Against Protocol (Aaron Hotchner X Reader)

chapter thirteen: empty phone calls

"You will have 40 minutes to complete the final. Remember, this is your final grade for the course. Good luck, and I hope you guys have a good rest of the semester," you boldly announce, your voice reaching throughout the lecture hall, bouncing off the high ceilings.

Slowly, day by day, you and Hotch had whittled away at the mandatory classes Strauss had assigned for the past month. Finally, the last day rolled around, and you were desperately waiting to go back to the BAU. While teaching the University students about past, landmark cases and seeing their fervent interest in your field of work was pleasant, you just wanted to be back with your team, listening to Derek and Reid's witty banter while solving cases.

Hotch's adamance on returning, on the other hand, was much more palpable. He was restless, meticulously rubbing the pads of his fingers together as he constantly looked over the cases Derek had sent over. Every spare second was spent flipping through folders of work, and the fatigue in his eyes grew worse and worse.

The student's turned the first page of the test, the tedious itching of the pencil against the paper filling the room. Even though your college years were behind you, the stress that lingered in the room over their shoulders was much too familiar.

The students intensely scrutinized the test questions as you sat down next to Hotch at the desk, listening to the scratch of papers shuffling around.

His eyes wandered to his Rolex, impatiently checking the time so he could bolt out of the door and return to the BAU.

You tilt your head towards him, softening your voice so the class couldn't hear. "Relax, we'll be back in an hour. Take it easy."

He shakes his head, looking at you now. "Trust me, if you ever decide to become Unit Chief, you'll understand," he answers, returning to his paperwork.

"Unit Chief?" you reply curiously, amused at the prospect of bossing people around. "I don't think I could handle a job like that."

"Don't underestimate yourself," he advises in a sturdy tone. "You have a bright future ahead of you and the skills of a great profiler."

"Hm, well, who knows what the future holds?" you muse optimistically, feeling the hum of possibility vibrate inside of you. "Anyways, did you ever find out what happened with your door last night?"

"Must've been a temporary glitch in the system. There's a record of me locking it, no record of me unlocking it except from the inside. I guess I was so focused on you, I wasn't paying attention." He shrugged, beating himself up under his breath for being careless.

"What can I say? I'm irresistible?" you joke innocently, trying to alleviate his tensions.

"That you are," he replies, sliding his chair closer to you. His thigh rests up against yours, the fabric of his pants sliding up against your leg felt lethal in public. A small smirk was plastered on his face as he saw how nervous his touch got you.

"I'm barely touching you, and you're flustered," he whispers into your ear devilishly. You can smell the sharp scent of pine in his cologne, brushing up at the flare of your nostrils. "You look so beautiful like this. So nervous."

"We're in public," you rebuttal, trying to keep your voice down even though you ached for his touch — regardless of the impermanence. The students couldn't see under the desk, but you still felt an inkling of hesitation as Hotch's knee met yours.

Your eyes cautiously glanced around the lecture hall. You two were all the way in the corner, inconspicuous to the students who were too busy trying to pass the semester with an easy elective.

"Does it look like I care?," he monotonously answered, eyes dead set on yours. You could feel the heat of his stare, relentless.

His hand roamed the open skin of your thigh. His calloused fingers traipsed around the hem of your skirt haphazardly, like every brush up against skin was calculated and cherished.