For Forgetting

Aaron Hotchner undresses efficiently, mechanically, sitting on the edge of his own bed. He winds himself too tightly, he thinks. Every case winds him a little tighter. Every time they loose a victim the tears he doesn’t shed, can’t shed, winds him tighter still. He steps out of his boxers, lies down on the bed, and waits. The door to the bathroom opens, he can hear breathing and the footsteps move across the room.

“Close your eyes Aaron. Relax.”

He closes his eyes and tries to relax, steadying his breathing, trying to unwind, but he can still feel the pressure building in his chest.

“Aaron.”

There’s a note of warning in the way his name is said and Aaron’s eyebrows draw together in a frown.

“Aaron do you want this or not.”

Aaron bites his lip hard, but nods his head because he does want this, he really does.

“Ssh Aaron it’s going to be ok”

The voice is soothing now, the repetition of his first name, the one no one ever uses, lulling.

“Your going to relax, your going to let go, God know you need to.”

Aaron lets out a small sigh; he really wants to let go.

“Run your hands over your chest Aaron, slowly, gently.”

He does concentrating the weight of his palms, the slow intake of breath, the feeling of the exhale. His fingers skim lightly over nipples and he inhales more deeply, letting his muscles relax just a little bit more.

“That’s right. Good Aaron, good.”

He runs his hands back up his torso from collarbone and shoulders down across his chest and stomach. His fingers pause there, running small cycles against his skin, flat and taught under his hand. He lets his legs move a little bit apart, feeling himself begin to harden.

“That’s good Aaron, that’s very good, but I want you to touch your chest now, play with your nipples”

Aaron’s hand lingers on his stomach and he thinks about resisting the order, but he knows doing so would mean hand would suddenly come onto his shoulder and hip pressing him hard down in the bed. The voice which is now so soothing will become cold, and hard and things will get rough very, very fast. It’s almost easier that sort of surrender, but his hands move to his chest anyway, fingers finding one small nub smoothing against it and then pinching down.

“That’s it, harder now”

He can’t stop the shock waves of pain and pleasure that go through him any more then he can stop his back from arching, his body from reacting, the gasp that escapes him; he just can’t make it stop.

“And again harder.”

The pain is almost overwhelming the pleasure now sharp lightning down his body settling between his legs. He can’t stop the tears that come to his eyes or the one that makes it’s way down the side of his face into his hair.

“So good, so beautiful Aaron, can you touch your cock for me Aaron, can you do that?”

It feels so wrong, the gentleness with the pain and he can’t stop his hands from tracking down his body or his short, blunt nails from digging into his own skin leaving marks on their way down.

Beside the bed he hears soft, deep laughter, but then his fingers are wrapping themselves around his cock and he can’t hear anything, can’t think, can only feel. His body’s on fire, it’s too much and not nearly enough. He’s jerking himself off hard, fast, and dry. It’s wrong and burns and it’s nothing like pleasure, and he can’t stop, can’t slow down. So he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t slow down, instead he bights his lip hard and screws his eyes shut, his body arching, aching, and hard. Then there’s blood in his mouth and tears on his face and he’s coming into his hand. Finally unwound.

He just lies there for a moment then opens his eyes, quickly tracking around the room until they land on the figure sitting by the window. David Rossi all black and white, hard angles against the gray sky outside the window, still fully clothed in a black suit, gray shirt. He’s not even looking at Aaron and that makes him feel alone and cold lying there on the bed, semen drying on his hand and thighs. He closes his eyes again, turns his face to the side, and only then hears David, laugh softly. Aaron doesn’t open his eyes only listens to the soft rustle of David’s clothes, the creek of the floorboards as he moves across the room. The water in the bathroom runs for a moment and then David’s back and Aaron feels a cool wet cloth run across his body, washing him clean, making him ache where his own nails have left marks deep enough to bleed. He listens to David breath, and then feels David’s breathe against his face, David’s beard against his cheek. David kisses him almost chastely.

“Go to sleep Aaron, you have work tomorrow.”

David runs a hand across Aaron’s head, through his hair. Then he’s gone and Aaron hears the door close. He doesn’t think can, but he sleeps anyway.