Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“He’s not in yet.”

Derek hesitated outside Rossi’s office at the sound of the older man’s voice. He should’ve known better than to think he could be subtle in an office full of profilers. He hung outside the doorway of Rossi’s office, hoping but not really believing that he hadn’t been caught. “What?”

Rossi looked up from his paperwork. “You’ve been walking past Hotch’s office for an hour. Emily’s picking him up.”

“Hotch told me he was cleared to drive.” Derek stepped into the office. If Hotch had lied, if he wasn’t able to drive, he shouldn’t be back in the field at all. He’d pushed himself too hard after the explosion in New York and had nearly gone permanently deaf in one ear because of it. Who knows what kind of damage Hotch could do to himself with the kind of internal injuries he’d suffered?

“He is. She wants to do it.”

Okay. Derek could believe that. Emily had a sneaky way of taking care of people. She’d talk like you were doing her a favor for letting her. Derek would bet she batted her eyelashes at Hotch, and he agreed to be her passenger before he even knew what hit him.

The silence between him and Rossi stretched for a moment too long, Derek unwilling to leave just yet, and the older man noticed. He dropped his pen and leaned back in his chair. “What’s going on?”

Derek considered the offer for half a second before he took a seat in one of the chairs in front of Rossi’s desk. He needed to talk to someone about this. Someone who knew Hotch as well, if not better, than Derek himself did. “He’s only had a month off, Rossi.”

“Technically, 34 days.”

“And you think that’s long enough?” It had only been a month since Foyet. Since his home had been invaded, his family threatened, and he’d been stabbed nine times over the course of several hours. Hotch wasn't ready. He couldn’t be. No one in their right mind would be. He never should've been cleared to renter the field. But the old man didn't want to listen.

"You don't? Tell him."

"No thanks. I like my job." Morgan responded. An automatic dismissal at the thought of confronting his direct superior. He didn't actually think Hotch would fire him for disagreeing with him, but he didn't want to think about the way his dark eyes would harden, the thin line of his mouth would narrow even further. Disapproval, disappointment, maybe even betrayal.

"Yeah, but you like him more," Rossi said as if it was that simple. As if admitting something like that was something Morgan was even capable of.

Derek didn't argue. Partially because he couldn't, but mostly because he didn't want Rossi to call him on a lie like that.

He liked Hotch more than he liked his job. He'd said once that Hotch wasn't the kind of guy he'd like to have a beer with. That was still true, but he was family. Hotch was the kind of man he wanted in his corner. When the shit got tough and his back was to the wall, he knew he could count on Hotch to be there.

He wanted more than anything to be that for Hotch too, but his instincts were telling him it was too soon. Hotch was too repressed. He probably hadn't dealt with the attack, properly processed it enough to move on. Hotch was going to be a time bomb. “What if he’s got PTSD?”

“He was evaluated.”

“Come on, Rossi. We wrote those questions. Hotch knows exactly how to answer them.” Derek wondered if Rossi really had that much faith in his friend or if he was being willfully ignorant.

“So, what are you gonna do, pick apart everything he does? How long should he be gone? A year? Two?”

Derek ignored the crushing in his chest at the thought of Hotch being gone from the unit for that long. “Every day that Foyet is out there, Hotch loses, and you know that.”

“You know what that makes Hotch?”

“Distracted,” Derek answered immediately. He’d been there when Hayley and Jack were shipped off with a federal marshal to enter witness protection, he and the rest of the team.
He’d seen the broken look in Hotch’s eyes when he returned to his empty house. How could Hotch be expected to think about anything except getting his family back, catching the man responsible? How could Rossi and everyone else expect him to work ordinary cases and face down murders when the boogeyman was lurking around every corner and still unattainable?

“Motivated,” Rossi said with a kind of certainty Derek knew wouldn’t be shaken. With a defensive edge in his eye, he returned to his paperwork, effectively dismissing Derek.

He ground his teeth against the irritation that flared in him. Rossi wasn’t gonna listen. He needed Hotch to be okay more than he needed to make sure Hotch was okay.
Derek pushed out of the chair and headed for the door, turning back only when Rossi called his name.

“He’s coming back because he has to,” Rossi said, emphatically. “He needs to know we’ve got his back.”

“He knows that.”

“Then we don’t let him forget it,” Rossi said, the threat clear beneath his words.

Derek nodded and left Rossi’s office feeling worse than when he’d entered. With a sidelong glance at Hotch’s darkened office, he returned to his own desk in the bullpen and waited for the rest of the team to arrive.

JJ put him on the plane before Emily and Hotch arrived. An explosive case in Louisville, Kentucky. No time to waste. They would brief on the plane.

The others filed in and took their seats. Hotch and Emily were the last to arrive. The air thickened at the sight of their supervisor. An awkwardness, a tension that had never been there before as everyone wanted to welcome him back warmly but held back for his sake.

It smoothed out a little when Garcia showed off her new red hair and the briefing for the case began. Some of Derek’s apprehension eased at the easy way Hotch led them through their initial theories. He was soft-spoken, quieter than he usually was, but his low, gentle murmur was a soothing sound. It was enough for Derek to hope that Hotch might actually be okay, subdued, but okay.

That hope lasted until they landed. Emily and Rossi were sent to Call’s apartment, JJ and Reid to the precinct, and Hotch and Derek went to the crime scene. After the local PD showed them around the pharmacy that had become a bloodbath, Derek took point on interviewing the witnesses while Hotch analyzed the evidence.

The pharmacist was shaken up. One the verge of tears, probably being held back only by the shock. Derek was doing his best to keep her calm, but as they learned more about the situation, it only got harder.

“He didn’t turn violent until you gave him his prescription?”

“Well, it wasn’t his.” She said simply.

“You handed him a bag?”

“It was somebody else’s. I just wanted him to calm down.” She admitted.

He felt Hotch come up behind him, heard his gentle voice in his ear. “JJ’s press conference is in five minutes.”

“Hotch, we might have something else here,” Derek said. He turned back to the pharmacist and asked, “Why didn’t you give him his own medication?”

“Well, he didn’t have any refills left.”

“For what?” Hotch asked.

Derek could feel the dread building in the pit of his stomach before she started listing medication.

“Uh, Alprazolam. But, uh, he used to be on Thiothixene.”

“He was on an antipsychotic?” Hotch asked, louder than he’d been since he’d returned this morning.

“Well, that’s why I wanted him to calm down.” She said, voice thick with tears.

“You said ‘used to be’. How long has he been off them?” Derek asked.

“At least a month.”

Derek bit back the irritation that surfaced at the news. Darrin Call had been agitated, demanding his medicine. Handing him a prescription that wasn't his was maybe the worst thing she could’ve done. Refusing to give him the antipsychotic he was demanding was worse. He had to remind himself that not everyone had the extensive psychological background they had. Normal people weren't trained in crisis management.

“And when were you gonna tell us this?” Hotch asked, sarcasm making his harsh words more biting. “He’s armed. He’s delusional. Who’s his doctor?”

“Uh,” She muttered, frazzled. She threw a look behind the counter at the computer that had been damaged in the fight. “I don’t remember. My computer.”

“Great.” Hotch snapped.

“I’m sorry.” She tried.

“Great.” Hotch cut her off before she could continue with her apology. He stormed away, thumbs flying across the keys of his phone.

“Excuse us.” Derek stepped away from her. All the fear from this morning returned with full force. Hotch wasn’t normally cruel, or flippant. He was supposed to be level-headed. If he was having trouble regulating his emotions, it could be a result of the trauma.

Derek followed after Hotch toward the front door, calling his name. “Hotch.”

Hotch didn’t stop moving, phone glued to one ear, ordering him before he could even say what he needed to say. “Call JJ and tell her about the meds.”

Derek said it anyway, gesturing to the distraught pharmacist behind them. “This is not her fault.”

“Morgan, he’s in a psychotic break. It changes everything.” His voice was more frantic than Derek had heard it in a long time. He didn’t miss the way Hotch’s eyes kept straying to the patch of blood on the floor.

“You want to talk about this?” Morgan murmured, hoping that he could through the panic and to Hotch if he asked gently enough.

“No! I want to find him!” Hotch snapped. He turned his back on Derek and kept moving toward the front door. “Garcia. He’s been off his antipsychotic for a month. What else did you miss?”

Derek sighed as he watched him walk away. The line of his shoulders like a rubber band tensed and ready to snap. Hotch was losing control of himself if not the manhunt, and there was nothing Derek could do.

He had no choice but to follow Hotch into the SUV and they were off a second later when Garcia got the address for Call’s doctor. They were too late to save him. From the moment they walked in the door and found the psychiatrist lying dead on the floor, Derek could see that Hotch blamed himself. The guilt was almost palpable in the air and it was difficult to swallow around it.

“We’re too late,” Hotch said, quiet once more, and he nearly ran from the doctor’s office.

“Hotch!” Emily called after him, but he was long gone.

Derek looked down at the pool of blood on the hardwood floor. He wondered what Hotch saw. Was it his own blood, or his family’s?

“His doctor weaned him off the medication for a reason. Now that’s a big risk, so the reward would’ve been greater.” Derek mused. Back at the police station, they worked to piece together the mystery of the missing early years of Darrin Call’s life. Garcia had discovered the gap in his record in her frenzy to know anything and everything about the case after Hotch snapped at her for missing something. Derek made a mental note to talk to her about that more later.

“He needs the truth.” Emily nodded.

“He took his file. He’s got some answers.” Rossi said.

From his place at the conference table, in front of piles of information, Reid mused, “And a head start.”

“Well, we need to catch up.” Hotch insisted, staring at the evidence board like the security cam photo of Darrin Call would reveal all his secrets if he just looked hard enough.
“Records from child services have him extremely physically abused,” JJ informed them. “No signs of sexual assault.”

“That’s a miracle.” Garcia chimed in.

“Either way the trauma was debilitating.” Reid reminded her.

“Was he running from an abusive home or an abduction?” Rossi asked.

“Wouldn’t there be a paper trail if it were a kidnapping?” The LEO, Lieutenant Kevin Mitchell asked, slow Kentucky drawl slurring the words.

“Garcia look for unsolved missing children’s cases from the 1970s,” Hotch ordered.

“Now there was a case.” The LEO said. “In Hollow Creek. Kids were dead, though. Found them in pieces.”

“When was this?”

“‘75. Nobody talks about it because they never found the guy. You think Call walked away from that?”

“It’s possible.” Hotch wondered. “Garcia, send me everything.”

“Done.”

“Can you find the case file?” Hotch ordered more than asked.

“I’ll do what I can.” The LEO shrugged his mouth and backed away. Derek wished he had more confidence in the guy to deliver.

Fifteen minutes later, Derek knew he’d been right to worry.

“Where is Lieutenant Mitchell?” Hotch raised his voice enough to echo through the bullpen. Several officers glanced around, but no one answered. “Get him down here, now.”

“Hotch,” Derek warned. It was one thing to yell at a witness. They needed to stay on the locals’ good side. It was imperative to the smooth operation of a case. Hotch taught him that. If he went yelling at the LEOs, they’d only get pushback.

Hotch ignored him, demanding Mitchell again.

The red-haired, red-faced man shuffled up to the conference table empty-handed, and Derek braced himself for what was about to happen.

“Where’s the case file?” Hotch demanded.

Mitchell shuffled his feet. He looked down at his empty hands when he said, “We’re having some trouble locating it.”

“What do you mean? It’s a case file. Aren’t your records organized?”

“Well, see. We’ve had a couple different filing systems over the years and things sometimes slip through the cracks. If it's in the building, we’ll find it.”

Derek inched closer to Hotch. He was tracking the flush of color where it started around Hotch’s shirt collar and was slowing inching up his neck.

“Garcia, the files,” Hotch said, coolly.

“Sir, I’m so sorry. They’re not digitized. I found thirteen articles from press sources, but the official case files were never uploaded to the database.” Garcia grew more frantic and closer to tears with every word.

“Do you hear that, Lieutenant Mitchell? If you had done your job and maintained this station with an ounce of competence, I would have those files in my hand right now.”

“Now see here.” Mitchell blustered, but Hotch cut him off.

“No, you see, you backwater hick! More people are going to die and it's your fault. You should’ve done better. More bodies are going to drop if we can’t find Call because of your gross incompetence and I’m going to be left cleaning up your mess!”

“Hotch.” Derek put a hand on his arm, but the man shrugged it off, too angry and too far gone now to accept the restraining touch.

“You can’t come down here and speak to me that way and tell me how to run my station. I’m not the one out there killing people! We’ll find your precious file so you and your team can stand around and play armchair psychology while my men are out there doing the real work of hunting him down.”

“And the four people dead on your watch? Who knows how many more because you couldn’t do your job without calling us in to hold your hand.”

“You sonuvabitch.” The LEO growled. He shoved at Hotch’s chest, hard. Somewhere in the back of Derek’s mind, he wondered if it still hurt.

At the aggressive touch, Hotch’s instincts kicked in and his anger did nothing to help him rein them in. Once he regained his balance, his hand landed on the sidearm in its holster at his waist. Derek was there before he could draw it.

He grabbed Hotch’s arms, trapping his hands together with a grip on the wrists, and manhandled him toward the break room before he could do something they all regretted. Morgan kicked the door closed behind him for some privacy, but the blinds stood wide open, and on the other side, a room full of gaping cops.

“Stop,” Derek growled. Hotch struggled in Derek’s grip, and when Derek was finally forced to let him go, Hotch took a swing at him. He moved out of the way easily. The hit was too wild, lacking intention. He shoved Hotch against the wall with a forearm against his throat, his other hand against the wall, bracketing Hotch’s body so he couldn’t slide away.
“Enough.” Derek leaned more weight against Hotch’s throat to impress his point. After a few more seconds of struggling, Hotch finally stopped, but he held on to the tension in his muscles, nearly vibrating with it.

Their chests were heaving with heavy breaths, brushing together on nearly every hurried inhale. This close, Derek could see how bloodshot Hotch’s eyes were. Not sleeping well. He could see the lines that had carved themselves into the other man’s face over the last few months. He looked so much older than when they had first met. Derek wondered when that happened, wondered if his own face was starting to crease from frowning.

“Let me go,” Hotch ordered.

Derek didn’t move. “Nuh uh. You almost drew your weapon on a cop in his own station. I’m not letting you go until I know you got your head screwed on straight again.”
The tension in Hotch wound up a little tighter and Derek expected another struggle, but Hotch stayed still. Instead of fighting, he forced himself to take a deep breath, and gave Derek a pointed look as if to say “Happy?”.

Derek leaned back when he was sure that Hotch wasn’t going to make another move. He kept one hand planted on Hotch’s chest, the other still brushing the wall. “Take a couple more.”

Hotch’s scowl deepened, but he obeyed. When he had taken three deep breaths, he tried to push away from the wall, but Derek shoved him back. “We don’t have time for this.”

“We do.” Derek insisted. They had nothing but time while those clowns tried to track down the file they needed. Derek wasn’t going to remind Hotch of that though.

“We need to-” Hotch tried again, and Derek leaned a little more of his weight against Hotch to keep him in place.

“We need to stay right here,” Derek said. Hotch looked ready to protest, so Derek went on. “You’re not thinking clearly right now. You gotta trust me on this. You trust me to lead the team when you’re away. You trust me to be your lieutenant so trust me on this.”

Hotch searched his eyes for a long time before he finally gave a small, single nod.

“You’re going to take steady breaths. Four seconds in, four seconds hold, four seconds out.” Derek told him.

“I don’t need to Box Breathe. This isn't anxiety. It’s-”

“Just do what I say,” Derek said, unsure where the roughness in his voice came from. “Let me be in charge for just a few minutes.”

Hotch frowned and turned his eyes over Derek’s shoulder. “Everyone can see us.” He muttered.

“Nobody’s looking,” Derek said without checking. “They know better. They’re all out there working the case, following your orders. So follow mine.”

Hotch stayed suspended in his uncertainty for a long time before he finally surrendered. He met Derek’s gaze and took a deliberate breath. Derek counted the seconds for the first round, but after that he let Hotch fall into the rhythm all on his own, soothed by the rise and fall of the other man’s chest under his hand.

Derek didn’t know how long they stood like that, as he watched Hotch breathe and watched the man he knew return.

“Good.” Derek sighed, and Hotch’s breath stuttered for just a moment. “You’re going to bring your breathing back to normal. Then you’re gonna drink 8 ounces of water. Then we’re going to get back to work.”

When Hotch nodded, bringing his breathing back to the unconscious in and out, Derek let his hand slip away from Hotch’s chest. When it was gone, he found he missed the warmth. “Stay here.”

He stepped away and pulled a mini bottle of water from the fridge. He cracked off the lid and offered it to Hotch. He accepted it without hesitation and started to drink it.

“Good job.” The words slipped out before Derek knew it. Hotch didn’t seem to notice, but the tension holding his shoulders up slipped a little as he sighed.

Derek took the water bottle when it was empty, tossing it in the recycling bin with a brief glance over his shoulder. He had no idea what the hell he was doing, but he was glad he’d done it. This was so far beyond soothing a frazzled witness or disarming a dangerous unsub. Taking control of Hotch like that, recentering him and bringing him back to himself, felt good. Hell, he probably felt better than Hotch did, and he had no idea why. All he knew was that he wanted to do this again. Be the steady ground on which Hotch could regain his footing, soothe his anger with gentle touches and murmured words.

Part of him hoped he wouldn’t need to, but the larger part, the part that was buzzing under his skin with pleased energy, didn't want to let Hotch go.

He led Hotch to the door with a light hand on his shoulder. Derek dropped his hand away before Hotch could open the door, silently handing back the control.

Hotch hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. When he looked into Derek’s eyes, there was a light there that Derek hadn’t seen since Foyet. A small smile at the edge of his lips smoothed out as if it had never been there at all when the door opened, and the real world invaded the little sanctuary Derek had built for them.

The case wouldn’t have a happy ending, Derek knew, but at least they’d had this.

Chapter Text

Two days later, after a man had been returned to a mental institution and the BAU team took a day, they were back in the office for administrative work before their next case. Derek had managed to pawn off his case report on Emily, something he felt a lot less guilty about lately. A measly case report was nothing on the amount of paperwork he’d had to do as Acting Unit Chief when Hotch was gone.

He was debating whether he should stick to the cafeteria for lunch in case they got called in or sneak out a few blocks down the road for Thai when Hotch’s head poked out of his office for the first time that morning.

“Morgan.” He called, and disappeared again, but left the door to his office open.

“Oh, man,” Reid muttered. “I hope you’re not getting fired.”

“Why would he fire me?” Derek asked.

Emily leaned back in her seat and chimed in from across the aisle. “Because you intercepted him and hauled him off like a parent with their misbehaving child?”

A frown tugged at the edges of his mouth. Is that what they had seen when he pulled Hotch away to save him from himself? Did they think he and Hotch were fighting in that break room instead of…? Well, he didn’t really know what to call what had happened between them, but it wasn’t bad. “Hotch isn’t gonna fire me.”

Derek stood and as he approached the stairs, he heard Reid’s voice softly call, “It was nice working with you.”

Derek rolled his eyes and stepped into Hotch’s office. He tried to assess the situation before he got in too deeply, just in case Reid might’ve been on to something, but he didn’t see anything except the evidence of a mountain of paperwork and a very sleep-deprived Unit Chief.

Hotch stood from his chair and smoothed out his tie, a nervous gesture Derek had only ever seen in the presence of Hotch’s superiors.

“Close the door,” Hotch ordered, and Derek obeyed. When it was done, he stepped up to the opposite side of the desk and faced off with Hotch.

“I’ve just gotten off the phone with the head of the department,” Hotch said gravely. Derek followed the chain of command in his mind. Hotch’s boss’s boss. He shifted uneasily and eyed the file that was splayed open on the only narrow strip of clear desk and hoped it wasn’t his. “Tucker’s unit has been waylaid in Europe. They’re going to continue assisting Interpol for the next three weeks, and our unit is going to cover their caseload until they return.”

Derek sighed. He wished that once, just once, Hotch would call him into his office for good news. “So you need help with the paperwork? I can help JJ with the triage, or delegate Tucker’s consultations.”

“No.” Hotch’s frown deepened for a moment as he considered that. “Well, maybe. I’ll consider it. But that’s not…”

That’s not why he was called in here.

Derek furrowed his brows as his concern grew, and he gripped the back of the leather chair in front of him. “What’s going on, Hotch?”

“I need…” Hotch seemed to choke on the words. “I feel-”

Derek straightened up, a hint of a growing suspicion taking root in the back of his mind, but he couldn't be sure it wasn’t just wishful thinking.
 

“If you’d be amenable, I would like…I would benefit from…” Hotch breathed out a huge sigh and dragged a hand across his face as he fought with his own words. “What you did in Louisville.”
 

“You want me to take control?” Derek asked coolly, working to bury his own eagerness.
 

“Just a little. Just for a few minutes. So I can…”

“Relax?” Derek guessed.

Hotch nodded, slumping for a moment with relief now that it was out in the open. Derek glanced at the blinds to make sure they were shut tight. After a moment’s thought, he stepped away and locked the door. The click Hotch’s throat made as he swallowed was a perfect echo. 

“Take off your jacket and tie,” Derek said. He had an idea in mind, a little weird, but he hoped Hotch would indulge him long enough to see if it worked. He wondered if Hotch would ever figure out if he had no idea what he was doing, that he was just making this all up as he went along.

For a few seconds, the only sound in the small room was fabric against fabric. Intimate and obscene.

Hotch handed over the suit jacket and tie when Derek reached for them. 

“Get on your knees. Right here.” Derek pointed to the open space in front of the couch on the other side of the little office from the desk.

Hotch hesitated, then seemed to think better of it almost immediately. He lowered himself to his knees facing the couch and waited for Derek’s next order. Derek tried to ignore the sudden rush of power, of pleasure, from putting his boss unquestioningly on his knees, but it lurked there under everything else. He could deal with that later. This was supposed to be about Hotch. Taking care of him, helping him relax.

Derek tossed the jacket over one shoulder, so it was out of the way for the moment and looped the tie around Hotch’s head. He laced it loosely around his eyes, just enough to encourage him to close his eyes and to block out the light. Hotch jumped at the first touch of the fabric against his face but settled and sighed as Derek knotted it.

“Hold your arms out in front of you.”

Hotch lifted his arms and Derek draped the jacket over his hands, so he was holding it out away from his body. 

“I want you to keep your arms up until it gets to be too much. Then let them drop.” Derek said, then on a whim, he asked, “Understand?”

“Yes.” The word hissed out of Hotch as a sigh, sending a shiver down Derek’s spine.

Derek watched him struggle with it for over ten minutes before his muscles started to tremble under the strain of staying tensed for so long. He’d intended for Hotch to let his arms fall a lot sooner, a couple of minutes maybe, but he was stubborn. Hotch was refusing to admit that he couldn’t carry the weight anymore and was torturing himself for it.

Derek knelt behind Hotch. He placed a hand on his back, between the shoulder blades, and felt the muscles there tight and solid as a rock, forced into the tension by Hotch’s refusal to quit. The touch made Hotch jolt and shudder, but even though his arms dipped, they stayed up.

“You can let go now, Hotch,” Derek murmured, close to Hotch’s ear so he didn’t startle him by being too loud. Hotch shuddered again and shook his head. His breath was erratic as his whole body trembled. Derek wrapped his arm around him to try to still the shaking, his hand resting somewhere near Hotch’s belt. “I know it’s heavy. You can let it go. I got you.”

Hotch’s arms fell as he collapsed back against Derek’s chest. The shaking didn’t stop, even though his muscles had practically melted. Derek tightened his grip at the sound of the first sob Hotch choked back down his throat.

“It’s okay, Hotch. Let it go.” Derek murmured, rubbing soothing circles across Hotch’s chest with one hand, the other fisted in his shirt, dragging it nearly free of his trousers on the side. “Give it all to me.”

When Hotch broke, it was loud. Like a gunshot in the silence. A single sob as he clung to Derek’s arms. Derek yanked the tie from around his face, letting the tears fall freely. Hotch’s chest hitched, and he shook as he wept, but he didn’t sob again.

“That’s it,” Derek whispered. He was barely aware of the words pouring out of his mouth, only knowing that he needed to soothe the man in his arms. “That’s good. I got you.”
 Hotch’s tears slowed quickly. Derek had expected that once the dam cracked it would be difficult to stop the torrent, but Hotch settled easily. Gasping breaths turned to quiet sighs that he buried in Derek’s neck. Before Derek knew it, Hotch had slipped into a light sleep.

Derek refused to let him go, even if it meant just moving him to spread out on the couch. A balm had been spread over his own soul by holding Hotch as he cried. He never could’ve imagined it, but now that it had happened, Derek knew that he wanted to be the one to hold him when he broke down. Hotch was such a strong man. He willingly shouldered such a heavy burden, but it was nearly grinding him into dust. Derek knew that after this he would do whatever it took to pick up the pieces and put him back together again. Every time.

All the fear that Derek had that Hotch had come back to work too soon was gone. His concern over the man’s state of mind, the possibility of PTSD, had melted away with Hotch’s tears. Because it was too soon, and Hotch was unstable, but Derek would be there to patch him up again. He knew now that he could, and nothing would stop him now.

Hotch deserved to fall apart more than anyone, and he deserved to know that someone just as strong was waiting there to catch him.

There was a shivery tension in his own limbs, a sympathetic, cathartic release of pain, and worry, and fear. It was amazing how good it felt just to be the one to help Hotch. Derek sucked in a big breath to try to soothe the sudden burst of joyful energy. He caught a whiff of Hotch’s cologne, day old deodorant, and clean sweat.

Derek tightened his grip on Hotch just to relish the warmth of him. Hotch settled deeper into his arms, sliding across his lap, and the sharp jolt of pleasure shocked Derek. He was hard.

He had gotten hard from putting Hotch on his knees and forcing him to break down. Derek’s stomach turned over in a lazy, sickening roll. He hadn’t even noticed. Had it been the trembling? The tears? Oh god, what kind of sick perverse pleasure was Derek getting out of Hotch’s pain?

He wanted to flee, to drop Hotch like a sack of rocks and run to the other side of the continent to escape what he’d done, but he couldn’t let him go. Hotch was sleeping soundly for the first time in God knows how long, dusting warm little breaths across Derek’s neck. Each one was a reward. He’d managed to soothe Hotch’s troubled soul enough to earn those breaths. Maybe that’s what had brought him so much pleasure. He could only hope. 

Hotch stirred not too long after that, to Derek’s equal relief and dismay. He came awake with a huge, inhaled breath and a stretch that made Derek smile. After an infinite moment, he seemed to realize where he was and shoved out of Derek’s arms and to his feet with a muttered apology.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Hotch scooped up his jacket from where it lay forgotten on the floor and shrugged back into it.

“You must’ve needed it.” Derek stood, limbs protesting after having been locked in the same position for so long.

Hotch glanced around his feet, searching for something. He only stopped when his eyes caught on the tie still clutched in Derek’s hand.

“Oh, sorry.” Derek handed it over and watched with a sick sense of pride as Hotch untied the knot he’d made.

Hotch drifted for a moment, unsure where to go before he deliberately put himself behind his desk. He didn’t look up at Derek again until his mask of cool composure was back in place. “Thank you. That will be all.”

Derek smiled despite himself. He hadn’t broken Hotch. Knocked him around a bit, sure. But they were both better off for whatever they’d just done. He would have to figure out a name for it if it kept happening. “Any time.”

Hotch measured those words for a long time before he gave a single decisive nod and returned to his seat. Derek was dismissed.

He went easily, needing some time to sort himself out in more than one way before he could even think about going back to work.

The team knew something was up when he left Hotch’s office. He clocked their not-so-subtle furtive glances and burning curiosity. They could all be like high schoolers sometimes as prone to snooping and gossip as they all were. Derek took a little pleasure in confusing them even more by heading straight for the bathroom instead of his desk.
When he was sure he was alone and the door was locked behind him, Derek slumped over one of the sinks and splashed cold water on his face until he didn’t feel like he was going to spontaneously combust anymore. 

Chapter Text

Hotch wasn’t much for poetry, excepting a brief foray into theater in high school. He was a plain-spoken man, and he preferred the blunt truth to any flowery distractions. But there were no pragmatic words to describe his experience.

Dopamine. Oxytocin. Serotonin.

Aaron could hear the words as clearly as if Reid was reciting them from a textbook. He knew the neurochemistry involved, but the words weren't adequate enough to describe his time with Morgan.

He put the breath back in Hotch's body.

That was as plain as Aaron knew how to put it. When the world got too fast, too loud, too much, Morgan had managed to make it all disappear. For a brief moment the only thing Hotch was aware of with crystalline certainty, was him.

Since Louisville, and especially since that breakdown in his office, Aaron hadn’t been able to stop being aware of Morgan. Every movement, every word, every look. A wry smirk, a low-voiced rumbling threat, a confident strut across the floor of a bar.

He was grateful for the distraction as much as he was unnerved by it.

Aaron was used to being away from Hayley and Jack. He didn’t enjoy it, but after ten years with the BAU, he was no stranger to missing them. Usually, he threw himself into his work to ease the sting of missing them, but when he wasn’t at the office, the only work he had to focus on was Foyet. But just the thought of Foyet brought Hayley and Jack right back to the forefront of his mind and he was left missing them all over again.

Morgan was a better obsession.

It had been several weeks since Aaron had called Morgan into his office to help him relieve some stress. Neither man had mentioned it since, but that didn’t mean Aaron didn’t think about it. Constantly.

They worked cases as normal, as well as the added workload of covering for another BAU team. It was daunting but it never got to be overwhelming, which is why Aaron hadn’t reached out. He could handle the work, and he could handle Foyet’s trail growing colder, and he could handle only seeing his son once a week in a grainy cell phone video. He could handle it, so he stayed quiet no matter how many times a day the idea surfaced to Aaron’s mind to call for Morgan.

Noon at Quantico, when the agents in the bullpen were starting to stir at their desks and take their lunch breaks, Aaron imagined kneeling at Morgan’s feet in his locked office as the younger man fed him with his hands.

In the field, when the unsub was apprehended and no more lives were lost, he craved Morgan’s hand stroking through his hair and a murmur in his ear. “Good boy.”

In hotel rooms, when he should be sleeping, he imagined what Morgan’s gentle breathing would sound like instead of Rossi’s chainsaw snoring. 

When Morgan restrained an unsub, Aaron could practically feel those big hands on his wrists, or his jaw, or his neck.

He dialed Morgan’s number sometimes when he was alone in his apartment, but thankfully had never hit the call button, even after a few glasses of whiskey.

Morgan had unleashed something in him, awakened a part of himself that Aaron hadn’t known had even existed until now. But once it had been seen, fed, it was too loud to ignore. 

Aaron wanted to be dominated, and there was no one else in the world he would trust to do it but Morgan.

He made it two months before he finally cracked. A misspeak, a Freudian slip of the tongue in the hotel lobby.

“We’ll meet back here in ten minutes to head to the precinct,” Hotch told the team as the receptionist procured their room keys. “Morgan with me.”

His thoughts stuttered. Morgan always roomed with Reid and Aaron himself always roomed with Rossi because they were old friends and liked each other’s company. The words had slipped out because he’d been fantasizing about a few things Morgan could do to him in the privacy of a hotel room, but once they were out in the open, he couldn’t take them back. It would be too strange. He didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he was objecting to sharing with Morgan, any more attention than had already been drawn by the new room assignments, that is. So, he pushed on as if he hadn’t made a mistake and the room assignment was nothing to dwell on.

“JJ and Prentiss obviously. Reid, you’re with Dave.” 

Reid hummed, noticing the change but not questioning it yet. Aaron hoped he had enough time to slip away before any of them started asking. 

Dave nudged Reid’s delicate shoulder and asked, “So roomie, how do you feel about opera?”

Prentiss laughed, and as Aaron passed out their keys, he almost believed he’d gotten away with it. Until he accidentally met Morgan’s eye.

When the hotel room door clicked shut behind them, Aaron braced himself for Morgan’s questions. He wouldn’t be upset. He would be the way he had in their two previous encounters, gentle but firm. Aaron had no defense against that deep, soft tone of his voice.

But Morgan didn’t ask.

A pleasant surprise, a welcome reprieve from an embarrassing situation. Aaron should’ve known better but it was enough to make him let his guard down a little. The crime scene he’d visited had been closest to the hotel, so he was the first one to return. He called everyone back for a night of whatever rest they could get. Morgan was the furthest away, nearly an hour on the rough, twisting back roads. So, Aaron decided to take advantage of the situation and make sure he was in bed feigning sleep by the time Morgan returned. Cowardly as it was, it was the best way he could see to avoid the inevitable conversation.

He brushed his teeth and took a shower. He checked his watch sitting on the counter as he dried off and tugged on his sleep pants. Approximately ten minutes if Morgan made no other stops. He gathered up his tee-shirt to shrug on, but sharp slashes of red caught his eye in the foggy mirror.

Aaron wiped away the steam and regretted it instantly. The hot water from the shower had made his freshly healed wounds stand out as stark ugly red gashes against his pasty skin. The sight of them was still too new for him to be able to ignore them, ever changing as they were in their stages of healing. He knew the bright red scar tissue would fade into something softer and silvery, was just thankful the rows of gnarly stitches were gone, but no matter how temporary, he could barely stand to see them.

Every line was a burst of pain in his memory. A cut so deep, so intimate, so violating. Sometimes Aaron thought he could still feel Foyet moving the knife. Every scar was a brand of ownership that marked Aaron as his victim. A mark that he would never be able to scrub clean. It didn’t matter that Aaron was going to put him behind bars or in the grave. His body would always belong to Foyet.

Morgan swung carelessly into the hotel room, but froze in the doorway, the door gliding closed behind him with a gentle click. Aaron had left the door to the bathroom wide open, and Morgan could see everything. 

Aaron followed the line of Morgan’s gaze and was relieved to discover he had unconsciously covered himself with his crumpled tee shirt, but Morgan was staring at him like he could see right through the cotton.

“You alright?” Morgan asked, eyes still lingering around Aaron’s chest.

“Fine.” Aaron stepped around him, careful not to touch him, and headed toward his bed.

“Are you in pain?” Morgan shrugged off his leather jacket and hung it in the alcove that could be called a closet only generously.

“No.” Aaron turned his back to Morgan to drag on his tee-shirt. When he was sure it was covering him, he started preparing his bed, tugging the comforter loose and tossing aside the extra pillows.

“You looked pretty upset.” Morgan’s voice was a lot closer than it had been a moment ago. Aaron froze, trapped under the onslaught of desperate desire for Morgan to touch him and the need to flee.

He didn’t bother denying it. There was no use in lying and Morgan would know anyway.

“Can I see?” Morgan’s hand rested on his flank, delicate fingers teasing under the edge of the fabric of his tee-shirt.

Aaron took a steadying breath and forcibly reclaimed his role as a trained psychological professional. He could admit logically that scars did not taint an individual despite the common fear from victims of violence. He knew that most people didn’t find scars ugly unless they contributed to disfigurement that triggered animal instincts to avoid disease or defects in the gene pool. Logically, he knew that Morgan wouldn’t be disgusted, but his hands still shook when he pulled his tee-shirt off.

He turned, but Morgan’s grip didn’t leave him, just grazed across the skin of his back until he got ahold of his opposite hip. The light touch sent a legion of goosebumps across his skin.

Morgan examined the scars with a critical eye. Thirteen in total. Four long lacerations from scraping torturous cuts, and nine neat narrow punctures that bit deep into his body. He brushed his thumb across the lowest one, overlapping the faint scar from his appendectomy in college.

“Your skin’s dry,” Was all he said.

Aaron huffed a laugh, some of the tension stolen by Morgan’s unexpected comment. “The shower was too hot.”

“They’ll fade better if you keep them moisturized.” Morgan smiled when he met Aaron’s gaze.

“There’s an ointment I’m supposed to put on them,” Aaron admitted.

Morgan huffed a gentle laugh. “And something tells me you haven't been doing that. Is it in your duffle bag?”

“In my shaving kit.”

The hand on Aaron’s bare stomach increased its pressure just slightly to nudge him toward the bed. “Lay down.”

When Morgan walked away, Aaron allowed himself to suck in a huge breath of air. Excitement edged at his nerves and made his limbs shaky. Morgan knew without him even having to ask. He wasn’t going to make Aaron ask for what he desperately wanted.

Aaron flung back the bedspread and lay closer toward the center of the bed than he would have if he were going to sleep, an invitation.

Morgan returned from the bathroom with the tube of medical ointment and the tiny bottle of complimentary hotel lotion. Aaron was curious about the lotion, but not enough to discourage Morgan by asking about it.

Morgan sat on the edge of the bed, his hip nestled right up against Aaron’s, and he set the lotion on the bed next to his knee. Aaron watched him uncap the scar gel with focused precision and gather a small amount of the tip of his first finger.

“What were you thinking about when I came in?” Morgan asked as he spread the gel across the cut at the top of Aaron’s chest.

Aaron gasped at the cool of the gel, the heat of his hand, the rush of emotion the question brought, the desire to shove Morgan away, and the desire to pull him closer. 

Morgan didn’t stop his work when Aaron didn’t answer, he just went on spreading gel across his fingers and his fingers across Aaron’s skin. When even the silence didn’t get Aaron to talk, Morgan said, “Tell me.”

And Aaron couldn’t have kept quiet if he wanted to. His body was responding to Morgan’s order before his mind had even had a chance to process it. “I don’t want his marks on me. I don’t want to be his victim.”

Morgan hesitated for the first time. Aaron’s breath stuttered in his chest. For the first time, he was worried that it was too much for Morgan, too real, too personal, that he’d driven him away.

After a few seconds that could’ve been hours to Aaron, Morgan went back to applying the gel. His soothing voice seeped into Aaron as he spoke.

“These scars aren’t his. He used his weapon on you but all he did was split the tissue and steal a little blood. Your body put itself back together. It stitched together the connections he severed, and the scar tissue just filled in the gaps. The marks aren't the wounds. The wounds are long gone. The marks are your scar tissue, your cells, your DNA. The marks are you. They belong to you.” Morgan’s confident voice faltered for the first time as he fiddled with the cap of the scar gel. Aaron was fighting back tears, his body flushed with emotion at his words. He watched Morgan’s hands raptly and craved for him to keep speaking.

Morgan set the tube down on the nightstand table and met Aaron’s watery eyes. The weight in them was almost suffocating, but Aaron relished the intensity. “The scars belong to you, and you belong to me.”

Aaron sucked in a gasp through his nose as a jolt of pleasure shot through his gut.

Morgan spread his hand possessively across Aaron’s chest. There was no way he couldn’t feel how erratic his breathing had become. “Say it.”

Aaron’s voice was rusty when it creaked out, but the words leaving his own lips made him shiver. “I belong to you.”

“That’s right.” Morgan practically purred. His thumb stroked absentmindedly across Aaron’s chest, teasing the hair there and keeping the stream of sparks bouncing across Aaron’s nerves. “You’re mine and I’m going to take care of you.”

A tear slipped out the side of Aaron’s eye and buried itself in his hair, but he barely noticed it through the rush of warmth through him.

Dopamine. Oxytocin. Serotonin.

“It’s been a long day,” Morgan said, and Aaron almost begged him not to stop. He bit back the words just in time. But Morgan wasn’t moving away. “I’m gonna help you relax so you can get some sleep.”

Aaron nodded. The sound of his head scraping his pillow was frantic to his own ears, but he was too far gone to care. Morgan could do whatever he wanted as long as he didn’t stop.

“Roll over.”

Aaron rolled over onto his stomach and clutched his pillow, desperate for some kind of anchor. The small click of plastic warned him a few seconds before Morgan’s hands were on him again, slick with cheap lotion. The smell of the lotion hung thick in the air, something green, eucalyptus or Aloe Vera, as Morgan worked it into the muscles of his back.

His body was even more willing to submit to Morgan’s touch than his mind was, knots loosening, tension bleeding away. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like this. With care, with love.

It felt so fucking good.

Aaron had to bite back the noises clawing up his throat as Morgan massaged his back. They were too many, too intimate.

His body responded in other ways. Wires crossed and suddenly the hands of a concerned friend were the hands of a lover, stoking desire and teasing him to hardness. Aaron tried to rein it in, will it away, but he could still hear Morgan’s voice echoing in his head and it was hopeless.  You belong to me.  

“Yeah, this is what you wanted. Huh?” Morgan murmured, sounding drunk and just as unsteady. His touch drifted from Aaron’s ribs down toward his lower back.

Aaron didn’t know what he wanted. He wanted those hands to go lower. He wanted to drown in Morgan. He wanted his hands to never stop moving, to surround him, to bury him. He wanted Morgan’s hands on him, all around him, inside him. 

“Oh, fuck.” Aaron groaned as his hips stuttered forward, grinding his dick into the mattress. He gasped, horrified at his body’s own betrayal and all the tension Morgan had managed to coax out of him snapped back into place as he waited for Morgan to pull away disgusted.

“That’s it.” Morgan’s hands dug deeper into the muscles in his lower back instead, forcing his hips against the mattress for an exquisite, torturous drag. “That’s it, baby. Take what you need.”

Aaron was an overloaded circuit. His mind was fried. Shocks of pleasure shot through his nerves. He was sure he could feel static electricity across his skin. 

Baby. It made his dick twitch, and he could feel the spread of precum slicking the way in his boxers as he fucked against the mattress. 

Morgan’s hands dug into the meat on the back of his thighs as he tensed to thrust, the tips of his fingers teasing at the seam where his legs met his ass.

Aaron buried a desperate moan into his pillow. His spit slick lips stuck and dragged against the pillowcase as he turned his head to look back at Morgan.

He had the same look on his face as when he was defusing a bomb. That thought almost made Aaron laugh, but then Morgan’s stray finger snuck out and teased against his balls through the thin fabric of his sleep pants. 

Aaron wanted it higher, deeper. Didn’t know how to quantify or contextualize the desire because he had never felt it before, but suddenly, he was achingly empty at his very core, and he knew the only thing that would ever make him whole again was Morgan inside him. 

It was too much to beg for, and he would beg. Too much to ask of a friend who was only trying to help him with stress relief. 

He was stuck with his own imagination and a vague guess of what it would feel like. He could imagine Morgan clearly in his head though, towering over him and blocking out the rest of the world until he was all Aaron could see. Morgan’s dark eyes burning into him, his pretty mouth pouted in concentration. The bulging of his well-muscled arms as he held himself above Aaron, the way they would flex and move for leverage when he pounded into him. 

Am I gay?

The errant thought made Aaron laugh, wild and breathless, even as he brushed it aside. 

“You like that?” Morgan demanded, taking the laugh as pleasure instead of humor. 

Aaron didn’t correct him, couldn’t as he gasped on a breath, “Yes!”

One of Morgan’s hands stayed on his thigh, kneading the working muscle in a coaxing rhythm, while the other wandered up to stroke his ass. After a few gentle caresses, Morgan’s hand tightened on his ass to the point of pain, and he only let go when Aaron cried out a moan.

“Yeah, you like that too, I bet.” The words poured out of Morgan, in a voice Aaron hardly recognized. Dark and deep. “‘Cause I know what you need. I’m gonna give it to you too.”

“Please.” Aaron felt the flush of embarrassment stain his cheeks even as it curled in his gut. It was a high, breathy begging that he would regret in the light of day.

“Shit.” The word escaped Morgan in a hiss and an explosion of movement. He was holding himself over Aaron in a second. One hand was flat on the mattress in front of Aaron’s face and the other was buried in the short hair at the nape of his neck. Aaron could feel his knees on either side of his leg, but the only other place Morgan allowed them to touch was where his leg was shoved up against the center of him. 

With every thrust, Aaron ground his dick down against the mattress then his ass back against Morgan’s taut thigh. It was like Morgan was fucking him already, and a switch was flipped. The even plateau of pleasure abandoned for the sharp spike of impending orgasm. He was so close to coming, he didn’t stand a chance of holding back when Morgan’s grip tightened in his hair, and he started growling in his ear.

“That’s it, baby. Give me everything you got. It's mine. You’re mine.”

Aaron came with a shout. His lungs stopped moving and his vision whited out, as pleasure so strong it was almost pain crashed into him. He shook apart in Morgan’s grip, his dick shooting over and over again and making a mess of his boxers. When he could breathe again, and the blunt satisfaction settled under his skin, he slumped against the mattress bonelessly.

He was aware of Morgan’s breathing when he was able to become aware of anything at all. He was muffling his ragged pants behind closed lips like he didn’t want Aaron to know how hard he was breathing. Aaron allowed him his privacy, eyes slipping closed in a groggy haze.

Morgan climbed off the bed carefully. He didn’t touch Aaron anywhere else than he already had, no errant brush of skin against skin, and Aaron tried not to be disappointed. It was cold when he left.

Morgan returned a handful of seconds later with a cool wet rag and a new pair of sweatpants for Aaron to change into. He set both on the nightstand and ordered him to use them when he was ready, before disappearing back into the bathroom.

Aaron lay there and listened to the white noise of the shower for a long time. It was comforting, the evidence of his presence. Aaron knew that Morgan wouldn’t have stuck around to revel in the afterglow. He might’ve if they’d actually had sex instead of what had just happened. Aaron getting off with the help of a friend. Assisted masturbation?

Even if they’d really had sex, Aaron doubted Morgan was the cuddling type. He had a habit of maintaining only flings and meaningless hookups. The dewy fantasy Aaron was trying to suppress of Morgan holding him in his arms while the sweat cooled on their skin was only ever going to be a fantasy. But the sound of the shower was nice.

Morgan might not have stayed on the bed with him, but he was close by. They were still connected at least in the walls of this hotel room, and when Morgan settled into sleep tonight it would only be a few feet away from Aaron in the other bed. 

Aaron smiled and drifted.

When his alarm went off the next morning, Morgan was already gone. Aaron noticed that before he noticed that he wasn’t stuck to the cotton of his sleep pants by dried come. He wasn’t in sleep pants at all. At some point last night, Morgan had stripped him, cleaned him up, and tucked him under a pile of blankets.

There was a bottle of water on the nightstand next to his cell phone, a little paper cup of orange juice, and a bagel smeared with cream cheese the way he liked from the free continental breakfast offered downstairs.

Aaron smiled, unsure what it all meant, but pleased by the care and effort Morgan had taken with him. It was the closest thing to breakfast in bed he’d ever had. Even on his honorary annual Father’s Day breakfast, Hayley insisted they go out, so she didn’t have to cook.

His life was so different now that they were divorced, even worse with that she and Jack were in hiding somewhere. Aaron sighed and took a bite of the bagel only to find that he’d lost his appetite. 

He downed the orange juice and decided to focus instead on a way to repay Morgan for all his generosity. It was something Morgan would do for anyone on the team, comforting them and caring for them, but Aaron couldn’t imagine that it was fun for Morgan to bear the brunt of Aaron’s emotional instability.

No ideas were forthcoming, but he’d think about it.

Chapter Text

Aaron beat Foyet to death with his own hands. He would’ve kept hitting him until the meat, blood, and bone beneath him was reduced to liquid if Morgan hadn’t pulled him off.

Morgan held him until he was able to support his own weight again. When his vision cleared and he was able to see beyond the blood under his hands, he saw Hayley in the arms of the paramedics, nodding coolly as they stitched the cut on her abdomen. She was alive, and Jack…
Aaron choked out his son’s name and pounded up the stairs. He found the boy in his little hiding place in the office, clutching his action figure and smiling brightly up at his dad. “I worked the case daddy. Just like you said.”

Aaron didn’t remember much after that. He got clean somehow. The bloody carpet had been torn out and all that was left was stained cement underneath. He thought he remembered Hayley saying something about them coming to install the new carpet next week.

He’d stayed at the house with Hayley and Jack for the first few days of his leave. She’d offered the other half of their old bed upstairs, but Aaron slept on the couch instead. Once things were as settled as they could be, and Jack was getting sick of spending time with his clingy overly affectionate father, Aaron went back to his empty apartment.
The files from Foyet’s case had been cleared out, and someone had put food in his fridge. He couldn’t guess who. It was equally likely that any member of the team had done it. Maybe they’d all done it together.

The counselor called it PTSD, but Aaron thought it was just him waking up from a nightmare and trying to readjust to real life. Foyet was gone. It had been horrifying and painful, but that period of his life was over. It had ended as quickly as it began, and Aaron was left trying to settle back into old habits.

Work was easiest. Everyone played their parts like they were supposed to. Even the victims and the unsubs.

Jack was a little harder. Confused at all the upheaval in his life, he started to act out. But even the childish rebellion was easy to manage with Hayley’s help. She’d been especially warm to him since they’d come back to DC.

His own mind was the hardest. The nightmares were worse than they used to be now that he knew what the fear really felt like, tasted like when he thought an unsub was killing his family. And sometimes he caught a glimpse of blood on his hands out of the corner of his eye only to find they were clean. 

The worst of it all was that he knew what it would take to feel safe again, grounded. He knew what it would take to put the breath back in his body, but he couldn’t make himself ask.

He’d never managed to figure out a way to repay Morgan for his kindness. It just hung in the air between them, unacknowledged and unreciprocated. 

Now that his family was back, as safe as they were ever going to be, Aaron was supposed to be alright. He was seeing his departmentally mandated counselor for manslaughter. Things were back to the way they used to be. Aaron was supposed to be okay. He wasn’t, but he didn’t have an easy excuse anymore.

He was supposed to be okay, so he couldn’t ask for Morgan’s help, especially now. Even if he wanted to, which if he was being honest with himself, he desperately wanted to. 
Aaron hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Morgan since that night in the hotel room. Even Foyet returning was only enough to stave it off for a few days. Then in an idle moment, Aaron was pulled back into the memory of Morgan’s hands on him, the promises he’d made.

Aaron wasn’t going to hold him to any promises. 

-Mine, gonna give you what you need-

It was the kind of meaningless words he’d used to soothe tears or anger. Morgan was under no obligation to take care of Aaron the way Aaron wished he would, but a man could dream. And dream he did. Interspersed with nightmares, and in waking hours, Aaron dreamed about what it would be like if Morgan wrapped him up in the safety of his arms and didn’t let him go. If Aaron could fall against that unshakable strength when he was weak. If he stripped him down to nothing, put him on his knees, and fucked Aaron’s face. If Morgan took control of him and never gave it back.

Chapter Text

“Morgan.” He answered smoothly on the first ring. The sound of driving bass and the din of bodies nearly drowned him out.

Aaron’s carefully crafted excuse dried up along with all the saliva in his mouth.

“Hotch? We got a case?”

Aaron shook his head mechanically a few times before he stopped and forced himself to choke out a word. “No.”

“Then why did you call?” He asked lightly.

“I was going to…” Aaron stopped. He couldn’t actually tell Morgan why he had called. He’d been holding himself back for too long to let his resolve crumble so easily.

“Nevermind. I'll see you at the office tomorrow morning. Have a good night.”

Morgan ignored his goodbye and asked, “You were going to what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

There was a beat of silence where Aaron was sure Morgan was debating whether or not to push the issue. When he did speak, he changed tactics. “What changed your mind?”

“About what?” Aaron asked. The pounding music was fading on the other end of the line. Aaron could imagine him stepping outside into the crisp night air and taking a deep breath.

“You were going to say something, but you changed your mind. What changed your mind?”

Aaron figured it was a safe enough question to answer honestly. “I was going to make a request, but I shouldn’t burden you. I’ve done that too much lately, and I never got a chance to properly apologize for that.”

“You’re not a burden, Hotch,” Morgan said, and before Aaron was forced to find a response that wouldn't come easily, he continued. “So ask me.”

“You wouldn’t want me to.” Morgan didn’t want to know what requests Aaron really wanted to make of him.

“I do,” Morgan said without a spare inch for argument. “Ask me.”

“Come over?” Aaron’s eyes slipped closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose. It was too needy, a desperate plea that was too familiar for someone in his position. He was Morgan’s supervisor. It was beyond inappropriate, let alone embarrassing-

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Aaron stared at the phone in his hand for a long time after Morgan disconnected the call without waiting for a response. He didn't know what to do with himself for twenty minutes as his skin prickled with nervous sweat and his heart lodged itself in his throat.

He tried tidying up the apartment, but there was nothing out of place aside from the book he'd tried to force himself to read. He considered changing into something nicer but rejected the thought right away. Lounging around at home in an old sweater and threadbare jeans made more sense than a suit. He was just pulling down a dusty bottle of red wine from the top of the fridge when the knock at the door came.

Aaron went through the process of engaging the multiple locks on the door and rearming the security system before he turned to acknowledge Morgan.

Morgan was watching the process with an understanding frown, and when it was finished, he shrugged off his leather jacket and handed it over. Aaron hung it in the coat closet, grateful for the reprieve as he tried to find something, anything to say.

"Why don't you get us something to drink?" Morgan said, heading toward the couch.

Aaron jumped for the suggestion, both to have something to do with his fidgeting hands and because it was close enough to an order to make his stomach flip. He returned to the living room with two glasses of wine and sighed his relief when Morgan didn't object.

They settled in at opposite ends of the couch, sipping their wine, and just when Aaron was starting to be able to relax, Morgan spoke.

"Why am I here, Hotch?"

Aaron took a large sip of wine but it only served to make his throat drier. "I don't know."

"I don't believe you." Morgan shot back. Aaron swallowed, searching for the answer in the bottom of his glass. "What do you want from me?"

"Anything." Aaron closed his eyes on a grimace at the way it sounded. The way it sounded was the truth though. He really was desperate enough for whatever scraps Morgan would give him.

Morgan looked like the word pained him. "You shouldn't say that. It's dangerous."

The words hung in the air between them as the silence stretched out. Aaron didn't try to take Morgan's warning and correct himself, though.

Morgan finished his wine and set it on the coffee table with a clink of glass. "You been taking care of yourself?"

The question surprised Aaron. It wasn't so unlike the conversations they had before if those could be called conversations, but it'd never been so casually asked before. He wasn't sure how to answer.

"You been eating when you're supposed to?" Morgan turned a critical eye over his body. "You're looking a little thin."

"I started running again," Aaron informed him.

Morgan nodded. "Bet that feels good. You gotta eat more to make up for it though. Can't have you turning into Reid."

Morgan smiled at the small amused sound that slipped out of Aaron as they both thought of the young man. He was rail thin, a wisp of a man, and that was unlikely to change now that he'd left adolescence.

"I'll eat more," Aaron promised. He didn't spend a lot of time preparing meals for himself, didn't bother often now that he was just cooking for one. But he could find places to eat more. Fixing himself a plate of meat and cheese and vegetables instead of just grabbing a handful of carrot sticks from the fridge. Eating a muffin or a bagel along with his morning coffee.

The thought of following Morgan's instructions even when he wasn't around sent a shiver through Aaron. He hoped it wasn't the only command Morgan would issue.

"Protein if you're gonna be working out more. And more carbs to keep your energy up." Morgan spoke with the authority of someone who was used to taking care of and taking pride in his body. It was an exquisite body.

Aaron nodded and Morgan smiled. "Good boy."

Aaron's eyes fell closed, the crash of emotion through him too strong to keep them open. He shouldn't like that as much as he did. He was a grown man. But the praise, the gentle endearment. It made Aaron feel precious and valued. And proud to be following Morgan's orders instead of ashamed for wanting them.

"Come here." Morgan's voice forced Aaron to crack his eyes open. He followed where Morgan gestured, kneeling on the rug between Morgan's spread legs. He arranged Aaron so his back was to Morgan, his forehead resting safely against Morgan's thigh so he could stroke gentle fingers through his hair.

"I'm so proud of you, baby," Morgan murmured. The words made Aaron shudder but Morgan didn't stop petting through his hair. "You're doing such a good job. Taking care of the team, taking care of your family. Making sure everybody's safe and happy. You work so hard. I can see it. But right now you don't gotta do anything else but listen."

Aaron slumped against him, losing tension in his body he hadn't even known was there. He sighed against denim, focusing on the low rumble of Morgan's voice, the scrap of his fingers across his scalp, the smell of him, completely enveloping Aaron. Undeniably masculine, musky, and rich between his legs. It was unmistakably Morgan, but deeper and darker than Aaron had ever smelled before.

"This is what you wanted, wasn't it?" Morgan's grip tightened on his hair for just a moment before releasing it, sending a spike of electricity all the way to Aaron's toes. "You wanted to get out of your head for a little while. I know. I know what you need."

Aaron gripped Morgan's thigh as desire punched him in the gut. Sweat was gathering at the edge of his hairline as his temperature climbed, every inch of him flushed with want.

Morgan noticed. It must've been impossible to miss. Suddenly his hands were gone from Aaron's hair and trailing down his chest instead. One arm pulled him tight to his body while the other kept moving down until it teased at the top of Aaron's jeans. "You want me to take care of you."

Yes.

It was so simple, so obvious but Aaron couldn't say it. Aaron wanted Morgan's hands on him more than almost anything else in the world in that one moment. But he couldn't bring himself to ask for something that might be more than Morgan was willing to give.

"You want that, baby?" Morgan's breath teased at the shell of his ear.

Please

Aaron shivered in pleasure even as his breath shook with uncertainty.

"You want me to decide." Morgan realized and Aaron was nodding before he knew it. "That's right. Because you're mine. And I decide when you get to cum."

"Yes!" Aaron hissed, grinding his cheek into Morgan's muscles thigh just to feel the strength beneath him.

"You've been a pretty good boy lately. I think you deserve a reward." Morgan's fingers slid down along the zip of his jeans, stroking against Aaron's hardness through the fabric. "Can you ask nicely?"

"Please." Aaron panted before the words had barely left Morgan's mouth.

"Please what?"

"Please make me cum."

A pleased hum rolled through Morgan's chest, rumbling and vibrating Aaron's bones. The sound of his approval sent a jolt of pleasure cutting through Aaron's gut and he gasped. His dick throbbed against Morgan's hand, but then he was pulling away.

"Go into your bedroom and take your clothes off."

Aaron froze. This was it, the point of no return. There were a hundred things Aaron was supposed to be remembering at the moment, that were silent. Flags falling at his feet, in his peripheral he could see they were red but it hardly mattered at that point.

Aaron pushed onto shaky feet and peeled off his sweater before he'd even made it into the hallway. Morgan didn't make him wait long after he'd stripped his pants and socks, standing unsure of what to do next in the center of the room.

When Morgan entered the bedroom, Aaron saw that his shoes and socks were gone. It was odd to notice the flex of tendons in his feet, with as much clarity as he noticed the chill in the room.

"I'm not gonna make you do something you don't want, Hotch," Morgan said, serious and as close to normal as he had sounded all night. It made a part of Aaron's brain come back online that he'd let slip into dormancy. "What do you want?"

"Anything," Aaron said, an echo of earlier, but it was different now. He met Morgan's gaze evenly, without an ounce of uncertainty. There was nothing Morgan could do to him that he wouldn't want.

Morgan pulled him into his arms, enveloping him completely. There was a second of hesitation before their lips met where Hotch could taste the wine on Morgan's breath. It was bitter and sweet and washed away when they kissed.

Aaron melted under the smooth slide of Morgan's perfect mouth against his. Roaming hands kept him upright, kept him close, and kept him just on the edge of begging.

Morgan's hips rocked against him, his hard dick grinding against Aaron's hip. He was hit with the idea suddenly, of an unfamiliar weight on his tongue, and Morgan crying out his pleasure. The best way to repay him.

Aaron dropped to his knees with a crack he would regret later. But the pain was shoved out of his mind because suddenly Morgan's straining erection was there right in front of him, only a few layers of fabric away. He mouthed at his dick through his jeans, making Morgan tremble before he pulled back and yanked the pants open, and shoved them down his hips.

"Hotch, you don't have to-" Morgan's words were lost in a shout as Aaron wrapped his mouth around his dick. He was bigger than Aaron was expecting, and he gagged, pulling away and gasping for breath. Morgan brushed soothing hands across his cheeks, murmuring as Aaron caught his breath. "Easy. Easy."

Aaron tried again, slower this time. He took just the head and hollowed his cheeks as he sucked. He could feel him, nestled between the roof of his mouth and his tongue. Hot and throbbing.

Morgan moaned a soft breath. His gaze never left Aaron's face as he pet him and watched him swallow him deeper. Aaron felt the tickling of self-consciousness, but Morgan's happy noises and whispered encouragement washed it away.

"So good. Oh, fuck. You're so perfect."

Aaron strained to look up, to see Morgan's face twisted in awe and pleasure. Their eyes locked and Aaron was helpless under the tidal wave of heat and pleasure that curled into every part of him.

"Stop. You gotta stop." Morgan pulled away. He dragged Aaron to his feet and pushed him toward the bed. "You're too fucking sexy. Lay down."

Aaron scrambled to the center of the bed, arranging himself on his back with one leg hitched up, hoping to give Morgan a glimpse between his legs and the hint of what he really wanted so he wouldn't have to say it.

Morgan peeled off his tee shirt and Aaron forgot about everything else. He was perfect. Chiseled muscles, sculpted with care into the epitome of masculinity. Aaron could imagine sculptures in museums modeled after Morgan's body.

Aaron had seen him naked before, plenty of times. Locker rooms and shared hotel rooms. But he'd never seen his gaze dark with lust, his large dick hard and still shining with Aaron's spit. He was like a wet dream standing naked at the foot of Aaron's bed like that.

When Morgan was finally naked, he crawled onto the bed to loom over Hotch like some kind of graceful predator. His body arched up to meet Morgan's, willing to be devoured if it meant Morgan's mouth back on his.

The sweltering brush of flushed skin against skin made Aaron twitch and gasp. Morgan took it as an open invitation, fucking into Aaron's mouth with his tongue, a perfect counter rhythm to the drag of his hips against Aaron's.

Pleasure rolled through him in spikes and waves as their dicks lined up perfectly, trapped between the solid weight of their bodies. He tried to match Morgan's pace, thrusting up against him but he couldn't keep the tempo. He was too clumsy, too out of practice.

Morgan didn't seem to care. His breath was humid against Aaron's sweaty skin when he spoke against his neck. "Say my name."

Aaron's brain stalled as he tried to decide which word to say, but after a second, he tried quietly, "Derek."

"Who do you belong to?" Morgan asked with a hard grind against him. Pleasure like liquid magma oozed through Aaron, scalding everywhere it touched.

"Derek!"

"Fuck." Morgan shook. His hand slid from Aaron's hip down to cup his ass and drag Aaron's body up to meet his as he thrust.

"Please." Aaron sighed. Unsure what he was begging for, but Morgan's fingers were tickling at the cleft of his ass and it felt like the right word. "Please, Derek!"

"What do you want, baby?"

"Fuck me," Aaron exhaled.

Morgan's hips stuttered against his before they stilled completely. For a long moment, they just breathed against each other, feeling their racing blood and pounding hearts until Morgan finally asked, "you sure?"

Aaron's fingers curled tightly around Morgan's arm, biting into the straining bicep as he begged. "Please, fuck me, Derek."

Morgan flew away from him like he'd been burned, but as Aaron watched him race toward the ensuite bathroom, he wasn't worried. The sound of cabinets banging made him smile.

"In the medicine cabinet above the sink." He called out. One more slam and Morgan was in the doorway, a mostly full bottle of personal lubricant in his hand.

"There weren't any condoms."

"I haven't needed them," Aaron admitted. It wasn't a secret, but it still felt embarrassing. That was overshadowed by the fear, though, that his lack of forethought would be the thing standing in his way of getting what he wanted most.

Morgan thought for a moment before speaking cautiously. "I'm clean. But I can run out and get some if you want. I think I saw a convince store down-?"

Aaron shook his head. "I trust you."

Morgan swallowed hard enough to be visible, Adam's Apple bouncing as he held Aaron's gaze. When he returned to the bed, it was at a much more sedate pace. The weight of the words thickened the air between them until Aaron almost couldn't breathe through the tension.

Morgan's hand on his leg made him jump.

"Relax." Morgan soothed, nudging his leg gently. "Turn over."

Aaron did as he was told, settling with both hands fisted into the comforter. It reminded him so strongly of that night in the hotel room, his body nearly trembled with anticipation.

It was strange at first. Not nearly as erotic as Aaron had imagined. The click slide of cool lube where it shouldn't be and Morgan's gentle probing fingers had him tense. It wasn't pain, but it wasn't right either. The desperate need had faded somewhere in the background behind the curious observation of a new sensation.
Until Morgan's teeth grazed the muscle of his ass in a teasing bite.

Like the striking of a match, Aaron was alight again. Morgan's teasing finger inside him, at least two, had him shaking with the anticipation for something unknown. When it finally struck, it was a burst of lightning behind the eyes and pleasure so deep his body reacted before his mind even registered it.

The moan that rolled out of him came from deep in his gut. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice that sounded too much like Reid informed him that it was his prostate, but he ignored the facts and focuses instead on the third finger Morgan had forced inside to swirl and tortured that sweet spot inside him.
Aaron hitched his knee up, widening his legs as he rocked back for more.

"Yeah, baby. You like that." Morgan muttered, an unconscious stream of encouragement. His free hand grabbed the back of Aaron's thigh and forced his legs further apart.

"Show me how much you want it."

Aaron didn't want to imagine the view Morgan had of him. Wantonly splaying his legs while he fucked back on Morgan's fingers, desperate for more. He didn't know how he could possibly want it more, but the words spilled out of him proved him wrong. "Please. Please, Derek. Fuck me!"

Morgan's breath left him in a strangled curse. "Fuck. You want it so bad, huh? Bet I could make you come just like this. Fucking you with my fingers."

"No." Aaron sobbed against the blinding wave of heat. If Morgan pushed him any harder he was going to come without ever getting Morgan inside him. "Please fuck me. I want to come with you inside me. Please, Derek! Claim me. Make me yours."

Morgan's fingers eased out of him slowly, relief and misery all tangled together. He turned Aaron over without much help and was hovering over Aaron with concerned eyes before Aaron realized he was still begging.

Morgan's dry hand stroked down his cheek as he gentled him. Wet kisses tickled Aaron's skin between words."It's alright. I'm here. I got you."

Aaron's legs wrapped around Morgan's waist, locking them tight together. He didn't know how much longer this was going to last. Didn't know how much time he had before Derek let himself out of the apartment and Aaron lost this forever. All he knew was that he needed to savor every second of it while he could.

He reached between their bodies and guided Morgan's cock as best he could. All it took was a roll of his hips and Morgan was pressing inside.

Aaron gasped, eyes slamming closed at the sensation. The stretch and burn of his body accepting Morgan, of the two of them getting as close as they could possibly be.
Morgan didn't stop the gentle pulsing of his hips that pushed him deeper and deeper, but he brushed the hair above Aaron's forehead and asked in a choked whisper, "You alright?"

"Yes." The word was a sigh. The burn was easing, but it had taken the edge off of Aaron's desperate need to come. All he was left with was the low shocks of warmth and a swelling sense of fulfillment in his chest. As far as he was concerned, it didn't matter if this didn't go any further than it had right then. Aaron was floating away on a current of satisfaction, drunk on Morgan's smell and the taste of his brief kisses.

Morgan's first real thrust shocked him, punching a gasp out of his lungs. He didn't notice much of anything else after that.

Flashes of awareness peeked in around the overwhelming pleasure. Morgan's hand on his dick, stroking him hard to match his thrusts. The scraping friction of sweat-slick skin on his thighs. The mole on the curve of Morgan's shoulder.

He heard the echo of his own voice, a shout as he came, but Morgan's voice, saying his name was clear as a bell.

They stayed tangled together as they collapsed. Aaron was overheated and Morgan was heavy but he couldn't move. Not when his bones felt like jello and his brain was stewing in a cocktail of hormones that made him want to purr like a cat. The last thing he remembered before he fell asleep was Morgan's lips pressing against the sweat-slicked hair at his temple.

Chapter Text

Morgan woke early, the heat of another body and the unfamiliar bed dragged him out of sleep when the sun was just starting to rise. He considered slipping out of bed and making a run for it, but couldn't make himself move.

Hotch looked so peaceful asleep. The lines smoothed out and he looked about ten years younger. And nothing like the stoic, no-nonsense supervisor Derek knew him as. He was getting a glimpse into a whole other side of Hotch that existed away from work and he couldn't fight his curiosity to learn more.

Hotch stirred eventually. One eye cracked open and when he saw that it was Derek's chest he was draped across, a sleepy smile transformed his face. "You stayed."

"Yeah, I figured if we're gonna make a habit of this, I might as well." Morgan teased.

The words sent Hotch reeling back. He pulled out of Morgan's arms and slumped again the headboard, easy smile vanishing. "We can't do this."

"We already did." Morgan frowned. 

"We can't do it again." Hotch corrected, a little sharp, a little frantic.

Morgan pushed to sit up and face Hotch. He wished he'd been able to hold on to the early morning peace he'd found. It was washed away under Hotch's regret. 

He wanted to tell Hotch that he didn't want this to be a one-time thing. He wanted to tell him that nothing they'd done together was shameful enough to put that slightly sick look on Hotch's face. But he'd never been one for heart-to-hearts, especially when he was still naked with someone.

"It's too complicated. I'm your boss. What if the team finds out, or Strauss?" Aaron slumped against the pillows, rubbing his hands over his face roughly in his frustration. Derek could hear his hands scratching against the beginnings of stubble on his cheeks.

It suddenly clicked in a way that made the knot of tension loosen in Derek's gut. Hotch wasn't regretting what they'd done together. He wasn't blaming Derek for indulging in a bad idea. He was scared of what was to come. That, Derek, knew how to handle.

"Doesn't seem so complicated to me." Derek dragged the blankets away from Hotch's body. This he could do. Maybe not the touchy-feely stuff but he could drag Hotch away from the edge of panic and set him to rights again.

Hotch's dick was half hard when Derek settled himself over Hotch's lap.

"Seems pretty straightforward to me. You're the boss as work." Derek stroked him until he was hard and straining in Derek's hand. Hotch have a distressed sigh but Derek ignored it. "And when we're not at work…"

"I belong to you." Hotch moaned without any prompting. Derek could feel his own smile was wicked and rewarded Hotch with the press of his tongue, a long stripe up the bottom of his dick that curled around the head on a flourish.

"If anyone found out…it's an abuse of my position…" Hotch was still trying to argue even though he couldn't string full sentences together. It caught Derek's attention enough for him to lean back, teasing idly at the base of Hotch's dick but nothing else.

"I didn't fuck you because you're my boss, Hotch. I fucked you because you begged so pretty." Morgan said and swallowed Hotch down as far as he could.

Hotch collapsed back against the headboard with a groan, all words forgotten under Derek's onslaught. He tried to focus on the way he was working Hotch. To pay attention to what made him gasp, and what made him tremble. He was distracted though, but what Hotch had been saying. Did he really think that he'd coerced Derek into this? Did he really not see how happy this made him? Derek would just have to prove him wrong.

He shoved Hotch's leg aside, spreading wider so he could reach between and bury a spit slick finger inside Hotch. He was still loose from the night before, still burning hot. And trembling. He worked Hotch open, never taking his mouth off his dick until Hotch was a writhing mess.

When Derek pushed up onto his hands and knees, Hotch moved without being told. He wrapped his legs around Derek's waist, his arms over Derek's shoulders, and pulled him in for a sloppy kiss.

The kiss died when Derek thrust inside him in one smooth motion. Hotch's mouth fell open with a gasp against Derek's mouth and stayed loose as all the sounds Derek punched out of him poured against Derek's jaw, his cheek, his neck.

It was a quick fuck, but neither of them cared. Derek came with one hand on Hotch's hip to hold him in place and one hand in Hotch's hair to force him to meet Derek's eyes. Hotch came a second later, wisps of words getting lost in his moaning.

Derek slumped against him, careless in a way he'd never been able to be before because he knew Hotch could take his weight. Hotch seemed to relish it. His legs fell away from

Derek's hips in a weak sprawl but the arms wrapped around Derek's shoulders only tightened.

"I like this just as much as you do," Morgan admitted to the skin of Hotch's chest.

"I doubt that," Hotch muttered darkly. When he met Derek's eyes again, there was a warning there. "I like this a lot. More than I should."

Derek closed his eyes against the rush of warmth in him. It was all the reassurance he needed, and all the hope he hadn't dared hold on to. "So do I."

Hotch's breaths were carefully measured as he let Derek's words sink in. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Derek watched him wrestle his words into submission and when he tried again, the words came out. "I don't know how to do casual."

Derek snorted a laugh that surprised Hotch. "You? No! And here I thought you were just a fun-loving go with the flow kind of guy."

Hotch cracked a rueful smile and looked away. "Alright. I get it. I just meant…"

"I know what you meant." Derek's words were a murmur against Hotch's chest.

Dark eyes met his again, serious and testing. "And you're okay with that?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Derek shrugged. He had to force away the panic that was starting to rise in his chest. The anticipation, the fear at the monumental thing that was happening in front of him.

Derek didn't do relationships. He didn't have to wonder why. The answer was always looming in the back of his mind like a specter. He'd never met a woman he wanted to see for more than a few weeks. Whenever a woman got a little too love-drunk and tried to have the "what are we" talk, he cut and run, as gently as he could.

He wasn't built for love or that kind of trust, or boring domestic nonsense. Sex was for passion, and love was for people who weren't damaged goods.

But Derek didn't want to run away from Hotch. They'd known each other for years, seen each other in good times and bad, and their best and their worst. There was no terrifying uncertainty at the thought of being with Hotch. There was no buried fear that he would leave if he got too close. Hotch was one of the only people in the world who knew his darkest secrets, and even if he hadn't…

Hotch was unshakeable. An immovable pillar of strength that Derek had always relied on. He trusted Hotch to be a good man. He trusted Hotch with his secrets, with his life. Anything else Hotch wanted from him, his time, his body, his heart. Derek found that he'd be willing to give.

With a new resolve and anticipation twisting in his gut, he leaned up to pull Hotch into a claiming kiss. When he pulled away, Hotch's eyes were a little unfocused and Derek laughed.

"Does this mean I have to call you Aaron now?"

Hotch's laugh was loud and free, unlike anything Derek had ever heard from him before. If that was one of the perks of finally committing, Derek decided, being in a relationship might not be so bad.