and he staggered back. “What the fuck!”
“Get away from him!” Penny shouted, rushing towards him, knocking him to the ground. Emily was right behind her and sending blow after blow into his bloody face.
“Hey! Get off me! I didn’t do anything!”
Elle kneeled down next to Spencer’s limp body and shook his shoulders. His clothes were wet from the damp ground, and he smelled like rotten garbage. “Spencer! Wake up! Spencer!”
“Elle, call the cops! We need an ambulance.” Emily fell to the side of the druggie who wasn’t putting up much of a fight anymore, her fists smeared in blood.
“I just gave him what he wanted,” he whispered. “He asked for it.”
“Spencer would never,” Penny gasped. "JJ, help me turn him on his side until the ambulance comes!"
The girls did their best to help Spencer as the minutes ticked by and the ambulance showed. Spencer was picked up and put on a stretcher into an ambulance where they shoved something up his nose and he gasped to life.
"-No!" he shrieked. "No, wait! No! Don't- Don't touch me! I-I want to forget," he broke into sobs. "Take me back, take me back..."
Penny climbed into the ambulance and the doors shut behind her. Spencer was curled up into a ball as best as he could manage on the stretcher while the EMTs worked on him. She reached out for his hand but he swatted her away. "Sweetie... Spencer, you're going to be okay."
"I was okay, for once," he spat from under his arms where he was shielding his face. "I couldn't feel anything."
Notes:
Thanks for reading! And thanks as always to Brillianthijinx for beta'ing and keeping this fic alive every time I don't feel like writing it lmao.
I made a tumblr too—
Thehotchreidzine.tumblr.com
Goobzoop.tumblr.com
Check ‘em out! ❤️
Chapter 61: Eat My Ass
Summary:
Hey, guys! Sorry for the absence. Here's a refresher: In the last chapter, Spencer was dragged out to a club by the girls because he's been incredibly depressed after Hotch broke up with him for good and is locked in prison. He doesn't want to get over him but doesn't know what to do if Htoch won't take his calls or visits. Anyway, at the club, a guy offers him heroin to forget his troubles and he's instantly hooked.
Chapter Text
For the first ten seconds
It feels really good
No, really–
Astronomical, incomprehensible, sell your soul for a lick–
Sort of
Good
Nothing good
Ever lasts.
Strung out, stung up
Straight from the pavement
To a hospital bed
It doesn’t matter
Where he is
If he isn’t with
Him
The spiral keeps on twisting.
Spencer was discharged the following morning, bandaged and gripping a Recovery pamphlet in his hand. He tossed it into the first garbage bin he saw with no illusions about the effect heroin will have on his mind and body. The 12-step program isn’t going to save him. Only one thing is.
He was doomed
From the moment he said
Behave.
The hospital wasn’t far from the club so he walked there not exactly knowing what he’d find but he needed another hit. This world wasn’t built for him. His own memory wasn’t built for him. Didn’t serve any purpose other than torturing him relentlessly in every way imaginable.
Too smart for a kid his own age, too smart for those grades above him, too smart for his own good.
Surpassing expectations, surpassing rules, surpassing anything that would tether him to reality even a little bit.
Professor Hotchner had been his tether, but now he was floating like a loose balloon, high, high up in the sky and the sun was about to burn him up.
There was no one at the club, hell it wasn’t even open. Noone behind it either, just hot pavement, discarded cigarette butts, somehow even sadder in the light of day. He wasn’t sure what to do until a car pulled up beside him and rolled down the window.
“Uh, what?”
“I said, you good, Honey? Why don’t you let me take you for a ride.”
“I…” He froze. “You think I’m a prostitute? I’m wearing a hospital gown.”
The man in the car scoffed. “Fine, go fuck yourself.”
The cat started to pull away, and Spencer ran after it, thumping his palm on the window. “W-Wait! Wait.” He leaned into the open window and panted, out of breath. “Do you have uh, drugs?”
“Do I have drugs?” The man laughed. “Yeah, kid. I got ‘drugs’. But I’m gonna need a little something in return.” He reached over and pushed the passenger door open as an invitation.
Spencer climbed inside.
The man drove around some before parking in an abandoned parking lot, then turned to him. “What’re you waiting for?”
“Huh-ow!” The man grabbed Spencer's hair and forced his head down to his crotch. Seconds later, he was face to face with a hard cock and a threat to start sucking, so he did. Where were the drugs he promised? It would’ve been a lot better if he could’ve gotten them beforehand instead of having a cock down his throat sober.
Another memory to add to the bank.
“Jesus, fuck. Suck it harder, put a little back into it,” he groaned. “You want your prize, don’t you?” The man bucked his hips and hit the back of Spencer’s throat, made him gag, but held down his head. Spencer sputtered in a vain attempt to breathe, but there was nowhere to go.
The hurtling in his stomach quelled as he took pull after pull of deep breaths in through his nose. If he focused, he could do it. Just suck harder, take it all down, make him cum. Sucking a dick was nothing new. Sucking a dick was something he was good at.
Just close your eyes and pretend it was Professor Hotchner.
“Shit, atta boy. There you go, ya little whore. Work for it, ah, fuck.”
His cock was pulsing hot jizz in no time. Bitter, familiar. He leaned out the window to spit but was caught again by his hair. The man clamped his mouth shut telling him to swallow.
“Don’t you want your prize, honey?” he laughed.
Spencer wanted it. He nodded his head, and swallowed.
“There’s a good boy. Here you go.” He handed him a little cloth pouch that unzipped to a needle and a small baggy.
“Ah, ah, ah. You stay here,” he said when Spencer was opening the car door. “You don’t keep that.”
Fuck, fine. Spencer suppressed a groan he wasn’t sure the man would want to hear, lest he takes his prize away from him. He didn’t say a word as his fingers worked to heat up and draw up what he needed into the syringe. He took a guess on the dosage, but it would suffice. His best guess was better than the man from last night’s, anyway.
The bite was the same, sudden, beautiful.
And then he wasn’t in the car anymore.
Just floating in the sky, high, high up.
Couldn’t remember, not a thing, what was he so upset about anyway? Life was beautiful. Here he was, intelligent and free with limitless possibilities. This was life and he was out there living it!
God, life was amazing.
God, his back hurt.
Jesus, was that a rock?
Life fucking sucks.
He sat up in an empty parking lot aching everywhere.
Bleeding between his thighs.
Stomach rumbling. He needed something to eat, some clothes to change into, maybe a hot shower. But going back to his dorm sounded like a nightmare and his apartment was off limits seeing as the police found that too.
Oliver hated him, if he was still even in D.C., that was a no brainer. He dusted off his gown and spotted a twenty on the ground. Alright. So he had money, he could buy something to wear, or eat, or a bus ticket, or. Well, he wasn’t too sure how much twenty would score him but it was worth a try.
The club was open now. Bass was thumping loudly even from a block away. The neon lights were blaring in the low light. He trudged up and found the first dealer he could crouching by a dumpster, snorting something.
“Hey,” he said.
The guy looked up, sweaty curls damp on his forehead and his nose red raw. “Yo. Sup? You want somethin’?”
Spencer shoved a twenty at him.
The guy handed him a little baggy of pills. Five. “What’s this?”
“Molly, dude.” He looked him up and down for the first time and narrowed his eyes. “The fuck are you wearing, man?”
“I don’t want this. Give me something stronger. Dilaudid, Morphine, Fentanyl, just, just give me something.”
“I don’t got that shit man. I got poppers though? You wan’ a stim? Coke, crystal, what? C’mon man, where you goin? A twenty ain’t gonna get you nothin!”
Spencer barged up to a group of people asking for something strong. One of the women screamed, pushed him back. He fell ass first into the pavement and groaned. Blood ran down his elbow to his wrist. Shit.
Noone was picking up a bloody man in a gown, even if he was just a strung out twink. Two cars passed him by and stopped farther down the road for a luckier soul. All he needed was a quick suck and maybe he could get a hit or twenty more dollars and that’d buy him something.
He was almost out of range from the pickup spots when a two door BMW rolled up slow. “Going somewhere?” it asked.
“Wherever you’re taking me.” Spencer opened the door and got in.
“How much?”
“Twenty. No, forty.” he said. “Do you have anything? Anything IV?”
“Sure.” The older looking man pulled the car into drive and sped down the block, drove for longer than Spencer expected, took him somewhere near the edge of the city.
“Come here,” he said. Slid his car seat all the way back.
“Uh, no, just. Just a blowjob,” Spencer said, losing wind at the end.
“No, sweetheart, you aren’t getting what you want for just that.”
And he wanted it.
He slipped on a condom and beckoned him over, saying he wasn’t going to fuck a dirty whore like him raw. Spencer didn’t care what he did so long as he got what he needed.
It was difficult fucking him in the small confines of a luxury coupe, but at least it didn’t reek of sex and weed the way that last one did.
He steadied one hand on the roof of the car and one on the man’s chest as he worked his ass hard. Had to make him cum soon. His thighs were cramping. He just needed a hit, needed to forget, needed to dull the pain.
“Fuck, yes,” he groaned. “Fucking whore.”
The man was getting close, he could tell, but he grabbed for his throat and started squeezing.
“H-Hey!” he coughed. The man slapped him across the face.
“Don’t fucking stop,” he barked.
Spencer clawed at the fingers around his neck, but it was no use, they were too tight. The longer he struggled, the tighter they were getting and he moved his hips again, fucking the man’s cock as fast as he could go.
“Fuck, Fuck, yes. Stupid bitch.” He slapped Spencer across the face several more times and tears ran down his cheeks. “Fucking take it.”
Any second, he would cum any second. Spencer just had to endure a little longer. The edges of his vision were turning black.
“Ooooh, fuck, you worthless little slut,” the man grunted and came. Spencer fell to the side, pushed over by the man, with his face connecting painfully on the dashboard. He moaned in pain, grasped at his aching jaw, and righted himself in the seat.
“Don’t whores like you know how to fuck?” he grumbled. “Get out.”
Spencer’s head snapped to the side. “What? Where’s my drugs?”
“I don’t have shit for you, bitch, now get out of my car.”
“You said!” Spencer gasped. “Give it to me!”
“You’d better get out of my car if you know what’s good for you, kid,” he warned.
Spencer sat stubbornly in the seat thinking of being back out on the street right back where he started. He couldn't. He needed something, just a little something. “Please,” he begged. The glove compartment could have something. The jigged it open and felt a blast of searing pain on his head.”Fuck!”
The man was pointing a gun straight at his temple, blood on the barrel where he clocked him. “Get your hands out of there. And get the fuck out. Now.”
His hands were shaking and he squeaked out something before he bolted from the car with fight or flight nerves coursing through his body, all jittery and panicked. Where the fuck was he? Somewhere on the edge of town, yes. Fuck, he saw a 7/11, didn’t he?
Street signs; find one. It felt like his vision was swimming, unable to focus. Wait, got it. He knew where he was, he knew where he could go. The night was getting cold in his gown and he had no socks on in his tennis shoes, but none of that really seemed to matter anymore.
His mind felt like agony. His body, too. The pounding ache on the side of his head, his stretched out hole, the indentations of where his knees were digging into the seatbelt in the car as he fucked that awful John. Everything.
But the way his brain felt like it was on fire, that was the absolute worst. It was as if his mind was reliving in picture perfect clarity the elation of highs and trying to get the chemical satisfaction that it was so craving, but nothing was coming. His neurons must've been going haywire.
If he couldn’t score, he would have to just take some by force. And he knew exactly what he needed to do.
Hotch’s house was a few miles from him, and it was silent when he crept up the driveway. There was a key under the mat in the same spot as always that he’d never been more grateful to see.
Sean was sleeping on the couch when he entered, his snores soft but unaffected. Spencer took the gun from his safe in the office last time, but he knew that Hotch kept more locked up in the basement where not even the police would find them. He remembered Hotch taking him down there one day, showing him the cabinet to move, and the safe in the wall behind it. In case you’re ever here and you’re in danger, he said. I want you to protect yourself. I don’t ever want anything happening to you.
This wasn’t danger, but Hotch wasn’t around anymore and he needed it. Needed it like air. It was fully loaded and he took it to the nearest pharmacy, a little suburban chain store a few miles away. No place to score in an area like this except straight from the source.
He threw a rock in the window shattering the glass all over the ground; the sound was a shock against chirping of crickets in the quietness of the approaching night. Glass crunched under his tennis shoes while he brazenly walked inside to find the pharmacy counter even more locked up. There were bars covering the counter and a padlock on the door he needed to get into.
He shot at it twice before it fell to the ground. When he opened the door, an alarm started blaring, muffled only by the high pitched ringing already in his ears. Shit. Where were the narcotics?
He fumbled through the counters looking for something, he wasn’t sure what, just something strong. Soon the police would arrive and he needed to be long gone. They were probably locked up in a cabinet, he thought suddenly, and proceeded to kick the locks of the cabinets closer to the floor. Damnit. Not it.
There was a large cabinet with another padlock and he shot at it. Sparks flew, the ringing grew louder. It fell to the floor. Inside, there were boxes and boxes of vials. Morphine, dilaudid, even fentanyl. There were stars in his eyes; his hands were shaking. The closer he got to relief, the harder it was to hold himself together, as if seeing the finish line was juuust within his grasp made the cravings stronger.
His hands were shaking as he grabbed a needle from a drawer and drew out 2mg of something. He should get out before the cops came, but he could also just get a little hit beforehand, that’s what he was there for after all.
Spencer palpated his antecubital and stabbed into the flesh of his inner elbow. Plunged. Fuck. The room was spinning. He stumbled back and fell to the ground while a box of medical supplies were knocked off the counter onto the ground surrounding him. Everything was a haze.
So blurry. He came to five minutes later with his veins still coursing with pure ecstasy. He needed to leave, right? Right. Grab a bottle, grab more. For later. He scrambled to his feet and tried to stuff vials in his pockets, but he had none in his gown. They clinked and rolled on the floor, running after them.
He tried to squeeze even more vials in the hand he was holding his gun, but in his haste, he pulled the trigger and it went off with a heartstopping bang!
He scrambled back, breathing heavy, eyes wide. Jesus Christ...
Sirens erupted in the distance. Run! He grabbed as many as he could and flew out the door in seconds flat. The broken window was the only available exit and he scraped his calf on a jagged piece of glass as he climbed out. The sirens were deafening now and a blinding light shined on him. He shielded his eyes. A voice blared through a horn. “Police! Put your hands up!”
Spencer raised both hands, full of vials and a loaded gun. The cold wind was blowing his gown and a rush of air flitted under, making him feel just how exposed he was. His ass was completely out.
“Get down on your knees!” they shouted.
Spencer dropped down as if it was the only natural in the world thing he could do.
On your knees. Hands behind your back. Look up, open your mouth. Be a good boy now, Spencer.
Notes:
Thanks for reading and sorry about the brief absence! I blame my new fic obsession that I'm working on and other WIP in the works with darkbluedarkblue that is going to be soo good I swear :0 But not as dark as STDE, more mutual pining and porny. Edit-- posted! Check it out plsss Star Power!
Anyway! I hope you guys like the direction this is going in lmaooo.
ALSO -- I'm creating a fanzine! About Hotch/Reid! thehotchreidzine.tumblr.com and will be done in like... November. Sign-ups are already closed but there will be lots of authors and artists that you love from our fandom. It's gonna be a lot of fun and really cool to have printed as a physical copy. Anyways, be on the lookout for that. I'll post a thing on Tumblr if you want to be added to the email chain.
Chapter 62: Wait, Please / HOTCH
Summary:
Okay, so last chapter: Spencer was strung out and spiraling, begging around town for drugs, and when he couldn't get a fix he robbed a pharmacy and got arrested.
(Bigger Recap: So basically Hotch was abusing Spencer, stokholming him, then Spencer shot Oliver who threatened to expose them. Hotch took the fall for shooting Oliver and was sent to prison where he was sentenced to 25 years and broke up with Spencer for good. Spencer's been depressed since and now going absolutely wild. And got himself arrested.) Ty brill for beta'ing!!
Chapter Text
"Our time has slipped away
We're sinking faster, faster
No more play
Get ready for the catch"
― Emarosa, The Past Should Stay Dead
All he remembered was flashing lights and being pushed around. Here, there. Sitting down, standing up. Look to the left, look to the right. Red, blue, bright flashes, and he’s out.
The high was worn off when he blinked back into existence and he wasn’t happy about it. Something metal and uncomfortable was digging into his lower back. He’s not anywhere he expected, because who expects to wake up in a jail cell?
He’s screwed. A lawyer came midday, a public defender, and the cops talked despite him, on and on and on. But the funny thing was, he didn’t care. What sort of life was it to live without love? No life at all. His life ended the day Professor Hotchner was ripped from his grasp. When he called him up to say goodbye.
Lock him up, throw away the key, it didn’t matter anymore. You only get one shot at true love.
“Reid? Get up.”
He was still in his hospital gown, caked head to toe in dirt and fluids, and followed the officer to the same dingy interrogation room he’d been in and out of all day. This time he was awake enough to pay attention to the conversation. With various accounts of him whoring himself around town, cameras recording him breaking the window and climbing inside, breaking open the locks, and a dozen witnesses watching him crawl bloody, high, and wielding a gun, out of the pharmacy.
“I did it,” he stopped him. No point in lying now. “All of it. Armed robbery, theft, drug use, whatever. I’ll plead guilty. I don’t care.”
“Alright,” the officer huffed. It was just another day for him. Another junkie, another gross disregard of the law.
Spencer let his forehead fall to the metal table and moments later another officer came in to handcuff him and drag him out of the room. The sentencing was swift and the judge only gave him five years, a light ruling for such a serious crime in light of his nonexistent priors.
But his head perked up at the end: Virginia State Penitentiary.
The intake was invasive and they had to cut the lock off his cockcage with a pair of bolt cutters. They made him bend over, shivering and naked, and take a finger up the ass, then squat and cough. But if he had any drugs, he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.
The guard gestures through the halls as they near the temporary cells for the newcomers, and as soon as he finished his speech, Spencer went running for the common area. “Hotch!”
All eyes were on him as he screamed into the sea of men. “Hotch! Hotch!”
“Lost your Daddy?” one snickered.
Spencer whipped his head around. His mind was clear for the first time in weeks. “Yes! Have you seen him? Aaron Hotchner? 6’2”, black hair, about 180 pounds?”
“Shut the fuck up,” he laughed. “I wasn’t really asking, princess.”
Spencer backed up from the man he just realized was looming over him like a skyscraper.
He smirked. “Don’t worry, you got a new Daddy now.”
Oh, fuck. He backed up into the hard chest of another inmate. Perhaps it wasn’t a great idea at his size to run into a den of hungry lions, but he couldn't help it. Maybe his head wasn’t as clear as he thought.
“Where you going, baby?” The man behind him laughed. “Let me take a look at the fresh meat first.”
“Back off. I called dibs,” the other hissed.
Spencer cowered between the two posturing men and imagined how this would all play out, but no matter how many scenarios, it kept ending with the same scene of him face down having his ass fucked by someone who wasn’t really Daddy.
“I don’t see your name on him.”
“You’d better back the fuck up if you know what’s good for you.”
Spencer squeaked from down near the floor where he was starting to curl down into a hunched position. “P-Please… Hotch…”
“Ohh yeah? What you gonna do, faggot, ah? Hit me.”
The first punch went flying and all hell broke loose in the common area. Bodies were everywhere, men kicking, shoving, pushing, punching. He was shaking on the floor.
“Sp-Spencer!?”
His head perked up. “Hotch!”
“Move!” Hotch was across the sea of bodies when their eyes met and it was magnetic. A thrill like fire, hot and electric shot down his body.
“Master!”
He pushed forward only to be stopped by a thick, tattooed bicep. “Uh uh.”
“Hotch! HOTCH! Help me! Let me go!”
They were almost there, almost together. After so long.
“Put him down,” Hotch growled. There was that cold, domineering voice he missed so very much. That was the voice that made men quiver, made violent criminals spill their guts, back down like they were small and helpless. Spencer knew the feeling well.
It was a different story in prison he quickly found out as Hotch was hit in the jaw with a sickening crack and fell to the floor. Spencer ducked down and tried to weave between the legs around him but the man grabbed the back of his jumpsuit and he was pulled back kicking and screaming.
“Aaron! Aaron! He needs me! Let me go! Aaron!”
The man was towering over him with hands groping between his legs quickly, digging into his thighs and his ass. “Pretty little bitch,” he groaned.
“Hotch!” Spencer was kicking and thrashing about to no avail as the man pinned him painfully to the floor until he was being crushed under the weight of two men wrestling above him. he only caught glimpse of Hotch lunging at him, knocking him to the side and pummeling his fists down.
Spencer skittered back and thanked god no one else was after him while he watched Hotch and the man fight for dominance. Hotch was thrown off of him and hit the ground hard, then took several hard blows to the face, then the stomach, and he shoved his knee up.
The man fell with a groan and hand covering his crotch, but Spencer’s eyes were on Hotch, bloodied and beaten, coming at him with fire in his eyes. Shouts and sirens were wailing throughout the hall. He was jerked back as Hotch grabbed his collar and forced him to his feet harder than he needed to because Spencer was willing to follow him to the ends of the earth. He kept pace after Hotch following him at a brisk pace through the hall, the twisted groups of bodies, and into one of the cell blocks where the noise was dampened.
Hotch pushed him up against a concrete wall. “What the hell are you doing here?” And that was hardly an ‘I missed you’
“I couldn’t live without you.” Spencer, strung out, malnourished, depressed, and desperate, meant every word.
“I can’t believe you did this,” Hotch swore.
Tears were threatening to make an appearance as Hotch stared into his eyes with an unrecognizable glare. They were just a hair’s breadth apart and breathing heavy. Hotch was smeared in his own blood, leaking from his nose and a gash on his cheek, as well as the blood from several others, and a nasty black and blue forming on his eye.
It was incredibly sexy. Spencer surged forward and kissed him like they were the last two people on earth. He savored every moment in complete and utter bliss until he was pushed back against the wall.
“Stop it, Spencer,” Hotch ordered. “You are not staying in prison. You understand me?”
“Well, I’m here now.”
“Not for long. you’re getting out of here. I’m getting you out, and I have more than enough favors to cash in for it. I can’t believe you! How could you be so reckless?”
“I’m not leaving!” Spencer shrieked. He ripped out of Hotch’s grasp and backed away. “I’m here whether you like it or not! So… so you better get used to it! I’m never going to leave your side. I love you! I need you, Aaron! Please, please just let me be yours again?”
Hotch looked older, suddenly, worn down and beaten. “Jesus, Spencer.”
“You said we were forever. You said you loved me…”
“I do love you, sweetheart,” Aaron groaned. “That’s why you can’t stay here. That’s why we can’t be together.”
The tears were falling. Spencer wiped them on the back of his orange jumpsuit. “But that’s what I want! If you love me, let’s go back to how it was. Please. Master?”
There was a brief moment Spencer thought Hotch was going to stride forward and kiss him breathless, to yank off all his clothes and fuck him into the cold, hard floor, and instead all he found was disappointment.
He dropped to his knees. Faintly in the distance, he heard a wolf whistle. “Please, Master? Take me back? I’ll be so good for you, I promise. I’ll do anything.”
“Get up. You’re going in your cell and you’re going to stay there indefinitely. No talking to anyone. Keep your head down. And I’m going to see my lawyer to get you out of here.” Hotch grabbed his arm and yanked him back onto his feet but Spencer wrapped his arms around him and hugged with every bit of strength he had left.
He smelled the same. Whiskey and leather, just the faintest hint of apples. It was everything Professor Hotchner. He shivered head to toe as a whimper escaped his lips; Daddy, Master, Lover. He was safe in his arms. As long as he was with Hotch everything would be alright.
“I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here with you, Master. It’s horrible out there without you. Y-You don't know what it’s like… I'm not strong like you, I can't handle it, I need you.”
“You know the only reason I'm in here in the first place was to keep you out of jail, don’t you? I gave up everything for you, Spencer. Everything! And you’re just wasting it away.”
Spencer held on tight as Hotch tried to pull him off. “For what? For me to be alone? I never asked for this!”
“Then, what? Would you have rather me put you in here instead? You shot someone, Spencer. We would’ve been separated no matter what. At least you would have had a future.”
“YOU’RE MY FUTURE!” Spencer shrieked. Hotch’s chest was so warm, it almost felt surreal to be pressing up against him after all that time. He would move mountains to be with him. He’d tear out his still beating heart and serve it on a silver platter. He had him in his grasp now and he was never going to let him go.
“Spencer…” Aaron murmured. “I meant what I said before. We’re done. This can’t continue. Look what you’re doing to yourself. Just look at everything you’ve done chasing this. I can’t continue to enable this anymore.” Aaron sagged down with Spencer’s weight weighing him down and he leaned into Spencer's embrace as they kneeled together on the dirty prison floor. His voice was close to cracking. Spencer’s fierce devotion to him was pulling at his heartstrings the way only he could.
Burning love, a flame too bright, it wasn’t healthy for either of them, and Aaron knew that now. Now, after everything they’d been through; it was destroying everyone and everything in its path.
“I love you, Spencer,” he whispered into his ear. “But no.”
Aaron held on tight through Spencer’s wracked sobs, the violent shaking of his shoulders as he broke down. Spencer was so fragile yet so fierce, Aaron couldn't help but be amazed by the depths of his love and the length he was willing to go for him.
“Come on,” Aaron whispered. Gently, he slid his arm under Spencer’s legs and hoisted him up. Spencer wrapped his arms around his neck and continued to cry as Aaron walked him over to the wing where the new inmates were kept. They got curious stars as they passed through the halls but Aaron kept his head down.
Prison was not a friendly place to an ex-FBI agent, even one with a violent history. Some of the faces he’s seen around were familiar ones, if not from personally incarcerating them, then from working on a team with the people who did during his years as a prosecutor.
It was unlikely that he’d last the entire twenty five years. He thought about that often. This place was a death sentence for him with the only uncertain factor being when? How long would it take for someone to shiv him late at night in his bunk, or bludgeon him to death in the courtyard?
Keeping Spencer around only made him a target by association, and as much as he would like to protect his love, he would be much safer without him.
It was going to be a rough ride either way, but Spencer was strong and capable, cunning, which he needed. He’d make it through if he laid low, didn’t interact, didn’t glue himself to one of the most detested men in the place.
So far he’s suffered a beating nearly every day. He had the word pig carved into his forearm with a dull razor. And he never fought back because it would only make things worse. Who cared if he was labeled as a wimp? A sad sack with no spine? They were just words of detestable men. Fighting back would land him with a bashed in skull in seconds flat. He couldn’t take all these men, and didn’t bother trying.
Spencer was in hysterics when they got to his bunk. His pretty eyelashes were wet with tears, eyes bloodshot, body shaking. He had a vice grip on his wrist and wouldn’t let go.
Aaron gripped back with his other hand around Spencer's wrist until Spencer cried in pain and loosened his hand. “Don’t come to see me,” he said. “You don’t know me. I’m going to talk to my lawyer in the morning and get you out of here so just keep your head down and don’t talk to anyone. Don’t even leave the bunk if you don’t have to. You understand me?” Aaron hissed. “You’re getting out and you going to go live your fucking life.”
“N-No.” Spencer hiccuped.
“Do you think I sacrificed seeing my son grow up so you could rot alongside me? You’re a spoiled fucking brat, Spencer. If you so much as speak my name, you’re going to regret it.”
“Aaron,” Spencer whined.
Aaron flared with anger but held his hand. He’d of slapped Spencer across the face for an act like that but he wouldn’t satisfy him with a reaction now.
“Take this.” He slipped something small and thin into Spencer’s hand and left before Spencer could blink. In his hand was a shiv sharpened from a toothbrush. The point pricked into the pad of his pointer finger and drew blood; he gasped.
How would he make him regret it when the only regret he had was ever leaving his side in the first place?
Chapter 63: Prison Blues
Summary:
omg-- an update? that's right, pals, here i am with my word vomit.
Okay so, in the last chapter, Spencer got himself locked up in prison with Htoch. Hotch shunned him because he's getting his lawyer to get Spencer released ASAP. Spencer, stupid idiot that he is, is obviously distraught.
Notes:
Heed all the TWs listed in the tags, esp. SA/noncon. Thank you.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"The beast still shouts for what it's yearning
He stokes the fire, desire burning
The never-ending quenchless craving
The unforgiven misbehaving"
― If Darkness Had A Son - Metallica
Spencer trailed after Hotch like a shadow for the next few days until Hotch refused to leave his cell and then Spencer was left on his own. He wilted away on his bunk like an unwatered flower until someone tapped him on the arm.
“Hey,” they said. Spencer jumped so bad he hit his head on the metal bar of the top bunk. “Ouch, that looked like it hurt.”
Once Spencer got a good look at the guy, he calmed down. It wasn’t the sort of man that would pin him down in the bunk and have his way with him, hell, Spencer didn’t think this guy was even strong enough to push him—he looked like skin and bones.
“What do you want?”
The guy stuck out his hand and Spencer recoiled from the dirt and grime, the yellowed fingernails. “I’m Lenny. Saw you come in. You don’t talk much, huh?”
“Fuck off, Lenny,” Spencer mumbled back into his pillow when he slouched down again.
“I think we could be friends. I think I’ve got something you might want.”
He didn’t have Master. “Doubt it.”
“Ehh?” Lenny made a little crinkling noise that had Spencer turning his head to look. “You want some of this?”
Spencer’s pulse started racing. Heroin. “W-What’s that?”
“Ooh, he’s interested after all,” Lenny laughed.
Spencer sat up and tucked his legs under him, and Lenny climbed on the bed beside him “What is it?”
“Oxy. Here, I’ll share. You must be jonesing after going through all that processing. That’s always the worst part, till you can get in and score some more.”
Lenny crushed the bag of pills against the concrete wall until it came back a powder. That nasty itch was screaming at him now; it really had been way too long since his last hit. Hotch was a good distraction, but now he needed a distraction from Hotch. Or the lack of him.
With one finger, Lenny tapped the little baggie to pour a bit of power on his hand, and he pushed it into a straight line. Straightish. “Go on, you first. I’m a gentleman,” he laughed.
All qualms about those dirty disgusting hands went out the window as Spencer leaned down and snorted the line off Lenny. “Shit,” he groaned. Another big sniff because his nose was sore and he was flying high.
Someone plopped down beside him—Right, it was Lenny. “So how’d you end up in here?”
“Love,” he simply slurred.
He felt Lenny pushing back the long curls from his sweaty face and his breath way too close. “Don’t worry, we can numb the pain,” he cooed. “Next time won’t be free though. I work hard for this.”
Spencer closed his eyes and everything went quiet.
Sometime later, he couldn’t quite measure it, he was shocked awake by the metal clang of a baton on his bed frame. “Up, inmate!”
“Whasss’going on?”
The voice got colder. “Now!”
In an office where a woman dressed sharp in a black pantsuit sat watching him, he was pushed inside. “Spencer Reid, nice to meet you,” she said. “Jillian Snyder, Federal defender.”
He took a seat opposite from her and the guard left them alone. “Uh, hi.” She must’ve been the lawyer that Hotch was talking about so whatever she was selling, he wasn’t interested.
“You’ve got a hearing tomorrow. I got Judge Fallon on board so it should be open and shut. Any questions?”
Spencer looked down at the ground. His head hurt. “I don’t want a hearing.”
“What are you talking about? Of course you do. You’ll be out of here in a few days’ time.”
“I don’t want to leave.”
“Look. Save whatever game this is for another time. You’re to be well rested for tomorrow. No bags under your eyes, I want you looking like a choir boy on Sunday.”
Spencer sat back with his eyes closed and thought about Hotch. Not even minutes away from him. Breathing the same air, eating the same food, wearing the same clothes.
“I pulled a lot of strings to put a rush order on this thing so don’t fuck it up,” she said.
Spencer heard her heels clicking as she left, and the guard hauled him back to genpop. When the guard released him, he turned in the direction of Hotch’s cell.
Though he looked terribly out of place, he was just as handsome as ever in the bright orange of the jumpsuit, perhaps even more so with his hair grown out an inch. Spencer stood there staring as Hotch ignored him, a neglected puppy in search of attention from his master.
“Hotch?” he asked.
Hotch didn’t give him the courtesy of a reply, only turned over in his bunk as if the concrete wall was the most interesting piece of art he’d ever laid eyes on.
“Please? Talk to me?”
One day close to his tenth birthday, right before he started high school, his mother was in one of her bad moods as he’d taken to calling them for an entire week. They had plans to go into the city to see the new space exhibit at the history museum but try as he could, his mom wouldn’t leave her room. Even when the big day rolled around, his pleading fell on deaf ears.
Hotch ignored him for two hours straight. He wondered if he was listening at all to his rambles but even if he wasn’t, it felt oddly therapeutic just being able to talk to him again. Telling Master about whatever was on his mind, and it ranged from anything from string theory to the mating patterns of blue billed ducks in southern Ohio, to listing every diary, depraved thing he dreamed about him at night. He always listened so intently. It was like home.
But he was interrupted eventually, and inevitably, by a stern voice, and Hotch reminded him exactly how little he wanted to talk to him, or see him, or have him anywhere in his vicinity.
Being holed up in the same concrete box should have pushed them together, not apart. They had 5 whole years to be together now.
“Leave,” Hotch said. “Go to your bunk. I don’t want to see you again.”
Spencer found Lenny slumped against the wall near the kitchen on his way to dinner and never made it into the cafeteria. He had another bump instead and asked what exactly he had to do for little more than just oxy. If Master wouldn’t give him release, at least the chemicals would, and god knew he did a lot worse for a lot less in the past few days.
Lenny grinned. “Follow me.”
That was how he ended up on his knees in front of a heavily tattooed man that looked like he could snap in half with just his pinky finger. Sucking cock so close to his Master felt like a violation of trust, or bond, or something, but he’s tried so hard to be noticed, for any ounce of affection or attention, and if Hotch was icing him out, then fine.
Lenny sat on the bunk next to them, watching. Probably already strung out from the looks of it. By the time Spencer was finished and the bitter bite of sperm was coating his throat, Lenny was slumped against the concrete wall with puffy, red eyes and a nose to match.
“Len, c’mon,” he whispered. The John above him was wiping his cock with a dirty rag that reeked. Spencer wondered where the heroin was and how much a blowjob was worth here.
“Well? Get the fuck out of here, whore,” the John grunted.
“Um, can I, uh have, please, the uh…”
“Fucking whore junkies.” The man rummaged around in a shoe and tossed a black baggie at him—black tar. His pulse was racing at the sight of it. Twitchy fingers, perspiration. He could almost taste it on the tip of his tongue, if not for the sperm threatening to make him gag.
Spencer dragged a half-conscious Lenny back to his bunk and found a lighter in his pocket. The rest of the materials weren’t hard to find if you knew how to compromise, and he had a small setup soon enough to smoke his heroin.
Smoking wasn’t his method of choice, but he didn’t know who would be willing to lend him a needle at such short notice. The high hit him like a ton of bricks, knocked him down to the ground and he woke up hours later groggy and lightheaded. It was strong.
Lenny was gone from his bunk, as was the baggy that he worked for. The cell was locked for the night, and with the lights permanently on in the halls, he couldn’t properly gauge what time it was. His internal clock was shot to hell. But it must have been some time at night, so he only had to wait until morning to Find Lenny and get his stash back.
When the guards came around to unlock the cells, he darted out the door and stormed into Lenny’s block. He wasn’t in his cell. Wasn’t near the kitchen or the back hall that inmates went to sneak a cigarette or two. He all but gave up when he heard moans coming from behind a closed door and found Lenny bent over, unconscious, with three men.
“Well look at that, he brought a friend,” the man with his cock buried in Lenny’s ass sneered when he turned around.
Spencer stood in the doorway shell shocked and took a step backward. From the looks of it, Lenny was being used at both ends by the big, burly men, and he wasn’t even awake for it. Passed out from drugs or violence, Spencer couldn’t be sure.
“S-Sorrry, I uhm… I didn’t mean to, I have to go,” he squeaked. A vice grip tightened around his wrist instead, and he was yanked forward into the arms of one of the men.
“Pretty little thing, aren't you?”
The man across from Lenny reached out and slapped him across the face. “Bend over, Princess.”
“No, I– I’m not–” he shuttered, but that was a bad idea. The man slapped him again, but he wasn’t playing anymore. It hurt–knocked the breath right out of him. He staggered back into the chest of one of the other men and his hands flew to his stinging cheek.
“You don’t tell me no,” he barked. “Bend the fuck over, bitch.” In the two seconds of hesitation, the man behind Spencer grabbed a fist full of hair and forced him over; it felt like his hair was going to be ripped right out of his skull. Pain flooded his senses.
He was bent in half, ass in the air, and a heavy hand between his shoulder blades keeping him down. Unwelcome and rough hands began to grope his ass, slip between his thighs, and a disgusting wave of helplessness washed over him. Hotch’s shiv was tucked on his hip, under his underwear, but he couldn’t reach it. He wanted to kick and scream and get the men to stop touching, but no amount of his struggling was enough to get their hands off.
They were bigger than he was. They were stronger. He didn’t stand a chance.
But he could scream.
Which only lasted so long as he didn’t have a cock in his mouth, but that was rectified sure enough. A fat, musky smelling cock forced its way into his mouth and down his throat, fucking itself in and out at a relentless pace.
He yelled around the cock, muffled and wet, as his jumpsuit was ripped open and his underwear yanked down to his ankles. The first cock that pushed inside hurt like hell–he wasn’t prepped and the spit just wasn’t enough. But it just kept coming, the deep, painful thrusts. The man was like a jackhammer, pounding into him without mercy.
The shiv clattered to the floor with the last of his hope.
It lasted so long. At some point, cum filled his mouth and he let it drip down his chin, refusing to swallow until the man forced his mouth shut and pinched his nose, forcing him to. Another cock took its place after, and it started all over again. From him to Lenny, and back again, they raped them both relentlessly.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered where he was supposed to be this morning. Jill set up his hearing, not that he was planning to go anyway, but in the moment, he almost wished he went instead of being gangraped by a group of violent, disgusting men.
Behind him, the men took turns–he was vaguely aware of the position changes as his holes were ravaged, his mind filled with hopeless torment. Between each cock, he screamed as loud as he could, and soon it became an incomprehensible jumble of pleading and sobs.
Just as they were taking turns in his mouth, the door to the room burst open, hitting the wall with a deafening bang.
“Spencer!”
He couldn’t crane his neck around to see with a heavy hand holding him in place, but he would know that voice anywhere. “Hotch!”
“Jesus– Get off of him!” Hotch lunged for the man fucking Spencer’s ass; he could feel the push and pull between thrusts as he tried to yank him off, but another of the men landed a punch to Hotch’s gut.
“Hotch!” Spencer pleaded. “Help me! Aaron, please, please, Aaron–” He rocked back and forth as he was forced to keep taking the man behind him, every deep, painful thrust, and now Hotch was watching him get fucked, and somehow that was the worst part of all.
His mouth was momentarily stuffed with cock before the man was thrown back against the wall and Hotch pummeled him to the ground, his fists flying, sickening crack after crack as he beat the living hell out of him. The sounds were absolutely gruesome.
Hotch looked back, blood spatter coating his face, and their eyes locked. Spencer’s heart seized—stopped right there and then. The world stopped turning, time stopped ticking. Master. There was love in those eyes. A quiet, fierce desperation. A devotion that was undeniable. Spencer didn’t have any doubt in his mind anymore that he could get Hotch back.
Master loved him. Master wouldn’t let him be hurt. They were meant to be together no matter what.
The second man jumped Hotch, and everything sped up fast: Shouting, fighting, blood everywhere. Spencer dropped to the ground the moment the man behind him was met with Hotch’s fists. The prisoner’s cock slipped out from Spencer’s sore, abused ass, and he was beaten within an inch of his life.
When Spencer rolled over on the floor, he watched as Hotch continued to beat him bloody, past the point of no return. The man was unconscious, and yet Hotch was red faced and looking possessed, smashing his fists into the gruesome mess of blood and flesh.
The other two were unconscious on the ground behind them and covered in bruises and deep, bleeding gashes, one with the shiv violently sticking out of his neck. Spencer crawled over to Hotch and wrapped his arms around him, begging him to stop. Blood spattered on them both, Spencer cried wet tears into Hotch’s shoulder and slowly the motion came to a halt.
“A-Aaron…” Spencer hiccuped.
Hotch twisted around and hugged Spencer to his chest so tight he couldn’t breathe. Every emotion that had been bottled up for the past few months came flooding out and Spencer sobbed into the crook of his neck. He cried until his ribs hurt, until his eyes felt swollen, and no more tears would come. “You saved me,” he whimpered, and not just from those men. “I knew you still loved me.”
Hotch kissed Spencer’s forehead, then whispered back, “I’m so, so sorry, Sweetheart. I won’t let anyone touch you ever again. Never.”
Notes:
thanks guys if you're still around reading this. I'm planning on wrapping this up in like 7 more chapters or something. i think im gonna write a fuck ton of horrible possessive smut and then peace out of this ph Universe.
Chapter 64: HOTCH
Summary:
In the last chapter, Spencer was supposed to go to his hearing so Jill (Hotch's lawyer) could get him out of jail. Instead, he went looking for heroin and got gang-raped by a group of inmates whom Hotch proceeded to violently murder. (ops)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Oh Pretty Baby, you're so naive -- but it comes off so cute
We don't want to fix you
We love you just the way you are
The butterfly pinned to the page
The nightingale locked in the cage -- won't you sing for me?
Sing for me, uh-huh
Yeah, we love you just the way you are
So what was that secret?
What did that prick whisper to you?
Was it playful and flirty
Or degrading and dirty?
I know you like it both ways
So -- what did he say?
To make you so goddamn defiant
So fucking triumphant
― Cursive, The Lament of Pretty Baby
“We have to go,” Hotch said after a beat. “Now. Get up, baby. Up. Hurry.”
They needed to get out of that blood soaked room before any guards showed up and hauled them away for murder.
Hotch grabbed a still sobbing Spencer under his arm and hauled him to his limp feet while he assessed the situation:
Three dead, one unconscious victim. It could pass as a gangrape gone wrong. The smaller man would have been able to— no. No, he wouldn’t have been able to take three aggressors twice his size even with a shiv. That wasn’t possible with his size and level of intoxication.
But there wasn’t any time to manipulate the crime scene. Time wasn’t on their side. Nothing ever was. They had to claw tooth and nail every step of the way to stay together.
His front was entirely soaked with blood. Spencer, whose ripped jumpsuit was considerably less red, began walking at his insistence and he steered him in front to badly conceal the stains.
A few men passed by, but none paid any mind. None even looked them in the eyes, the motto stay in your lane running laps in all the prisoners' heads.
When they came upon the showers, Hotch shoved Spencer through the doors and up against the white tiles. It was completely empty. Spencer gasped, looking up to make eye contact and for the first time that day, focused in on Hotch’s passionate brown eyes burning holes into him.
“Are you hurt?” Hotch asked, voice trembling. He was nearly hurting him the way his hands were squeezing his arms, pushing him into the wall, but he couldn’t think straight. He needed to touch and feel and know he was there with him.
Spencer nodded. “I’m-I’m fine.”
“You are not fine. Christ, look what they’ve done to you. My baby. You’re bleeding—”
“You’re bleeding,” Spencer cut him off. “Your knuckles-”
“I wish I could kill them again for touching you. Goddamnit!” Hotch punched the tiles beside Spencer’s head and he gasped.
“It’s okay, it’s okay! I’m fine. I’m okay, I have you now, Daddy. You saved me. Daddy, please, look at me?” Spencer tipped his chin up and caught Hotch’s lips in a hot, perfect kiss.
“I’ve missed you,” Hotch growled as the kiss finally broke and they each gasped for breath. “I tried to let you go, but I can’t. I don’t want to, I— fuck, Spencer.” Hotch surged forward and kissed him again, tongue pushing easily into Spencer’s willing mouth, and pressed his hard cock into his hip.
Beside them, Hotch twisted the lever for the showerhead and the water came out frigid. Spencer yelped, jumping straight into Hotch’s chest, whimpering until the water warmed up enough not to give them frostbite.
In seconds, their jumpsuits hit the floor, red water swirling down the drain as the blood washed away.
“Clean up, Spence. We have to get rid of the evidence.” Hotch's words directly defied his actions as he gripped Spencer's bare hips and spun him around so he was facing the tiles. Red ran down between Spencer’s shoulder blades until it faded to a soft pink, then clear, and Hotch lined up his cock at Spencer’s hole, pushing in without preamble.
“Oooh, yes, Daddy!”
He braced his wet hands against the tiles as Hotch’s thrust pushed him forward and didn’t stop—he started taking him in fast, deep thrusts like he had no time to lose. Spencer was in heaven.
“You’re still so tight,” he growled. “This is mine.”
“Yours,” Spencer agreed.
In mere seconds, Hotch was burning with a jealous, possessive rage that threatened to consume him; Spencer was slick and ready from the cum of those prisoners raping him still inside his body.
He was never going to let anything happen to his boy ever again. He’s messed up plenty of times since the two of them got together, had terrible moments of his own inflicting violence onto Spencer, but no one else loved his boy the way he did. He was the only one who could make Spencer cry. Use him, abuse, make him bend over backwards to be a good boy. He let him down, left him open to get tossed around like a rag doll, but not anymore.
Now there wasn’t anything stopping them.
He didn’t have a reputation, a family, a child, even a sense of personal freedom. He lost it all for Spencer. And he’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Wet slapping mingled with heavy breathing and wild moans, the sound of water hitting the ground. Soon all the blood washed away from Hotch’s broad chest. The blood on his face now just a memory, too. The memory of a Man defending the only one he loved.
“Oh, god, oh, Daddy, please, please, Daddy, please, so big—”
“You can take it,” Hotch spat. He grabbed a fist full of hair and yanked Spencer’s head back so he could bite at his neck and left several deep red marks as a warning sign.
This was his boy.
“Daddy’s never going to let you go again. Fuck, Spencer.”
“Please,” he begged. “Please, Daddy, please!”
Hotch groaned against Spencer’s wet neck and snaked his arm around his waist, hand trailing over coarse pubic hair so where Spencer’s swollen cock stood at attention. “If we were home, I would have you caged up.” His hand wrapped tightly around it and tugged. “Never let you get hard without my permission. This is my cock.”
Spencer was trembling, incoherently babbling in Hotch’s arm as he stroked him, paying extra attention to his tip. When his thighs were shaking, head thrown back and limp on Hotch’s shoulder, he pushed in all the way to the hilt so he was taking every last bit of his throbbing cock, and sent him over the edge with a squeeze of his fist. “Cum for me, Spence.”
“Aahh-ooh, oh, D-Daddy, auuh—” Spencer cried.
With that, Hotch let himself go. He thrust in a few more times, enjoying the familiar feeling of being inside his boy. The tight ring of muscle that milked him dry, pulse after pulse of his throbbing cock pumping in cum.
Spencer’s cock was limp and sensitive in his hand still, spent and satisfied after the best fuck he’s had in months. Hotch rolled it in his palm, gently squeezing and pumping to get a rise out of him, and it worked perfectly. The overstimulation turned him into a whimpering, squirming mess. “Be still,” Hotch ordered in a dark voice. Spencer went limp.
He loved the instantaneous submission, reverent and whole, and he played with Spencer’s undoubtedly burning cock until the whimpering morphed into needy moans.
Spencer bucked into his grip but was stopped by a hand on his hip holding him in place. “Shhh, be a good boy. Be still.”
“Daddy, I need- please, please-”
“A good boy does what he’s told. You can take it, love.”
Spencer stilled in his arms. Love seemed to slip right, not a nickname he used often, but fitting nonetheless.
“Be good, my love. Don’t cum until Daddy tells you to.”
“P-Please Daddy, feelsso good, I can’t hold it back, please please let me cum, please!”
“That’s my boy,” Hotch hummed. His other hand slid up Spencer’s chest and pinched a nipple. On any other day, he would relish in keeping his boy a complete mess. His begging went unfulfilled and bending to his will despite how badly he wanted release. But he deserved this. After everything they’ve been through, after all the agony that he’s put Spencer through, the emotional turmoil and the future he robbed him of, he deserved this and so much more. “Daddy loves you so much. Do you want to cum for me?”
Spencer bucked up in excitement and Hotch pressed his hip forcefully back. “Yes! Yes, please! Daddy, please! I’ll be good!”
“I know you will.” Hotch kissed Spencer cheek from behind and tightened his grip to pull out a wrecked moan. “Go ahead. Cum for me, sweetheart. Good boy, that’s it, good boy.”
Cum spurted out of Spencer’s cock the moment he gave the order, bringing a rare amused smile to Hotch’s lips. He pressed a few more kisses on Spencer’s cheek and told him to stay against the wall.
The shower was no longer running, having been on a short timer, and he picked up their sopping wet uniforms from the floor. He rung them out, now mostly free of blood, though still stained with a tint of red in certain spots, and jammed them into the laundry chute at the other end of the room.
“Time to go.” Hotch grabbed Spencer’s hand to lead him to the laundry room so they could find some clothes. They creeped naked through the back of the showers to an unmarked door that led to a workroom with all the laundry machines. A few were running with prisoners at their stations folding and moving linens from machine to machine.
Hotch grabbed two forgotten uniforms on the floor in back of the dryers and they hurriedly changed into them before they were spotted.
“This is dusty,” Spencer complained, but Hotch shushed him.
He grabbed Spencer’s hand and pulled him through the back hall to a door leading into the main corridors. From there, it was a straight shoot back to his cell.
They just barely sat down on Hotch’s bunk when sirens sounded overhead: Lockdown, E-Wing. Shouts, curses, and laughter erupted from the prisoners, and they fell to the ground like flies. Those who didn’t were beaten down by the guards, blow after blow until all intimates had their faces pressed into the dirt covered ground.
Hotch and Spencer lay on the ground in the hall just outside his bunk where they were dragged by a stern-faced guard, now standing watch at the end of the hall. The metal gates connecting each hall were drawn shut and locked. Everyone was trapped. There was nowhere to go.
Thankful didn’t cut how Hotch felt about leaving those bloodstained jumpers behind and washing away all of the evidence. If they waited it out, they would be fine. And if they weren’t well, it was self defense after all.
“What’s what…? Hotch, what is that?” Spencer’s small, frightened voice held venom inside it and Hotch’s was well in tune with that particular sound. Spencer was running his index finger along his forearm where his healed scars spelled out “PIG” in jagged, ugly letters.
“It’s nothing you have to worry about. I wasn’t expecting to make it through here unscathed, baby, not as an agent.” For that, he lowered his voice to something nearly inaudible and pressed his lips close to Spencer’s ear. He still smelled just the same, the faint scent of coconut shampoo, not that he’d used it in a while, so maybe it was his memory doing the talking. Regardless, he smelled like love. Home, even family.
Fingertip still tracing the bumps, Spencer didn’t notice Hotch’s emotional moment, experiencing one of his own as tears dropped down onto the dirty floor. “Did it hurt?” He sniffled. “Are there more?”
And though the guard was watching, had already told them once since the lockdown started not to touch, Hotch scooted even closer to Spencer on the floor, and pressed a kiss to his lips. “It was nothing compared to being without you.” And the scars on this thigh, his flank, and his left shoulder blade could wait. Spencer didn’t need to know about them now.
. . .
Eventually the inmates were released from lockdown. The local authorities showed up at the scene according to the rumors spreading around the place, along with the corners, some men saying they saw up to eight body bags leaving the prison.
That was a lie, Hotch knew he only killed three men. Though perhaps Lenny was dead. He wasn’t sure, and didn’t care. Spencer was back in his cell several wings away so far that he would feel the distance like a vice around his neck cutting the air off from his lungs.
He got pulled into an administrative office before breakfast and not only was Jill waiting inside, but Spencer was too.
“You have a lot of explaining to do,” she clipped. With a gaze forged from steel, she sat across a conference room table glaring at Hotch. “After all the work I’ve been putting in, day and night, to get you out of here, and you pull this? That hearing took a lot of favors and you blew it. You can kiss any chance of leaving this place goodbye, and your friend, too. You’ll be lucky if they don’t put you in the chair. What on earth were you thinking?”
Hotch sat across from her feeling as calm as ever; he wasn’t a stranger to confrontation. Coming from Jill, he couldn’t care less. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
His eyes slid over to Spencer, who preened under his gaze. A warm blush bloomed on his cheeks, eyelashes fluttering. So pretty.
“No? You have no idea why your uniform was found bloody and hidden behind a washer? You didn’t know you were caught on CCTV coming in and out of the crime scene at the time of the attack?”
“That could have been anyone,” he scoffed. “The only thing that camera picked up is a grainy image of a man with black hair and a jumpsuit. Could have been just about anyone in here.”
“Fine. I don’t care.” She opened a manilla folder and began to write. “Give me your alibis. Both of you.”
“Well, as you know, Spencer had the hearing that morning with Judge Fallon. We both went to the library early that morning to prepare for it. I was giving him pointers on how to handle everything, what to say, how to act. The only reason we didn’t show up was because of that fight. We heard a lot of talk going around about a big fight in E-Wing. I thought we could wait it out rather than risk going through the mess and getting involved. But then the lockdown happened and we missed it. You can ask the guards by my cell. Spencer and I were there on the floor the entire time, far away from the supply room.
“The guard can corroborate your story?”
“He was only ten feet away.”
“There were multiple eyewitnesses claiming they saw you in that room and coming out of the showers.”
“A bunch of criminals that have it out for me said that, yes.”
“This is being treated just as any other case. You’re not exempt from the rules even in here.”
“What are they doing to do? Lock me up longer?”
Jill slammed her own down on the table and Spencer started beside her. She controlled her voice and said, “They’ll sentence you to death.”
Spencer gasped, abruptly climbing to his feet. “No!”
Hotch glared at him. “Spencer, calm down.” Once Spencer sat in his seat, tail between his legs, Hotch continued. “They don’t have enough. The evidence will be circumstantial at best. You know that inter-prison conviction rates for crimes committed against other inmates are as low as 15%. I’ll be fine.”
“14.78%,” Spencer corrected. He shut his mouth with a heavy blush when Hotch's eyes caught him again. “Sorry.”
“My main concern is getting him out of here. What are we going to do about the hearing?”
“I already told you, I pulled a lot of string to get that, Aaron. There are no second chances.”
Hotch could feel the anger rising in his chest, an itchy, burning thing. Irrational as it was, it burned all the same. “I asked you for one thing!”
“And I delivered!” she shouted.
“You haven’t helped one bit since I hired you. Look where I am, Jill. I’ll be here for the rest of my life. Maximum sentencing. And now this.”
Jill sat across the table, the bridge of her nose pinched between her fingers. She looked overworked, overtired, and all together sick of the situation.
Spencer bit his lip for a moment– he shouldn’t speak up without permission, not a third time, not when Hotch was bubbling with anger, but it was now or never.
“Actually, Jill, um, Mrs. Synder, there is one thing you could do…” he said softly.
Notes:
as always, thanks for reading!
Chapter 65: A New Normal
Summary:
Last chapter, they ran from the scene of the crime, fucked, and then met with Jill, Hotch's lawyer, who said there's nothing she can do. But, Spencer thought were was. What was his special request?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Build-A-Boy
Pick my pieces
Overjoyed
Never leave your
Heart destroyed
I'm your boy"
― Dream Boy, Waterparks
She did it.
Spencer imagined she shelled out a lot in bribe money, but he hardly cared about her financial well-being.
He and Master were cell mates. They lived together. It was the next step in their relationship he’d been dying to take and it was every bit as satisfying as he thought it would be.
After lights out and final count he crossed the short space between their bunks and cuddled up into the Spencer-shaped spot between Hotch and the wall. It was so safe in his arms. Every night, closing his eyes to the steady rise and fall of his broad chest, the stubble on his chin, and the strong arms wrapped tightly around him. It was warm, smelled just like Master as had, and it was home. The location didn’t matter. Home was Master’s arms.
He could go on forever just like that. And he would. Because neither of them were going anywhere. Not for a very, very long time.
“Hotch?” Spencer whispered. The guards just completed the nightly count and Spencer was laying with his head on Hotch’s chest.
“Try again,” Hotch said firmly.
“Sorry,” Spencer whimpered. “Master?”
Hotch ran a hand through Spencer’s soft hair as he looked down into his eyes. “Good boy. Yes, baby?”
“I love you so much but I have to tell you something. Will you be mad at me?”
“Tell me what?” While he was proud that Spencer was opening up and leaving himself susceptible to punishment like a good boy, he was struck with an uneasiness that wouldn’t alleviate.
“I’m glad we’re here.” He paused for a moment and took a long, calming breath. “I’ve never felt more secure. I think… I like being here with you.”
“Why would that make me mad, baby? I want you to be happy.”
“Because it’s my fault we’re here… You can’t see Jack anymore. You can’t teach anymore. Your reputation is ruined. It’s all my fault. And I-I like it. Now it’s just you and me.”
Spencer heard a long, exhausted sigh come from Master, but it didn’t sound angry. The arms around him tightened, and Master whispered close to his ear, “It’s okay. It’s not completely your fault, baby. Everything is fine.”
Before he could open his mouth again in protest, Master’s hard cock was pressing against hip. Any thoughts died right there and were replaced with one sole desire.
Spencer moaned. “Please,” he whimpered.
Master thrust against him, rock hard erection digging into his soft belly. He’d never get tired of such a thick, powerful cock. Master’s cock was the most satisfying he’s ever had. The way it stretched him to the point of pain, the slight curve to the left, the aggressive, throbbing vein that scaled the length of it. So handsome.
The cell was quiet, the entire hallway was, in fact. Master reached down and grabbed Spencer’s ass, squeezing hard, and a yelp ripped from Spencer’s pretty lips. Hotch only stalled for a moment; when no one came to rip them apart, he flipped Spencer over onto the mattress, looming above him like an apex predator about to pounce on his prey.
“M-Master!” His cock, naked without its cage, was squished against the mattress. Once again, he was completely at Hotch’s mercy, pinned down and waiting for what was coming next. He felt Hotch pry his thighs apart, uniform already torn off, his hole on display to the dark room. “P-Please–AH!”
“Oh, god, Master, nnegh–”
Between his cheeks, Hotch’s warm, wet tongue lapped against his hole. At first, teasing him, a gentle pressure, the hint of pressing in, until he shoved in his tongue without warning and took. Spencer cried out– pleas and begging until Master shoved his head into the pillow and shut him up.
“Behave, Spencer,” he hissed, somewhere around his lower back, and he pressed a kiss to his flushed skin.
“Fuck me,” he whispered into the pillow. “Please, Master, fuck me, please, please, please!”
Spencer was leaking precum already; he could feel it wet his thighs. God, he loved this feeling. There was nothing better than submitting. To be a good boy, do as he was told. To give everything to Master. He needed it.
He desperately thrust his hips back, searching for cock, for Master to fill his aching hole. He was addicted to Hotch’s cock. He yearned for it, needed it, would do anything for it. His whole body was alight with need; a buzzy electricity flowing through him at ruinous speeds.
“That’s my needy boy,” Hotch whispered through a smirk. “Good boy, such a little slut, aren’t you? Who do you belong to?”
“You, Master!”
He heard the spit behind him and knew it was coming soon. His thighs were shaking, body buzzing, he needed it so bad. He was a good boy, a needy boy, Master’s needy little slut and he was going to take every inch he was allowed. He felt Master’s tip pressing against his hole and he whimpered, pressing back.
“Uh-uh. Be a good boy,” he chastised. “Good boys are patient. Aren’t they Spencer?”
“Yes, Master. Patient. Please? I want it.”
Hotch rubbed his wet tip against Spencer’s hole, pressing in, but not enough. IT fluttered, opening up for him but he deprived it of the satisfaction.
“Master?!” Spencer whined, his voice strained, wet in his throat, and accompanied by the sound of desperate, shallow breaths. “Please, Please! I’ll be a good boy! I want it! I want your cock so bad, please, Master, please!”
“Tell me what a little cock whore you are, baby. You want me filling up your ass, don’t you? Fucking good and hard.”
“Yeah! Yes, I want it! I’m a whore, Master, I’m your little cock whore, please, I want your cock so bad, Master, please, oh god, I’m yours, I’m yours, please, cock, Master–” Spencer devolved into whimpering sobs. Tears pooled at his eyes and flowed down his cheeks, staining the thin mattress.
“That’s right,” Hotch hissed. He pushed in his cock, rammed it in, not stopping until he was fully encompassed.
“Ooh–! M-Master!”
“Good boy, take it,” Hotch groaned.
Spencer’s ass felt ready to explode with a mixture of pleasure and pain as he was stretched open and fucked into relentlessly. Master kept thrusting over and over, hard and deep. It felt so good to be used.
. . .
Spencer realized something terrible the moment he got up from the bunk and Master was watching his every step. He was a kept boy again. He couldn’t make decisions on his own anymore even if they were decisions that he wasn’t willing to compromise on.
“I need to go for a walk…” Spencer murmured to the floor.
“No. Where? You’re not going anywhere on your own.”
“I want to check on Lenny.”
Hotch crossed his arms. “Forget about him.”
“He’s my friend,” Spencer argued. And he gets the best drugs.
“Don’t talk to me. Now sit down and behave yourself.”
“But–”
“What did I just tell you, Spencer? Go kneel in the corner and think about who you’re talking back to. I’m not going to tolerate any more of your brattiness.”
“Aaron, it’s just–” Spencer gasped and reeled back when he felt the hot sting on his cheek from a well deserved slap and Master’s stern face towering above him. Right. He fell on his ass. “I’m n-not being bratty, i-it’s not about Lenny. I… I need a hit. I’m starting to feel all achey. I need it, Aaron, it hurts, please. Just give me an hour and I’ll be fine. I’ll come right back, I promise.”
Hotch looked at him for a long while until he spoke up. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Spencer felt bile rise up in the back of his throat, and it wasn’t from the lack of heroin.
“You expect me to let you go suck someone off so you can get a ten dollar hit? To go get raped again? You’d better think again, sweetheart. Your detox has already started and I'm not letting you out of my sight again unless one of us is dead.”
“I-I won’t! I promise! Y-You could get some for me…” Spencer murmured, only half believing the possibility. “Then I wouldn’t have to…”
“Go kneel in the corner as I told you to, Spencer. Now.”
Spencer felt his stomach sink and the metaphorical chains around his ankles tighten. He asked for this. He wanted this. He still does, but… “Yes, Master.” He needs a hit.
. . .
He wasn’t sure how long he spent kneeling in the corner. Dinner was called and Hotch told him to ignore it. Then lights out happened, and he still knelt. Eventually, morning came and he found himself curled up in the bunk next to Hotch but didn’t remember how he got there.
Everything hurt.
It’d been one day and fifteen hours since his last high. He snuck a little something from his bunk before he moved cells to live with Hotch, and that was the last of his supply.
His mind was racing, on a loop with the same three words plaguing him over and over and over.
I NEED MORE.
Just one little bump and the pounding in his head would alleviate. So would the muscle cramps and endless anxiety. But he’d have to be really careful not to wake Hotch up on his way out, and he’d also have to make it quick enough that he’d get back in time before he woke up.
He’d find the same man he sucked off last week. Just a quickie. He knew where he was and what he wanted. He’d shoot up and be back in no time.
Gently, he sat up and climbed over Hotch who was sandwiching him against the cell wall, holding his breath and going at a snail’s pace. He was nearly over, already one foot on the cold ground when Master’s hard jutted out and grabbed his wrist with a bruising grip.
“Ow!”
“Where do you think you’re going?” he spat.
“N-Nowhere!”
Hotch jerked him to the side, pulling his wrist and forcing him to fall onto the bed. He gasped, yelped, and couldn’t see a thing. Hotch was pressing his face into the mattress. He couldn’t breathe.
“What did I tell you about a little brat?” he barked. “Get up. Now. “
Spencer obediently stood as soon as he was let go and Hotch pulled every last piece of clothing off his body. “You’re going to learn to behave this time around. Bend over my knees.”
“Hotch–” Pain. “Ow! Okay! I’m sorry!”
Hotch slapped him again across the face and he stumbled back, holding his hand to his red cheek. He gave him a look.
“I mean, Y-Yes, Master.” Spencer bent over Hotch’s lap with his ass in the air and felt the first spank immediately after, no reprimanding, no warning, no instructions. He wasn’t even sure how many there would be or if he should count.
He was on number ten when they really started to burn. “Aaah!” Master wasn’t going easy on him. These were harder than before. He was putting his entire weight into it, spanking without remorse, spanking to teach him a permanent lesson. Twenty passed, thirty, forty, and even fifty. Spencer was in full sobs; tears running down his neck, snot down his upper lip, and breathing erratic. Each new spank sent a sharp, agonizing pain through him. The skin on his ass was bruising already, red, purple, and raw. There would be ten more, twenty, hell, Master could only be halfway through to a hundred.
“I’m s-s-sorry! I’m s-sorry!” he cried over and over. His pathetic babbling could be heard all down the cell block along with each humiliating spank. Some of the prisoners were whooping down the hall. The men across from them were openly watching Spencer take his punishment.
It continued on. Spencer was shaking, sobbing, and pleading for mercy. Making promised to be a good boy. Saying that he wouldn’t touch another needle as long as he lived, saying he would obey without question. Fact of the matter was, though, that he didn’t need to promise those things. Hotch was going to enforce them whether he like it or not. Willing compliance was only optional.
The spanking stopped when he reached a hundred. That’s what Spencer thought, anyway, his mind started to go blank after sixty-five. He came out on the other side feeling a lightness in his chest as if he could float away. Mind blank, body on fire. No thinking, just feeling. Listening for Master’s directions. Erection pressing against Master’s thigh. He didn’t dare ask, though. He just had to listen. Obey.
“You listen to me when I tell you something, understood?” Master asked.
Spencer, still sprawled out over Master’s knees, hummed in reply and Hotch grabbed his chin to force his head back and look him in the eyes. “Speak up.”
“Yes, Master, I’ll listen,” he croaked. “I’m so sorry.”
“Tell me who you belong to.”
Spencer swallowed with difficulty; Hotch’s hand was gripping his throat so tight. “I belong to you, Master. I’m yours.”
“And don’t you forget that, baby. You listen to me. I don’t want any sneaking around, any backtalk, or any disobedience in the slightest. You’re detoxing off that garbage and you’re not going to touch any narcotics again so don’t ask or there will be consequences.”
“Yes, Master,” he said.
“Good boy. Now get dressed. Breakfast will be over soon and you’re going to need it.”
Spencer got up on autopilot to shaking, pudding filled legs but pushed right through it. He pulled on his undergarments and his ugly orange prison garb. Obey. “Yes, Master.”
. . .
By night time, he passed the 48-hour mark, sailing on unsteady waters toward day three. Logically, he knew he was entering the worst phase of detox, that the third day brought out the most intense symptoms as the drugs completely left his body, but emotionally, he couldn’t shake the idea that it was going to last forever.
By morning, the muscle cramps turned into spasms, the nausea turned into full fledge vomiting. His skin was covered in a cold sweat and shivering with violence. Even his hands had a mind of their own as tremors wracked them. But the worst, the most painful and uncomfortable part of it all, was the way his mind was on absolute fire, shooting signals of anger, of violence and irritation off in every direction.
He cried into his pillow. Hotch wasn’t letting him lash out, either, despite how he needed to scream and throw things, a full body ache that screamed to destroy everything in sight. Instead, he kicked and cried and lay there in defeat as Hotch pushed him down into the mattress.
Even when Master fucked him silly, the pain didn’t stop. With his wrists pinned above his head and his stomach turning, Master slipped between his legs and took him hard and fast. Let him cum. It was certainly something different to focus on, but it was no match to the war going on inside.
On the tail end of day three, nearing midnight in a quiet prison hall save for his endless groaning, he heard it. His mother’s voice? In the prison?
He sat up straight in bed. Hotch stirred beside him. Was she here?
“Spencer? Honey, I miss you.”
“Mom? Mom!”
“Why haven’t you called? I saw you on the news. You didn’t call.”
“I-I’ve been meaning to, Mom! Where are you?”
“They told me what a drugged up whore you’ve become. Sleeping with your teachers, are you?”
“N-No! I’m not! I love him! He’s my partner!”
“We’ll see about that. Can’t whore yourself out if he’s dead.”
“W-What do you mean, dead? Mom? Mom!”
There was yelling down the hall. One of the inmates. Spencer shot to his feet and collided with the toilet. He fell on his hands and knees. Blood on the floor. Hotch?
Spencer scrambled to the side of the bed and Master was there, sound asleep. Where was his pulse? The carotid– he needed to find the carotid. Did they kill him already? Were they in the cell? He needed to protect. Where was his pulse?!
“Hotch! HOTCH!” Spencer screamed. “WAKE UP!”
Jesus, fuck, no, no, no—
“Spencer…? What’s going on?”
Spencer gasped, lunged with his arms around Hotch’s neck, and slammed him back down against the bed. “They’re coming for you! They’re right outside. They’re coming, hotch, we need to go! We need to get out of here right now. They’re going to take you from me–”
“Calm down, Spencer, There’s no one here. You’re hallucinating. Take a deep breath.”
“No! NO, I'm not! No! They're here! They're going to kill you!” Spencer heard soft voices from outside the cell, surrounding them from all sides. They were slipping in between the bars and coming closer. “No! No! No, no, no!”
Hotch grabbed Spencer’s wrists, easily overpowering him and pulling him into bed. “It isn’t real, baby, shhhh. Breathe.” Hotch climbed overtop of him, pinning down his wrists and ankles with his body weight. “This will pass. Be a good boy, listen to me. Breathe.”
“No, no, no no, no, let met go! I have to protect you–” Spencer took a deep breath but it was useless. He wasn’t hallucinating. He wasn’t schizophrenic like his Mother. This was real. This was happening. He wasn’t going to let anyone take Hotch away from him, not after all they’re been through.
He felt Hotch let go of his wrists and he pounded his chest relentlessly; he needed to be let up to save him, but Hotch’s hand was around his throat pressing hard and he couldn’t breathe. Were they coming after him too? Was this the end?
. . .
Spencer came back to consciousness slowly. He was in Master’s lap and he hopped off to throw up in the toilet. Memories of panic and terror filled his mind, but they were far away, like something that happened out of a movie.
“You’re over the worst of it,” Hotch said softly beside him as he held his hair back. “You’re doing so good, baby. I’m proud of you.”
Spencer looked up into his eyes and tears welled up. Master was proud. “I love you.”
. . .
Spencer’s physical symptoms dropped off after five days, a slow weening until he was completely back to normal. The mental cravings were another story, but at least he wasn’t vomiting every hour anymore.
Hotch watched him like a hawk. He wasn’t allowed out of his sight, not for a single second, not even for the bathroom. A month passed, then two, three, and they slipped into a new normal of prison life.
Spencer was markedly Hotch’s bitch, a term he could hardly disagree with, and everyone knew it. No one bothered him anymore. Noone addressed him, made snide remarks, or even spared him a glance. He was protected.
And protection by a man that was willing to kill a room full of men was a special sort of protection. The entire prison was still abuzz with the recent murders of the four men involved in Spencer and Lenny’s gangrape and the consensus was clear: the disgraced FBI agent turned rapist and murderer was responsible. It was a blessing that the legal side worked so painfully slow; it was as he'd gotten away with it scott-free.
Hotch fucked Spencer loudly and often throughout the prison. In their cell, the showers, yard, kitchen, common room– anywhere he could get away with it. Spencer knew Hotch was marking his territory, marking him in a public way, and he was there for it. He never felt so claimed, so completely owned, than when Hotch took him as the other inmates watched in envy.
And Spencer showed them all what an obedient boy he was. Only a handful of times did Master have to discipline him in public because he was such a good boy. It was admittedly humiliating to have others watch him get slapped across the face and pulled over a knee and spanked for a mindless mistake, but he took it in stride like a good boy would.
He didn’t dare talk back again.
Notes:
Hey, guys! Thank you all so much for sticking with this story. I've been writing it since early 2020, and it was a huge help for me while I was dealing with some of the worst shit I've been through yet during that awful period. This fic really helped me channel my frustrations and I'm so thankful I rediscovered fanfic when I did. That being said, it's been three years and people are still reading, and that has me grateful beyond words.
So I know I've been slackin' on the updates, but here's some good news: I'm going to finish this story up within the next few months. I'm tentatively going to post a new chapter every two weeks, so probably 9 more chapters, and finish in September which will be the three-year anniversary.
I will try my hardest to stick to my schedule! Thanks guys!
Chapter 66: Permanent
Summary:
In the last chapter, Hotch forced Spencer to detox, and they slipped into a nice routine.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"I'm convinced that I predict that all my wishes on my wish list won't be heard
'Cause I'm committed to the lie that feeling safe is unrealistic"
― Driftin', NF
Hotch thought Spencer was being such a good boy as of late that he got him a reward.
One morning, he brought Spencer to the prison library and told him he pulled a few strings. They were both assigned library duty for the foreseeable future. It was a dream come true to work in the library, not only for Spencer who had been feeling deprived of his beloved academics, but for most timid or otherwise introverted inmates who wanted some peace and quiet. Whoever Hotch had to bribe to get that, it couldn’t have been easy.
There was nothing on Earth better than spending all day surrounded by books and his Master, and it was a great place to fuck. The other inmates assigned to the library quickly bent to the shift in dynamic, easily letting Hotch’s natural leadership bully them into silence over all the very public displays of affection that were happening, and Hotch took full advantage.
Spencer had everything he ever wanted.
Spencer was sitting on top of a counter leafing through a banged up copy of Crime and Punishment. He wasn’t going his normal 20,000 words per minute, instead taking his time, a leisurely 500, so he could savor each and every sentence, roll them on his tongue and make them last. There were only so many books in the library and he didn't want to blow through them all in the first year. Not that Hotch would give him the chance anyway, as he slid up between his legs and planted an open mouth kiss on his eager lips, attacking his tongue with a familiar, assured dominance that Spencer gave way to immediately. Spencer moaned into it. His thighs were parted, mouth open, completely submissive in body language the way he knew Master loved. He let out a soft mewl of a whimper that earned a growl in return and made him full body shiver.
Master’s intensity never let up. If anything, it was growing stronger. Hotch ruled him with an iron fist, managing everything he did from the moment he woke up to the moment he fell asleep in his arms. Spencer couldn’t eat, speak, or even use the bathroom without Master’s approval. It was just like before, like the beginning, but more hands on.
And that was tame compared to the way he acted around other inmates. Spencer could feel the jealousy and hear the whispers of the other inmates when it came to their relationship. He knew he’d been a bad boy before, back when they were broken up, and he regretted it with every bone in his body, the way he took those other men, let them inside his body, let them have a part of him that belonged to Hotch.
He was never going to so much as look at another man as long as he lived. He didn’t need to, didn’t want to, wasn’t allowed.
Hotch ripped his jumpsuit open, thigh to ass, and grabbed roughly at his starch white prison underwear. Spencer flushed, breathing heavy and overwhelmed at Master’s passion. He spread his thighs wider and inched closer. He wanted to heel Hotch’s hard cock rubbing up against him. He needed it.
But Hotch had him by the waist and hoisted off the counter before he could blink, turned him around and bent him over it. Spencer erupted in giddy butterflies.
“Mine,” Master growled loud enough for anyone in the room to hear. Though Spencer would never admit to the notion of thinking about other men, he had to admit hearing Hotch warn them off made his heart beat uncontrollably. They wanted him but could never have him, not ever.
There wasn’t much time to think, though, when Hotch’s fingers were working their way below his underwear and sliding between his cheeks. He was ready. He wanted it. Needed the stretch. Loved the way it felt to get finger fucked with only spit to ease the way. He’d take all the rough, red, raw stretching for Master. The pain was part of his love.
Hotch’s cock was slick in spit when he pushed up against Spencer’s hole and sunk in without preamble. Spencer cried out, taking all of it. Every last thick, throbbing inch of it. The books on the counter knocked to the ground with a loud crash. Hotch was taking him hard and fast. The sound of skin slapping on skin, wet and lewd, filled the library.
Just another Monday.
. . .
Months flew by while Spencer lavished the title of being Hotch’s bitch, a role he played happily, a role he was honored to have. Hotch’s name was still a hot topic among the inmates, though steadily dwindling as the prospect that he got away with murder became more accepted. He was an enigma walking among them. Straight laced, former cop, current killer, not to be messed with. Endured their torture; had the scars to prove it. Fought back; had the body count to prove it. And beside him, the untouchable, highly coveted twink.
Even so, Spencer wanted more. And it seemed that Master did too. A gruff, highly muscled man covered head to toe in tattoos and with a cloudy left eye that Spencer wanted to inquire about, walked into their cell with a sharp blade in hand.
Spencer gulped. “H-Hotch?” He didn’t want to be shared. He didn't want to die.
Almost immediately, Hotch noticed this, but let him sweat. “Great, you’re here,” he addressed the man.
“You got my money? I want it up front or no deal.”
“I’ve got it.” He pressed three clean, crisp bills into the man’s dirty hand, and Spencer wondered where he got them from. Commissary? Sent from family? There were limited options in the prison.
“He’s pretty,” he said to Hotch with a shit-eating grin. “Can’t say that when I imagined touching him, it’d be like this.”
“Say another word and you’ll be crawling out of this cell.”
Spencer bristled, face flushed hot, but didn’t move. He awaited instruction like a good boy. He knew Master had his best interests at heart. Master wouldn’t let another man touch him.
“Lay on the bed, Sweetheart,” Hotch said pointedly. “Pull your underwear down past your hips. Don't let your cock show.”
“I–”
“I’m not going to tell you again,” he warned.
“Yes, Sir, sorry,” he whispers softly. It was morning, and he was dressed still in his nightclothes, a white tee shirt and his briefs. He pushed them down just far enough that his sharp hip bones and soft pubic hair was showing, but not quite enough that his shaft was in view. He was a good boy. He would do whatever Master asked.
The man, Coyote, said his name was, though Spencer didn't think that was what was on his birth certificate, set up a station of bottles and needles beside the bed on top of a stained cloth.
“You can tell ‘em this is gonna hurt,” he said with a backward glance at Hotch.
“Daddy, I’m scared,” Spencer whispered.
“Don’t be, baby, I’m here. Daddy's making sure you never forget who you belong to. You can take it.”
Spencer deduced by then what Coyote was doing with the ink dipped needle in his hand and the stringent alcohol wiped over his skin that was stinging his nose. Daddy was giving him a tattoo. Daddy was branding. It was as close to commitment as they’d ever been, it almost felt like a proposal.
Spencer didn’t feel the sting when it was happening. He was imagining what color flowers they would have at their wedding. It would be in the fall, not too warm but not too cold, just chilly enough to warrant an extra layer. Hotch was partial to browns and dark greens, and Spencer lilac and navy. They’d have an intimate ceremony outside with soft lighting, it’d be evening, and they’d kiss under the stars. Hotch would take him somewhere quiet after and fuck him slowly. He’d be his in every sense of the world, wholly and completely.
“Ow!” Yanked from his daydream, Spencer gasped. The needle pierced deep into the soft flesh of his inner hip. He looked down to see blood running down to his inner thigh and disappearing beneath the boxers. “Daddy, it hurts!” Coyote struck him again. Stick and poke wouldn’t be his preferred method of tattoo.
“Squeeze my hand,” Hotch said, soft but firm. He grabbed Spencer’s hand and held it tight while Spencer whined and Coyote chided Hotch for his boy’s squirming.
“Is it almost over, Daddy?” Jab, jab, jab. “What is it?”
“You’ll see when it’s done.”
So Spencer shut his eyes and squeezed Hotch's hand until it was all over. He waited patiently. Coyote jabbed and wiped away the blood and jabbed some more. Spencer squeezed Hotch’s hand. Soon enough, Hotch was leaning down to kiss his forearm and the jabbing was over.
“Take a look, sweetheart.”
Upside Down as it was, Spencer’s heart skipped a beat when he read ‘Aaron’s boy’.
There were those butterflies again. “I… I love it.” Hotch went so far as to mark him with his first name. Aaron. It felt so personal, so romantic.
Aaron kissed him again, this time on the lips.
“I love you.” He was starstruck. Aaron. He was Aaron’s boy. Forever. “Can… Can I get a heart too, Daddy? Please?” Screw the pain. This was forever.
“Sure. Yes, you may.” He gave Coyote a nod and the jabbing started back up again.
When it was done, Spencer cried. Not tears of pain, but of happiness. The tattoo itself wasn’t the best handiwork in the world, a few shaky lines and uneven parts, but it was the meaning behind it that moved him.
Aaron’s boy.
He was Aaron’s boy. Not Hotch’s, not Master’s, Aaron’s. They were lovers, boyfriends, partners, whatever he wanted to call it, they were together. They belong to each other. One more so than the other, but together nonetheless. Spencer didn’t doubt Aaron’s loyalty. Spencer had been the one to cheat time and time again; in all truthfulness, Aaron was far too good for him, but he dealt with him anyway, looked past all his flaws and saw the damaged, loving boy inside.
“Thank you. T-Thank you so much,” Spencer sniffled.
Aaron dragged him into his lap, Coyote long gone, and kissed him. “This was for me.” Pressing tighter, he grabbed Spencer's waist and attacked his mouth. There was a certain energy, a ferociousness, that he kissed with. A hungry, claiming him of a Mate staking its claim, a predator taking its prey. “You’re mine. You're all mine, Spencer.”
Spencer whimpered, head lulling back as teeth and lips dragged down his neck. “Daddy, daddy, please”
“Tell me who you belong to,” he growled.
“You. I belong to you,” Spencer cried.
“You’re mine. You belong to me. I own you, do you understand?” Aaron moved a hand down his waist, trailing gently until it ghosted over the freshly inked skin, red raw and aching. He pressed down with his thumb. “You are my property. I own you. Tell me.”
Spencer was flushed, not only from the arousal coursing through his hard cock, but the pain emanating out from his raw tattoo, all those heady feelings convalescing into a dizzying, flustering flush of emotion. “I’m yours, Daddy, all yours. You own me. You own me,” he chanted.
“Good boy, Spencer.” Swiftly, Aaron hiked Spencer up on his lap and slid his bloody briefs down his thighs. His milky white, lean legs parted on either side of Aaron, spread wide like a good boy. Hotch pressed a finger inside.
It burned, but no more than his hip. Slowly, he rocked on it, as much as Aaron would let him. It was a greedy, hungry movement; he wanted more already. Luckily Aaron was in no mood to make him wait for it on this particular occasion, sliding his lotion-slick cock inside him until he was fully seated inside. “Work that ass, Spencer,” he groaned. “Show Daddy what a dirty boy you are.”
And he did. Spencer rode Aaron’s cock with the sort of passion only someone madly in love could muster. Skin slapping, sweat dripping, ass clenching, he went until he couldn’t breathe and then kept riding. “Aaron!”
As always, Aaron would tell him when he was supposed to cum, though he was ready to burst at a moment's notice. In Aaron’s eyes he saw it wasn’t even remotely time for his release. In his eyes, he found energy and lust, all directed at him.
Aaron threw him down belly first onto the mattress and pinned his hand behind his back, spread apart his thighs, and took him from behind. It was harder, fatale, with more raw power than Spencer had and the pounding of Aaron's cock inside him made a deep, throbbing ache. Painful yet pleasurable, he begged for more. “Daddy, please!”
For a moment Spencer thought he may have passed out, he couldn’t tell with the sensation overload he was experiencing. Floating somewhere in the clouds, he couldn’t string together a single coherent thought past Daddy, yes! A while later he was on his back, sucking cock, then being fucked again, legs practically bend behind his head.
When he felt the hot fish of Aaron’s cum fill him up, he held his breath. Would he be able to cum tonight? He was such a good boy. He wanted it so bad. He needed it.
Only good boys get to cum, ran on loop in Spencer’s head in Aaron’s dark, sexy voice.
“Please, please, Aaron please!” he begged.
“My slut. My little whore,” he growled. “You’re so perfect, Spencer. My sweet little slut. Taste me.” Aaron slid out his softening cock and cum gushed from Spencer’s ass behind it. He coated his fingers in his seed and plunged them between Spencer’s lips; he took them happily, with a moan. “So perfect. Do you want to cum, baby?”
“Yes, yes, yes, please please, yes, Daddy, pleasee!”
“You’ve been such a good boy today.” Aaron pressed a kiss to Spencer's cheek. “Go ahead and cum for me, baby.”
Notes:
Thanks guys, i know i said i'd update more but im working 6 days a week so I overestimated my abilities. Plus I get cold feet near the end of a fic because i hate endings. I'm gonna push through this lmao. thanks for reading
Chapter 67: Prison Life with Daddy
Summary:
To give a broad recap: Spencer robbed a pharmacy half for drugs and half to be in jail with hotch, and so he got sent to jail, got gangraped, hotch killed them fuckers, and now they're assholes in prison together. And in the last chap hotch got another inmate to tattoo spencer with his name
Chapter Text
Time passed slow and fast at the same time in the prison. Spencer was nearly at the one year mark of his incarceration when it dawned on him that he’s had more consistent contact with Hotch behind bars than he ever received in the real world. Living together this way isn’t half bad, in fact, it’s everything he’s ever dreamed of.
Spencer had his schedule, a revised version of what Hotch was teaching him before everything crashed and burned on the outside: wake early, go for a run, actually eat breakfast - a meal, not just coffee, and check in with him throughout the day for further instruction. Before prison, he had classes to attend, papers to research, and friends to indulge, but there wasn’t any of that now. He went straight to his library post and followed Hotch around like a lost puppy. Or a kept puppy, because his leash was very short.
There was only one occasion when Spencer was allowed to be out of Hotch’s sights, and that was during his weekly sessions with Hotch’s attorney, Jill. The proceedings for the multiple homicide were moving at a snail’s pace with each and every depositions, interrogatories, or pre-trial motions being postponed or rescheduled.
Hotch was still on the hook as the main suspect as the CCTV was straightforward as far as evidence went, but Jill was doing everything she could to invalidate the case against him. As far as Spencer knew, things were going okay enough, not that Hotch gave him much information… but Hotch wasn’t having any aggressive moods or taking out any anger on him during sex as he was known to in the past, so Spencer didn’t worry.
Worrying was something that Master did for him. All he had to do was be a good boy and Master would take care of the rest. He trusted Master.
So during those sessions, Spencer stayed in their cell with the door closed, either reading or facing the wall waiting for his return.
For the better part of their time in prison, Spencer hadn’t actually talked to anyone besides Hotch. People knew of him, but hardly anyone had approached him, and if they did, Spencer was not allowed to respond. Mostly the other inmates talked directly to Hotch about him as if he weren’t there, and that was perfectly fine with him. It made him feel protected, like a prized possession.
Hotch didn’t allow him to call Ethan either. He put up a worthy fight at first, Ethan was his best friend and he had a few things to apologize about looking back at it, but after a week of spankings and increasingly creative punishments, he accepted his fate. No more Ethan. He shouldn’t have even asked, really. If Master wanted him to talk to Etahn, he would let him.
Spencer arrived back at his cell later that week, trailing behind Hotch, and froze at the doorway. “W-What’s this? How?”
“Go in,” Hotch ordered without a change in his voice at all. Just another instruction.
Sitting on the bed was a neatly wrapped present with a bow made of purple ribbon. Spencer stared at it. “I don’t understand…”
“Happy anniversary, sweetheart.” Hotch hugged him from behind, leaning down barely an inch to kiss his neck and leave his breath hot against it.
Spencer shivered. It was, to the day, the anniversary of when Hotch broke down in tears and vowed never to let him go again. The day he was gang raped and high as a kite, trying to numb the pain of Hotch’s absence. The best day of his life.
Hotch’s hands tickled underneath his waistband and gripped with a strong confidence at his cock. There were lips prodding behind Spencer’s ear and he moaned something tragic at the feeling of it all. He’d blow his top in seconds if he wasn’t careful: treatment like this didn’t come around everyday.
“Thank you, Daddy, I love it,” he whispered, nearly passable for something other than a moan. “Happy anniversary. I’m all yours.” And I always will be. He knew it in his heart, if he didn’t belong to Hotch in every sense of the word, he wouldn't be able to go on living. It was one of the only truths he knew.
“Take off your clothes and get on the bed,” Hotch ordered. The box sat tantalizingly on the mattress begging to be opened but Spencer was a good boy, a patient boy, who listened and didn’t touch without permission.
Except a single finger that he slid along the smooth paper as he climbed up on the bed naked as the day he was born. How could he resist?
“Did I say you could touch?” Hotch asked, his voice dropped lower and colder than just a few seconds earlier. “Hands off.”
“Sorry, Master,” Spencer whispered with a blush burning from cheeks to chest. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”
Without a word, Hotch advanced, and with each step closer Spencer sunk deeper into the mattress. He was splayed out and vulnerable just waiting for what was to come.
A vice grip around his neck—Hotch’s hand restricted his breaths—he sputtered, face flushing but not daring to protest. Between his legs was a shameful erection that pushed hot and heavy with arousal.
Finally Hotch removed pressure just as Spencer’s vision was beginning to dot with the first warning signs of unconsciousness, and stroked softly where his fingertips still left indents in the skin.
Hotch’s mouth was close behind, licking a trail down Spencer’s jawline to the hollow of his neck and along his slender collar bones to where, on his toned chest, stood two hard nipples.
“D-Daddy,” Spencer whined.
There was no response, none verbal—because Hotch instead bit down on his nipple and yanked a breathy scream right out of him. It rang out on the walls of the cell block. His tongue lapped over the sensitive bud and Spencer’s back arched unceremoniously with itching pleasure.
“Mine.”
Spencer felt heavy hands on him flipping him onto his stomach. The present fell to the floor. He yelped, wanted to cry out for his gift, but held his tongue. “Oh—!” Between his cheeks Hotch tongue pushed forcefully before reaching his tight hole. He felt Hotch’s flat, wet tongue stroke over him without penetrating, just the barest amount of pressure. It was torture. Hotch licked him with conviction, never wavering from his goal. He stopped only to order Spencer to spread his cheeks, and dove right back in. Then he pushed past Spencer’s sensitive ring of muscle without warning and Spencer felt every second of it, every sensation down to his core. The stretch, the surprise.
He let out a long suffering moan and pressed his neglected cock into the thin mattress as subtly as he could, but nothing got past Master. His hips were stilled, grabbed, and pulled up so his ass was in the air, cock dangled uselessly between his legs, hands still spreading his cheeks apart. “Please, Daddy, I need to cum!”
A hard smack on his ass, and Hotch growled, “You’ll cum when I say so.”
Next thing he knew, Hotch’s tip was being pressed inside him, no prep, nothing, not even a dab of commissary lube. He cried out. The stretch was painful. It burned, like the slow spread of fire from his rim outwards.
“Yes, yes, yes, please, Daddy, yes!”
He loved it.
He clenched around Hotch’s cock to feel it more acutely. To make Hotch’s cock pulse with tight desire. To make him feel good. To please him.
“Daddy, oh, yes!”
“Such a little slut,” Hotch groaned in reply, overtop of him, eclipsing him completely. His muscular thighs spread Spencer’s wide, and his arms rested on the bed on either side of Spencer’s shoulders. “So eager to please, aren’t you?”
And he was. His entire life revolved around being a good boy for Master.
“That’s my boy.” He plunged deeper, thrust harder until Spencer wasn’t sure he could take it anymore.
He was splitting apart at the seams. Hotch pressed his lips right on top of Spencer’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine. His heavy, rapid breathing, hot and wet, stirred the longing, the desperation, and the need to spill his load without so much as a single touch. “You love this, don’t you, being filled with my cock? You’re only going to take me. You’re mine, sweetheart, all mine.”
Spencer felt him cum. It was hot pressure gushing inside him. He was marked in so many ways, but this was his favorite. As Hotch pulled out Spencer whimpered from the overstimulation of his rim and his cock gave an interested flinch.
He wanted to cum so bad but he would never ask. He’d take only what was given to him.
But the world spun as he was flipped once again onto his back and Hotch’s inky black hair disappeared below him— “oh!”
He was going to cum. He needed to cum. He was going to cum. “I’m going to cum!” he screamed. “Please, stop, stop, please, Daddy, I’m going to cum!”
Hotch never gave him head. It was too much. He couldn’t hold back, not with Master’s lips around him sucking.
It wasn’t just any run of the mill blow job. Hotch knew what he was doing. His lips were firm but pliant, his tongue darting around, a flick and caress in all the right places, and the suction he was creating with his throat was downright obscene.
It went on forever. Master took his time alternating between fast and slow, always receding when Spencer was right on the edge about to spill over, and then ramping back up to it. Minute by minute, Spencer was taken apart until he was nothing but a pile of whimpers and tears.
He held out as long as he could but Hotch’s mouth was otherworldly and when he didn’t stop with the deep, wet suction after a minute, he couldn’t hold back. Spencer came with a tortured shout: “Daddy, daddy, I’m sorry!”
“What a bad boy,” Hotch said, but his face was almost gentle, and his lips were quirked in a sly smirk. “Too excited to hold back? Such a greedy little whore. Good thing Daddy loves you.” Hotch twisted a nipple ruthlessly. “Or you’d be in for so much worse than that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy, thank you.” Spencer’s voice was hoarse and cracking with the dredges of his orgasm still lingering in his throat. Hotch was in such a good mood Spencer considered asking to be fucked again, but he couldn’t find the strength in his boneless body.
Hotch rose from the bed and scooped the purple box from the floor where it fell during their fucking, and situated it right in front of Spencer expectedly. Spencer's heart beat fast and he looked up for a quick show of approval before ripping open his present.
Inside the box was a light purple glass buttplug. Definitely not something that was sold at the commissary. “Oh my—Thank you, Daddy!”
At the open door of the cell, a wolf whistle caught their attention, but the passing inmate was gone. Behind him trailed a pair of guards; he must have been new, on his way to his cell and unaware of the status quo: you don’t mess with Hotch’s bitch.
“Can I put it in, Daddy?” Spencer asked with big doe eyes and an eagerness that could only be found in such single minded intensity.
“No, baby. Get on your stomach. I’ll put it in.” Hotch said, tone practically gravel. “And you don’t touch it, play with it, or take it out without my approval or there will be steep consequences. Understood?”
Spencer’s cheeks burned but he nodded obediently. “Yes, Daddy.” He flopped onto his belly and pushed his still sore ass into the air waiting for his present. Daddy was so good to him.
Chapter 68: The Beginning of the End
Summary:
In the last chapter Spencer was having a really good time in prison with his Master.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Stand up fucking tall, don't let them see your back
And take my fucking hand and never be afraid again”
― My Chemical Romance, 'Our Lady of Sorrows'
Spencer wore his plug after his morning exercise. He slid it in under Master’s watchful eye in the shower stall, then felt it all throughout the day between his legs, a gentle reminder of who he belonged to. He felt eyes on him, but only Hotch knew his awkward squirming and jolting walk was due to the pretty, fat piece of glass keeping him stretched open. He could feel those eyes like a hand gripping around his throat.
That afternoon, Hotch was talking with a pair of inmates a few feet away, and Spencer was waiting diligently for him at an empty table in the main mess hall. He wasn’t sure what sort of business Hotch had with the two men, but he knew better than to wonder.
“You don’t usually see ‘em this pretty around here,” a voice said to his left. Spencer jumped out of his skin.
A man sat on his side, though not anyone he’d seen before. A wolf whistle crept up in his memory, and Spencer was sure this was the new inmate on their cell block. Surely there wouldn’t be anyone else brazen or stupid enough to address him than someone who didn’t know the status quo.
But he wasn’t allowed to answer back. Master wouldn’t permit him to speak to another man, nor did he want to. Instead, he pointedly looked away.
“Oh, now, c’mon, don’t be shy, darlin’,” he drawled. “I just wanted to talk.”
Spencer shifted away, and the man inched closer to him on the bench. His pulse quickened. He stood. “Hotch?”
Master turned quickly, only to lock eyes with the man hovering over him, and Spencer felt his blood run cold from that look. He’d seen that look before: Don’t touch what’s mine.
Spencer didn’t have a moment to breathe between his plea for help and Hotch’s fist crashing into the man’s face, the crunch of his nose disgustingly apparent.
Jeers rang out through crowded mess hall; Master was throwing punch after punch long after the inmate stopped responding. The crowd was whistling and yelling, with small fights breaking out amongst themselves. Spencer caught Hotch’s eyes, crazed and full of adrenaline, and let himself be dragged forward as Hotch grabbed his shirt and yanked him closer. Hotch’s hands were smeared with blood, but Spencer didn’t care. One reached down to grab his ass and he moaned, not caring where they were or who was watching.
He gasped as Hotch grabbed his hips and slammed him down over the table’s bench, ripped his jumpsuit, and popped out his plug in a swift motion. “Daddy!” he cried. Hotch’s weight and heat was behind him, all too familiar, as he mounted him right there, in a circle of screaming men. Hotch’s thick cock pressed inside and stretched him open. He moaned, closed his eyes to the scene in front of him, and focused on Master fucking him hard. He was so close, sweating, panting, his ass burning. His eyes rolled back, mouth hung open, sweat dripping down his temple as Master continued to fuck him hard and fast from behind. Only when Master’s rhythmic thrusting hitched did he pry his eyes open and come back to reality as the correction officers swarmed in, breaking up the massive circle formed around them. Just before Hotch was ripped off of him did he feel the hot gush of cum filling him up, and he was teetering on the edge, willing himself to be a good boy and not cum. A firm pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and he screamed, kicking and clawing anything he could. His eyes darted madly for his Master. He needed him. He glanced back, and calmed slightly seeing it was a corrections officer, and not another inmate looking to have his way with him. It would be alright; He and Master were both headed to the same cell. The officer escorted Spencer back, but as soon he arrived, Hotch was escorted away by two guards to said that Jill needed to see him.
HOTCH
Adrenaline still pumping, cock throbbing, Hotch tried to calm himself before he was led into the office that Jill was in. He just fucked Spencer in front of the entire Genpop. Showed them exactly who that ass belonged to and what would happen to you if you so much as looked at him the wrong way. Power and possession were swirling inside of him, heating him up from the inside out, burning like a fire. He owned him. In every sense of the word. He wished he could have finished, grabbed him by a fistful of hair, threw him to his knees, and smeared his cock and cum all over that pretty little face while everyone watched. He wanted to hear that sweet voice say, “Thank you, Master”, see those big eyes looking up at him with full devotion.
“Get in,” the officer shoved him forward, making him stumble. Jill was looking out the barred window on the other side of the room, not looking at him. When she turned around, the bags under her eyes were dark. She looked tired. Her hair barely brushed.
She sighed, then looked him in the eyes. “I have bad news. There’s no other way to say this. You’re being transferred to Max Security.”
“What?” he balked. “You said you had this handled, Jill.”
“Handled, are you fucking kidding me, Aaron? You’re lucky they didn’t put you in the electric chair. They have you on CCTV. What did you expect me to do, exactly? You murdered someone!”
“Please, he was hardly a person. He was a gang member, a rapist, and a criminal. I did the world a favor.”
Jill scoffed. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Consider my helping you with all of… this,” She motioned at him in a wide gesture. “Done. Finished. I was helping you as a favor but that was long past run its course. The transfer is tomorrow. Enjoy Max.”
“Jill, wait–” He reached for her, and the corrections officer stepped in swiftly, grabbing his arms and pinning them behind his back. “Jill!”
She looked back at him once before striding out of the room. “Don't contact me again.”
Hotch went limp in the guard’s grip. Transferred to Max. He couldn’t be. He couldn’t be separated from Spencer, not again. He couldn't leave him alone in a den of lions looking to rip him apart. Spencer wouldn’t last a day. Hell, he wouldn’t last an hour without his protection. No, he had to figure something out. Some way for them to stay together.
He was escorted back to his cell. Spencer was watching his every move, looking for attention, but he was too frustrated to engage. He had Spencer sit on the bed facing the wall while he sat in thought.
There was no way he would let Spencer be by himself in here. Look how well he fared before, getting hooked on drugs and gang raped. Spencer needed a protector. He needed him. He wouldn’t let another man take him as a bitch. The thought of anyone else’s hands on Spencer's beautiful skin made his body heat with rage. His hands were digging painfully into the bed frame, tensed up without even realizing it.
FUCK JILL. FUCK HER.
What a useless piece of shit!
Fuck her! Fuck her absolute inability to do anything at all!
What was he supposed to do now?
Rot? In MAX?
While Spencer was left alone in a lion’s den?
Fuck her! Hotch hurled his fist into the cement wall and howled in pain as the shock traveled through his bones. Droplets of blood started to pool at his knuckles. He grunted and wiped it on his uniform. Glancing back, Spencer was still silently facing the wall.
No—Absolutely not. He wasn’t going to Max. They wouldn't be separated, not again. He’d let Spencer go before; he’d been a fool, thought that Spencer would live a full, normal life without him, but he was wrong. Spencer was far from normal. Spencer was destined to be his. Hotch had long since lost any inkling of wanting Spencer to be free.
What could he do? He could force Spencer to kill someone, and he’d be sent to Max too, but Hotch knew that process would take far too long. Weeks, months. He wouldn’t let him be alone for a day, let alone that.
A bribe, maybe? Throw the warden a few thousand in cash, and stay? But he didn’t have access to any of his funds, Jessica wasn’t speaking to him, Gideon hadn’t responded to any of his voicemails. He’d made dozens of unanswered calls. There was no possible way to smuggle thousands in cash into the prison.
His chest felt tight. Painful, even. Breathing fast, shallow. What was his plan? He needed a plan. He needed a plan so they could stay together. So he could protect his boy.
So Spencer wouldn’t get bent over and fucked by every inmate in gen pop. So he didn’t get pumped full of heroin and passed around. So he didn’t cry, and miss him, and beg for him, and need him.
Hotch looked up at Spencer kneeling perfectly still in the corner of the bunk, facing the wall. His perfect boy. His obedient boy. He needed to take care of everything for him this time around.
“Daddy is going to fix everything,” Hotch whispered, voice hoarse. “Turn around, baby. You’re done. What a good boy you’ve been.”
Spencer eagerly spun around and climbed into Hotch’s lap. “Thank you, Daddy.”
Hotch brushed the hair from his eyes and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Spencer was absolute perfection. Such a gorgeous face, soft, delicate eyes, and long, toned arms and legs. He looked like something that would be sculpted from marble. He kissed down his temple, his cheek, and brushed against his lips. Spencer’s breath was hot and shaky, that needy energy radiating off of him as always. Hotch slid his hand down to his hip and pressed a thumb into the fresh ink. Spencer yelped, squirming back, with nowhere to go.
“Who do you belong to?” He needed to hear it.
Spencer looked into his eyes. “You, Daddy.”
The pit of his stomach was burning. He felt a surge of emotions: anger, pride, passion, possession, and control. He pressed in harder. “Say it.”
“I belong to you,” Spencer whispered.
“That’s right, you do. No one else. Only me. For the rest of your life.” He was breathing now in shallow, panting breaths. Every last minute of it. He pressed forward, took Spencer’s mouth, bent him in an odd angle back against the bed, bit down hard on his neck until he screamed. Mine. Then his shoulder, his chest. Mine, mine, mine.
If he couldn’t have him, no one could.
Hotch repositioned him, yanked off his remaining clothes, pinned him into the thin mattress, then fucked him hard.
There was no way of preventing the transfer to Max.
He was out of options.
He couldn’t let them be split up.
There was a guy he could get a shiv from. First he’d slit Spencer’s throat… then his own.
He thrust into Spencer, felt the tight, warm grip around his cock. He pounded him with every last energy he had. Fucking him brutally, without regard to anything besides the emotions bursting inside of him.
He’d make sure they were never apart again.
If he couldn’t have him then no one else could.
“Daddy’s going to take care of everything. Don’t worry, baby,” he grunted. He slammed in, fully seated, and wrapped a hand around Spencer’s neck. He came hard, every blissful pulse pumping Spencer full of his seed. Mine. There was no better feeling than this.
Finally, he let off, pulled out, and kissed Spencer’s cheek. “This is mine.” He grabbed Spencer’s ass. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Spencer choked out in a strained, barely there voice, teetering in and out of consciousness. The sheer devotion.
Hotch squeezed harder, felt the power in his grip, felt Spencer's slack, trusting body underneath him. Felt the thumping of the blood in his veins.
He let go. Pulled out; cum seeped from Spencer’s red, raw hole. Spencer went slack, but he was still breathing, and Hotch cleaned him up the best he could, lifting him up and tucking him into his bunk.
Jill’s voice rang in his head. The transfer is tomorrow.
Spencer looked beautiful as always, sound asleep. Bruises littered his skin. Peaceful. He wouldn’t make this any harder on him. Tomorrow he would find the guy Montgomery and figure out he wanted for a shiv. Then he would get Spencer alone in the showers where they could get a minute of privacy and… take care of everything.
Hotch remembered breaking Spencer’s heart when he showed up at his doorstep in the pouring rain seeking love and validation. He wasn’t enough of a man to give it to him then. If he could go back in time, he wouldn’t pay any mind to what the neighbors would think. Hell, he’d bend him over the porch railing and take him from behind for everyone to see. He wouldn’t have tried to be the bigger man and turn him away. Wouldn’t have worried what would have been better for him in the long run, more normal, more healthy. Spencer didn’t want normal. He wanted depravity. And who was Hotch to deny Spencer that privilege?
Notes:
One more chapter left!