Written for the I Knew You'd Understand Blog-thanks to CMAli for tweeting! This was fun!

The IKY'dU Blog - Hotch/Reid Writing

Challenge: Round 4

Pen name: Seditionary/Ragcat

Title: Jet Lag

Genre: Slash

Rating: M for mature content/FRAO

Prompt: plane ticket - hotel room - Las Vegas - scotch.

(Contains boy/boy sexy stuff, just FYI...)


So good.

Aaron Hotchner took a sip of scotch-neat-and let it linger on his tongue. He stared out the window of his living room, allowed the burn to roll down his throat.

The first part of the evening had been so good. The other part... well, it was surprising. Hotch didn't deal well with surprises. His work was filled with them-so, he liked his personal life neat, planned, predictable. Although, some surprises were nice...

The fact that Spencer Reid had ended up in his bed wasn't a surprise at all. He'd seen that coming. After Haley kicked him out, after his head had cleared a bit, it was the one thing, other than seeing his son, that he'd had to look forward to.

Spencer had always been special to him. At first, he'd told himself that it was just fatherly concern for the awkward young man that made him take notice of his struggles; under that geeky, uncertain exterior, Hotch could detect a sweet, funny kid that just needed a little encouragement. Moments of gentle bantering, a hand on his shoulder, a few well-timed questions-"Spencer, are you all right?"-seemed to go a long way toward bringing him out of his shell.

And, into Hotch's arms.

Cruelly, he'd nurtured the boy's attraction to him long before he allowed himself to acknowledge his own. It was easy; he'd feel Spencer looking at him, trying not to be obvious, and he'd look up, smile, take the awkwardness out of the moment, soothe the boy's tendency to fall all over himself in his embarrassment at getting caught.

After his marriage dissolved, he'd become more aggressive toward Spencer. The temptation had been impossible to resist, if only because Spencer's worshipful glances were like balm to his wounded ego. Knowing that someone, an adult someone, found him endlessly fascinating, considered his attention worth vying for, took away some of the sting of Haley's rejection.

Later, he took to calling the boy after work, just to hear his voice, just to have someone to listen to, someone to listen to him. It didn't even occur to him that he was courting Spencer.

Then, this evening.

They'd had dinner, chatted, pretended they were friends. At some point, Hotch had put his hand on Spencer's and the pretense had fallen away. When they got back to Hotch's place, they'd sat on the couch together, close, so close that their shoulders touched, and Hotch had slipped an arm around Spencer. He'd leaned in and taken a kiss. It felt as if someone had hit the "pause" button, but then, suddenly, the boy was warm against him, kissing back, and Hotch had rasped, "Lie down with me, Spencer."

It had just come out. There had been a moment of horror, when Spencer's eyes had widened, and his mouth had worked with no words coming out. He was sure the kid would backpedal, would pretend Hotch'd said something else, would stammer that he needed to go home, needed to tend to something he'd just remembered, something that couldn't wait, and yeah, he'd see him tomorrow, okay?

But, he hadn't. He'd gazed at the floor, bit his lip, whispered, "I've never... I don't know if I can..." and Hotch had gathered him to him and made promises: "We'll go slow," and "I won't hurt you, Spencer," and "We won't do anything that you're uncomfortable with." Spencer had nodded, hesitantly raised his eyes to Hotch's and given him a weak smile. "Ok," he'd said. "I trust you."

Hotch had taken his hand and led him to his bed. He'd undressed him-a pleasure, but also apparently necessary, as Spencer seemed unable to move on his own. Hotch had pulled back the covers, got in, and pulled Spencer in next to him. The boy had cold hands, and Hotch had chaffed them between his own, planted kisses on the palms, laid one against his face. Spencer had experimentally rubbed the bristles on his chin, and smiled.

He'd leaned forward and they'd kissed. Hotch had pushed him backward, had done the things he needed to do to prepare a lover, and they'd performed the act, the one where two lonely people squeeze out all the air between them and just revel in the moment, each worshipping the other's body, the taste, the feel of another person's flesh against his own.

It hadn't been flawless. But, after some initial fumbling and a few false starts, they had begun to move together. Hotch inside of Spencer, kissing him while they fucked, murmuring gentle encouragement. Come for me, baby. That's it, that's nice...Then, pulling out of him-Turn over, Spencer. It'll be okay, you'll like how it feels this way, and entering him from behind-thick, deep, searing hot. Spencer writhing under him, amazed, then sated like he'd never been before, and, really, that wasn't so surprising. They'd both played out this scene in their minds so many times.

What was surprising was afterwards, when Spencer had gotten up out of the bed, cleaned up, dressed hastily, and leaned down to kiss him goodbye.

"Where you going?" Hotch had barked.

"I, uh, have to make a flight. I'm going to Vegas-we have a long weekend, remember?" He hadn't remembered. Spencer had taken a seat on the edge of the bed and brushed a thatch of hair from Hotch's forehead. "I got the cheapest deal I could find, and of course, it's in the middle of the night. I'm sorry-I'd rather stay here with you-but, I promised my mom." He found a pen and a piece of paper. "Here, here's the name of my hotel. Maybe you could join me out there?"

Hotch had shaken his head. "No, I can't. It's too short notice. Anyway, I forgot-I'm supposed to take Jack Saturday afternoon."

Spencer had nodded, given him one more kiss, and was gone.

Now, here it was, late Thursday night-well, technically, early Friday morning-with no work the next day. A long weekend ahead of him, mostly on his own...

He felt so empty.

He stared at the Scotch left in the glass. He could finish it. Then, he could refill it. And... repeat. Repeat, repeat, repeat, until he passed out on the couch, the couch where he first kissed Spencer Reid's warm, sweet mouth, the couch where he thought he could still smell the scent of his hair.

Or, he could toss it. If he tossed it now, he could still drive. Drive to the airport. He strode to the kitchen and poured the liquor down the sink.

He picked up the phone. He pissed off Haley, because, one, it was freakin' twelve o'clock midnight and he'd woken her up from a sound sleep and now she had a headache, and what the hell was the matter with him anyway, and two, because he said he couldn't take Jack on Saturday after all. That part hurt, but he promised to be there Sunday, and Haley had irritably accepted the compromise. He called the airline and found that, if he hauled ass, he could make an insane 2:00 AM flight to Chicago, and hop on the redeye to Vegas from there. He went ahead and rented a car while he was at it. He left a message for Spencer at the hotel-Aaron Hotchner says he'll take him to breakfast.

Hotch slept on the plane, and by 9:00 AM, he was in Vegas. By 9:35, he was in Spencer Reid's hotel room. By 9:46, he was in Spencer Reid's bed, and by 9:57, he was deep inside of Spencer Reid.

They just called room service.

In the afternoon, Hotch drove Spencer to visit his mom. He watched them read poetry to each other, and they ate dinner with her at the home. He took Spencer back to the hotel room, and they fucked until they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Saturday, they woke up late. They had sex in the shower, ate lunch at one of the better casinos and blew some cash at the blackjack table; then, Hotch drove Spencer to see his mom again. Hotch set up his laptop and made some phone calls, most importantly, one to Jack, telling him he'd see him tomorrow.

By 11:00 AM on Sunday, he was taking his son to the park and buying him cotton candy.

By 9:00 that night he was wrapping his arms around Spencer and telling him that, apart from the stress, exhaustion, and lack of sleep, it was the best weekend he'd ever had.

By 8:00 Monday morning, Aaron Hotchner was at his desk at the BAU, swearing that he was too old to have a twenty-something boyfriend.

By 5:00 PM, the jet lag had faded, and he had decided that, apart from his son, Spencer Reid was the best damn thing that had ever happened to him in his entire life.

It was all so good.