Chapter Text
“Hotch looks really good today, don’t you think, Y/N?” Penelope asks with faux nonchalance as she leans on your desk. You don’t look up from your case files when you pull at the folder under her ass, smirking as she squawks indignantly.
“Hotch looks the same as he always does. Funny, it’s almost as if he wears the same dark-colored suits to work every day,” you reply, blankly looking up at her over the rim of your glasses. “But hey, if you’re into him, you should definitely go for it. Not sure how Sam would like that though.” Penelope giggles at that, playfully slapping your arm, and you laugh with her, leaning back in your office chair.
“Seriously, Y/N, don’t you think you’d be really cute with Hotch? You’re so tiny, and he’s so tall, and you’re so bubbly and he’s so serious, it’s like a opposites-attract-balancing thing,” she insists with her vague, excited hand movements. “Prentiss, JJ, back me up here.” JJ puts down the file in front of her face, and Emily spins her chair around, the both of them finally giving up the pretense of productivity.
“Garcia’s right,” JJ replies, Emily pointing at her with a nod. You roll your eyes at them and undo your braid. It’s ten o’clock here, you’re all on paperwork duty, the girls are all around your desk, you might as well put your hair down, cause no more work is getting done tonight. Penelope immediately starts running her hand through your soft black hair, now slightly wavy from behind tied tightly all day.
“You know, one day, when you inevitably get married to Hotch, you’re going to wear your hair down like this. I don’t understand why you tie it up so tightly all the time, it’s so pretty…” You sigh at this, tilting your head back and relaxing into the feel of her nails on your scalp as you toe off your heels under your desk. “And JJ, Prentiss, and I will be your bridesmaids, there to say ‘I told you so.’”
“Oh, there will be so many ‘I told you so’s. At your bachelorette party, your sash won’t say Bride-to-Be, it’ll say JJ, Prentiss and Garcia told me so,” Emily says, her hands fanning out in the air as if imagining it.
“Bit long for a sash, don’t you think?” you mutter, your head lolling to the side as Penelope’s hands brush through your hair. Emily only scoffs, and JJ laughs.
“Still, we get baby naming rights. They’d have cute babies, don’t you think, Emily?” She nods at this, but you raise your head, glaring at the two gossips.
“Ay, ain’t no one having any babies. You can’t have coffee or chocolate when you get pregnant, y’all, I can’t live like that.” The others laugh fondly at that, the four of you sharing an obsession with anything that can keep you alert for the long hours of FBI work.
“Y/N, just think, though, Hotch would probably loosen up so much if he were getting sex on the regular, and we all know you think he’s attractive,” Emily argues as she rolls her chair forwards and leans her elbows on your desk, and you throw your arms in the air in exasperation.
“Dude, I find every member of our team attractive. Have you not noticed that all of you are like ridiculously beautiful? Besides, y’all make it sound like I’m not getting any.” The three of them lean forward at that, their friendly, teasing smiles taking on an almost predatory edge.
“Which means you are~?” Penelope teases, taking your head in her hands and tilting it back so you look up at her. You smirk at her, and she gasps, delighted and scandalized, as you sit up and run a hand through your hair, tousling it in an act of nonchalant, sensual confidence.
“My hair may or may be the only thing that’s getting tied up is all.” JJ, Emily, and Penelope pounce on that, begging for details, and you laugh unabashedly as the four as you chatter, spending quality girl time together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Knock, Knock.
“Come in,” Hotchner intones, his fingertips massaging his eyelids after looking at the clock. 11:30 on a saturday, much too late to still be at the office, but at least he just finished the last of his work that needed immediate attention. He hears rather than sees the door close and someone approach the desk, not looking up until he catches the scent of the sweet peach perfume you put on this morning before you both left his apartment. You place a comforting hand of the back of his neck, massaging the tense muscles there while you take the pen out of his tightly clenched left hand.
“Take a breather, Aaron. I can practically hear your muscles screaming out for a break.” He huffs out a singular laugh at that before stretching his fingers and leaning back in his chair, luxuriating in your touch on his skin.
“I actually just finished. Anything else can wait until Monday, I think,” he mumbles as your hand moves to his cheek, your thumb soft against his skin.
“Well, in that case,” you say, cheerfully, you swing your body onto his lap, one arm around his neck, the other entwining your finger with his. He smiles, his lips against your temple as his other hand entangles itself in your loose hair.
“So how was your day, Y/N?” Aaron asks, his nose brushing against the shell of your ear and making you giggle and squirm in his embrace.
“Well, the girls ambushed me again today. They’re convinced you and I are perfect for each other and that they will be the bridesmaids at our wedding. Oh, and they have baby naming rights.” Aaron chuckles at that, the low timbre of his laughter reverberating through his muscles under your hands and feeding vibrations into your nerves.
“I wonder where they would get an absurd notion like that in their heads,” he jokes, his lips brushing a kiss against your cheek. “I’m still surprised that we’ve been able to fool a team of FBI profilers for this long. Makes you wonder about their skills.” You laugh at that, tucking your head under his chin, your ear pressed to his heart.
“It would take profilers to fool profilers, I guess. I also told them I got laid last night by some random dude, so that distracted them.” You feel Aaron’s muscles tense under yours, and you pat his chest, fond amusement in every touch. “Oh, hush you, I basically told them what we did last night. There’s no way in hell they’ll connect that to you,” you tease, tugging on his tie and pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.
“Did they believe you?” Aaron asks, his fingertips massaging your scalp. You nod against the skin of his neck and giggle at the memory of their faces.
“Honey, they were too interested in the rope marks on my thighs to care who put them there. You should have seen their faces. You think after me working here for six months, they would realize I’m not as innocent as my baby face would lead them to believe.” As you mention the bruises from last night, Aaron lets go of your hand and gently strokes up your skirt, his fingertips a sweet reminder on your skin.
“How are you, anyway? We were so rushed this morning, I never got to check up on you…” Your body melts against his at the caring, worried tone in his voice.
“Oh, I’m fine. You know I always love it when you leave marks; I like feeling you on me the next day,” you reply, looking up at him over the rim of your glasses and batting your eyelashes. His grip on your body tightens at the look in your eyes, and you let out a groan and tilt your head back, baring your neck as his hand puts more pressure on your bruises, the pain mixing with pleasure through your lower body.
“Y/N,” he says gruffly, his eyes dark and his pupils dilated. “It would probably be best for us to make more. If we want to keep this ruse believable as we have been.” You nod as you straighten up on his lap, your hand clenched in the shoulder of his suit as you meet his gaze with dark eyes of your own.
“We will cover my entire body with bruises if we have to… Sir.” Aaron shudders and stands up, placing you sitting on his desk, his hands already pushing up your skirt.
“You know what, Agent Y/L/N? I’m pretty sure fucking you while you’re bent over my desk will bruise you up pretty.” You hiss at that, tearing off his suit jacket while he unbuttons your blouse.
“You sure you’re not too tired from last night, boss?” you goad as you fumble with his tie. Aaron responds with a gruff snarl of his own as he throws your shirt and bra across the room and pulls you to your feet, then turning you around and pushing your torso flush against the desk with a firm hand on your back.
“You like remembering my touch, Agent Y/N? When I’m through with you tonight, you are never going to forget the feeling of me fucking you from behind and owning you.” A tremor runs through your body in response to his words and the deep bass of his voice, and you feel so grateful for the firm, steadying hand on your back when you grip the edges of the desk, bracing yourself in anticipation at the sound of a zipper behind you.