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Hotch straightened. “As I said, I take full responsibility for this decision. If anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me.”
“Any issues?” Morgan narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve got issues.”
Seven months.
It’d been two-hundred and six days since Emily Prentiss died, and one-hundred and fifty days since the BAU fell apart. With the help of the Domestic Trafficking Task Force, the team may’ve dismantled a horrific human trafficking ring, but even such a big win couldn’t keep them together.
Hotch was sent off to Pakistan on a special mission, and while JJ was brought back to the BAU, Spencer disappeared on a sabbatical, offering little information on his whereabouts.
Well…
To everyone but her.
She got the post cards.
He’d enrolled in some kind of minimester at Oxford, and the thought of him wandering around the storied English city in his signature sweaters was enough to make her smile. She needed the pick-me-up, since only her, Rossi, Morgan, JJ, and Penelope remained at Quantico.
They worked normal cases. Seventeen, in fact. But under the table, they kept investigating the Doyle case. Eventually, they found him, and their work brought Reid—followed by Hotch—right back stateside.
There were plenty of surprises. Hotch’s beard, and how ruggedly handsome he looked. Spencer’s fade, and how his new haircut had caramel-colored curls kissing his forehead and falling into his golden eyes.
But the updated appearances of her Unit Chief and colleague-turned-good-friend had nothing on the biggest surprise of all.
On a very normal weekday, Emily Prentiss strolled into the conference room and right back into their lives, as if she hadn’t been dead for more than half the year. As if they hadn’t lowered her casket into the ground, hung her picture on the wall of fallen agents, cried over the painful mentions and persistent memories.
The team had varied reactions. As Hotch remained stoic and JJ chewed nervously on her lip, the others came alive. Rossi blinked slowly, fingertips beating into the table. Penelope sobbed, shaky hands at her cheeks. Morgan’s mouth dropped open, dark eyes narrowing in disbelief.
She watched the reactions through her tears, the frantic relief from Emily’s safety soothing the lingering confusion and frustration. Evidently, she wasn’t the only one feeling mixed emotions. Her attention strayed to Spencer, to how he hugged Emily, his arms tight around their colleague.
After years of working together, after years of a strong work relationship and an even stronger friendship, it was easy to recognize his discomfort. The rigid shoulders, the curled lips, the clenched jaw.
He might’ve been smiling, but the fury glittered on his skin like rays of sunshine.
Golden eyes studied JJ for but a moment, before zeroing in on one person.
The person who’d made the call.
The person who made every call.
Morgan was the one to snap at Hotch, but…
Clearly it was Spencer who had issues.
In those first days after Emily’s return, there wasn’t time for twenty questions, to pick apart her life over the last seven months and what exactly had gone into Hotch and JJ’s decision to fake her death. Every second was devoted to the Doyles. To begrudgingly working with Ian, and most importantly, to saving Declan.
That focus meant there was limited interaction between the team on anything that wasn’t work. But the minute Declan was safe and Doyle was dead, they were immediately called away on a case to Phoenix.
With six dead women in six days, there was no time to waste.
They’d barely had Doyle’s body taken away before they were on a jet. Emily wasn’t even fully reinstated with the team, and Strauss was already promising there’d be some kind of committee hearing, but it was the BAU’s job to handle these cases, so handle they did. Even if the timing sucked and half their team wasn’t even technically on the payroll.
She first noticed the tension in the air, sitting with Spencer and Hotch at the table. Hotch hadn’t shaved yet, despite all the teasing from Rossi, meaning he was still sporting that delicious dark hair on his jaw. Even with his usual suit and tie, he looked so…
Rugged.
She found herself distracted whenever he rubbed his jaw—although, her attention would shoot right back to Spencer whenever he brushed loose curls from his eyes.
Crap.
Working with attractive people was the worst.
“Did you have a chance to look at those files I emailed you?” Hotch asked Spencer, glancing over the manila folder in his hands. “Organized Crime was hoping we could provide a profile for—”
“I was busy.” Spencer turned a page in his book, not looking up once. “So, no, I have not gotten to it.”
“Then before we land, do you mind—”
“I mind.” Another page turned. “Ask someone else. Maybe JJ. You two seem to speak the same language.”
“Reid.”
“Hotch.”
“I realize you might be upset—”
Spencer slammed his book onto the table and stood. He glanced at her, jaw tight, before disappearing into the bathroom. Hotch sighed and set his file down.
“Has he spoken to you at all?” he asked. “About…”
She fiddled with her coffee cup, the cheap cardboard stained a horrendous brown. “No. Once the immediate shock of Emily being alive wore off, his focus was on Doyle. And now that we’re done…” She sighed. “Now he has the chance to tell you how he really feels. Or, since it’s Spencer, more like not tell you how he really feels and instead get all moody and passive aggressive.”
Hotch rubbed his jaw, and she hated how hypnotized she was by the movement. “You two are close. He trusts you.”
“He does.”
“Then perhaps you could…”
“I could what?” She crossed her arms. “Hotch, he’s angry and upset, and with good reason. I understand the decisions made, but you and JJ still lied to us for seven months about Emily. We grieved her, and every time one of us shed a tear, you two knew the truth. Spencer was devastated. He spent weeks crying to me, to Penelope, to JJ. He took Emily’s death really hard. So… I’m sorry, but I can’t just… convince him not to be mad at you.”
“You could try.”
“Are you asking as a friend or as my boss?”
His jaw locked. “I—” Dropping his head, he cursed. “We don’t have conflict like this. Not on our team. I don’t know how to handle it.”
“Then consider it a new challenge, boss.” She patted his hand. “I’ll remind him to play nice, but no promises.” Before Hotch could respond, she moved to the back of the jet, waiting for Spencer to come out of the bathroom. And when he did, face dewy and collar wet, she knew he’d tried calming himself down with cold water. “Feel better?”
Spencer grumbled and slid the bathroom door shut. “Not particularly.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly.”
“Spencer.”
He tilted his head back until it hit the jet wall. “How are you being so… normal about this? Even Morgan, who I thought would understand my anger, seems to be… completely ok. I don’t understand it!”
“You’re able to compartmentalize, Spence. For me, and Rossi, and Penelope, and even Morgan, our prevailing emotion is happy. We’re happy Emily is alive, and we’re happy Emily is back. Nothing else matters. But you’re different. Even if you’re happy she’s here, you’re still angry about the deception. That’s… justified. But you need to be civil. To JJ, to—”
Through gritted teeth, he replied, “I’m furious with her, too. But right now, it’s Hotch I want answers from. His job is to lead our team, so how could he have hidden lifechanging news and then disappeared across the world—”
“It’s not that simple—”
“Are you taking their side?”
“No!” She fixed his collar, frowning. “Put yourself in their shoes. They were protecting Emily and—”
“If I were in charge, I would’ve protected Emily without lying to the world and breaking the hearts of five teammates. What they did was not justified. It was cruel.” He glanced around the jet, golden brown eyes narrowing as they landed on Hotch. “I’m not forgiving and forgetting just because Emily is safe.”
“Spence—”
But he stormed off, returning to his usual spot on the sofa, his face buried in a book.
With any luck, their arrival in Arizona would be exactly the distraction they needed.
It wasn’t.
Not for long, at least.
She wasn’t sure if it was Hotch sticking to his usual preference for field work—assigning her and Spencer to stay at the local precinct, him to work on the geographic profile, her to conduct interviews with friends and families of the victims—or his uncharacteristic optimism that him and Spencer in the same place would quash any lingering tension, but he kept the three of them at the station while the others left.
Spencer had just finished hanging a map of the city on the board when Hotch entered, a fresh coffee in hand.
“Dave wrapped with the ME,” Hotch said. “It sounds like there’s enough DNA under Jane Doe’s fingernails to swab, so that’s our first break. No luck on her identity yet, though.”
“Well,” Spencer muttered, scribbling on the board, “at least when she’s buried, the casket will actually have a body inside.”
“Reid—”
“Emily weighs approximately 130 pounds. What precisely did you and JJ fill the casket with?” Spencer pinned a picture of their first victim to the board, followed by the second. “Thirty-three SAT prep books? Twenty-six 5lb bags of flour? Seven 17-inch tires? Five cinder blocks? Forty-four bottles of—”
“Reid—”
“How did that play out? What kind of planning goes into that?” Victim three, victim four, victim five. “Did you and JJ meet in your funeral best and dump thirty-three bricks inside—”
“Reid—”
“Or,” Spencer continued rambling, taping a headshot of their sixth and final victim to the board, “did you pay the funeral home with money from the BAU budget to stage a fake funeral for Emily’s fake death where you cried fake tears over—”
“Enough.” Within three long-legged strides, Hotch was toe to toe with Spencer. His eyes narrowed. "I know you’re upset, but this attitude stops now.”
“You don’t know anything about me, Hotch.” Jaw clenched, Spencer traced a line along the interstate. His fingers tightened around the Sharpie. “If you did, you’d know I’m not upset. I’m furious.”
“Fine. Be furious. But lose the attitude.”
“Or what?” More scribbles. More tracing. “You’ll fire me? Will you and JJ cry crocodile tears when that happens too?”
“You’re not being fair about this—”
“You know what’s not fair?”
Spencer capped his marker, and when it went flying across the room, she stumbled into the wall. God, in all her years working beside him, she’d never seen him angry enough to physically lash out. And sure, throwing a marker was no wall punch or chair push, but it was intense for someone usually so calm and collected.
“Not fair,” he continued through gritted teeth, “is crying for ten straight weeks about a dead friend only to learn that she’s ok and that two people you trust with your life knew this and didn’t tell you. That’s not fair.”
Hotch didn’t immediately respond. Two clenched fists rolled into his suit pants, while his red tie trembled with every desperate inhale. His lips curled, like he was trying to prevent himself from speaking. Following a quick glance her way, he stormed out.
Fuck.
This was not good.
They had a case to solve, an unsub to catch, surely a committee hearing to justify their actions just waiting to be scheduled, and Reid and Hotch were apparently no longer on speaking terms. And…
Hotch was scary. But surely, he wouldn’t actually try to fire Spencer…
Right?
“—route along Interstate 10, so it’s likely our unsub is based in a Phoenix suburb called—”
“Spencer.” She pushed off the wall and crossed the tiny room. At his side, she grabbed his wrist to stop his writing. “Are you serious right now?”
“Very serious. We have a comfort zone that—”
“You know damn well I’m not talking about the case.”
He tensed. His gaze dipped to her hand and then away. “You agree with him, don’t you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
Beneath her fingertips, his frantic pulse burned her skin. “Spence, I’m mad too. But lashing out at Hotch isn’t going to solve anything.”
“I’m not lashing out. And don’t worry. I’m not forgetting about JJ.”
She frowned. “Spence, this is not the answer—”
“Yeah, well, I disagree.”
“What are you hoping to get out of this? At best, you’ll get an apology. At worst, you’ll severely damage two friendships and maybe even lose your job. Is that really what you want?”
He glared at his Chucks. “I…” Swallowing, his shoulders dropped. “I don’t know, ok? I just… I’m angry and I can’t help it.”
“You heard Hotch. You need to try.” She took his hand. “I already lost you for months. I’d like to not lose you again, ok?”
His gaze flicked to their hands. He sighed. “I’ll try. But… no promises. Especially if that apology doesn’t come.”
Righting his curls, she replied, “Focus on the case, ok? I’ll go grab us some fresh coffee and donuts, and then we’ll figure out this geographical profile.”
“Ok.” That familiar toe-curling smile returned, and she nearly whimpered in relief. “Chocolate frosted is—”
“Your favorite, I know. We’ve been friends for a long time, remember?”
“Sure, but I’ve been friends with Hotch and JJ for longer and they both decided to lie to my face about—”
“Spence.”
He grumbled. “Sorry.”
When he turned back to the case board, she took a minute to study the rigidness of his shoulders and the taut veins in his bare forearms. But her gaze jumped back to his hair cut, to how loose curls just kissed his forehead.
Spencer had always been handsome, but ever since his return from the UK, she found herself… hypnotized. She’d missed him, and that longing for his presence had compounded with his sexy haircut and his furious glares.
Shit.
Did she have a crush on him?
Shaking off her panic, she took off for the kitchen, where she stumbled upon Hotch leaning over the countertop. He glared at the granite, the muscles in his arms tense as he watched fresh coffee trickle from the machine into a Styrofoam cup. Between the carve of his bicep and the rough scruff on his face, she was momentarily frozen.
Double shit.
Did she have a crush on Hotch?
When he noticed her arrival, he straightened. “How is he?”
She bit her lip and shrugged. “You’re a profiler. Do you really need to ask?”
Hotch grabbed his cup and frowned into it. Surely because of Spencer, but she suspected his subsequent wince was about the cheap sludge the Phoenix PD was passing off as coffee. “I’m at a loss. JJ says I should treat him with kid gloves. Dave says I should avoid him. But I keep hearing Haley’s voice in my head, telling me to give him a hug and to lighten up.”
“And what do you think you should do?” she asked, grabbing the coffee from his hands and dumping it into the sink. “What’s your instinct?”
He chuckled and rubbed his scruff. “My instinct is to shove him into a wall and tell him to get over it. But… that’s not very boss-like or friendly of me, is it?”
“Sometimes being a boss and being a friend means doing the hard stuff.”
“So, you think roughing Reid up is the answer?” His lips quirked. “Somehow I don’t believe that.”
“Good, because that’s not what I said.” She checked the clock. “I’m going to grab us some fresh coffee. If you want my advice, it’s to just nip this in the bud before it gets worse. Spencer wants an apology so—”
“An apology?” Hotch scoffed. “For what? For doing my job? For protecting Prentiss? If anything, he owes me and JJ an apology for how unreasonable he’s being.”
“Then you two are at an impasse. We both know Spencer is never going to change his mind on this. It’s not in his nature. And if you think your decisions were justified then you two will never see eye to eye.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. I think we start with solving this case and we go from there.” She turned to leave. “I’ll be back in ten, ok?”
“Add a few espresso shots to mine, will you?”
She laughed. “Need the energy?”
“For handling Reid after the nightmare I’m dealing with Strauss and what’s absolutely going to be a Senate Committee hearing? Yes. If I were Dave, I’d be dumping whiskey into my coffee, too.”
Grinning, she replied, “Maybe tonight?”
“Perhaps.”
He winked, and she let out a pathetic little squeak before hurrying off. And as she caught one final glimpse of Spencer at the case board, eyebrows furrowed as he studied the map, she bit her lip.
Between her hot boss and her hot best friend, this case was going to be impossible to focus on.
Thankfully, they made it approximately forty-eight hours without further trouble. The DNA found under the fingernails of their sixth victim—their original Jane Doe—helped flesh out their profile by connecting their unsub to a previous string of murders in Tucson. The additional crimes—followed by the subsequent identifying of Jane Doe—was all they needed to finally put a name to their guy.
Emily stepped right back into the BAU as if she’d never left, Morgan seemed to lighten when he was paired with her, and Penelope was especially excitable whenever they called her up. Even Spencer had cooled marginally, keeping his comments to himself and throwing all his energy into work. It was needed too, as they tried to locate their unsub.
At eight-pm on day three, they got their guy.
Everything seemed to be going well.
Until dinner.
After wrapping up at the precinct, the entire team grabbed a table at a local Mexican joint within walking distance to their hotel. In a back booth surrounded by portraits of the Sonoran Desert and colored wall tiles, they toasted to a job well done and—
“—Emily’s return,” Rossi announced, blue-rimmed glass to the air. “We all missed you more than you could ever imagine.”
“Thanks, Rossi. I—”
But Emily’s heartfelt response was cut off by Spencer, the only person not to be drinking an oversized margarita. “Not everyone,” he mumbled into his Mexican Coke. “Hotch and JJ couldn’t miss someone who they knew wasn’t actually gone.”
She chewed on her lip, gaze darting between JJ’s furrowed brow, and Hotch’s tight grip on his glass. Emily studied the tabletop, fingers tapping into the wood, while Morgan sat back in the booth, arms crossed and jaw clenched.
Rossi was the only one with the nerves to reply.
“I think we should focus on celebrating, yeah?” Rossi waved the waitress over. “Let’s get a round of tequila shots for my friends—top shelf, naturally.”
As the waitress hurried off with the drink order, Spencer scoffed. “What exactly are we celebrating? Double standards? Hypocrisy? Years ago, Hotch ripped apart Agent Todd for using a little white lie to a convince a grieving mother to cooperate, and now, lying is ok?”
“Kid—”
But he swiftly cut Rossi off. “The way I see it, lying to the team about Emily to ensure silence was no different than Jordan manipulating that mother into—”
“Spence, please—”
“Jennifer, I’m really not in the mood to listen to whatever—”
“Enough.” Hotch stood, palms flat on the table, and glare leveled at Spencer. “Reid, outside, now.”
The team watched in silence as Hotch stormed out of the restaurant, a reluctant Reid on his heels. With their departure, the waitress delivered the shots, and Rossi chuckled. “Well…” He motioned to the drinks. “I think everyone could use one, yeah?”
JJ groaned. “Or a few. Maybe I’ll have Spence’s.”
“You’ll have to fight me for it,” Emily replied. “This is all my fault—”
“Don’t you dare.” Morgan shook his head, teeth gritted. “You don’t get to blame yourself for keeping the Doyle stuff under wraps, and certainly not faking your death to protect your life. I was upset initially but… I get it. We’re just happy you’re safe.”
Emily squeezed his hand. “I just wish Reid was doing better with the news.”
As the others downed their shots, she frowned and turned to the front entrance. Through the frosted glass of the doors, it was impossible to make anything out but Reid’s waving hands and Hotch’s tensing shoulders. “He’s thrilled you’re safe, Em. He’s just… Spencer.” After taking her shot, she stood. “I’m going to check on them.”
Before anyone could convince her otherwise, she took off for the front. Slipping through the doors, she managed to avoid Hotch and Spencer’s attention, giving her a brief window to eavesdrop. It wasn’t her finest moment, but she needed to know what was happening, mainly to make sure Spencer wasn’t causing irreparable damage to his relationship with Hotch and potentially getting himself fired in the process.
“—you want to act like a child, fine, but you do it away from the team, and especially away from Prentiss who doesn’t deserve your vitriol—”
“—then it’s good she’s not getting it! And how dare you accuse me of acting like a child. I have every right to be upset about my boss, my friend, lying to my face for months—”
“—this was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I made the decision I felt was best for Prentiss, for the team—”
“—well, your decision was wrong, and now it’s your job to own up to it and apologize—”
“—you’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m apologizing for protecting Prentiss—”
She winced. She’d never heard Hotch drop an f-bomb before and that didn’t exactly bode well for the direction of their conversation. Could one even call it a conversation if the pair was just talking in circles, neither able to understand how the other felt?
“Hey!”
Jogging over, she wedged herself between them, one hand on each of their chests and—oh. God, she could feel the frantic jump of both of their hearts. Even beneath Hotch’s crisp button-up and Spencer’s soft cardigan, their pulsing adrenaline zapped into her skin.
She swallowed. Seriously, what was wrong with her, and why did she find them arguing so hot?
“Now is not the time to get into a screaming match,” she said, glancing between Hotch’s furious chocolate gaze, and Spencer’s golden-brown glower. “Rossi is right. We should be celebrating a case solved, Emily’s return, and the reunion of our team. Plus, the food’s probably ready, so why don’t we go inside and eat and—”
“I’m not hungry.” Jaw clenched, Spencer spoke only to her. “Tell the others I’m sorry but I’m going back to the hotel.”
“Spence, wait—”
But he stormed off, leaving nothing but a gentle cloud of his cologne. She groaned and turned to Hotch. He watched Spencer’s departure, nostrils flared and fists clenched.
“I want to throttle him,” he mumbled. “He’s one of the most logical people I know and yet he’s—he’s—he’s—”
“He’s emotional, and people tend to abandon logic when that happens.” She nodded inside. “It’s been a long day. Why don’t you eat, and then you can try to talk to him again tomorrow?”
Hotch scoffed. “Tomorrow? On the jet, where we’ll be stuck in a confined space for hours? No. We’re settling this tonight.”
“In that case… Rossi should probably order more tequila.”
“Probably.”
After her and Hotch’s quiet return, dinner was a mostly normal affair. There was an elephant in the room with Spencer leaving before eating, and Morgan boxed up his food and offered to bring it to him when they finished. She enjoyed her tacos, she guzzled down a margarita and a couple of tequila shots, and by the time they were heading back to the hotel, all she wanted to do was take the world’s hottest shower and collapse into bed.
But by the time she was rinsing the last of the soap from her body, a frantic knock pounded on her door. Fearing the worst, she rushed out of the shower and into a towel, dripping hot water everywhere.
When she ripped the door open, she came face to face with Spencer. He looked her up and down, blinked, and then let himself inside.
“Spencer!” she cried, clutching the towel tight to her body. Steam billowed from the bathroom, surrounding them both in a cloud of warmth. “It’s almost eleven, and—”
“Morgan came to drop my food off,” Spencer interrupted, pacing, “and he mentioned that Hotch called me a stubborn toddler. Do you believe that? How dare he keep using that insult when my feelings are entirely justified—”
“Spence—”
“—and I was really looking forward to my tacos, but I barely got through one before I just got so angry I had to come here and talk about it because—he’s confiding in you, isn’t he? I keep seeing you two talking. What are you talking about? Is he calling me names? Is he—”
“Spence, really, it’s late, and—”
“—the revered Aaron Hotchner is all about rules until it comes to him, and then he’s allowed to do whatever the hell he wants, but not Elle, not Jordan—”
A knock at the door cut them both off. Spencer’s neck snapped so fast, he looked positively robotic.
“I’m sorry to disturb you so late,” Hotch said, voice loud but distorted through the door, “but I went to Reid’s room and he’s not there, so I was wondering if you’d heard from him—”
Spencer opened the door with so much force, she worried he’d somehow separated it from the hinges. She was frozen by the bathroom door, a death grip on the knotted towel around her chest, desperately trying to keep the tiny cotton in place.
All she’d wanted was to separate herself from this conflict and fall into bed early. Instead, the argument was now on her doorstep, and she was wearing a towel so small it just barely covered her important bits.
Over Spencer’s shoulder, she just made out the cut of Hotch’s jaw. The subtlest patch of gray covered part of his beard, and fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing she’d ever seen.
Well…
That and Spencer furiously running his hand through his curls, until loose ringlets drooped into his eyes.
Shit. Could she leave? Lock herself in the bathroom? Duck under Spencer’s arm, push Hotch aside, and take shelter with Emily, or JJ, or—
“Why were you looking for me?” Spencer asked through gritted teeth, as Hotch crossed the threshold and shut the door. “You already ruined my dinner earlier. Needed to ruin it again, did you?”
Hotch crossed his arms, head shaking in that terrifyingly slow way of his. Even in the dim room lights, she noticed the straining veins in his bare forearms. His suit was gone, replaced with a black t-shirt and track pants. Actually, she’d been so surprised by Spencer’s arrival, she hadn’t noticed his casual attire either. Like Hotch, he’d changed from his work appropriate clothes into a Caltech sweatshirt and gray sweatpants.
She looked between them and bit her lip. “Hey, um, maybe you two could—”
“I have spent seven years,” Hotch interrupted, glaring at Spencer, “doing everything in my power to make sure you were treated like an adult. Gideon worked tirelessly to make sure you were taken seriously. The time spent making sure you were addressed as Dr. Reid, that you were allowed to skip certain certifications, that you—”
Spencer laughed. “What, do you want a thank you for that?”
“No. I’m realizing that it doesn’t matter how you’re treated. It doesn’t matter that you’re nearly thirty. You’re still a fucking child and I think you always will be. Look at you, throwing a god damn tantrum, when you could be celebrating that Prentiss is ok—”
Nostrils flaring, Spencer took a step towards Hotch. At his sides, his hands shook. “And you’re a fucking hypocrite!”
Oh god. Spencer was cursing now.
This was not good. What did she do? Did she call Morgan? Did she grab her gun? Did she—
“All you do is talk about respect and working as a team,” Spencer continued, voice cracking, “but you never once considered what the rest of us went through. That’s not good leadership, Hotch. That’s—”
“It’s what?” Jaw clenched, Hotch tilted his head. A vein pulsed in his jaw, and she took a hesitant step backwards, until her back hit the wall connecting to the bathroom. “Tell me, Reid. All you want to do is run your mouth. Be a fucking man and tell me how you really feel.”
Spencer straightened his shoulders. Jutted his chin. Narrowed his eyes. “Ok. Your decision was horrendously selfish. It was the easiest option for you. Less cooks in the kitchen, and you got to keep control of the situation, without the rest of us involved—”
“Fuck you. You wouldn’t know how to run a mile, let alone a fucking team—”
“—and you’re so capable? Under your watch, Gideon practically had a nervous breakdown, Elle was thrown to the wolves, Emily was nearly murdered, I was kidnapped, JJ was reassigned, Haley was—”
“Oh my god,” she choked, rushing forward, waving her hands. “Spence, that’s not—”
But while she’d worried about the pair throwing punches—or devastating words, in Spencer’s case—that didn’t happen.
In fact… Hotch and Spencer went stock still and silent.
Both stared at her, unblinking.
When had it gotten so cold—
Oh.
Ok.
Wonderful.
She stared at the cheap hotel towel pooled at her feet. The pink polish on her toes provided quite a contrast to the white cotton, and apparently, was now the only thing she wore.
Her toes curled into the hardwood, and she shifted on her feet, swallowing. As a profiler, it was her job to predict behavior based on patterns and processes. Which meant if someone had asked her how Aaron Hotchner and Spencer Reid would react to a teammate’s accidental nudity, she’d respond confidently.
Hotch would clear his throat, avert his gaze, maybe even adjust his tie or straighten his shirt. He’d apologize profusely and suggest next steps—him leaving? Offering his suit jacket? Shielding their body with his?
Unlike Hotch, Spencer would be nervous and awkward. He’d squeeze his eyes and fists equally tight, and then, as he was prone to do, he’d ramble. Maybe about the origins of the imagine the crowd naked advice for nerves, or how a hotel with 100 rooms goes through 400,000 pounds of laundry in a single year, or how everyone has bodies so there was nothing to be embarrassed about.
In her professional judgement, their behavior would overlap. Two gentlemen trying their hardest to make her comfortable in an uncomfortable situation. But with two sets of dark eyes scalding her skin more than the hot water, she wondered just how good of a profiler she really was.
Neither was looking away. Neither was apologizing.
Neither was fiddling with their fingers, or sprinting for the door, or even picking up that god forsaken towel at her feet.
She looked at the towel. She looked at the bathroom door.
She looked at Hotch. Eyes darkened, jaw clenched, hands fisted.
She looked at Spencer. Eyes widened, lips parted, hands…
Shaking?
Maybe she was shaking. Why couldn’t she move? Why couldn’t she grab the towel, or crack a joke, or at least run out of the fucking room?!
Her gaze darted back to Hotch. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple jumping in his throat. Then Spencer. He sucked his teeth, hollowing his cheeks until a pair of dimples appeared that she wanted to—wanted to—wanted to—
Oh fuck.
She liked this, didn’t she? They’d ruined her evening by arguing and—
Oh fuck.
They weren’t arguing anymore. How could they when their attention was stolen by her body?
Oh fuck.
Wetting her lips, she bent over and grabbed the towel. From the twin noises—a hitched breath, a staggered exhale—her audience had yet to look away.
It made her next decision that much easier. With the cheap towel in hand, she had two options: wrap herself up like a burrito and sprint into the bathroom with nothing but a choked out “I’m so sorry!” or…
With a deep breath, she folded the towel in half. Then again. And again. Once it was a fat cotton rectangle, she dropped it and…
Dropped to her knees.
Her psychology professors had always described her ideas as… creative. Unique.
Out of the bounds of normal ethics.
At least that’s some of the criticism she’d gotten on the earliest draft of her senior thesis.
“For two of the smartest men I know,” she said, “you have now spent hours—no—days arguing in circles. There’s been no patience, no comprise. So… let’s try mediation.”
Their arguing had acted as a soundtrack for the entirety of the case in Phoenix. Now, they stood in silence. Hotch stared down at her, eyes as dark as the coffee he started every morning with. His fingers flexed at his sides, spreading so intensely she wondered if he’d ripped his skin.
Spencer wasn’t much different. Golden eyes watched her closely, and when her gaze met his, his cheeks reddened. He swallowed and fiddled with the strings on his sweatshirt.
“Wow.” She cocked her head, attention bouncing between the pair. “Now there’s nothing to say? This is what manages to shut you both up—me naked and on my knees?”
Heavy silence.
Heavy gazes.
She exhaled. “Ok. Fine.”
It took until her hands hit their hips to finally get a reaction.
Hotch blinked. Spencer choked.
She walked her fingers inward, inching them closer and closer and closer—
Bingo.
The only evidence that mattered. A pair of hard cocks, one hidden by black nylon, the other by gray cotton, pulsed beneath her hands. Warm, hard, and so terribly tempting.
She grinned.
“Here’s what’s going to happen.” She cupped each of them, squeezing until twin groans echoed through the hotel room. “I’m going to act as an arbitrator for you two. Hotch, you’re a former prosecutor. Surely, you’re familiar with having a neutral third party present?”
“A—actually,” Spencer stuttered, staring down at her, golden eyes swallowed by black, “arbitration is only used in civil hearings, and as a prosecutor, Hotch would’ve only worked criminal cases—”
“Oh, he talks now!” She tightened her hold on Spencer. His cry widened her smile. “It’s my turn now.” Biting her lip, she resumed her gentle strokes, savoring every twitch and pulse beneath her fingertips. “Since you two can’t communicate like reasonable human beings about this, we’re going to try it my way.”
“And what is your way?” Hotch asked, a warm hand pressing over hers.
“Oh, and he talks now too! See how similar you two are?” She glanced between them. “You’ve always been such good friends, and now, you’re letting a difference in opinion get between you.”
“It’s more than a difference in opinion—”
“Spence.” She ran her fingers up and down his length, causing him to choke on his words. “Enough. You two are going to talk in turns, and I’m going to keep you both focused. Calm. Relaxed. How does that sound?”
The hand over hers dropped. Hotch straightened his shoulders, and when his gaze flicked to the door, she worried he’d call her sick, crazy, positively demented. Instead, he clenched his jaw and then rubbed his chin with his hand, like he was in pain.
Fuck. Why was he so hot with his beard?
“For two people who couldn’t shut up five minutes ago, you sure can’t find your words now.” She got to work on their pants, tugging the fabric down with absolutely no resistance from either of them. Two hard cocks sprung out like jack in the boxes, and the sight—and thought—made her giggle. “Oh.”
Dicks didn’t usually top her list of things she’d consider pretty but… fuck.
Spencer had a pretty dick. Hotch had a pretty dick.
Her cunt clenched around nothing, and she shifted on her knees, her fantasies getting away from her. They might not get that far so… she needed to embrace what was right in front of her.
Literally.
Biting her lip, she took another moment to admire their hard cocks—thick, veiny, and in Spencer’s case, an adorable pinkish hue that seemed to mimic the blush on his cheeks. Hotch had a tuft of dark hair climbing from the base up his stomach, and when she leaned forward to trace her fingers through the happy trail, his cock jumped.
“Oh.”
She wrapped her hands around both. Those old bodice rippers she’d snuck off the adult shelf at her hometown library were right. Velvet wrapped steel, indeed. Squeezing, she let her gaze bounce between Hotch and Spencer. They stared down at her, silent, still, and positively stupid.
Or at least that’s how she interpreted Spencer’s pink cheeks and open mouth, Hotch’s clenched jaw and curled lips.
Satisfied, she leaned forward and kissed the tip of Hotch’s cock. When he gasped, his belly quivering, she took him fully into her mouth and hummed around him. But when his hands shot up to grab her hair, she turned to Spencer and did the same.
Kisses down the shaft, tongue flicks at the head, a few swallows down her throat.
She’d never have considered herself all the fond of blowjobs, but in that hotel room, she could’ve gone for hours. Having two brilliant, powerful men at her beck and call was simply too hypnotizing not to get lost in.
But she tried her best. She gave herself one minute. One single minute of slobbering on Spencer, then choking on Hotch. One single minute of licking and sucking and jerking.
By minute two, she was right back to business.
“Hotch.” She kissed the head of his cock, staring up at him as she jerked him and Spencer in unison. “Earlier, you said you wanted to throttle Spencer. Why is that?”
His head fell backwards, knocking into the wall with a thud. “Fuck.” Groaning, he reached for her, but she moved her head before he could make contact. “I need—”
“You need to talk or I’m not continuing.” True to her word, she shifted all her attention to Spencer, working both hands up his length while she licked the head. “Spence, you said what Hotch did was cruel even though his intention was—"
“Intent doesn’t—” Spencer moaned, a low-pitched whine echoing through the hotel room, “—matter. Only the impact, and the impact was breaking my—my—" His hands threaded into her hair, and he leaned over her, forcing his cock into her mouth further. “—heart.”
She clawed at his stomach, struggling to breathe through her nose. God, something was really wrong with her. Why did choking on his cock make her so wet?
Finally, she pulled off him, coughing, but still smiling. To Hotch, she asked, voice hoarse, “What do you have to say to that?”
Hotch swallowed, especially when her hand returned to his length. Only when he opened his mouth to speak did she finally move her lips to his cock. He exhaled roughly. “You don’t think it broke my heart? JJ’s heart? Prentiss’s heart? I—” When she took him all the way to the hilt, he cursed. “—I struggled too, Reid. I never wanted to lie.”
“But you did!” Spencer cried, only for his words to devolve into a whine when she mouthed at his sac. “You—you—”
“I was protecting Prentiss.” Hotch grunted, his eyes fluttering shut. When she brought her mouth back to his cock, taking him deep, he grabbed her hair. “You’re forgetting an important detail, Reid: Doyle. More people knowing Prentiss was safe—”
“We could’ve talked about! We could’ve—"
“—meant more people in danger, and—”
“—that’s cheap and you know it—
“—more chances for Doyle to learn the truth—”
“—bullshit—”
“—Reid—”
“—it’s all bu—bu—bullshit—”
Apparently, even stroking Spencer’s cock so fast she risked carpal tunnel wasn’t enough to shut him up. She’d just pulled her mouth off Hotch to chastise Spencer for that exact reason—to remind him of the purpose of this exercise—when Hotch beat her to the chase.
“This isn’t working.”
The words settled in the air. Her hands dropped to her sides as fast as her heart dropped to her stomach.
Oh god.
She’d fucked up, hadn’t she? A rogue towel and a few mistimed stares convinced her of this crazy idea, and it didn’t matter if she was soaking wet and desperate to fuck her boss and best friend, because apparently Hotch was finished and—
Rough hands grabbed her upper arms and hauled her up. The second she was on her feet, she was lifted into the air and set—nay—thrown onto the bed. With a squeak, she leaned onto her elbows, watching as Hotch shoved Spencer forward too.
What the fuck was going on? Were they about to have a fist fight with their cocks out, and why did that make her cunt pulse with need?
God, she was so pathetic.
“I can’t get a fucking word in,” Hotch said, glaring at Spencer. “So, Reid, if you’re just going to run your mouth, at least be useful.”
His words had just processed in her cock-drunk brain when he grabbed the back of Spencer’s neck and shoved him onto the bed. Spencer caught himself on the mattress, although he landed directly over her. Arms bracketing around her hips, knees between her ankles, face between her…
Oh god.
Hotch came around the side of the bed and grabbed her thighs, forcing her legs so far apart it nearly burned. For a toe-curling, heart-racing second, he stared from above, his fingers tightening into her skin as he studied her pussy.
His attention—plus Spencer directly at eye level—had her pulsing. Twitching.
Twin male groans echoed.
“Fuck.” Hotch rubbed at his beard, the veins in his hand as distracting as his facial hair. “Get to work, Reid. And this time, while you’re moving your lips, you better fucking listen.”
Her gaze darted to Spencer. He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Slowly—so fucking slowly—he brought his mouth to her stomach, where he pressed the gentlest of kisses. All the while, his golden eyes stayed locked on hers, shifting side to side with every move and gasp on her end.
He kissed her belly button. She whined.
He ran his tongue down her hip. She whimpered.
He mouthed at her cunt. She cried out.
“Good. He’s still able to listen to some directions.”
Hotch’s deep words were enough to send her fists into the sheets and her moans into the pillow. But when he leaned over her body, his cock achingly close to her mouth, and grabbed a handful of Spencer’s curls?
She nearly died on the spot.
Spencer winced, but the attention didn’t slow him down. Over her thigh, he glared at Hotch, but he kept going, flicking his tongue at her clit before capturing the bud between his lips. He sucked, she sobbed, and then Hotch was shoving his face further between her legs.
Oh god.
“As she reminded us earlier, I was a prosecutor.” While he kept one hand in Spencer’s hair, he moved the other to her face and gripped her chin, tracing her bottom lip. She kissed his thumb, and he grunted and shoved his cock back into her mouth. “I could argue for days, Reid. And she was right. I do want to throttle you. So… this will have to do.”
When Spencer lifted his head from between her legs, lips glistening, Hotch shoved him right back into place.
“No, you don’t,” Hotch growled. “Now, you shut your fucking mouth and listen.”
Oh god. Spencer was shutting his mouth alright, but it was with her clit between his lips. His gaze returned to hers as he sucked, the brown of his irises swallowed by black. He groaned into her, sending the most delicious vibrations across every inch of her body, before slipping his hands up her skin. Each second scorched, and while one hand tightened around her thigh, the other landed between her legs.
His thumb joined his tongue at her clit, and when she squealed around Hotch’s cock, he pressed a finger inside her.
Then another.
And then…
As his wrist jerked, frantically fucking her with his fingers, her back arched with a sob. The men before her blurred from a mix of bright sheets and even brighter lights, but she made out Spencer grabbing his cock. Hotch grabbing the bedframe to steady himself as he fucked her mouth.
Herself in the mirror, just barely visible with Hotch’s back blocking most of the reflection. She whined around his cock, one hand around the length, while the other struggled to find purchase on the bed.
Between Spencer’s mouth on her cunt and Hotch’s cock in her mouth, she’d completely lost all concept of reality. She was floating through time and space, being fucked into oblivion with no cares in the world other than getting off.
But as a third finger pressed into her, stretching her to the point of near pain, she realized her plan was… working?
Maybe.
They were talking.
Not fighting.
Talking.
Or… panting. Gasping. Choking out stuttered responses.
But it was something, right?
“—knew the Doyle profile—” Hotch hissed, finally letting go of Spencer’s curls to embed his hand in her hair, “—so you—you know he would’ve stopped at nothing. He was a narcissist with a superiority complex and—a—fuck—” He threw his head back. “—a—a—need for revenge. Prentiss going off grid was the only answer, and I couldn’t risk the rest of the team knowing.”
“Couldn’t—” Spencer’s words vibrated her cunt, causing her to squeal, “—or weren’t willing?”
“There’s protocol for this and—fuck!” Hotch gripped her chin and glared down at her, chocolate brown eyes darkened into pure black. “Keep moving your tongue like that and I’m going to fuck you until those innocent eyes are rolling back into your head.”
Oh god.
That did it.
Hotch’s hoarse words along with Spencer’s thrusting fingers and flicking tongue sent her into the abyss, her body swallowed by white. Blinding pleasure, crisp hotel sheets. She saw nothing, heard nothing, half her senses rendered useless.
But she smelled the sweat, the sex, the rich notes of both their colognes—Hotch’s sharp citrus, Spencer’s warm sandalwood. She felt the moving bodies, the frantic mouthing at her cunt as her orgasm rocked through her, the cock dropping from her lips and slapping into her nipples.
Oh god.
Oh god.
Oh god.
The mattress shifted. The sheets crinkled.
When she finally managed to open her eyes, Spencer was standing before her, staring down at her with swollen lips and an even more swollen cock. Meanwhile, Hotch shoved her legs apart, and in one quick shift of his hips, had pressed his entire cock inside her.
“Oh my god!” she cried, her legs flailing. Hotch immediately wrapped them around his hips, and then he was fucking her steadily, removing himself completely to then shove himself back down to the hilt. “Hotch, oh my god—”
“Fuck.” Hotch watched where her cunt swallowed his cock. “Turns out Reid can still be a team player. Sometimes. Look how nice and ready he got this tight little pussy for me.”
“I’m always a team player.” Spencer ran his hands up her chest, slowing when he reached her nipples. He licked his lips, taking a moment to tug at each. “Unlike you.”
“Always a team player?” Hotch laughed, the sound as rough as his thrusts. Her body shook on the bed, her breasts only steadied by Spencer’s warm grip. “Is that why you’ve been a little shit since—fuck!”
In her frustration, she’d started moving with Hotch’s thrusts, meeting his every movement with toe-curling accuracy. The sound of slapping skin reverberated through the room, and Hotch groaned, dropping his head to her stomach. The rough prickles of his beard hair scratched at the delicate skin of her stomach, and between the friction and his big cock hitting that place deep inside her, nothing had ever felt as good.
Well—almost. Because Spencer caught her crying moans with his mouth, his soft ringlets teasing her cheeks. And just as she melted into the kiss, he pulled away and replaced his tongue with his cock.
Oh god.
Oh god.
Oh god.
“—would’ve done anything to protect her, to protect any of you!” Hotch panted into her belly, hot tufts of air slicking her skin along with sweat, saliva, and— “Not everything is about you, Reid! THIS ISN’T ABOUT YOU!”
“YES, IT IS! THIS IS ENTIRELY ABOUT ME!” Spencer pulled away, his cock slipping from her lips and whacking into his belly. He stared at her and swallowed, messy curls falling into his eyes. “This is all about me. It’s my fault.”
Hotch slowed, his hands tight at her thighs. “Nothing that happened to Prentiss was your fault, Reid. You have to know that.”
“I knew about Lauren Reynolds. I heard her talking about it and—”
“You heard a name. A 187 IQ doesn’t magically provide you with context for every overheard conversation.” Hotch licked his lips and stepped away from her shaking body, a string of her arousal following the withdrawal of his cock. “Fuck.”
Whimpering, she sat up on her elbows and looked between them. “It sounds like we’re finally getting somewhere. Maybe it’s time for closing arguments?”
Hotch was still staring at her fluttering pussy, his hand jumping to his cock. He jerked himself slowly, jaw tight. “The whole point of mediation is to avoid trial. No trial means no closing arguments. This isn’t a debate. It’s meant to be a conversation.”
“Then it’s time for closing conversation.” She grabbed Spencer’s wrist and tugged him onto the bed. Once he was sitting, she straddled him and traced the downward purse of his lips. “What’s with the face?”
Spencer swallowed, teeth clenched. “I—I feel guilty about Emily and—and—and it—it hurts because I haven’t—”
“I know.” She cupped his sac, causing him to hiss. “Soon, sweetheart.”
Capturing his lips in a gentle kiss, she slotted herself over Spencer and lowered slowly, whining with every inch. She might’ve been prepared with an orgasm and Hotch’s equally big dick, but being on top always provided a different kind of stretch.
A wonderful, fantastic, unforgettable kind of stretch.
Spencer choked, his sputtering cry tickling her neck. Using what little strength remained in her legs, she raised off his cock until just the head teased her clit, before slamming herself back down. The rise and fall welcomed another round of truly explicit squelching and slapping, along with Spencer’s sobbing whines.
“Fuck, fuck, I—I—” His eyes were wet, and God, was he crying about Emily or her pussy? “It feels so good. You feel so good.”
She kissed him again. But as their tongues collided, she noticed movement from the corner of her eye. Hotch stood beside the bed, staring down at them. She separated from Spencer, and when he dropped his face into her chest to suck at her nipples, she smiled up at Hotch.
Hotch grabbed her chin. “Is your sweet little pussy going to remind Reid that he’s not responsible for what happened to Prentiss?” She nodded eagerly, and he fed his cock back between her lips. “Good. But he’s not the only one who hurts.”
His meaning was clear, and she wasted no time lavishing every inch of his cock with her tongue. Zigzags, tapping licks, powerful sucks until her cheeks hollowed and her eyes crossed. She wanted his eyes to cross as she blew him, the same way she wanted Spencer to sob when she finally made him cum.
She thought back to earlier in the night, to Morgan begging for the team to get tacos for dinner. Everyone—even the feuding Hotch and Spencer—had been on board for the suggestion, making her the only outlier. Usually, she loved tacos, but that night? That night, she’d been craving something else. Maybe a Sonoran hot dog, a favorite of hers whenever a case brought them to Arizona. Or… a sandwich.
Hours later, she finally had her sandwich.
Spencer beneath her, his hands at her hips as he met every toe-curling thrust.
Hotch beside her, his hands in her hair as he fucked her mouth.
Two stupidly big cocks emptying her brain of any rational thought, and all she could do was whine into Spencer’s thrusts, letting him maneuver her any way he pleased. Choke around Hotch’s cock, letting him pound her mouth until her throat would never forget the shape of him.
And clearly, she was quite the team player, since her plan had worked.
Hotch and Spencer struggled to catch their breath, but they were exchanging words. Feelings.
Apologies?
Oh god.
That was enough to send her spiraling towards another orgasm.
“—about sixty seconds of relief—” Spencer stuttered out, his lips falling open with every thrust into her shaking body. “—b—b—but my happiness about Emily’s return was quickly shadowed by my guilt and… anger. At myself. If I—I—had—had figured out Lauren Reynolds sooner, we could’ve prevented her meeting with Doyle, and she wouldn’t have nearly died and—”
Hotch grabbed Spencer’s curls and forced his head upwards, until their gazes met.
Fuck. Yup. That did it.
She cried out, shaking atop Spencer, Hotch’s cock acting as a cork to capture every one of her sobs. Tremors tore through her, which made the scene before her hard to take in, and wasn’t that a fucking pity?
“—don’t blame yourself,” Hotch panted, dark eyes set on Spencer’s. “When you leave this room, you need to understand that you’re not at fault, and that your anger was misdirected.”
Spencer gulped, nodding quickly. His gaze darted back to her, his chest rising and falling at a truly concerning frequency. “Can I—can I please—”
“Oh god, please,” she slurred, collapsing into him, Hotch’s cock dropping from her lips. “Just… fuck. Do whatever you want to me.”
Neither needed more prompting than that. Like a tug toy between two dogs, she was pulled back and forth. Spencer flipped her over so he could be on top. Hotch brought both her hands back to his cock, his dark eyes telling her exactly what he needed.
The bed shook with every one of Spencer’s frantic thrusts, sending the headboard into the wall. Who was beside her? Was that Spencer or Hotch’s room, or someone else on the team? And as her thoughts attempted to drift, Hotch was there to steal them right back, embedding his hands in her hair to position her head how he wanted.
He fucked her mouth. Spencer fucked her cunt.
She screamed. She came. She sobbed.
They followed quickly after. Hotch first, letting out a choked, “Fuck,” as he spilled into her mouth. His eyes fluttered shut, and with his clenched jaw and his salt-and-pepper beard, she wondered if he’d ever looked as fucking delicious as he did in that moment.
Spencer was next, dropping his face to her stomach with a moaning cry. Where Hotch’s beard had scratched her skin earlier, his soft kisses and whines soothed the skin, like the best kind of pain remedy. And as his cum hit deep inside her, she whimpered into the pillow, absolutely wrecked from three orgasms, two gorgeous men, and one wild night.
As he pulled out of her, Spencer hissed, his gaze locked on her cunt and the cum dripping out. “Oh. Wow.” He gulped. “I um…”
“You feel better?” Hotch asked, his focus also between her legs. “Like… you can see reason now?”
He chewed on his lip and nodded. His hand returned between her legs, and as he rubbed at her cum covered cunt, she gasped. “Ye—yeah. I’m… sorry. I’m not happy about what happened but… I know you did what was best for Emily and that’s all that mattered. I shouldn’t have taken my guilt out on you.”
“It happens to the best of us.” When Hotch leaned forward and gave her cunt a gentle tap, like a fucking love pat or a back slap for a job well done, she cried out again. “Lucky for us, we had a teammate who was willing to walk us through our disagreement.”
She could only whimper. Hotch smirked. Spencer laughed.
Both responses made her toes curl.
“For the record,” Hotch added, sitting beside them on the bed, “I’m sorry, too. I let my temper get the best of me. That was my guilt. Since that moment in the hospital, I’ve wondered if I made the right decision, too. That’s eaten me alive. The only comfort I have is knowing Emily is safe and Doyle is dead so…”
“You did the right thing.” Spencer swallowed. “And you’re right. I can’t run a mile, let alone run the team. I have no idea what you’ve gone through.”
“Oh god.” Moaning, she sat up on her elbows and looked between them. “You two need to stop apologizing because somehow, that’s hotter than the fighting was and—and—look, I’d love to go again, but I need a break.”
Spencer squeaked. “A—again?”
Hotch leaned forward and pinched her clit. When she cried out, he raised an eyebrow. “Our disagreement is solved. What would we consider this, if not mediation?”
She bit her lip. “Well… some harsh words were exchanged. So… perhaps… a teambuilding exercise focused on trust and respect?”
His lips quirked. “Yeah? And what did you have in mind?”
“A lot.” She sat up and checked the bedside alarm clock. 12:30am. “We could relax for a bit and then… Spencer could trust me to suck his dick until I can’t see straight, and you could respect me by bending me over the desk and fucking me, but in a hot, totally not demeaning way.”
Hotch and Spencer shared a look, the former wetting his lips, like she’d just described a Michelin-starred meal, the latter redder than the Coke bottle he’d been sipping on during dinner.
But to her disappointment, Hotch stood and collected his pants from the ground. As he slipped into them, he asked, “What do you think, Reid? Would our relationship benefit from a teambuilding hour?”
Spencer gulped, his gaze darting between her and Hotch. “I… Um…” He nodded quickly. “Ye—yes. I think it would.”
Hotch hummed and grabbed the leather padfolio from the desk. Slow steps brought him to the phone, and then, he sat beside her, one hand on her naked thigh, the other on the dial pad. “Good. I’ll order us a midnight snack so we can relax for a bit.”
Her heart skipped in her chest and—
Yup, that was her cunt clenching, spilling more cum on the sheets.
She was pathetic, especially when she jumped out of bed, practically giddy with excitement at the promise of round two. “In that case, I’m going to finish my shower that Spencer interrupted.”
Like a kid ready for recess, she skipped to the bathroom. But before she made it past the threshold, she turned back, looking between Hotch and Spencer with a stupid grin on her face.
“Will you two behave and play nice?”
If possible, Spencer went redder. “Yes. I’m um… I’m not mad anymore.”
She giggled. “I’d hope not.”
Hotch opened the menu, still wearing a small smile across his lips. “Any requests?”
“Yeah.” She looked them up and down. “Chocolate covered strawberries and… to fall asleep after cumming so hard I don’t know what year it is.”
With a wink, she disappeared into the bathroom. And to her delight, the water turning on wasn’t enough to drown out the twin male groans from the bedroom.
They hadn’t finished until 4am. And it was as she was lulled to sleep by the soft breathing on either side of her that she got a second serving of that sandwich she was craving. This time, she curled into Spencer’s chest, her arm thrown across his stomach until their fingers could interlock. Behind her, Hotch was a furnace, his arms tight around her stomach, his brief covered cock digging into her ass while their legs entangled beneath the blankets.
In some ways, it was more pleasurable than the sex—well, mostly.
Sleep didn’t provide orgasms, so the sex very much still won. When they reunited with the team for breakfast, no one was any wiser—to her relief, the shared wall belonged to Hotch, not a nosy Rossi or a scandalized Morgan, so their secret stayed a secret.
Even if she smiled over every sip of coffee, unable to prevent herself from making eye contact with a blushing Spencer and a smirking Hotch. Even if she giggled around every bite of toast, earning curious glances from Emily and inquisitive teasing from JJ.
By the time they made it to the jet, she was ready to nap for the duration of their cross-country flight. Every inch of her was sore or bruised, but her skin still hummed with the remnants of half a dozen breathtaking orgasms.
That’s right.
Round two doubled her total.
Again, she giggled, eyes already on her favorite seat by the window with the best vantage point—
“—interesting that you don’t understand why he’d be short with you.” Spencer adjusted the strap of his bag. “Really, Jennifer, people have every right to be pissed off, especially when you lie.”
JJ frowned, clutching her phone to her chest. “Lie? All I said was Will sounded annoyed on the phone because I told him I bought Henry’s snacks for daycare, but he couldn’t find them because I confused buying his favorite yogurt with buying his favorite fruit snacks—”
“Yeah. You lied.”
“I’d hardly call that lying—”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Just like how you don’t think you lied when you told me Emily died on the operating table, and then comforted me for weeks after the fact—”
“Spence—”
“I’m really not interested in your excuses for—”
“Hey!” She hurried across the aisle and grabbed Spencer’s wrist. “Let’s sit down, ok? We’re about to take off.”
Before Spencer could argue otherwise, she tugged him to the sofa. JJ watched with a frown before joining Emily in one of the two-seaters. Meanwhile, she noticed Hotch’s gaze from the table, his dark eyes creeping over the file folder he skimmed through.
She turned to Spencer. “Really? After coming to an understanding with Hotch, why are you being so mean to JJ? You acknowledged that a lot of your anger was misplaced guilt, and you understand why they lied so—”
“No, I understand why Hotch lied,” Spencer replied, arms crossed. “Hotch is first and foremost our Unit Chief, which means it was his job to protect Emily and that was the decision he made. But JJ? JJ is first and foremost my friend, and it was her, along with you, who I went crying to. She convinced me to go on that minimester, you know? Probably because she couldn’t keep up with all the lying. So no, I’m still mad, and I deserve an apology, and—”
Not this again.
“Spencer… take it easy, ok? Because I may’ve helped you and Hotch figure shit out, but I can’t exactly do that with you and JJ now can I?”
He froze, eyes widening ever so slightly. His cheeks reddened, and he choked out, “What?”
“God, men.” She patted his chest. “Get some sleep, and don’t think about what I know you’re thinking about.”
“I—I—” He gulped. “Right. I’ll uh… be uh… napping.”
She laughed. “Sweet dreams, Spencer.”
As she moved to her favorite seat on the jet, she made sure to stop by JJ and brush some hair out of her face, complimenting her lip gloss and fresh highlights. And if she smirked over her shoulder at Spencer and winked?
Well, he deserved it.
Hotch sat beside her, case file in hand. “What’s got you so happy?”
“Torturing Spencer.” She glanced at his beard and bit her lip. “And… memories of last night.”
“Mhm. It wouldn’t be smart for us to do that again.”
“Says who?”
“Every rule in the book.”
“I think we’ve broken every rule in the book.” She tilted her head. “Strauss says a Senate Committee Meeting is almost guaranteed.” Leaning in, she whispered, “When we get the details, we should probably have another teambuilding night. To... boost morale?”
He swallowed. “That… may be advisable.”
“And before you inevitably shave that beard, I want to feel it scratching my thighs.” She hummed and sat back. “Maybe I can convince Spencer to grow a beard, too.”
His gaze dropped to her lips. “You’re too much to handle.”
“And now you know why I need two of you.”
“Fuck.”
“You have my number.”
With a smirk, she put her headphones on and closed her eyes.
What a wonderful few weeks.
Emily was safe and stateside. The team was back together.
And… she had more teambuilding with Spencer and Hotch to look forward to.