Usual disclaimers, not mine, all hail Ed Bernero and CBS who created the characters, and the gifted performers – and the awesome fanfic writers – who constantly redefine them.

Belongs to Home Demo universe, in which Spencer Reid, super Dom, plays with three (so far) of his coworkers [AH, DM, EP] but none of them knows about the others. Well, until now.

Actually, there's a lot of stuff I like a whole lot more than tormenting a certain Unit Chief, but I'm having a bad day and writing this cheered me up in a kind of twisted way.

Thanks to all of you who read, favorite, and especially, review my stories. You light up my life, kick start my muse, and make me goofy with delight!

From Me to You

"Cheer up," Spencer Reid had said over the phone. "I'm coming over, and I have a special gift for you." And then he had said, "Venetian red," which was her special word. Their special word.

He was bringing her a slave.

A year earlier, Spencer had helped her experiment with Dominance and submission. She had started as his sub, and then he had started to teach her how to be a Dom. It was not a cut and paste operation; she had to learn and develop her own style.

She still practiced on the slender PhD, but she had never had a sub of her very own, one that wasn't Spencer or Julian. It would be for twenty minutes, half an hour, tops. First times were supposed to be strictly limited, because it was a learning situation for both parties.

She could think of no other interpretation for what he had said. If he had been giving her himself, he would have used his own special word, which was "amorphous." This wasn't Julian, either, because Julian's word was "bellicose."

She brushed her hair. She re-did her makeup twice.

She wished he had told her whether it was a male or a female. Probably a male, though. Although he was hetero, Spencer specialized in driving men crazy. It always amazed her to see the shy-seeming academic suddenly blazing with grace and confidence. He was a really impressive top.

She thought about dressing in something kinky, but decided that simple was best. No big expectations. Just some pleasant play time.

She had never seen any of Spencer's subs except for Julian, who had been his off and on sub since grad school. It would be nice if he were good looking, in good shape, but she had to learn to work with anything. From Julian, who was both gorgeous and fit, she had learned that a gift was always bound – that was the "gift wrapping."

Confidence, she told herself. Whoever this is, this person consciously gave (probably his) consent to be handed to her. He trusted Spencer, and so he would trust her.

It was like profiling in a way. You hide your doubts – in interrogations, so you could control the direction of the interview. In this, so both of you could have a good time.

She heard the distinctive note of the Volvo's engine in the lot. She deliberately restrained herself from running upstairs and looking out the window overlooking the lot. She would see him when she saw him.

She grabbed a bottle – it happened to be Tia Maria – unscrewed the cap, and took three healthy swallows, then replaced it.

Stage fright.

Remember, she recalled Spencer telling her on occasion, your stage fright will be nothing compared to the gift's stage fright.

She checked her hair again.

God, like a high school blind date.

Her doorbell rang.

Long, deep steadying breath. She straightened her posture, standing as tall as her spine would allow, and approached the door.

I can do this.

She opened the door.

Reid looked great in black slacks and heavy black turtleneck sweater. Confident. Pleased with himself.

Beside him, tieless, in casually rolled shirtsleeves, his hands cuffed behind him, was Aaron Hotchner.

Shit!

She did not allow herself to hesitate in her surprise. She swept the door wide open and said, "Come in, Spence." She didn't have to say a word to Hotchner; he didn't exist until Spencer presented him.

"You look beautiful tonight," Reid said.

"Thank you. Would you care for a drink?"

"Sure, that would be great," he said. He pressed Hotch back against the wall and left him there, ignoring him completely. He sat down on Emily's couch and looked only at her. She sneaked a quick look at Hotchner. He was clearly uneasy and uncomfortable, but he stood obediently by the wall, eyes downward. His face was flushed and he kept gnawing on his lip.

Oh. My. God. Not only was he her superior at work – he was also good looking, fit, and charismatic. The idea of having him at her mercy made her knees weak and her panties moist.

Part of her wanted to scramble to do something. To say something. But Spence had the right idea. Objectifying was part of the process. With this kind of challenge before her, she was not going to screw it up by skipping any steps.

She mixed probably the world's sloppiest black Russians and sat down next to Reid. "You look amazingly hot all in black."

He lowered his eyes, batted his eyelashes. "Thank you. Red suits hell out of you."

"Wow, thank you."

"I hope you didn't mind my calling you," he said, sipping his drink. "I happened to have someone with me and I mentioned that it would please me if he would submit himself to you. And he said that if that was my wish, then it would be his honor. And I thought, why wait? I love watching – it's a win-win."

She could finally look at him openly. "Did he know who he would be serving?"

"Of course not." Technically speaking, his desires were irrelevant. However, the bond of trust guaranteed that Spencer would never force him to submit to someone he thought he wouldn't enjoy – well, he might, but only for very specific reasons.

Another glance. Spence had been right; her stage fright was nothing compared to his. His jaw worked, his shirt was damp under the arms. His breath was irregular. He had yet to look up, even for an instant.

"How long have you had him?"

"About eight months."

Eight months. He was experienced, then. Seasoned. She knew Reid's ways, which meant that she knew some of the things that Hotchner had learned. She knew he was unlikely to freak out over anything she expected of him.

Boy, they sure kept that one quiet!

"Can I unwrap it now?"

Reid grinned. "Sure."

"Over here," he said, pointing at the floor.

Aaron Hotchner crossed the room and lowered himself to his knees before Spencer Reid.

Honest to God, that is the hottest thing I have ever seen in my whole life ...

"He's yours," Reid said casually. He handed her a handcuff key on a decorative loop.

She nudged Hotchner's knee with the toe of her shoe. "Bend over," she commanded.

He bowed down so his face touched his knees. She reached across him and released the cuffs. He kept his wrists together until she told him he was loose. Yes, he certainly knew how to be a sub.

Gaining courage, she said, "I run my life differently from Spencer. You won't nod or shake your head with me. You will say yes ma'am and no ma'am – quietly and respectfully. Do you understand me?"

Still bent double, he softly replied, "Yes, ma'am."

"Sit up."

He sat back on his heels, hands on his thighs, eyes still downcast.

His respiration had changed; he was into it as intensely as she was. She had no doubt that he would be absolutely compliant.

Oh, my God. I have died and gone to Heaven.

"Stand."

"Yes, ma'am." Even though he had never been required to speak before, his voice was perfect, just a hair above a whisper. He rose to his feet, wobbling just a little with tension.

She stood, too. Standing next to him like this was nothing like standing close to him at work. The pheromones ran rampant here, so thick that the air was heavy with them.

"Eyes closed, hands at your sides," she directed. He gave his assent and obeyed her. She reached for the top button of his shirt and loosened it. Slowly, dragging the operation out, she opened his shirt all the way. She pushed it off his shoulders and let it slide down his arms. It fell off his right arm but caught on his wristwatch on his left. She chose to ignore it. Having it dangle there would just emphasize the fact that he had no choice in whether it was on or off.

She touched her fingers to his flat stomach. His chest was not as well developed as she had hoped, but his shoulders were better than she had anticipated. While the hair on his arms and hands was thick and straight, his chest hair was thin and curly, concentrated on his sternum, around his nipples, and in a sensual line down into his slacks. She swirled her fingers in the hair that encircled his nipples: It was crispy and springy. Teased at his navel. Traced a line from his waistband up to the hollow of his throat.

Because she had been a sub, she knew the intoxicating mixture of fear and excitement that ran through his veins. Knew that he could hardly wait to discover what they would experience together. She also knew that he expected pain; it was part of the process. He would welcome it even as he dreaded it.

She rubbed her thumbs gently across his nipples. "Nice," she said. "Very nice." She rubbed a little harder. "Sweet and warm and so hard." She pinched his left nipple with moderate pressure and he tensed up a little. Again, a little harder, and then again with her thumbnail engaged.

He inhaled sharply but remained still and silent otherwise.

This time, she pinched both nipples, hard, and held them for a slow count of thirty. She could feel him fighting the urge to struggle, to push her away. To protest. Before she released them, she rubbed them briskly between her thumb and first two fingers. When she let go, he sighed with relief, because it was over, and with gratitude, because the afterthrobs would be intensely erotic.

So – rinse and repeat. Do it often enough that they start to swell and the afterthrobs are no longer pleasant. She applied herself to that job for several minutes. By the time she decided to stop, his jaw was set, his hands were fists, and his chest glistened with sweat. She returned to gentle stroking and teasing, but now it was painful for him. He stood very still, trying not to display any of his discomfort. Showing discomfort could be interpreted as disapproval of what one's Dom had done.

"You may thank me now," she told him.

"Yes, ma'am, thank you, ma'am," he barely whispered, his eyes shut tight.

"Hands behind you."

"Yes, ma'am." He clasped his right wrist in his left hand. The shirt had finally fallen off his arm during the nipple exploration.

She studied his face – so familiar and yet so foreign – and she read it with confidence. He was still with her all the way.

She unbuckled his belt and slowly withdrew it from its loops. When she had its entire length in her hands, she bent it double and pressed it against his chest, his shoulder, his abdomen his upper arm. Not surprisingly, his face remained set. Spencer Reid liked belts; Hotch probably had a lot of experience with them.

She set it aside and loosened the top button of his slacks. She wondered how it must feel to be stripped naked by one of your subordinates – but then, she realized, he had been submitting himself to Reid for months. Whatever level of shame it might have caused him at the onset, he would be way over it now.

Months. Spencer Reid has been pushing Aaron Hotchner's limits for months.

How could I possibly have missed a power exchange that intense?

Crap. Forgot something.

"Remove your shoes and socks."

"Yes, ma'am." He bent and did so, tucking the socks tidily into the toes of his oxfords, he was so fucking organized even as a goddamn bottom, then stood straight again.

She unzipped his slacks and slid them down his hips. She had expected him to be wearing boxers or nothing at all. Instead, he wore black briefs. She glanced at Reid.

"My choice," he said serenely. "I like the lines." He grinned. "And the bulges."

Hmm, I must remember to make Spencer wear briefs next time I – stay focused, girl.

Hotch was biting his lip. She glanced down and realized that some parts of him were beginning to show a little interest, and he wasn't sure whether it would please her or get him into trouble.

Keep on worrying, babe.

She caressed his hips and slid her hands around to his – oh, lord, he had a wonderful butt, rounded and hard and muscular, yet another positive attribute that his suits kept hidden. She slipped her hands into the back of his briefs through the leg holes, reaching upward to appreciate those red-hot curves with both hands. She probably could have stood there for an hour, squeezing those beautiful buns, but a first time should always be limited in duration. She would just have to put his ass at the top of her to-do list.

She let her fingers dance down his crack and brush against his balls. For the first time, he made an unapproved sound, a faint moan. She checked his face and his crotch quickly. Oh, yes, he was enjoying that.

Not in the script yet, tiger.

"Did I ask for your opinion?" she asked.

"No, ma'am."

She grabbed his upper arm and steered him around to the back of one of the armchairs. "Bend over that."

He assented and did so, his voice a little more shivery than it had been.

She yanked his briefs down and picked up the belt. Letting it dangle from her fingers, she tucked his testicles safely to the front and made sure that his thighs were drawn together tightly. "Count to six, slowly."

God, that is a glorious ass.

"One," he whispered, and she snapped the belt across his butt cheeks.

"Two." And she let him have it across the backs of his thighs,

Four more, and his hands trembled, but they remained clasped steadily together. Yes, Spencer has devoted a lot of time to this booty, and no wonder.

When she was done, she kept him bent over and laid her hand on the hot marks that scored those – stop it, they're distracting you, girl.

She addressed Spencer and indicated Hotchner's buttocks. "Do you ever ...?"

Reid shook his head. "Saving it," he mouthed silently.

"Up," she directed. She had him step out of his briefs and sit down in that same armchair that he has just been bent over.

His hands were still clasped behind him.

Very well behaved.

"Open your eyes and look at me," she commanded.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Open your legs."

A visible frisson of panic ran through him, but he agreed and obeyed.

She knelt down between his knees and wrapped her hands around his exceptionally interested manhood. "You have acquitted yourself well tonight," she told him. "Clearly your Dom knows how to handle you."

Since neither a yes nor a no would be appropriate there, Hotchner just looked at her silently. She ran her fingers over the head of his penis. "You've earned a reward," she told him, "but only because your master likes to watch." She bent and took him in her mouth and he whimpered his delight. She decided to ignore the sound because she was loving the feel and the taste of him, and because of the way Spencer Reid's eyes glittered with excitement.

She gave him her best, which was very good indeed, bringing him right to the brink and dragging him back again repeatedly. He thrashed so violently that Spencer leaned over the back of the chair and held him steady.

"Let it go," Spencer crooned, "come on, baby, show her how much you appreciate her as a mistress."

"Please," Aaron moaned frantically, quivering on the edge of release. "Please!"

She went as deep as she dared, then came up quickly to catch him as he exploded. He convulsed against her face, against Reid's arms, wailing in ecstasy.

When he fell back in the chair, Emily leaned her face against his inner thigh and let her eyelashes flutter against it. He had never looked so beautiful, she decided.

She swiped her tongue playfully along his balls and he jerked and groaned.

"Good, huh?" she laughed.

He nodded feebly. "Yes, ma'am."

She placed one hand firmly on his knee. "We're done," she said. "You're released."

He brought his hands up and rubbed his face, shaking his head. "God, Prentiss. That was – that was wonderful."

"Not bad for first time?"

He stroked her hair. "Not bad at all."

She kissed his fingers. "My word's venetian red," she said.

"Fluffernutter," he replied.