Title: Blackwatch Plaid

Author: Kuria Dalmatia

Rating/Warnings: Oh so NC-17/FRAO (smut, mild D/s)

Characters/Pairing: Hotch/Reid

Summary: Every Catholic schoolgirl fantasy Aaron ever had comes flooding back.

Word Count: ~1400

ARCHIVING: my LJ and FFNet account... anyone else? Please ask first.

April 2011.

COMMENTS: A prompt from Ansera's CMIV Kink Meme: "Reid riding Hotch's cock while dressed in a skirt and high heels." Not exactly the entire prompt but …

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.


All Aaron can do is stare. Just stand there in the kitchen, frying eggs and staring. Because Spencer Reid … his Spencer … walks out of the master bedroom wearing a long-sleeved white shirt and goddamn plaid skirt.

And every Catholic schoolgirl fantasy Aaron ever had—especially the one where Reid dresses in blackwatch plaid, knee socks and Buster Browns—comes flooding back to him.

He's hard.

He's aching.

He's burning breakfast.

"Shit," he exclaims and pulls the pan off the stove.

Aaron turns and dumps the overcooked eggs in the sink with the garbage disposal. When he turns back, Spencer is standing in the kitchen in all his Catholic schoolgirl …


Make that Scottish clansman glory.

Spencer's wearing a kilt, complete the fur-covered pouch in the front and garters for his socks.

Aaron drops the pan on the stove. He wants to make some snappy comment like, Meeting up with Clan MacLeod today? or Would you like some wode to go with that? He doesn't. He just stares at his lover, cock aching and mouth watering.

Spencer has no right to look that goddamn sexy, with his long hair all wavy, and the white shirt impeccably tailored to fit him.

The part of Aaron's brain that hasn't dissolved into mush realizes that Spencer's in formal Highland dress. He struggles to remember why; surely, Spencer saying he was going some place in a kilt would be damn memorable. Even with that realization, Aaron is too lust-hazed to do much more than stare.

Spencer's smile is warm. The glint in his eyes wicked. Spencer reaches forward and turns off the burner on the stove. "Go to the bedroom, strip, and get out the lube." The pitch of his voice low, commanding. "Then lie on your back in the bed."

Aaron shivers and groans. Spencer doesn't exert authority often, but when he does, it's always so damn good. Aaron hastily complies, discarding his clothes haphazardly in his own eagerness. He places the lube on the nightstand, resisting the urge to slick his cock or finger himself. He has no idea if Spencer is going to fuck him or asked to be fucked.

As long as Spencer wears that outfit, Aaron doesn't particularly care.

Once in position, he turns his head and watches Spencer casually walk into the bedroom. Spencer's left hand touches the pouch and says, "It's called a sporran."

Aaron wants to say he doesn't give a shit about what it's called. He just wants to fuck, but he knows to keep his mouth shut if he wants any action.

Spencer then launches into a discourse about Scottish Highland dress and the historical significance of the plaid he's wearing. He does all this as he picks up the lube, flicks open the cap, and then drizzles it all over Aaron's aching cock.

Spencer continues to talk as he circles the bed, takes off his shoes and eventually crawls in from the bottom. He reaches under his kilt and there's no mistaking from the motions of his arm that he's fingering himself.

Aaron bites back a moan. He reaches up and grabs the slats on the headboard because he knows if he doesn't, he'll lose control. He'll get Spencer on all fours, flip the back of the kilt up and fuck him hard from behind.

Spencer's smile is even more predatory as he straddles Aaron and sits down on his hips. Aaron's cock slides against bare skin. He groans and can't help but buck a little. The whole 'Spencer goes commando' is yet another one of Aaron's kinks.

The wool is soft and not as scratchy as Aaron expected it to be. It bunches at his waist as his lover leans forward and positions himself. It only takes two tries before Spencer is slowly sinking back on Aaron's dick, taking him in inch by inch and a maddeningly slow pace that has Aaron fighting to stay still.

He's expecting Spencer to ride him slowly, to reduce him to incoherent babbling. However, once Spencer adjusts to having Aaron inside him, he reaches up and takes one of Aaron's hands away from the headboard. He places it on his bare thigh where his fingers can clutch the smooth wool. The feel of the material makes Aaron shudder.

"Would you like to hear about the historical inaccuracies of Braveheart?" Spencer asks him.

Aaron doesn't trust himself to answer because it's taking a hell of a lot of willpower not to move. He shakes his head, pleading with his eyes for Spencer to ride him. His breathing is erratic. He's gripping the fabric so tightly he thinks he'll leave wrinkles.

He doesn't care.

Spencer's cock is hard and pressing against Aaron as he leans forward. "You may place your other hand on my thigh but you cannot leave bruises. Do you understand?"

Aaron hastily nods and releases his hold on the headboard. He touches Spencer's knee and then slides his hand up under the kilt. He moans and shivers.

Spencer's smile is blinding. "I had no idea you had a Highland kink."

But before Aaron can attempt to answer, Spencer rolls his hips. Aaron gasps, bunching the kilt fabric in one hand while trying his damnedest not to clutch Spencer's thigh with his other.

Then, Spencer begins riding him in earnest, fast and hard movements that elicit gasps and moans from Aaron. The chains attaching the sporran to the belt jingle, adding to the squeaks of the mattress springs.

Aaron grabs handfuls of the kilt because he doesn't want to disobey the "no bruising" directive. He's not going to last long. He manages to get out breathless, "Close," to which Spencer increases his already near-brutal pace.

Spencer then orders, "Come for me," in that low, authoritative tone that Aaron is confident no one else on the planet besides himself has ever heard.

That's all it takes.

Aaron comes with a shout and white spots dance in his field of vision. He's babbling "OhGodSpencer" as the post-orgasmic shakes hit. Spencer slows down and then stops. He presses his fingers against Aaron's wrists, the silent request for Aaron to release the death-grip he has on the kilt. It takes a few seconds before Aaron's able to comply.

Spencer then pushes the sporran to the side, lifts the front of his kilt, and holds the edge in his teeth revealing his hard, leaking cock. Aaron's breathing still hasn't returned to normal, and he knows that it's not going to until Spencer finishes.

What stuns him, though, is that he's still rock hard and deep in Spencer's ass. What floors him is that he can feel the tingling of another orgasm building, which should be impossible given how hard he came last time. He's not some young kid who can bang off two or three in row.

Maybe he just didn't have the right inspiration.

Spencer leans back and jerks off with smooth, precise motions. He then begins rocking back and forth. The stimulation makes Aaron whine because he needs moremoremore. To hell with the unspoken rules, he decides, and he slides his hands until he's gripping Spencer's hips.

"Please," he begs hoarsely as he bucks. "Please."

Spencer nods slightly and shifts just enough to where Aaron can begin thrusting up. The kilt is still firmly between his teeth. He hasn't slowed pumping his cock, precum dripping heavily from the tip.

Aaron gets his leverage and begins moving, snapping his hips upwards. His rhythm doesn't quite match Spencer's but he knows by the way Spencer lets out a moan that he's hitting Spencer's sweet spot. He wants to talk, wants to shout out encouragements but his vocabulary is reduced to five words: Fuck, Yes, God, Please, Spencer.

Spencer's pace quickens and Aaron can feel his own balls tightening, signaling his own impending orgasm.

Aaron's now down to two words: "Godplease!" and "Fuckyes!"

When Spencer's muscles tightly sharply around Aaron's cock, it's only a matter of seconds before Spencer shoots his load across Aaron's belly.

Aaron shouts, "Fuckyes! Fuckyes! Fuckyes!" as his own climax hits him hard. There are white spots and red spots and purple spots and blue spots that blur his vision until finally blackness slams down.

The last thing he hears is Spencer's amused chuckle, "Guess I'll be wearing this more often."

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