A/N: This story is a continuation of a previous tale, "Without Reid," which was a just-this-side-of-crackfic look at the BAU team's reaction to going a whole week without Reid around to ease their tension. Check my profile if you'd like to read it, but it's not necessary. It just gives the set up for this story.
This contains my interpretation of a casual bondage/discipline relationship between two men (Hotch/Reid). There is sex and consensual infliction of pain. It also features my personal fav kink of the moment, Reid in motorcycle gear. I mean, yum. But, anyway, please take the warning about the sex and pain-thing seriously and if such things are squick-inducing to you, I would suggest passing this one up.
Hotch placed an unopened bottle of sparkling water and one ice-filled glass on a silver tray, then carried it to the living room. He set it on the coffee table and took a critical look around the room. The blinds were still open on the east-side windows and he hastened to close them. As he turned, he noticed one of Jack's little cars on the floor. He scooped it up and put it in a drawer-he doubted that it would have been a problem, but, in his own mind, he felt better clearing the room of reminders of who he was as a father and responsible adult. He'd had a hell of a long week and felt frazzled and worn. Tonight was a night just for himself, and he didn't want any distractions.
He heard the Harley roar up. A moment of excited panic welled in his gut, but he fought it down. It was like this every time, just as it had been the first time. Hotch strode over to the window facing the street and peered through the blind; his master had arrived.
The skinny young man sat on the bike for a moment, long legs straddling the powerful machine. His hair was covered by a red bandana tied behind his head; he didn't wear a helmet. He sported Ray-bans, and was wearing a black motorcycle jacket, worn jeans, and harness boots. His hands were sheathed in a pair of leather racing gloves. He dismounted and took a canvas bag from behind the seat and slung it over his shoulder; Hotch's breath hitched as his master ambled up the path to his front door.
Hotch quickly moved to hold the door open for him. If his master had had to make his presence known, there would have been hell to pay. As it was, Hotch dropped his eyes to the ground as the man passed. Once inside, the Master removed his sunglasses and smiled slightly. "Hello, slave."
"Good evening, Master." Hotch had drunk up as much of the beautiful visage as possible before he arrived in his house; direct eye contact was not permitted. Yet, he'd suffered the consequences of admiring his master's face and body more than once.
Hotch immediately went to fetch the refreshment, returned, and bowed his head as he made his offering. The Master took the glass from the tray and drank deep; then, he placed a leather-clad finger under Hotch's chin and raised his face. Hotch blinked in amazement. He wasn't usually touched in this way until much later in the evening.
"Did you miss me, slave?"
"Yes, Master. Very much."
"Well. I suspect we have a lot of work to do this evening. I'll have to break you of the bad habits you no doubt picked up in my absence." The Master's face held a bemused expression, and the cool of the leather glove caressing his face made Hotch shiver. He knew better than to respond; he was only allowed to answer greetings and direct questions.
The Master handed the half-empty glass back to Hotch. He then moved around the room, pulled off his bandana and shook out his long hair. He absently took off his gloves and held them out for Hotch to hold while he slipped out of his jacket. He was wearing a snug black muscle shirt underneath, and Hotch positioned himself so that he could worshipfully take in his master's lithe form without notice.
The Master glanced once more around the room, nodded in approval and said, "I see you remembered to close the blinds." He gave a little chuckle. "In spite of your many failings, you do seem to learn from your mistakes. All right. You may now welcome me properly." The Master took a seat on the couch and spread his legs; Hotch dropped to his knees between them.
He unbuckled the silver-studded leather belt, unzipped the Master's jeans and delicately removed his manhood from within. He proceeded to pleasure him with his mouth. He was careful not to touch anywhere other than the approved areas of his master's body, and eventually, he was rewarded with a splash of warm, viscous fluid in the back of his throat and a satisfied groan from the man himself. When the Master indicated that Hotch's task was successfully concluded, he gently returned the member to the confines of his master's clothing, then sat back on his heels and placed his hands in his lap, keeping his head lowered.
"That was... acceptable. Now, stand." The Master eyed the front of Hotch's trousers and shook his head knowingly. "I do hope that's not an erection cowering in your pants, slave. You know you haven't been given permission to become aroused." The Master rose and ran one hand slowly down Hotch's chest, then trailed it lower, until it was on the hardness of the offending member.
"I'm sorry, Master," he whispered.
The Master's dark eyes narrowed. "Quiet! You have not been given permission to speak-oh, I can see you've taken my absence as license for disobedience. Just as I thought-we have a lot of work ahead of us this evening." The lanky youth went to his bag and brought out a wooden paddle. He examined it critically and rejected it. He then took out a thin leather switch. He brought it down, hard, on the palm of his own hand and pondered the effect, then replaced it in the bag as well. Next came a cat-o-nine-tails. He glanced at Hotch and smiled. "Yes. I think it's time to introduce a more advanced device, given the circumstances."
Hotch eyed the evil-looking whip and felt his stomach lurch in excitement. He'd been promised the use of the cat before, but until now, the Master hadn't felt he merited such severity in his discipline. Hotch hastily dropped his eyes as the Master approached him. He put one hand on Hotch's shoulder and spoke in a firm but kindly voice.
"On the bed, naked. Face down." A shudder came over Hotch and he moved to leave, but the Master stopped him with the handle of the cat on his belly. "And-no erection. You may have five minutes in a cold shower if necessary." He allowed Hotch to pass, and Hotch quickly went to his bathroom, undressed, and stepped into his shower stall for a frigid blast of water, which had the desired effect almost immediately.
He dried himself then returned to the bedroom and lay down as directed. He could hear his master moving around in the living room, but it was several minutes before the tread of heavy boots came down the hallway. Hotch suppressed a smile of anticipation.
When the Master entered, he dropped his bag on the bed. He opened it and began placing supplies on the bedside table: handcuffs, the cat, a small leather strap that Velcro-ed into a ring, two lengths of soft rope, a sex toy, a tube of lubricant, a condom. Hotch watched, his excitement growing as each item was laid out like a surgeon's tools.
The Master took his bandana out of his pocket and leaned down to place it over Hotch's eyes; he got one magnificent glimpse of his master-brown curls hanging in his face, a serene look in his eyes, the taut muscles in his slender arms flexing-just before he was deprived of his vision. He heard a pair of handcuffs clink before one, then the other of his wrists were taken in a warm hand and secured to the iron headboard.
He felt his master sit down beside him, and long slender fingers began to play up and down his back. "How tense you are, my slave. You must have had a very hard time of it while I was away. I have some questions for you. Would your behavior have disappointed me?"
"Yes, Master. I-fell short of your expectations."
"Errors of judgment? Hasty decisions?"
A nod. "Yes, Master. I-" A gentle hand stroked his back, lower and lower, until his buttocks were being lovingly cupped and caressed.
"Sh-sh-sh. No confession is required. Tonight, all those sins will be wiped away by the lash. You trust your master, do you not?"
"And, you know I want only the best for you, correct?"
"Yes, my Master. I know."
"All right. Let's get started."
The Master stood and took the cat in hand. He was absolutely still for a moment; the only sound in the room was Hotch's rapid breathing. A smile stole across the Master's face as he admired his slave's naked body. This was always such a pleasure, and tonight promised to be better than ever before.
"I'll begin with three. After that, I will assess your condition. If you are fit for more of my attention, you will be rewarded with six more. I seriously doubt you will be of any further use to me by then, but if you are-I will consider bestowing three more upon your unworthy flesh. Do you understand?"
Hotch was sweating, even though the temperature in the room was on the chilly side. His master had told him a great deal about the use and history of the cat-o-nine-tails; each stroke of its many knotted laces was guaranteed to provide a significant amount of pain. Hotch could hardly stand waiting another moment.
His Master waited just a fraction of a second longer. His slave had instructions on what to do if he wished to put an end to the proceedings, and was always given ample opportunity to do so. But, he never did, and this time appeared to be no different. He smiled.
The Master raised the whip and brought it down over Hotch's shoulders. It wasn't the strongest lash he would give him that night, but it was sharper than what he was used to. Hotch's head rocked back at the impact, but he didn't allow himself to make a sound.
The second blow was agonizingly slow to come. Hotch felt his master examine the red marks he had inflicted, making certain his hand had been accurate. Finally, he raised the cat again, and the sound of the laces traveling through the air made Hotch flinch. When the blow landed, he jerked against his restraints.
"No, slave. Do not reject my caresses like that." The Master was immediately next to Hotch's ear, whispering. "Have I not prepared you for this moment? I will put a stop to it right now unless you can assure me that you will take your punishment as you have been taught to do."
"You prepared me perfectly, Master. I'm sorry my behavior was unacceptable. I will do better, I promise."
The Master stepped back. "Very well, then. I truly hope that that will be the case." He immediately brought the lash down again, sharper still, and Hotch forced himself to stay still. The heat from the first two strikes was tingling all the way down to his genitals, and the third came icy-hot. His breathing had increased again, but he was careful to remain silent and relaxed for his master's inspection.
The Master knelt beside him on the bed and traced a finger along the red welts; he placed a gentle kiss between Hotch's shoulder blades. "Much better." Hotch felt a rush of happiness at having pleased his master; then, he heard him reach to the table for something. "Raise your haunches." Hotch drew one knee up, then the other, and he struggled into position. He felt his master handling his penis; the small leather strap was drawn around it and tightened at the base. He stifled a groan.
"Lie on your belly."
Hotch lay flat, then he felt the Master pulling his legs apart. One ankle was secured with rope to the bed frame; then the other. He heard the tube of lubricant being opened. He forced himself to breathe more slowly. This would be new, and there was no denying that he was nervous.
Gentle hands were on him again, and he felt a finger at his entrance. Suddenly, something cool and slick and smooth was inserted into him. He gasped, but he didn't resist. The master slowly moved the object in a little further, until it was correctly seated. "There," he said, sounding pleased. "Now, you will be prepared for me later." He got off the bed and returned to the side and Hotch heard the whip being picked up again.
He buried his face in the pillow as his master felt the pulse on his neck and again ran his hand down his back, only lightly brushing over the welts.
"Well-you're doing better than I anticipated. I suppose I will continue, after all." He brought the lash down briskly, three times in rapid succession, taking care to strike areas that had not already been flogged-his mid- and lower back, and an especially sound one was laid across his buttocks. The Master then walked to the other side of the bed and perched beside Hotch, brushing his fingers through his hair. He could see that Hotch was shaking and he was slightly concerned. He lay a hand on the back of his neck and pressed his lips onto Hotch's temple.
"You have a safe word. Do you need to use it?" His voice was soft.
Hotch shook his head firmly. "No, Master."
The master smiled. "Very well. You've three more to come." He stood and administered the next three blows so as to criss-cross the earlier ones. The pain that had been pleasurably radiating into Hotch's genitals was abruptly cut short and became knife-sharp agony. Hotch couldn't help but whimper, and his body involuntarily writhed against the restraints.
He heard his master chuckle. "My, my. Such a pathetic little slave. One would think he was suffering a most grievous torment instead of much-needed discipline. Still... I suppose I should take pity on him." He strode to Hotch's side and leaned down. "Answer me, slave-have you had enough? Shall I release you?"
"I'm not convinced." The Master put his lips next to Hotch's ear and gently bit the lobe. "Beg me."
Hotch swallowed hard. "Please, Master. Please continue, I beg you. I beg you." The words came out in a strangled gasp.
A sigh. "Fine. Three more it is, then." He moved back to the foot of the bed and brought the whip down across Hotch's left thigh. He then painted a similar set of bright red stripes across his right.
There was no stopping the groan that wrenched itself from low in Hotch's throat and for a horrible moment, he thought his master would reprimand him for it. Instead, there was merely a pause and Hotch knew that he was being given a chance to ask for mercy. He considered it. Then, he thought of how good and kind and wise his master was, of how he had never given him more than he could bear. He managed to stay still, except for a bout of shivers that he was unable to control.
He bit down hard on his lower lip.
"One more, slave. This one will be... very special."
The room was silent except for the Master's even breathing and Hotch's rasps. The pain ebbing and surging over Hotch's back had begun to melt into a soothing pool of heat, and, subconsciously, he understood that he was in an endorphin-induced trance. For a long moment, he was in utter bliss.
The final stroke seemed to come from nowhere. It traveled from the base of Hotch's spine downward, dipping between his legs, licking at his testicles.
Tears sprung into Hotch's eyes and he cried out. He felt his master sit down beside him again. A gentle hand caressed his tender back, sending little shockwaves of renewed pain throughout his core.
"I am so proud of you, my slave." Hotch's misery instantly abated as he listened carefully to his master's words. "You've done so well. Now. I assume you recall our discussion earlier today regarding the events of this evening. Yes?"
"I've taken the trouble to prepare you. But, even now, you may decline and I will not think less of you if you do. So, I'm going to ask you again, and I want you to be very certain of your answer. Am I being clear?"
"All right-do you still wish to offer yourself to me for my pleasure?"
"Y-yes, Master. More than anything."
He heard the whip drop to the floor and felt the bed shift as the Master stood up and moved lower on the bed. Those warm hands were again at his entrance, this time removing the slick object with a moist pop. Hotch shuddered as he heard a belt buckle clink and a zipper come down. He felt his master's weight on top of him as he reached for the lube and a condom. Then, he felt pressure, followed by a burning sensation. For the first time, he was afraid, but his master took him slowly, and it soon became easier. He was grateful to have such a kind master, one who allowed him to adjust before fully unleashing his desire.
The sting of his welts combined with the sensations caused by being taken in this manner, along with his own bound manhood being rhythmically chafed against the bed below him, made Hotch grunt in frustration. He desperately needed release, but the cock ring prevented it. He was almost to the point of using his safe word to plead to be allowed to end his distress, when he felt the Master reach under him and remove the leather binding. The relief and pleasure that washed over him almost brought him to tears, but he then lay contentedly as his master continued thrusting deeply within him, and soon they both reached completion.
Hotch was keenly aware when the length of his master's member was slowly pulled out of his body. He whined slightly at the sudden emptiness, but joy filled him as the young man lay down beside him and pulled away the blindfold. Gentle kisses were pressed onto his eyelids and against his dry lips. The Master then brought out a small jar of emollient and began lovingly massaging the wonderfully-scented, soothing cream into the angry red streaks criss-crossing Hotch's back.
Hotch felt uncertain as his arms and legs were unbound. He raised himself, but he felt so weak and groggy, he was ashamed. He expected to be chided for his frailty, but to his amazement, his master began helping him to put on his shirt, then carefully gathered him into his arms and gave him a deep kiss. Hotch eagerly settled against his chest and, cradled like a little child, he soon fell asleep.
In the morning, Hotch woke up alone. He sat up, stretched, and blinked at the sun streaming in through pinpoints in the blinds. The only sign that anyone had been in the room with him the night before was a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water that had been left on his night stand. But, his body reminded him of every sweet moment. His wrists and ankles were a bit raw from tugging against the bindings; the skin on his back was wildly sensitive. Although, when he examined himself in the bathroom mirror, there were few visible marks, just light scratches, like something a tiny kitten would make.
Another sign made itself known when he sat on the edge of the bed and he was sharply reminded of the last gift his master had bestowed upon him. Just then, his phone rang. He flipped it open and pushed the "talk" button.
"Good morning, Hotch."
A slow smile crossed Hotch's face.
"Good morning, Reid. You got home all right, I take it?"
"Of course. Um... are you ok?"
"Yes. Actually-I feel great. Thank you for last night. It was-wonderful."
"Good. I had a pretty wonderful time, myself." The smile in his voice came through the phone connection.
Hotch nodded. "Uh-you were right, by the way... about everything."
"I thought I might be. Well-I just wanted to make sure you were doing all right this morning. Have a great day off, Hotch."
"You, too, Reid. You too."
Hotch hurried to shower and dress, looking forward to heading out to pick up his son. He felt focused and renewed, and was eager to make the most of the busy weekend they had ahead of them. On his way through the living room, he discovered a single red rose and an envelope with the letter "S" printed on it, propped against the water glass on the coffee table. He opened it and found a note that read:
You are amazing. Your trust and faith in me means more than you'll ever know. Thank you for an incredible night.
Hotch smelled the rose and went to put it in a vase. He carefully folded the note and slipped it into his wallet. He knew he would be taking it out and re-reading it many times. Every day, in fact...
Until the next time.