Against Protocol (Aaron Hotchner X Reader)

chapter twenty three: wake up call

After spending so many evenings together, it had been the first time the two of you had woken up. Together.

Hotch's alarm, which was set too early for any rational thinking, rang in the hazy morning atmosphere, striking through your cloud of comfort and jolting you awake. It scratched at your ears with its unbearable ringing, but he didn't seem to mind.

From the subtle flutter of your eyelids roiled through morning grogginess, you see Hotch standing over you, buttoning up his shirt steadily.

"It is six in the morning, Hotch," you claim, fatigue tainting your words. "Do you not need sleep? Please come back to bed."

His chuckle is coated with the woozy grumble usually accompanied by sunrises and the steady spiral of steam from coffee. "It's six," he repeats as if that's a definitive answer.

"Yes, I'm well aware," you deadpan, rolling your eyes. "Which is why you should do yourself a favor and come back to bed."

His eyes playfully shift from side to side in empty contemplation. "Hm, no," he answers back, humor staining his tone. "How about I make you breakfast instead?"

You flip the comforter off yourself, getting up and sitting on your knees at the edge of the bed. You pout your bottom lip, feigning innocence as you look up at him, chin tilted towards him.

You tug at his tie, minimizing the distance between each other and drawing him in closer. "Don't you ever get tired?"

"I'd rather be tired and spend time with you," he answers, pulling his tie from your grasp and following through with the knot. There's a gentle smile plastered over his visage which only melts you further into the contentful comfort of the morning. "So, breakfast?"

Still running through the fog of waking up so early, you tilt your head back groaning as you fall back onto the bed, wrapping yourself up in the warmth of the bed. "I'm still tired," you monotonously reply.

Almost too quick for you to process, his hands rip the blanket draped over your legs off you. The shocking cold flush of the air is enough to send volts down your spine.

His hands, previously occupied with adjusting his collar, push you back onto the bed so he's towering over you. His hands dip under your pajama shorts, pulling them off carefully as his smile grows. "I can think of a few ways to wake you up."

His calloused hands push down your hips in place, running his thumbs along your inner thigh until it meets your underwear. Carefully, he pulls up the fabric on the sides of your hips, creating an unbearable friction.

You let out a small moan as his body wavers over you. "Do you want to do this? I know we were a little rough last night," he whispers into the crook of your neck as he draws tantalizing circles across your sensitive skin.

While you were still a little sore from last night, you knew Hotch wouldn't push you past your limits. You knew you could trust him to stop before hurting you.

"Yes," you whisper out as his hand goes to pull your panties aside. His thumb goes to your clit, a jolting, electrifying touch reviving you.

"I'm going to need you to be more specific on what you want. You're usually always so good with your words."

"I want you to fuck me. Please. I want you, all of you."

"Good girl," he reminds, rubbing pressured motions on your clit until you felt a consuming ache take over. He thrusts a finger in, simultaneously rough and gentle, as he whispers endearing words in your ear.

There was something inexplicable in the way he controlled your body, the way you could surrender your anatomy to him with no qualms. He was controlling, yet understanding, listening to your subtle micro expressions as he continued to pleasure you.