Chapter Text
Reid didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, his fingers brushed against Hotch’s, lingering just long enough to send a current through both of them. Aaron’s breath caught, his self-control fraying, but when their eyes met, hesitation vanished.
Hotch leaned in and kissed him. At first it was gentle, tentative, but when Reid responded, the kiss deepened, hungry and unrestrained. Whiskey and warmth clouded Reid’s senses, making him dizzy.
Hotch’s hand slid to the back of Reid’s neck, pulling him closer, while Reid’s fingers clutched at his shirt. Their bodies pressed together, heat sparking between them. The careful walls they’d both built began to crumble.
Reid gasped softly as Hotch’s lips traced along his jaw, down toward his throat. His hands roamed instinctively, slipping under Hotch’s shirt, exploring the solid lines of muscle hidden beneath. Hotch answered with a low sound from deep in his chest, his own hands finding the edge of Reid’s sweater, tugging it upward.
In moments, layers of clothing were being pulled aside, discarded carelessly onto the floor. Skin met skin, warm and electric. Reid’s pulse raced as Hotch’s touch wandered across his chest, his back, every movement both desperate and deliberate.
For a moment, it felt inevitable—that nothing could stop the pull dragging them closer and closer. Reid was lost in it, caught in the storm.
Then, suddenly, Hotch broke away. His breathing was ragged, his hand still lingering against Reid’s skin before he forced himself to let go.
“We can’t,” he whispered, voice raw. “Not like this. Not tonight.”
Reid stared at him, chest rising and falling quickly, his lips still parted in disbelief. “You don’t want this?” His voice cracked on the question.
Hotch shut his eyes, fighting himself. “I do. More than I should. But if we cross this line… it could destroy everything. I can’t do that to you. Or to us.”
The words fell heavy between them. Reid pulled back slightly, his shirt half-off, the moment shattered. He swallowed hard and looked away, stung but silent.
Hotch reached out, as if to steady him, but let his hand fall before it touched. “Spencer… I’m sorry.”
Reid stood slowly, gathering himself, though the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable. “Then I should go.”
Hotch didn’t argue. He only walked him to the door, every step feeling like a mistake he couldn’t take back. When Reid left, the silence of the house seemed unbearable, filled with the absence of what might have been.
Reid and Hotch felt an unmistakable awkwardness the moment they saw each other in the office. The memory of the previous night lingered between them, unspoken yet heavy. Reid had to admit, even to himself, that he admired Hotch in a way that made the unease more intense—his boss’s ability to remain completely composed, hiding everything under a calm, professional exterior.
Reid adjusted his glasses and tried to focus on the case notes in front of him, but his thoughts kept drifting. Hotch moved around the office with his usual efficiency, issuing instructions, reviewing files, and yet never once betraying any hint of what had happened. That self-control, while impressive, only made Reid feel more exposed in comparison.
Meanwhile, the club case showed no progress. Their undercover visit had yielded nothing of significance—no suspicious behavior, no leads, just hours spent observing a crowded, pulsating nightclub. The victims’ connections, the MO, and the club’s environment still provided no clear path forward.
The team gathered in the conference room to plan their next steps. Prentiss and JJ shared updates from the families, while Rossi and Morgan discussed the locations where the bodies had been found.
“We’re going to need another approach,” Hotch said, finally breaking the silence. “Observing the club didn’t give us anything concrete. We need patterns, background checks, and interviews with staff and regulars. Cross-reference everything with the victims’ last known movements.”
Reid made notes quickly, his eyes flicking to Hotch occasionally. The man’s control over the situation, over himself, was almost frustrating. It reminded Reid how much he still had to process—not just professionally, but personally.
Morgan leaned back, rubbing his eyes. “So, basically, more legwork. More waiting. I hate cases that stall like this.”
“I know,” Hotch replied, his voice calm but firm. “We work with the information we have. We’ll get there.”
Reid nodded, though his mind was only half on the case. The tension between him and Hotch remained unspoken, simmering quietly beneath the surface. For now, work provided a welcome distraction, even if it couldn’t erase the memory of last night.
Hotch lingered by Reid’s desk for a moment, hesitating as if debating whether to speak. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Reid, do you want to go over the club’s patron list together? It might help narrow down who we should interview first.”
Reid looked up from his notes, his expression neutral but his tone edged with something sharper than usual. “No, Hotch. I think I can handle a list of names without a personal tutorial on social behavior.”
Hotch raised an eyebrow but remained calm. “I wasn’t suggesting that. I just thought collaborating might be faster.”
Reid’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Well, maybe for you. I work differently.”
Hotch exhaled slowly, maintaining his composure, though his eyes betrayed a hint of frustration. “Reid…”
“Don’t ‘Reid’ me, Hotch,” Reid cut in, a touch of irritation creeping into his voice. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to… ease the tension or whatever. It’s unnecessary.”
Hotch’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. “I’m not trying to—”
“You’re doing it anyway,” Reid interrupted, turning his attention back to the notes in front of him. “Just let me work.”
For a moment, the office felt impossibly small. Hotch stayed for a few more seconds, watching Reid scowl over his notebook, before nodding slightly and stepping back. He didn’t push further, though the quiet concern in his eyes lingered.
Reid exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. He knew he had been sharp, even rude, but he couldn’t stop himself. Everything about the night before—the closeness, the kiss, the unspoken possibilities—made him unusually tense. And Hotch, as always, remained impossibly composed, only amplifying Reid’s frustration.
The rest of the team continued their work, oblivious to the electric tension simmering between the two agents. For Reid, at least, pretending everything was normal was becoming more and more difficult.