[cm fic] leave a mark, h/r, R.
Title: Leave a mark.
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Rating: R
WC: 553
Spoilers: post LDSK.
AN: so I’m sure many people have done post LDSK fic but I’m new to the pairing so I’m testing out the waters. Still not right with Hotch’s voice. Feedback of all kinds would be lovely :D
&^*
The same two men. Again, again. Still, different.
They flare and fade. They break.
Just as Spencer curls his hips, sinks further down; the same way that he knows to lift and twist right there and dig his fingers into skin there, yes, there. Just as his head is back and pale skin inviting; honey hair crisscrossed, X marks the spot, Aaron moving in to bite. Bite gentle.
Just the same as they do in bed, the light left on: they break.
Aaron says, “Is it true, what you told me?”
Spencer has the good sense to look only half surprised, since when? he must be thinking. Since when do we chatter here in this cheap hotel room? In this sin.
“What did I tell you?”
“With words, you told me I kicked like a little girl. In other ways, you told me you were bullied. Beaten.”
Spencer does not make or keep eye contact, despite his training, despite knowing better. Yes, he knows shame, and how to look for it; he knows it too well, like breathing. Here he is on soiled sheets with a man [body, body, friend, lover] promised to somebody else. Something else.
“Are you going to profile me?
“No. I’ve already done that. A long time ago.”
“Then why would we discuss my unstable childhood?” There’s the shield, chinks in the armour. “If there’s nothing I can tell you that you don’t already know, if you’ve calculated the number of disorders I’m susceptible to, psychologically and genetically, the number of crimes I might have committed if I were on the other side of this … this. Why ask questions you already have answers for?”
Spencer slips and Aaron smiles softly. “I never asked a question.”
Spencer is ruffled, outside his safe zone, and all that he knows, the 20,000 words a minute, is sweeping out through the window with his willpower. He slips on jeans, no underwear, Aaron watching from the bed, soaking it in.
“This question I’m in trouble for though never asked. May I ask it now?”
Spencer's shirt is rumpled in his hand, a button loose from impatience [torn, torn off him].“Look, this isn’t-”
“Did they hit you in the face?”
Spencer stares. He should know where this is going. “Yes.” He doesn’t. “Why?”
Aaron detangles himself from the sheets and strolls over, unabashed; only a sheen of sweat and pink, fading marks on his skin, Spencer’s hand. No badge, no gun, just his profile, just the key to it all. He steps in close enough, enough to touch a thumb to Spencer’s mouth, not to intimidate.
“Visible abuse brings pity.” His thumb strokes the line of Spencer’s bottom lip, ventures up to touch at his cheekbone. Where tears fell, and stained, and stayed. “Then it brings more abuse.”
Aaron knows physical abuse, from both sides of the glass. He knows what he is doing now, in this room, and out there in that world; he knows he’s abusing Spencer. Yet there he is, every time, when he sees the scars in Spencer’s eyes. Hears the silent call. There he is, having, taking, owning.
They’re like a bruise, he and Spencer. Flare, fade. They hurt, but they always come back for more.
Aaron leans in, to kiss, and Spencer’s shirt falls to the floor.
-end-
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Rating: R
WC: 553
Spoilers: post LDSK.
AN: so I’m sure many people have done post LDSK fic but I’m new to the pairing so I’m testing out the waters. Still not right with Hotch’s voice. Feedback of all kinds would be lovely :D
&^*
The same two men. Again, again. Still, different.
They flare and fade. They break.
Just as Spencer curls his hips, sinks further down; the same way that he knows to lift and twist right there and dig his fingers into skin there, yes, there. Just as his head is back and pale skin inviting; honey hair crisscrossed, X marks the spot, Aaron moving in to bite. Bite gentle.
Just the same as they do in bed, the light left on: they break.
Aaron says, “Is it true, what you told me?”
Spencer has the good sense to look only half surprised, since when? he must be thinking. Since when do we chatter here in this cheap hotel room? In this sin.
“What did I tell you?”
“With words, you told me I kicked like a little girl. In other ways, you told me you were bullied. Beaten.”
Spencer does not make or keep eye contact, despite his training, despite knowing better. Yes, he knows shame, and how to look for it; he knows it too well, like breathing. Here he is on soiled sheets with a man [body, body, friend, lover] promised to somebody else. Something else.
“Are you going to profile me?
“No. I’ve already done that. A long time ago.”
“Then why would we discuss my unstable childhood?” There’s the shield, chinks in the armour. “If there’s nothing I can tell you that you don’t already know, if you’ve calculated the number of disorders I’m susceptible to, psychologically and genetically, the number of crimes I might have committed if I were on the other side of this … this. Why ask questions you already have answers for?”
Spencer slips and Aaron smiles softly. “I never asked a question.”
Spencer is ruffled, outside his safe zone, and all that he knows, the 20,000 words a minute, is sweeping out through the window with his willpower. He slips on jeans, no underwear, Aaron watching from the bed, soaking it in.
“This question I’m in trouble for though never asked. May I ask it now?”
Spencer's shirt is rumpled in his hand, a button loose from impatience [torn, torn off him].“Look, this isn’t-”
“Did they hit you in the face?”
Spencer stares. He should know where this is going. “Yes.” He doesn’t. “Why?”
Aaron detangles himself from the sheets and strolls over, unabashed; only a sheen of sweat and pink, fading marks on his skin, Spencer’s hand. No badge, no gun, just his profile, just the key to it all. He steps in close enough, enough to touch a thumb to Spencer’s mouth, not to intimidate.
“Visible abuse brings pity.” His thumb strokes the line of Spencer’s bottom lip, ventures up to touch at his cheekbone. Where tears fell, and stained, and stayed. “Then it brings more abuse.”
Aaron knows physical abuse, from both sides of the glass. He knows what he is doing now, in this room, and out there in that world; he knows he’s abusing Spencer. Yet there he is, every time, when he sees the scars in Spencer’s eyes. Hears the silent call. There he is, having, taking, owning.
They’re like a bruise, he and Spencer. Flare, fade. They hurt, but they always come back for more.
Aaron leans in, to kiss, and Spencer’s shirt falls to the floor.
-end-