Warnings & Disclaimers
I do not own the characters mentioned in this story nor am I making any money off of Criminal Minds or its characters – just borrowing them for some off the clock fun.
This story is intended for mature audiences. That being said 'maturity' is not something that necessarily coincides with the number of years that someone has lived. If you're already watching Criminal Minds there won't be anything any more graphic or gory than what you're already watching on television. However, if you are sensitive to vivid descriptions of violence, injury, or sex then please move on. There are also occasional hints at child/domestic abuse so if this is a trigger for you this may be a story to avoid.
The characters in this story engage in some very big no-no's for kink practitioners, namely drinking before a scene and using it to supplement substance abuse. Please if these ideas appeal to you in real time, do your research and be as safe as possible. Any ventures into this lifestyle should be done with a clear head and with someone who values your safety as much as you do.
This is my first story for and though I have many kinks public humiliation is not one of them so if you spot an error or have a major grievance with the story, please contact me privately rather than posting it to a public forum.
Many thanks to the DarknessIstheUniverse for all of the encouragement, proof-reading, and general hand-holding that it took to get me to finally post something.
All though this has been lightly proofed all remaining errors and inconsistencies are mine and mine alone. Thank you for taking the time to read this and all of your comments and constructive critiques are valued and welcomed.
"All his days are sorrow, and his work is full of grief. Even in the night his heart has no rest. This again is to no purpose." – Ecclesiastes 2:23
"Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh." – Leonard Cohen
Spencer tried to stifle a sob as he stood facing the strong and solid oak door that stood between him and what he hoped would provide him comfort.
He couldn't block out the failure that seemed to threaten to swallow him whole. The entire team had just weathered a terrifying and disappointing case. The UnSub had dissembled and deceived just long enough for his captive to expire in the cruelest of fashions. There was something about this victim, a young boy, which struck Spencer harder than any of their recent cases.
Each of the team members could barely hide their reaction to the sight of the young blonde male lying bruised and lifeless on the floor. Spencer knew what he'd suffered before he had died, the entire team knew all too well, but for Spencer he couldn't help but feel defeated. Not too long ago he had been one of the lucky ones, saved just in the nick of time, with nothing to show for it but the memories that would not cease in times like these.
As Spencer stood frozen in front of the door, he fought to uncover the words that would express just how he was feeling without rousing suspicions that he was flirting with the idea of using again. Rossi would have a few drinks, reflect on those he did save, and retire to sleep. JJ had her family. Prentiss seemed to have mastered the art of compartmentalization. Morgan would go running or begin some sort of labor-intensive activity. Then there was Aaron Hotchner, what was he doing? Spencer had overheard Hotch telling Rossi that Jack would be away when he got home – something about a sports summer camp.
Spencer's thoughts overwhelmed him as he imagined his cold and lonely apartment and Hotch coming home to the same situation when what he considered what he could be coming home to. Spencer released a sob that he didn't know he was holding in, as tears ran down his cheeks.
The door in front of him opened and there stood his superior, still in his work clothes, tie loosened, with drink in hand.
Hotch took in the younger man's appearance and without a word placed a hand on the back of his neck and guided him inside – Spencer followed him without resistance. Hotch set the drink down and gathered the young man into his arms. They stood in the entrance to the apartment that way for several moments, neither one of them moving, just breathing softly and settling deeper into the comforting embrace.
When Spencer released another audible expression of his sadness he pulled away and began trying to cover up his melancholy by speaking in his trademark rapid fire pace.
"I'm sorry. I just didn't know where else to go. I thought that everyone else would be occupied. Not that you couldn't be. I'm mean, uh, am I interrupting something? No, I should go."
Hotch placed his hand on Spencer's shoulder. "Would you like something to drink?"
Without thinking Spencer accepted.
Hotch fixed him a glass to match his own –half empty and filled with a mysterious brown liquid that made Spencer's nose and throat burn as he took the first sip. Hotch took the lead and went to sit in a single leather chair in the corner of his apartment. Spencer followed awkwardly placing himself across from Hotch on the matching leather couch.
After several long moments of silence, Hotch swallowed the rest of his drink and set down the glass on the table in front of him. "No matter how seasoned you become there are still those cases that strike you as if you were a cadet fresh out of the classroom. Empathy isn't something you can turn off," Hotch rose and walked behind Spencer freshening his glass, "I could see my son in his face." Hotch couldn't bear to see Spencer's face with that confession. He couldn't bear knowing anyone knew those thoughts and not having to look at his confessor helped maintain that reality.
Hotch remained at the bar longer than necessary waiting for Spencer to speak.
"I could see too many painful memories on that final victim. He was me back in the god-awful marsh and he," Spencer let out a long breath, "he was you-I mean-he was what I feared we'd find when we got to your house. " Spencer hurried to explain his thinking, "He couldn't have been – I knew that- I mean that day of our interview in the prison. I really believed you were ready to beat him to death if it came down to that."
Hotch couldn't help it and he chuckled aloud at that last sentiment. "I think he liked that idea a little too much."
Spencer bristled at these words. The thoughts of his unblinking coworker brought the inevitable to mind – had he really stared down Foyet? Did he look him in the eyes while he killed him too? He knew that Hotch had a hate and vengeance- filled current running through him that he kept well in check. Spencer had seen it in that prison and every time that Hotch encountered a man that enjoyed tormenting those that couldn't fight back. His empathy with the Hollow Creek victim turned UnSub connected at just that point. Spencer suspected that Hotch had let him take the shot. He wondered how much satisfaction was mingled in the death of the Hollow Creek killer and Foyet.
Spencer suspected that Hotch's desire to rip into someone with his bare hands probably reared its head more than he would like the team to know and more than Hotch wanted to acknowledge.
When Hotchner returned with Spencer's glass he took a faint sip and then waited a few beats before downing the entire glass. Hotch's brow furrowed with concern at this display.
"It isn't just the case that you're trying to drown out is it?" Hotch said as he watched the young man close his eyes trying to absorb the burn and heady sensation that the liquor brought with it. "What did you come here to ask me?"
Spencer let out a deep breath he didn't know he was holding, "I know there is a scientific explanation for what I want, not like that makes it any better. When the body experiences prolonged exposure to pain it floods itself with epinephrine, endorphins and enkephalins. It's our body trying to preserve what is left of our sanity by taking us out of the moment by sending the brain on a self-induced drug, for want of a better word, trip. The pain must remain constant and even in its intensity for this to be achieved, generally but there are those, practitioners who dabble in this kind of pain for pleasure or a transcendental experience, who claim that this can become a conditioned response."
Hotch remained inscrutable throughout this litany but eventually, as Spencer began to devolve into a human textbook, he held up his hand and spoke,
"That's not what happened," Spencer's voice wavering and threatening to revert to the tears that he had tried to desperately to choke back. "I never went away. I remember everything, even through the drugs, I did my best to remain vigilant and thoughtful. I remember it all and it comes back without warning. I have nothing to show for it. I know this sounds callous, especially saying it to you, but all I have are memories as thick as any scar tissue…"
"What is it that you want, Reid?" Aaron's tone was even but ever so forceful – maybe being told to give up the information would relieve him of his guilt. Yet he was still unsure of what he would do with this confession once it had been heard.
"In the period between the two world wars a theatre called the Grand Guignol was one of the most popular in Europe. Guignol featured the most graphic and violent plays that had ever been produced up until that time. Paula Maxa, one of the most frequent female performers, and was known as the most assassinated woman in the world because she had been murdered 10,000 times in more than sixty different ways and raped on stage more than 3,000. They speculated that the popularity of the theatre for the performers and audience members was the catharsis. The brutality of everyday life could only pale in the face of this kind of violence and cruelty. In the overwhelming violence there was release."
Aaron leaned forward his brow furrowed with intensity, "It's a bit early for your annual Halloween theatre venture so Reid, I'll only ask you once more, why did you come here?"
"I want something to remember. I want something tangible. I want to bruise and bleed and I want to watch it heal and be done with it. I want to look up and see someone I trust and I don't want to be scared."
Hotch knew the last piece of information was coming but it still did not prepare him to hear it. That was the thing about profiling, so often it was intuitive but rarely did the why and the how come to you at once. He knew that Spencer wanted a fix of some kind. He just hadn't fully absorbed what role he would play in the scenario.
"And you came to me because of all of the others you thought that I would gain something from the experience? You think that I look in the mirror and see the likeness of someone who would have no problem making sure you had all of the scars and bruises that you think you deserve – that you need," he fought to keep the bitterness and anger from his voice, "You suspect that there may be a part of me that would gain satisfaction from giving you what you need."
Hotch's tone was less accusatory and more in the vein of putting words to what he thought Spencer was dancing about saying. He could tell that he had probably put too fine a point on it because no sooner had he finished speaking and looked into the young man's eyes then Spencer had taken to his feet.
"I shouldn't. I'm sorry." He said heading towards the door, wobbling a little, more from fear than from the alcohol, as he took each wide stride to the exit of Hotch's apartment.
Aaron was still unsure if this was part of the game, the lead in that Spencer needed to set the scene, but he took the opportunity nonetheless. Following quickly behind Spencer he grabbed him and forced him up against the entryway wall, hitting him hard enough to startle him but not enough to harm him.
Reid let out a gasp as the wind was knocked from him and the tears began to flow down his cheeks of their own accord.
"You have just admitted to me that you think I would take satisfaction in beating you – you should know better than to turn your back on me." Hotch growled, using his body to keep the young man upright as he grabbed a fist full of his hair and forced Spencer's tear-filled eyes to meet him.
Reid blinked back tears and stared into Hotch's eyes. He could feel the tingle of pain spreading throughout his scalp and resolve as something electric and pleasant as it melted down his spine.
As he continued to fight to regain his breathing Hotch leaned in to his ear, his warm breath sending another shot of electricity throughout his body, "Spencer, listen to me because I am not going to repeat this; I will allow you to beg, plead, cry, and say no. If you want this to stop I want you to say the word, 'red' and if you feel like I'm pushing you toward a panic attack or if we need to lighten things, 'yellow' is your word."
Spencer relished the closeness of the other man and tried to press their cheeks together, causing the grip on Reid's hair to strain. Before Reid could maintain the contact with Hotch's cheek Reid's head was jerked back in to position. Reid yelped and slowly nodded his head, trying not to lose what little contact remained.
Hotch tightened his grip on the younger man's hair and took a step back. Firmly holding Spencer's head in place, he raised his hand, and before Spencer could register what was happening, brought a firm open-handed blow to the young man's cheek, "Yes, sir." Hotch said, staring coldly at the younger man. He pulled Spencer's head back into place. "I want to hear it."
Before Reid could clear the ringing in his head, he spoke, his voice shaking uncontrollably, "Y-yes, sir."
In that broken small voice Hotch could hear his brother - the same sounds and the same deep angry male voice demanding respect. Hotch shook his head and Spencer flinched thinking he'd done something wrong. No, this was very different: Spencer had a way out and Hotch would stop, still the experience threatened to dance on his trigger points just as readily as it did for the shaking young man in front of him. Though in a way this felt good, he was so focused on the details of the scene that he had all but forgotten the previous day's events. He couldn't help but hear Foyet's words, "maybe this will change the way that you profile." Maybe it would change a lot more than that for both of them. But this was not the time for introspection; there was time enough for that in the rest of his life.
Hotch grabbed Spencer by the back of his shirt collar and shoved him back into the apartment.
"On your knees," He said applying a bruising pressure to Spencer's shoulders and dropping him to the floor, quickly snatching his cuffs of the counter and slapping them onto Spencer's wrists.
Aaron circled Spencer, examining his features, allowing him to wallow in the distress that he seemed to crave. For a moment Aaron allowed himself to deconstruct the situation – in his line of work this situation, someone at his feet in handcuffs, was not uncommon. Yet he would not get to exact the kind of pain that Spencer was bound for on those men. Spencer was not those men and he did not deserve the pain that he desired yet deserving was a concept, Hotch thought,that needed to be barred from his thoughts tonight. Spencer did not deserve what he wanted, and Hotch would not deserve the guilt he would feel upon the evening's conclusion, but they were both bound for it nonetheless.
Aaron looked down at the pale and shaken young man and grabbed his chin, forcing his eyes to meet his dark glare, "Do not move, do you understand me?"
Spencer closed his eyes and willed himself to push Aaron just a bit farther, he nodded in understanding and was not surprised when a resounding slap crossed his cheek making the space between his ears echo.
"Yes, Sir." Spencer flinched as he forced the words out of his mouth.
Hotch dropped his hand, strode around the young man a few more times, and then abruptly left the room.
Spencer closed his eyes and tried to maintain the position he had been placed in but as the moments seemed to stretch out longer and longer he couldn‟t resist the temptation to rest back on his heels. He could hear Hotch moving about the other rooms of the house; in the bedroom, kitchen, the bathroom and back. Reid fought the urge to try and understand what was going on out of his sight. He knew what he had asked for and he knew that in the end he could trust Aaron to give it to him. As he let out a sigh of resignation when he heard Aaron enter the room behind him.
Without a word, Hotch grabbed the link between Spencer's cuffs and pulled him to his feet. Spencer let out a high pitched gasp of surprise as he was moved by Aaron's momentum out of the living room.
Aaron shoved him toward the bedroom, following as Reid struggled to regain his footing and move forward all at once. As Spencer felt himself forced through the doorway of the bedroom his sight landed on the bedroom dresser.
The countertop of the dresser had been cleared off save for some strategically placed items; a large navy blue candle that had already been lit, the lighter that had been used to ignite it, Aaron's thin black belt, another set of cuffs, a black necktie, a large serrated kitchen knife, rubbing alcohol, a long feather, a straight razor, and Aaron's side arm.
The final item hit Reid harder than any blow could have and he quickly began to backpedal out of the room only to find himself pressed up against Hotch‟s chest. Spencer turned sharply, falling to the hard wood floor in the process, and began to scoot, with great determination, away from the older man. "Y-y-you can‟t do this. Y-you know what he did to me. W-Why is that there?"
Aaron remained silent as he crouched over the fearful Dr. Reid. Spencer shuffled back from him until he ran into the foot of the bed and the oak slats of the bed frame. Without explanation, Hotch flipped the young man onto his stomach, pinning his legs underneath him and unlocked the cuffs, then turned Spencer to face him, and secured his hands above his head and to the bed frame.
Hotch stood and walked toward the dresser to retrieve his first implement for the evening, the straight razor – a remnant of his childhood yet never the item that brought fear to his eyes. No, this had been passed on through his family along with the fondness for brutalizing the smaller members of the household with the strap that accompanied it. Until tonight, the razor had sat at the back of his medicine cabinet as a reminder of why he
went to work every day. Some of us grow up to catch the bad guys, he thought with a rueful shake of his head. He would soak in the guilt later, tonight was about giving Spencer what he wanted.
Aaron flicked open the razor blade and let his lips shift into a smile as he observed Spencer's very genuine reaction of fear Hotch brought the blade to Spencer's cheek and scrapped in a downward motion as if he were clearing invisible shaving cream from his face. He laughed as Spencer flinched again.
"So you want scars you can see. Should I start here?" Spencer stifled a cry as Hotch drug the tip end of the razor down Spencer's cheek hard enough to scratch him but nothing permanent…yet.
"Every time you look in the mirror to gel that new boyband hair of yours you can be reminded of the one time that you were tortured and bled yet loved every minute of it." Aaron did little to resist the urge to press himself against the younger man as he whispered this in his ear. Aaron gathered up another handful of Spencer's hair and took his free hand and drew a matching line down the other side of Spencer's cheek.
Spencer tried to draw away from Aaron by giving slack to his handcuffs and pulling up toward the head board.
Aaron began to unbutton Spencer's vest and the collared shirt underneath it and forced it down to Spencer's bound wrists. One look at the young man's unmarked chest brought back a flood of memories; the UnSub who enjoyed carving the hearts out of young women that he lured home using his young son as bait and of his own unmarked skin before that night that he lay helpless before Foyet.
Spencer watched through half-lidded eyes as Hotch's movements stilled and he seemed to retreat inward for a moment. Spencer knew where he was going and would have none of it. He could still feel the slap reverberating in the back of his mind but he knew that if he didn't act now the evening would end, both of them more angst-filled and frustrated than before it began.
"I knew you wouldn't do it," he said quietly at first, looking down at the razor in Aaron‟s hand. "I knew you wouldn't do it. Did he call you a coward too when he hit you with the strap that went with that?" Spencer knew it was probably an awful idea to goad Aaron but he couldn't let it end here.
Aaron‟s eyes snapped back at Spencer filled with sadness and then with rage. He grabbed the young man‟s face, hard enough to leave his fingerprints behind, "Care to repeat that?" He said holding the blade to the young man‟s throat.
Before Spencer could speak, Aaron had discarded the razor, and was holding his jaw firmly in place as he landed another blow to Spencer‟s cheek. As his eyes filled with tears, Aaron unlocked the cuffs and pulled Spencer to his feet.
"A coward?" Hotch said with a laugh in his voice. He pulled Spencer‟s vest and shirt from him and bent him over the bed after re-cuffing his hands in front of him. He flicked the razor closed and put it in his pants pocket and picked up the belt from the dresser.
"How many times-" Hotch unfurled the belt, "have I-" he doubled it over, "stood between you and the harm that was due to you?" Hotch cracked the belt once and watched as Spencer‟s body tensed – without warning he struck, the first blow landing squarely between Spencer‟s shoulders. Without giving him time to answer or recover he struck twice more in succession.
"Well?" He asked, his voice demanding – Spencer could almost see him behind his mahogany desk in the office and the idea of being bent over that desk made him squirm with arousal.
Hotch struck him again, this time harder than the first, this one raised up an angry welt instantaneously. "I asked you a question Reid and I expect an answer." Then another toe-curling blow just a hair away from the first angry red stripe.
"I-I don't know." Before Spencer could remember to finish his sentence properly Hotch struck him three more times, his shoulders began to take on a pinkish glow. There was something about the way the young man squirmed and whimpered that drew Aaron's mind away from the violence of the situation and deep into the eroticism of it. With each lick of the thin leather belt to Spencer's skin he smiled as Spencer pressed himself into
the mattress letting out a noise in between a helpless cry and moan.
Aaron focused on each blow to the younger man trying to maintain a steady rhythm with a growing level of intensity and force, each time hitting harder than the last. As the pain increased, and the sounds of his cries and the belt filled the room, Spencer began to squirm in earnest to escape the pain as his back and shoulders began to take on an angry red glow reminiscent of fresh meat.
"For someone-" he struck Spencer with his full strength behind it, Spencer let out a yell but Hotch continued to speak, "with an eidetic memory-" a lighter blow this time, "things seem to enter one part of your brain and exit just as quickly."
Hotch struck him several more times before continuing, "I know," he said with a tone of firm understanding, "it has to be written down, right? That is how I get through to you?" He struck him again repeatedly, then stopped, dropped the belt to the floor, and admired his work – Spencer's back was indeed the color of raw meat, with several errant welts rising quickly to the surface.
Hotch pulled at the link on Spencer's cuffs yanking the young man backward so that he landed, with force, up against Aaron's chest. Spencer yelped at the sudden impact and the roughness of Hotch's shirt on his raw back.
Aaron pulled Spencer toward the dresser so that Spencer could look into the mirror that hung atop it – given the height of the two men it gave an expansive view that stopped teasingly at the top of their belts. Spencer took in his appearance, hair matted with sweat but cleared from his eyes and chest pale with light definition. Behind him stood Aaron, still in what he had worn to the office but without the tie and jacket. Their bodies were no longer touching but Reid shifted self-consciously hoping that Aaron wouldn't notice his arousal. He knew Aaron would be gracious enough generally to chalk it up to adrenaline or fear. Yet he was uncertain of what this Aaron would do with the, uh um, development. To his relief, as Aaron examined their reflections he remained silent on the matter.
Hotch reached up to Spencer's hair, running his hand through it, clearing the stray pieces from the young man‟s tear-soaked face, and then sharply grabbing a handful and bringing Spencer's ear to meet his lips as he leaned forward. "Maybe if I write it down for you then you won't forget."
Aaron retrieved the straight-razor from his pocket and brought it to Spencer's neck. Spencer tried to breathe as shallowly as possible to avoid the contact of the razor to his throat but found it pressed there firmly all the same.
"The question is where will I write it?" Hotch said smiling at their reflection. Spencer's cheeks and lips were flushed red despite the fear.
Aaron let his wrist slacken and the razor moved slowly away from Spencer's throat and slowly traveled down his neck, teasingly across his collarbone until the tip came to rest at the sensitive piece of flesh just underneath Spencer's very prominent collarbone.
Without warning Hotch pressed the end of the razor down firmly drawing a short diagonal line from just below Spencer's collarbone. The blood rose up from the cut instantly and Spencer watched their reflection transfixed by Hotch's large but dexterous hand as it carved out the first two lines of a primitive 'S' on his skin.
The slow and steady pain with each line that followed lulled Spencer into an intoxicated haze as his sight dulled in focus and he felt his body leaning back onto Hotch. Hotch's other hand still tightly entwined with his hair and holding his head upright. The twinge of pain that Spencer felt when he surrendered and allow Hotch to hold his head in place as his focus softened. As Spencer's eyelids threatened to close on the enthralling view of blood running languidly down his chest and Hotch's eyes narrowing as he fought to keep his hand steady and complete the final letter on Spencer's chest an 'R.'
Spencer could feel himself losing his hold on the world around him, not passing out or fainting but becoming supremely calm as each cut, each dose of pain served to drive him even further from himself. He was so completely in the moment yet couldn't be
any further removed as Hotch completed the last letter and then grinned fiendishly as he went to underline the word, Spencer could feel his knees giving out.
"Aaron," he gasped as he could no longer maintain control of his legs and they gave out beneath him.
Hotch dropped the razor to the floor and in an instance Spencer was in his arms as if he had been a swooning maiden and Aaron his valorous knight. Yet for the life of him he couldn‟t recall a single Arthurian legend when the maiden was carved up by her beloved. Beloved. In his adrenal-drunken haze that was a word that seemed to swirl about his brain as Hotch place him gently on the bed.
Hotch climbed onto the bed after him and again gathered his hair in his hand forcing Spencer to look into his eyes. This time he allowed their cheeks to press together tightly as he whispered in the young man's ear, "Do you want me to stop, Reid?" Hotch's tone was a serious and formal one that despite its intent only played at the periphery of Spencer's consciousness.
Spencer let out a long sight and let his face rest upon the older man's cheek enjoying the strain that it put on his hair and how it seemed to keep him in this new distant state.
"Answer me, Reid!" Hotch demanded sounding more and more like his Unit Chief self.
"Please. Please keep going, sir." Reid tried to force out in a longing plea but came out more as a strained whisper.
"Good boy." Hotch said as he quickly separated from their intimate contact and stood up from the bed.
Hotch gathered up the necessary tools to complete what he had in mind for the night and laid them on the bed out of Spencer's view. Again he doubled the belt over in his hands and struck it forcefully across Spencer's already welted back.
Spencer was lost in the sheer bliss of the sensation. For once it felt so good to be out of control, allowed to cry out the instant he felt pain, and to know that he was completely safe even as he was immersed in pain. The first strike of the belt was jarring and difficult to take but with the second one he could feel the pain entering his skin and then spread throughout his body as a warm electricity traveling all the way to the tips of his toes like the sweet and fleeting pain of the first penetration. The effect that these sensations had on him were similar as well and he worried for a moment what Aaron would think if he were to turn him over and discover his rejuvenated arousal.
Spencer was both relieved and incredibly nervous when he felt the older man‟s weight transfer onto the bed and come to settle on the lower half of his body as Hotch straddled him.
The sterile smell of alcohol hit Spencer's senses first and then a cold and wet sensation on his back. He shivered as a few stray drops made their way onto the new and angry welts. Spencer let out a small whine as the burn tingled through his back and he pushed forward on the mattress trying to absorb the pain, move away from the burn of the alcohol, and to ease the uncomfortable tightness in his slacks.
Aaron smiled as he felt the younger man shift beneath him. Without much consideration, Aaron slapped Spencer's reddened shoulder blades sharply several times to draw his attention to the man above him.
"Ow! Please, please Sir, don't."
"I see the genius‟ learning is also enhanced by threats," Aaron placed one hand on the mattress and leaned down to Spencer's ear.
"It's not like you‟ll be able to read this one anyhow." He used his free hand to flick open the razor blade that he had placed in his slacks pocket.
Hotch let the cool steel blade run along Spencer's cheek and put forth an concerted effort to frown as Spencer's eyes widened and his hips bucked forward.
"Please no, sir. No more," He whined, "Please don't do this."
Aaron ignored his pleas and pressed the blade down on Spencer's back tentatively tracing the red line made earlier by his belt.
Spencer took in a deep breath and his cries ceased to become audible as Aaron made the second pass at his mark. This time instead of an angry red scratch Spencer‟s pale skin gave way and allowed a tentative red drool of blood to run down Spencer's back.
Aaron fought the associations that came with this site. It was difficult to eroticize something that had become so taboo and yet so over-exposed to him. Though after the seventh and eighth pass over Spencer's marred and welted skin the young man beneath him had stilled completely. Spencer's moans and whimpers had dissipated until all that was left were the faint rustling from the sheets as Hotch moved to adjust himself so that he could reach his entire canvass of Spencer's back.
After the steady impact of the belt, Spencer felt like his entire sense of the world was centered on his back – his arousal, turmoil, and sadness were all centered in the angry red, welted streaks along his shoulder blades and back. The first cut had shocked him but he had imagined this situation so often that is was wonderful to experience something that was just as pure, anguishing, and arousing as his fantasy. As each shock of pain hit him, as his skin was split with Aaron's razor, he felt a strange pull in his chest. Slowly his finger and toes began to tingle and then go numb, the disappearance of sensation traveled up his arms and legs until it centered in that strange pull at the center of his chest. Spencer was finding it harder to breathe.
It took an immense amount of effort to move his lips to form his word, "Help me," he tried to force it out but it came out no louder than a whisper.
Aaron continued to cut until his hands were stained and Spencer‟s back was streaked and sticky with blood. Hotch could feel Spencer's vacancy. Maintaining his role he issued a few sharp blows to Spencer's freshly cut back and was stunned when this issued no more than a vague moan from the young man.
Hotch turned Spencer onto his back, not caring about the blood that would surely streak his sheets once the scene had ended. Spencer's eyes were open wide with fear but his entire body had gone limp and pliant to his touch as Hotch brutally ran his nails down the young man's chest.
"Help me, Sir." Spencer whispered again. Hotch could see his mouth move but did not hear a sound escape. He leaned closer, grabbing a handful of the young man's hair, "What did you say, Reid? Should I write it somewhere else for you?"
Spencer wondered when he would lose consciousness but that moment never came but as Hotch made the first cut on the young man‟s chest he felt himself falling deeper into his haze. He was caught in that dream where you find yourself stepping of a curb but the street is not beneath your feet and you begin falling into oblivion. Oblivion yawned out in front of Spencer as he fell in head long with each cut Hotch made to his skin. This was better than any drug-induced euphoria – he was keenly aware of everything going on around him but so gloriously separate from it all.
He watched from a distance as Hotch made the cuts to his chest, writing out „Sir‟ along the side of his ribcage – deep enough so that it would leave the scars that Spencer desired.
Spencer watched removed and curious as Hotch self-consciously brought the blade to his lips and licked some of the red fluid from it – no doubt to satisfy a curiosity. Spencer fought to regain his bearings as Hotch approached him with a candle from the dresser, dribbling the melted wax onto his hand and then allowing it to cascade slowly onto the fresh wounds that he had created on the young man.
Spencer knew the science behind why he could barely care to feel the hot wax hitting his skin and why it only sent him deeper into the euphoria. Yet in the fog he could care less to conjure up the names of the chemicals that he had begged Hotch so tearfully to unleash in him. The older man was hovering above him now with that large serrated kitchen knife and in this state of mind Spencer did not find it hard to look unblinking into the Aaron's eyes. Those dark concerned circles held him into reality they were his escape, his entrance back into the present, to safety.
Hotch brought the larger knife down onto Spencer's skin but instead of make more angry red lines he used it to sheer off the blue wax that had spattered onto Spencer's skin. Underneath the blue were more angry red marks from the heat of the wax.
When all of the wax had been cleared from Spencer's skin, Hotch dropped the knife off the bed and crawled up Spencer's still form until they were face to face. Even though Spencer felt himself floating above his body he could feel the warm comforting weight of the older man, his arousal pressing into the younger man's thigh and Spencer's own erection straining back against him in kind. "Please," Spencer was able to gasp out, "please, Sir."
Hotch grasped the young man's hair again and brought his lips just a breath away from Spencer's lips.
"Still not satisfied?" He said with a hit of amusement in his voice.
"Please, Sir," he whimpered again.
"What do you want?" Hotch said pulling back to look into Spencer's eyes, using his leverage to place the younger man's head in a position of strained submission – head back and gazing up at him, held tightly by his hair.
"Hit me again, Sir. Please. Do it again and don‟t stop," Spencer begged as he could feel himself caught somewhere in between reality and drifting above the entire scene.
Hotch leaned to one side, moving his weight from Spencer and without giving them either a moment to question the situation he delivered a resounding slap to Spencer's cheek. The ringing barely had time to subside when Spencer felt himself fall into he moment as his head began to ache and feel as heavy as a stone. A second slap and the tears that had ceased to flow during the scene sprang back to life yet devoid of the anguish he had felt earlier that night. A third and final slap and Spencer was ripped from the last of his haze and all at once he could feel the burns from the wax, the cuts from the razor, and the bruising that was surely there from the belt against his back.
Hotch never broke eye contact and he could see the change in Spencer's face as he seemed to come back into the moment.
In a wet gasp Spencer spoke his first words loud and clear,
"Thank you, Sir."
Hotch's grip on the young man's hair softened and he gathered his face into his hands and kissed him as he felt the scene slip away from them both. Spencer gasped with shock and surprise, never expecting this development no matter how much he had hoped for it. He expected to make a rebuffed advance and get a lecture on transference on the ride back to his apartment but not this.
As Aaron held Spencer deep in the kiss he fumbled for the keys in his other pocket and unlocked Spencer's cuffs that still held his hands at his waist. Immediately Spencer wrapped his arms around the older man in a firm and loving embrace.
Aaron looked into his eyes, "Are you sure, Spencer?"
After everything that Aaron had done to him the evening those words hit him the hardest and his bottom lip began to tremble. Aaron rolled off of him and backed away. "I'm sorry, Reid."
Spencer reached out quickly and grabbed a handful of Aaron's shirt before he could move out of reach.
"I didn't think you would want me not…not after what I asked you to do to me…after the addiction – things I said – what I accused you of wanting but not admitting to." Aaron watch Spencer critically as he spoke, taking in his dilated pupils, how his teeth were beginning to chatter, and the involuntary shivers that seemed to run through him at random moments.
"I'm going to leave for a second but I will be right back."
When Aaron returned he was clutching a glass of orange juice which he politely handed to Reid who had shifted to a sitting position against the headboard of the bed with a pillow cushioning his back.
"Drink it as quickly as you feel that you can. You went into shock and you'll need this for your blood sugar."
Spencer smiled and finished the glass the best he could and set in Hotch's nightstand. He didn't have the energy or desire at that moment to correct him on what he had just witnessed but shock was close enough. Instead, Reid just stared at him not knowing what to say - a rarity – Spencer Reid was speechless.
Hotch walked over to the bed and sat down next to Reid. Without hesitation, Spencer leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the older man. Reid nuzzled Hotch's neck as the older man remained stoic.
"This isn't transference. I wanted you to do more than you did when you were leaning over me. I could barely speak. I felt like I was falling and I kept asking you to help me,"
Aaron pressed his cheek to the young man's head, "I couldn't hear you. Did you want me to stop?"
Reid tightened his grip on the older man. "No, you did everything that I wanted you to. It's just," Reid took in a shaky breath, "when I was using, when you had me in that deep euphoria, I would think about," he cleared his throat and closed his eyes, "I wanted someone to be intimate with – to be close with someone while I was so far away. It was the only time that my mind was truly quiet - that's what I miss about it."
"And I was worried that you would feel used," Hotch quipped as he held onto the younger man.
Reid let out a deep sigh and moved as close as he possibly could to the older man as he laid tentative and light kisses along the older man's neck.
"Reid, I don't know how much will happen tonight but I do want you to stay if you're alright with that?"
Reid moved forward and climbed onto Hotch's lap and began kissing him in earnest. When he pulled back to catch his breath he spoke,
"I don't want to go home. I was hoping you would ask. I don't have to stay in here if you want to take it slowly," said moving his hips so that their cloth-covered arousals grazed each other. "I can move out to the couch now if you'd like," Spencer whispered nipping at Aaron's ear.
Hotch hooked his fingers in Spencer's belt loops. "Do I have to handcuff you again?" He said doing his best to bring that trademark threatening tone to his voice.
"As you wish, Sir."