Power Struggle

“Hey, Hotch.” Spencer said, surprised to open the door to his home and find Aaron standing there. The weatherman had come through with showers today. Dressed in his slacks, shirt, and tie, the black haired man was soaked through and looked frozen to the bone. He stood still, green eyes meetig dark brown. Yes. They worked in the same spaces for hours on end, true, but never had they been to each other’s homesteads. This was out of the ordinary to an extreme. Spencer’s guard went up. “Wha, uh, what are you doing out here?” the doctor asked, genuinely perplexed, and worried.

“Needed some air.” Hotcher replied gruffly, straightening up to fix the smaller male with an unwavering gaze. “Can I come in?”

“Huh? Oh! Yeah. Sure.” Spencer backed up, opening the door to allow his team mate into the carpeted hall of his home. “Can I get you something? A towel, something warm to drink, a blanket…?”

“No. I’m fine.” He followed Reid into the kitchen where the doctor then stood uncertainly, at a loss for what to do. He glanced around. Aaron had never been to Reid’s home before, so everything he saw was new.

Blank walls… not a picture in sight, save for one of a woman holding a little boy, smiling. He examined that briefly before continuing his look-over. Everything had been arranged immaculately. The cook books were arranged in alphabetical order on a far counter-top and he would bet ten bucks that everything else, from spices to underwear, was sorted alphabetically too.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be home, recovering?” Spencer asked, breaking the silence. His words struck a cord. To his surprise he saw a look of something like fury cross the leader’s face, his brown eyes darkening to black. Why not? The Reaper had broken into his apartment and stabbed him countless times, before dropping him off at the hospital under the guise of agent Morgan.

He should be angry.

And knowing Hotch, he should be furious too.

For a second he wished that words could be taken back, that car crash conversations like this could be avoided, but of course they couldn’t and now he waited in silence for the fall out.

“I’m tired of being home. The doctor cleared me, said I wouldn’t need any more bedrest but advised me to not come back to work. This isn’t work, is it?” His voice was as rough as always, the strength behind them firm to the point of bringing to mind brick walls. Aaron didn’t like to be questioned, and often wasn’t due to his disposition. A born leader. An Alpha male. Fallen from grace. He’d paced his apartment time and time again, trying to think of how, how he could have lowered his guard, even in his own home, mulling over how that could have happened. And why he wasn’t able to stop it.

“Well, all right.” Spencer said, trying his best to sound upbeat. “My place is yours. I’ll get you a towel.” He excused himself, disappearing long enough to go through the closet and wonder why, of all the other BAU, Hotch chose him to come to. Did he need to talk? He winced at the thought. Good with intellectuality, not so good with sociality. He knew he’d crash and burn in that department. Returning shortly, he handed the black haired man a fluffy white towel, offering him an awkward smile to go with it. “So do you want to watch TV?”

“I didn’t come here to watch TV Reid.”

The voice came out ice cold, harsh.

Spencer froze where he stood. His long fingered hands raised in front of him, suspended in the air between them. “Um, yeah, okay.” He said softly, glancing down. Up again. “Then... what did you come here for?”

“You.”

The response came so swiftly there was no time to react or rethink. Aaron surged forward, throwing his hands out. He caught Reid by the shoulders and slammed him – bam! - to the kitchen wall. He felt a rush, holding him there, bearing down upon the agent who now wore a startled look on his face, like a deer caught in the hunter’s sights. His fingertips bit into the fabric of the doctor’s shirt, leaving the imprints of bruising. He reached down, gathered the fabric in hand, and snapped it forward.

Buttons went flying. It had ripped.

“H – Hotch?!” Spencer stammered out, fear closing in faster than he could fight it. He looked down at the strong hand between them. At the tatter of dress shirt. Torn wide open. He was pinned to the wall, bare-chested, with his eyes asking countless array of questions… but most of all…

Why?

“Let go, Hotch. You’re not thinking straight. Did you drink?”

“No.” Aaron’s voice came flat.

He slid a hand down Reid’s torso, feeling the skin, the hair; he reached the front of his pants, and unbuckled his belt.

It was that which snapped Spencer from his daze. He hadn’t been sure of Aaron’s intentions at first, but now, crystal clear, he knew he had to get out of here. Until he thought better of it. Until he regained his sanity. “Hotch… no. No!” He shoved hard at him and succeeded in making him stumble. He didn’t bother to ask the why, as it was very beside the point right then. Instead he lurched for the kitchen door, thinking only of the front door and how peculiar he’d look out in the street but how that didn’t matter, anyway, how only escaping Hotchner at that point did.

Because he wasn’t himself, wasn’t himself, wasn’t himself. That Spencer told himself. That he needed to believe, to hold onto.

Aaron let out a low, frustrated growl when – with surprising strength – he was forced back. He could hear quick footsteps in the hall outside the kitchen and he moved for them as quickly as a predator stalking prey. Sighting the other male’s retreating form, he flung himself forward, chest slamming into back, the smaller body caving beneath the larger, strength defeating weakness.

Another rush.

They were on the floor with Aaron pinning Spencer down by sheer force, grabbing onto the back of his shirt to steady his useless struggles. The other hand advanced to pull at the brown haired man’s slacks. He pulled at them. Pulled them down. Harsh. Fast. He was on auto pilot, not thinking, but acting on what made him feel good in the moment. And this was that. Oh, it was more than just the excitement of the chase, as many un-subs became junkies to. It was much, much more.

Spencer was panicking. Why was this happening? Aaron Hotcher – trying to rape him? He could only assume that’s what it was. And that feeling, it came back. A horrible wash of it – of remembering the feeling of being a victim, tied down by a man who was two, Tobias and his father, and the pain killers he’d become so dependent on. An idea struck him. “Aaron.” He said sharply. “I- I know what it’s like. What the Reaper did to – “

Hotchner dragged him over onto his back. By then his pants and underpants had been stripped away. He was naked beneath the fully clothed man atop him. “You know nothing.” He snapped, lifting a hand to roughly hit his co-worker across the side of the face.

“Unh!” Spencer exclaimed, seeing white popping before his eyes for a moment. It dimmed slowly. Long enough for him to notice that a belt was being dropped over his wrists. Cinched tight and locked. His heart beat like a captured bird’s wings beating the bars of the cage. He sputtered, half shocked, half unconscious from the heavy blow. “…No…wh-what the Reaper did was, unforgivable…and you felt weakened, didn’t you? He made you feel like nothing else would ever be the same. That you would never be you again. But it’s not tr – “

“Shut up!” Aaron barked, forcing Spencer to cower slightly, hands lifted to defend his face from further damage. He forced Reid onto his stomach again. They were on the carpet in the hall. It was a place of no significance, but after this, he knew Reid would not be able to pass through it without feeling a shiver up his spine, without remembering flashes of what happened there, without feeling sick to his stomach.

He was breathing fast as he unzipped his own trousers, grabbing his throbbing cock by the root and guiding it to meet with the clenched opening to the doctor’s anus. “You’re going to shut up and take it, Reid.”

“Take what?!” Spencer demanded out, but he knew. He tried to thrash. Couldn’t.

It was all happening so fast…

And he was weak.

“This is… this is what he wants, Hotch. He wants you to feel like you lost… like you need to reclaim yourself, but this isn’t the way, I promise you!”

“No. You're right. It's not his way. It’s my way.” Aaron said simply.

He thrust. There immediately was an defense – his swollen head sitting arrested at the ring of hot muscle. He battered it roughly, one thrust, two thrust, three. Finally it popped in and Spencer yelled with pain as Aaron forced himself in. “Yes…”

“Please… Hotc – Aaron – don’t, stop… you can stop now…please…” Spencer begged. “There’s still time.”

His insides clung down fiery hot on the length of meat slowly moving into him. He could feel every inch of it, prying apart his anal walls, forcing the too-small orifice to stretch and accept what he didn’t want. The dead feeling of losing control settled over him a second time.

He panted loudly, closing his eyes, mumbling out pleas that fell on deaf ears. He barely heard them himself. His fingers dug into the carpet hard. “Uu…nnhh…”

Aaron smirked, sitting up straighter on his knees. He grabbed Reid by the waist to better position himself before slamming forward again.

“It’s too m – uuuah – t-too much…!”

Slap, slap, slap.

Their skin had met. Aaron had sheathed himself. They rocked together, back and forth, forcefully. He made no efforts to be gentle with his team member, his friend. He just moved in and took what he wanted without considering the consequence. He closed his eyes and felt the white-hot stab. Fuck. Every thrust into Reid’s trembling body was a flash of memory; thrust, stab, thrust, stab, thrust, stab.

The Reaper might not have raped him, but he’d violated him in his own way.

Spencer was face-first on the floor. He breathed the fibers of the carpet, his mouth halfway open, sharp pants escaping his throat. He felt close to hyperventilating but he held it back. He wouldn’t break beneath this. He’d hold on, and life would go on, as life had – (not, a voice whispered) – gone on when Tobias’s alter ego had had its way.

“Haa…ahh…haaa…ahhhh..haaa…hahhh…”

Not laughing.

Breathing.

Very fast.

He closed his eyes, feeling them sting.

Aaron gave a flurry of thrusts that pounded Reid’s ass red. Blood was pouring out around his thickend staff, marking it with rivulets of red. He’d torn the tender tissue of the young man’s insides and now he was about to leave his final mark. “Hnnn—ngh!” He slammed in, bucking back and forth harder, harder, until suddenly he felt his cock explode with pleasure.

Jet after jet of steaming cum sprayed from him and poured into Reid’s pounded backside, directly into the deepest parts. It filled him up. So much so that it started to run out in creamy rivulets all around the sides of his cock. He looked down, watching the pink mixture of blood-and-cum, letting out a low sigh of relief. He had needed that.

“…Ho…tch…” the voice came out feeble, and Aaron, almost as if shocked to realize he wasn’t alone in that room turned his gaze up to where Reid lay sprawled across the ground, ass forced up, face down. He looked like the aftermath of the animals they hunted, when said animal was done. His stomach clenched.

“Reid.” Aaron pulled out, his motion followed by a soupy mixture of cream and more. He fixed his clothes quickly, then crouched down beside him in the middle of the hall. His arm went out – he saw Spencer flinch – but he moved on, lowering it to grasp the male’s shoulder with his hand. “Reid. Don’t move.”

“I’m here to help.”

A/N: So what do all you think? Should I continue? If so this will turn into a very twisted relationship indeed...