A/N – It seems that I might have to add another warning to this story . . . ahem . . . double penetration warning in effect for this chapter only.
Chapter 8 – Re/Elle
"Man, I am not rooming with Reid," Morgan said defiantly, purposely ignoring the chorus of silent glares from the rest of the team.
Reid sighed. It was just like riding the bus all over again. Ew, I don't want to sit with him! The only thing worse than finding seatmates on the bus was when they had to pick sides for teams. In his opinion, the entire system was barbaric, but that was a rant for another day.
He went up the stairs slowly. If he was going to be cast off to sleep by himself, he might as well get first dibs on a room.
. . .
Reid dreamed of Elle. He had never been attracted to her physically, but she had always intrigued him. And now his subconscious seemed intent on exploiting that vague interest.
She slipped into his bed silently, her eyes uncomfortably focused on his own, making him shiver at the unexpected level of attention.
"Have you ever needed to be with someone so badly your body ached?" She asked, sliding her lithe body closer to his as she spoke, eyes never leaving his face.
He had, but he didn't think she'd be interested in his answer.
He felt her hand grasp his hip, movements direct and forceful, and he whimpered a bit in his throat as she drew him closer to her body.
"I need you," she told him a throaty voice, eyes burning darkly at him; her hands pushing into his boxers quite against his will.
He couldn't move, couldn't speak. Maybe it was his shock at her words, or the fact that she was now touching him, trying to get him to react, to move, to respond, but whatever the reason, it didn't seem to matter, as she seemed capable of continuing on without his consent.
He could feel her fingernails scraping against his inner thighs, the feel of it pooling deep in his groin as his body wanted to react and his mouth tried to scream its protest.
"Stop," he wheezed helplessly, pushing unusually weak arms at her overwhelming strength.
"You'll like this Spencer," she snapped at him, slapping his hands away and moving her body on top of his. "So shut up and enjoy the ride!"
And he could feel his cock being pushed inside her, the pleasure mixing wretchedly with his terror at not being able to stop it, and he screamed aloud.
"Reid!" He heard distantly, warm arms wrapping themselves around him, even as he cried out again for her stop.
"I don't want to! Please," he cried, turning his head away, not wanting to watch as Elle raped him.
"Spencer, wake up," a deep voice was breaking through his dream, and he didn't care who his rescuer was, he just wanted to be away from her. Blindly, he threw himself forwards into an equally warm chest, his hands scrabbling desperately for purchase from the horror of his nightmare.
He finally managed to pry his eyes open, only to discover himself fully in the embrace of his superior, and he didn't care, couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed as he clung tighter and sobbed into the man's strong chest.
"Hush, Spencer. It was just a dream," Hotch's voice dripped soothingly over his frazzled nerves and he let himself take in a harsh hitching breath.
"I can't go back to sleep, I can't—she'll get me again and I can't—," he babbled against Hotch's shoulder, terrified that he would be left alone now that he was awake.
"Breathe Spencer," Hotch intoned in a deep voice against his much thinner chest and he managed to close his mouth and refocus on finding his air. Hotch was holding a hand against the back of his head, and an arm around his shoulders, and although he couldn't see the man's face, he could imagine the look of quiet concern that continued to permeate his otherwise stoic features.
"Don't leave me yet, please," he whispered out, feeling guilt over his obvious insecurity, but his overwhelming fear not letting him keep his silence any longer.
"Spencer—," Hotch started to say.
"Please," he begged, pressing his face into the other man's neck and closing his eyes tightly against hearing his imagined refusal.
"Here," Hotch answered instead, moving them to the edge of the bed and standing up. He was holding up most of Spencer's weight as well, as his shaking legs didn't seem capable of working.
Oh gods, he could still feel Elle's fingers on him and he moaned out loud at the ugly sensation.
"Spencer, I'm not leaving you," Hotch answered calmly, arms still around him. "Come back to my room and we'll talk about this until you feel you can sleep again."
The words were more order than request, but Spencer didn't care; at this point, he'd willingly do anything to keep from being left alone.
"Okay," he whispered.
Hotch led him blindly out into the hallway and then into the room just adjacent to his.
So that's how he was able to hear me, Reid mused silently as he made his way across the threshold. Hotch shut the door quietly behind them with his foot, not letting go of Reid the entire time.
The older man sat them lightly on the edge of the bed and then propped him up against the headboard in the middle of the bed. There was warm yellow light filtering in around his partially shut eyes and he blinked a little at the brightness.
"Hey kid," Rossi greeted him from the right side of the bed, his voice sounding unusually rough. "Bad night?"
Reid flinched back against Hotch and instinctively pulled his knees up to his chest. He couldn't believe it. It was after one in the morning, and he was sitting in the middle of a bed, limbs still trembling from the nightmare, with Hotch on his left and Rossi on his right.
He waited for some kind of cutting remark to issue from the other profiler's mouth, but the man was silent, looking appraisingly at him while he continued to press himself against Hotch's side.
"I'm s-sorry I woke you up," he whispered, dropping his eyes to the bedspread, and missing the glance that the other two exchanged over his head.
"Don't you know that profilers never sleep?" That was Rossi, sounding friendly even though he had interrupted their sleep and invaded their bed.
"Who was the dream about, Spencer?" Hotch asked him, arm moving back around his shoulders and pulling him into more of a sitting position.
He turned large frightened eyes up at his boss and silently begged him to withdraw the question. He didn't want to be sent away, but he also didn't want to answer that question.
"What was the dream about then, kid?" Rossi asked, moving closer to him and placing a strong warm arm around his shoulders, overlapping Hotch's.
He glanced back at Rossi and saw only a concerned expression that matched the one on Hotch's face.
"She—a woman—came into my b-bed," he whispered shamefully. He was sure that if Morgan were there, he would have been cheering him on and wondering why that could have possibly been grounds for a nightmare.
He was glad Morgan wasn't there.
"And she t-told me that she wanted me," he added after feeling a squeeze on his shoulder. "And she wouldn't take n-no for an answer." His breath caught in his throat and he let out a low sob.
"Who was the woman?" Hotch asked him, dark eyes gazing at him in concern.
"Elle," he said, his voice barely audible.
"She didn't ever hurt you like that, did she?" Hotch's eyes were blazing now and he found himself pushing more firmly into Rossi's side, surprisingly enough.
"Aaron," Rossi warned, but he was already shaking his head in the negative.
"No, she didn't," he paused and thought, "but sometimes she scared me," he admitted.
The frightening look was gone from Hotch's eyes, but that didn't mean he could relax anymore than he already was.
"Reid—Spencer," Hotch said softly, calling his attention back with an odd feeling. "Do you prefer men or women?"
Complete and utter silence reigned after that question, and he didn't know whether he should laugh or choke.
"Wh-Which do you prefer?" He asked instead, feeling that it was a safe question to ask, since Hotch would most likely answer 'women,' considering his marriage to Haley.
"Men," Hotch answered instead, his voice serious as ever with his admission. "Dave, which do you prefer?"
Reid turned back around to look at the older man, his mouth still hanging slightly open in shock from Hotch's answer.
"Men," answered Rossi, completely flooring him.
"You see, Spencer, you're not alone," Hotch told him in a quiet voice, directing his attention back to his face.
"But how—I never said, I mean—I didn't—," he spluttered, looking back and forth between the men around him in confusion.
"We've been wondering for a while about you," Hotch admitted softly, leaning in closer to him, making his mouth go dry and pushing his nightmare far from his mind.
"But I—I, but why?"
Hotch didn't seem to be intent on answering him—at least not in words. Instead, Spencer quite suddenly felt warm, slightly chapped lips descend on his, stopping his thoughts completely as they wrestled control from him. He felt the tip of a questing tongue touch his mouth and he opened his jaw just enough to let it in.
That's when it hit him; Hotch was the one kissing him. He moaned at the realization and the mouth lifted away from his own, letting him gaze back at Hotch in wonder at the man's daring.
"If you don't want to do this, just say so. We don't ha—," Spencer cut Hotch off with another kiss. Behind them he heard Rossi chuckling and only had a moment to spare on that thought before feeling another mouth attach itself to his neck.
There were two sets of hands on his clothes and on him, and he let them undress him; attacking their shirts and pants with just as much fervor and then more, when he realized that they were letting him.
Hot skin and hard muscles slid under fingertips, reaching and exploring, memorizing and mapping as two mouths continued to devour him, traveling over his lips and neck and nipples, reducing him to quiet whimpers of need and want. He could smell them; Rossi's aftershave just a hint stronger than the clean smell that seemed to exist within Hotch's skin and clothes; the sweat on their bodies making the slide of their limbs easier to manipulate, driving him near madness with the feel of them everywhere around him, but not in him.
Apparently his face spoke volumes, because finally Hotch spoke again, drawing his thinking mind back online with his question. "Reid, have you ever had sex with a man before?"
"Or men?" Rossi muttered somewhere below his right nipple, experienced fingers playing some kind of classical performance on his balls and the soft flesh of his inner thighs.
His hand was buried in Rossi's thick head of hair, pulling gently against his scalp, fingers playing with a plump earlobe; his other arm trapped somewhere under Hotch's leg, being tickled by curly dark hair; his hand trying to make the otherwise stoic man lose his fabled control with the damning touches he was using on the weeping tip of his hard cock.
"A few—," he moaned as he felt Dave's mouth lightly suck one of his balls into the man's hot damp oral cavity. "A few times," he panted out harshly, eyes trying to roll back in his head as he heard the soft pop that came as Rossi released one ball and delicately took the other.
"So, not a virgin," Hotch growled above him into his ear.
"No, no sir," he shook his head, squeaking as he felt Rossi's tongue move back towards his ass. His eyes were squeezed tightly and he was barely cognizant that Hotch was changing positions, moving his larger body under his own with ease.
Rossi's tongue stabbed his hole and he squeaked again, his muscles pulling and moving around that tiny hot and wet appendage. It was so good, but it wasn't enough, it wasn't enough and he felt Hotch's arm move around his mouth as his complaints got louder. He was sobbing into the crook of the other man's elbow by the time Rossi's tongue was replaced by a slick finger. Hotch's feet were on the bed, his legs bent at the knees, holding his thighs apart just enough for him to feel the burn, but not enough to really hurt.
One arm still at his face, something for him to cry into, the other wrapped around his mid-section, hand splayed against his abdomen, fingertips curling themselves lightly around his cock.
Two fingers working inside his body, stretching him carefully, feeling Rossi's hand stroke his ass, Hotch's hard generous cock making itself known against the base of his spine, and he whimpered again, needing to be fucked, needing to taken, needing to be used by these two men who cared so much for him.
He was barely aware of the tears that had begun making their way down his cheeks by the time Rossi had added a third finger, if not for the sight of Hotch's concerned face blinking in his peripheral.
"No, doesn't hurt, but I need," he panted, whimpering in a high voice, fingers tensing on the strong flexing thighs holding him open.
He heard Hotch hiss out something above him, hot chest heaving steadily under his back, and then the fingers were gone and he felt a hot slick cock pushing its way into his innards instead.
Finally! Was his only thought, his mouth open in half pleasure, half pain, Hotch's fingertips bruising his hips as he slowly inserted himself into Spencer's needy depths.
"Spencer," was growled into his ear and he let himself give voice to a whine as he felt Hotch's balls come in contact with his ass, knowing he was in as far as he could be, as far as he could go.
Dave's hot hand was now around his cock, holding tight to its base, as Hotch slowly started withdrawing, lifting his body and then pushing back in ever so faster. Reid could feel Hotch's muscles flexing as he lifted him, using his ass to fuck himself into, and he marveled at his boss's pure strength.
Two more thrusts and then a slight change in angle as Hotch pulled himself farther upright under his body, and suddenly the arm was back in front of his face, dampening the sound as he howled. Bright lights were flashing in his eyes and he thought he saw a smile pass across Rossi's face.
"I think he found something that time, kid," the older man said; his smile turning more feral as he watched the fucking continue on in front of him; his hand working his own cock slowly.
The burn in his ass was giving way to something easier and as it did, the speed that Hotch was moving at suddenly became much too slow.
"Fuck me please, Hotch," he gasped out, sweat blinding him as it poured into his eyes; his back easily sliding up and down the other man's nearly hairless chest, their perspiration working like the lube in his ass.
But he didn't speed up and the pressure on the base of his cock didn't either. Soon he was nearly writhing again not even aware that there was another slicked finger pushing its way carefully into his ass.
"Relax Spencer," was the harshly growled command in his ear, and he started to ask why, when he felt the entrance of another slick finger pushing inside too. A cock and two fingers and he couldn't think, his panting the only sound he seemed capable of making, and he felt Hotch's lips sucking on his neck and heard a groan issued from somewhere down by his balls.
"Won't let you get hurt," Hotch was still talking, his cock all but completely still he felt himself be stretched obscenely wide around a third finger. He whimpered again, not sure if he could do this and felt a gentle touch down the side of his face.
"We'll take care of you," was the last thing he heard before feeling the removal of those skilled fingers and the blunt announcement of a second cock pushing its way in at a maddeningly slow pace.
Rossi's cock was shorter, but slightly thicker and he found himself ridiculously grateful for all of the nights that he had fucked himself with one of his larger dildos at home.
Hotch was under him still, his cock at the back of his opening, and he imagined how it would feel to have Rossi's dick pushing up against it. Rossi was the only one moving now, pushing and pulling himself ever so slightly in and out of his body, making Hotch moan with a deep guttural sound from below him.
And Spencer? He was barely there, barely aware of the two cocks now both sliding back and forth inside his body, his body quite nearly thrumming with pleasure, his eyes rather glazed over. His head was leaned against Hotch's shoulder, and his mouth open, his throat letting out an almost unending string of unintelligible sounds and whimpers.
Then suddenly the pressure from around the base of his cock was gone. It only took two more friction slick slides in and out before white light took over his senses once more, and he was spurting up in-between the two men's bodies; ass clenching down hard around them as he came.
Their movements inside him picked up now, and a rhythm was established. In went Hotch's cock, in went Rossi's, sliding against Hotch's as he pulled out slightly and pushing against Rossi's as he pulled out while Hotch pushed back in.
They set a brutal pace, making him take it. He could feel Hotch's muscles straining and Rossi's hand was in his hair, pulling him closer, fingers sliding down to hold his neck. The other man's chest rippled under his own as he took them, as they strove to reach their own climaxes. Hotch's legs were pushing his thighs into a stretch that would have hurt if he had been more conscious to notice.
Then abruptly, Hotch slammed in one last time, grunting as he came hard in his ass, and only moments later, Rossi was doing the same, attacking his mouth fiercely as he wrenched a breathless kiss from Spencer.
They were all three breathing hard after Rossi released his mouth and started the slow process of disengaging from him. Hotch did the same after he was free and gently laid Spencer down beside him, Rossi coming up next to them not long after, on his other side.
Out of nowhere then, perhaps some time had passed without his noticing, because suddenly Hotch had a warm washcloth and was cleaning them up, a tired but sated look on his face as he did so.
He felt empty and wide open without them in him. Perhaps sensing that, they curled up around his body tighter than before, pulling up a blanket around their shoulders and tucking it in around him as well.
"Are you okay kid?" Rossi asked from behind him, soft cock touching the back of his thighs from where he was spooning up behind him.
He didn't have any words, but managed to nod wordlessly up against Hotch's chest, where his head was currently pillowed.
Minutes later, he was fast asleep.