(4) lavender

tw: description of cut-wounds and bleeding

The team spent three days in Perry, Georgia so far. After your little adventure in the shower, Hotch and you have had no time to get some quality time together. Which was probably for the best, considering the state of your knees. They took quite a toll from spending so much time on the tiles of the bathroom.

Hotch's wrists weren't nearly as bad, but when his dress shirt rode up his arms, you could see the faint blue and red stripes around them. It made the corners of your mouth twitch a little every time you saw it.

One time, Morgan accidentally touched your knee, and you whined a little too loud. You played it off as being surprised, but Hotch knew what was up.

Now, however, you all were deep into the case; not really knowing where to go from here. Two ritualistic murders were what the team was called for. The last murder was a day before you arrived. Since then: nothing.

Reid went over the MO again: "They look like ritualistic killing, staged by the first settlers in North America to intimidate the Natives. But they are not quite right. Like they pretend to be ritualistic."

"So maybe they just want us to think it's a ritual, distracting form the actual motive?" Morgan asks.

"Possibly." Hotch replies.

JJ and Emily come in with fresh coffee for everyone. You thank them with a smile and sip on yours.

The bright light of the conference room starts to bother you. The only window is in the next room, you feel trapped under the artificial lights.

"I'm gonna take a walk." You announce and get up.

"Can I join you?" Reid asks, apparently equally bothered by the lights.

You smile at him and pull your jacket over your holster: "Be my guest."

Leaving the Perry Police Department, you take deep breath, coffee still in your hand. You turn right, into the direction of one of the main streets, Ball Street.

Reid follows you, fidgeting with his cup.

"What is it, Reid?" You look at his hands, then in his eyes.

"Ehm…I…" He takes a sip to play for some time. "What's going on with you and Hotch?"

Doing your best, to ignore your pounding heart, you ask: "What do you mean?"

"Well, some weeks ago you two barely looked at each other; always on edge, ready to bark at the other. And now you suddenly pick him up when his car breaks down?"

You turn left and follow the main street. "I told you, he apologized."

"Yeah but…" He clears his voice: "I saw him leave your room two nights ago."

Shit.

You look around, avoiding Spencer's gaze. Suddenly, you stop, grabbing his arm.

"Spencer look."

"I'm not falling for that. Are you two sleeping together?"

"No, Spencer, seriously. Look!" You point at the Perry Area Historical Museum, you just walked by.

Annoyed, he turns to see what you are pointing at.

"Oh."

You look at him: "Do you think what I think?"

"When you think the reason, the bodies were staged that way is because these were historical reenactments, then yeah."

Throwing your half empty coffees in the trash, you start jogging back. While you are fully sprinting, Spencer struggles to keep up. You rush into the conference room shouting: "They were reenactments!"

"What?" Hotch gets up, walking over to the board with all the pictures.

Spencer finally comes in, breathing heavily. "They…were…"

"Reenactments." Emily says. "You need to work on your mile, Reid."

ɤɤɤɤ ɤɤɤɤ ɤɤɤɤ

"Is there really no other option?" Hotch rubs his face.

"We went over this several times." You look at him.

JJ's eyes wander between the both of you: "I'm with her on this one."

Everyone nods their head.

"Fine." Hotch exhales.

With Garcia's help, you eventually figured out the connection between the victims. Their siblings were all newly sponsors of the Perry Area Historical Society. Going from there, you found older murders that had similar MOs, but not the exact, which is why you overlooked them before. You all are pretty sure that the murders were some kind of introduction ritual.

Now, Hotch and you had to go undercover. You two are the only ones who haven't talked to the siblings.

It is dark outside when Hotch pushes you up to the door of Historical Society. Your mouth is taped shut. Hotch shoots you one last look, giving you a chance to call it off. You nod towards the door. He sighs and knocks.

You insisted that you would not wear any earpieces. It is too risky, especially because they would probably take a close look at you. Now the team sits a block away, hoping everything will go as planned.

After a minute, the door opens a crack.

"Can I help you?" A tall man asks, looking you and Hotch up and down.

"I'm a friend of Christian." Hotch says, his voice steady and deep.

Christian was the sibling you were sure murdered his sister.

The man opens the door fully, smirking when he sees your taped mouth.

"Please, come in."

Keeping up the charades, you fight your restraints, shouting through the tape.

Hotch pushes you towards a chair: "Sit down and shut up!" Caught off guard, you actually sit down.

The nameless man laughs: "Your sister?"

"Half-sister." Hotch answers, rolling his eyes at you.

The man snickers and says he will get the others, whatever that means.

You start to fight your restraints again, screaming muffled obscenities at Hotch.

After a few minutes, a man and a woman come down the stairs. They shake Hotch's hand, but then the man who introduces himself as Daniel, says: "The feds are in town. How do we know, you're not one of them?"

Hotch laughs: "What? And I come here to beat up and murder my colleague?"

"Take off your jacket then, show us that you're not wearing some kind of recording devices."

"Fine." He takes off his jacket, raising his arms, so that they can check his chest and back.

You don't like to see them touching him like that.

You are also glad that you persuaded Hotch not to wear any gear that would have blown your cover right now.

They seem satisfied and step back.

"So, why do you want to join us?" The woman asks.

Hotch looks at you and back at them: "She's annoying."

You manage to get an audible FUCK YOU out.

They all laugh at you: "Fair enough."

"We need to take a little drive." Daniel announces.

Hotch looks at him surprised: "Where to?"

"You'll see. Just a nicer environment with some greenery."

The four of them take you outside, pushing you towards a van. You see Reid and Emily a little down the road, pretending not to notice you. When the others open the van, you take the chance to shake your head at them, telling them not to intervene just yet.

The inside of the van sends shivers down your spine. It's full of knives, plastic wrap, and other stuff you decide not to take a closer look at.

Hotch tries to control his micro expressions, but still gives you a concerned look. Your wrists are now taped in front of you. Were you not as stressed, it would have been funny. How the turn tables.

After a ten-minute drive, you arrive at a park. It's dark and there are barely any street lanterns. It will be difficult for the team to get close since any light will attract major attention. This is not good.

The door of the van slides open and you are pulled outside. The nameless man and woman hold you, while Hotch and Daniel gather some instruments. You fight against their grip, not hard enough, however, to actually get loose. They have to get caught red handed. Which means attempted murder, not kidnapping.

Between the trees, you are brought to your knees. The woman takes a knife and steps close to you. You see the panic in Hotch's eyes.

You try to crawl away from her, but she still gets you at your upper arm. Screaming at the pain the cut causes, you fall on your side.

"No!" Hotch exclaims.

You raise your head. Please, don't blow it now.

But he saves it with: "I want to do that."

"It's death by a thousand cuts…and kicks if you like to. Don't you think there is enough for everyone?" The woman argues, looking at Hotch.

His eyes dart between your bleeding arm and the knife in her hand.

"Sure, I'd still like to start." He argues.

"Come on, Mary, he deserves it." Daniel argues.

Ah, Mary is the bitch's name.

"Whatever." She says, still taking the time to cut the outside of your thigh.

At least not as deep, you think. Nevertheless, your pants are ruined.

Hotch looks at you. Your sight blurs from the pain, but you still notice him repeatedly tapping his right hand at his right leg. Mary sarcastically bows to him and hands him the knife.

He takes it and stares at the blade with your blood on it. He looks like he is about to cry.

Almost unnoticeable he shakes his head and walks over to you. You roll onto your side. Guarding your head with your arms, you wait for the pain. It hits you in the chest. Your eyes shoot open, and the air is pressed out of your lungs. The others cheer him on.

He kicks you again, this time in the stomach. You bend your arms to take off the tape that covers your mouth so that you can breathe properly, then your hands wander down as far as your restraints allow it. He kicks you again.

At the fourth kick you finally manage to reach for his right ankle and grab the gun that's strapped to it.

Hotch immediately turns around and gets out of your way. You extend your arms and shoot.

The recoil hurts your cut arm really bad. Nevertheless, you shoot again. The bullets get the men in their shoulders. They both collapse, groaning.

Hotch is already on Mary, basically beating her into the ground. You get up and put your arms around him, pulling him off her. Your wrists are still taped together, it hurts pressing them against Hotch's chest.

"Stop, Aaron." You calmy say into his ear.

He falls backwards, hitting the ground next to you.

Without saying anything, he gets the knife and cuts your restraints. You hear shouting coming from the road.

Hotch takes off his shirt, ripping it, turning it into makeshift bandages. He binds it around your arm and your thigh.

You take his hand: "Aaron, I'm okay."

His head hangs down.

"Aaron." You repeat.

"I'm so sorry." He sobs.

You take his face between your hands and make him look at you. His cheeks are wet.

Wiping his tears, you tell him: "It's okay. You did nothing wrong."

He shakes his head: "I..I kicked you."

"Yeah, but you did it to give me the gun."

He pulls you into a hug, holding you to his chest.

You hear the sirens of the ambulance coming closer and the team running towards you. Morgan, JJ, and Emily cuff the murderer lying on the ground, making them stand up and walk towards the cars.

Reid, however, come over to you and Hotch who is still holding you.

"Hey, Reid." You whisper.

"Are you okay?!" He kneels down next to you.

Hotch finally lets go of you. He's only wearing a black t-shirt now, since his dress shirt is wrapped around your wounds. Reid and he are helping you stand up.

"I'm fine, Reid." You assure him.

"No, she's not." Hotch interrupts. "She's got multiple cut wounds."

"Yeah, but it's more tragic that my pants are ruined. I really liked them."

You actually mange to make Hotch laugh at that remark.

ɤɤɤɤ ɤɤɤɤ ɤɤɤɤ

Wearing Hotch's FBI jacket and tights that Emily had in her bag for some reason, you give your statement about what happened. Your bloody clothes are in an evidence bag. You're still mad about your pants.

Since it's late, you will fly back tomorrow. Everyone gathers in the bar that's closest to your hotel. You have to lift your left arm to toast, since your right still hurts. Hotch notices and gets a sad look on his face.

You only take one shot with the others and decide to not drink any more alcohol. It won't help the healing process to get hammered. Hotch sits to your left, keeping close. Several times he absentmindedly rubs your thigh.

When he does it the third time, Reid leans to you and whispers in your ear: "I saw that."

You turn your head and whisper back: "Shut up or I will convince everyone that you plagiarized your last PhD."

He inhales sharply: "You wouldn't dare."

"Wanna find out?"

He sighs and shakes his head.

"Hey, what are you two whispering about?" Morgan shouts across the table.

"Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?" You shout back.

Emily starts laughing uncontrollably, Morgan just looks lost.

Back at the hotel, everyone except you and Hotch is slightly buzzed. Even Spencer got coerced into drinking some beers.

Waiting in the hallway until everyone disappeared into their room, you follow Hotch into his.

You take off his jacket and hand it back to him. In exchange he gives you one of his white shirts. He inhales sharply when he sees that your chest is still red at the places where he kicked you.

You pull the shirt down: "Calm down. You kick like an eleven-year-old."

He shakes his head.

"Come on, I can see that you want to laugh." You sit down on the bed.

Hotch hesitantly sits down next to you: "I'm still sorry."

"And I appreciate that, but you were doing your job. You know that it gets ugly sometimes."

"Yeah, I know."

"Good. Now get on your knees and apologize properly." You lean back on your elbows.

He stares at you, mouth hanging open.

"You heard me."

Aaron chuckles while getting on his knees in front of the bed.

"The way you talk to me…" He shakes his head, still smiling.

You reach out for his chin: "What about it?"

He pulls your pants down, quickly but careful not to rub against your bandage.

Kissing your thighs, he answers: "You manage to turn me on in mere seconds."

You chuckle and grab his hair: "You do realize that you are doing the same to me?"

He hums against your skin. Pushing your underwear to the side, he runs his fingers through your pubic hair, before dipping his thumb into your entrance.

You breathe out loudly and fall back onto the bed.

Reaching behind you, you get Hotch a cushion he can put under his knees.

His hands run up your thighs, wandering under your shirt, resting on your hip. You look down at him, his face is hidden between your legs. You cannot imagine ever getting tired of that view.

Aarons licks between your folds, lapping up the wetness that was already pooling there. His tongue ghosts over your clit, making you moan. One of his hands spreads your lips to give himself better access. He starts so suck roughly, still avoiding your clit.

It makes you curse under your breath. You feel him smile and press your thighs around his head in response. He grabs your legs and puts lays them onto his shoulders. Pictures of when you did that with him flash before your eyes and turn you on even more.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and press your heels against his back, pushing him even closer to your core. To your surprise, that makes Hotch moan.

He finally inserts two fingers into you.

Slowly, he starts to move them. Your head falls back at the sensation. He stretches your walls, causing heat to rise up in your lower stomach.

You have to keep yourself from screaming.

Hotch curls his fingers inside you and hits your g-spot every time he pushes his hand forwards. He finds a steady rhythm and nibbles at the skin of your thighs. It's agonizing how he repeats this movements, turning you into a moaning mess.

Your breathing fastens and your heart pulsates so hard, you feel it in the back of your tongue.

When he feels you clenching around him, he pulls his fingers out. You groan.

"Fuck, you're hot." He whispers.

You reach down and grab his raven hair. You pull it until Aaron lies on the bed next to you.

He kisses you and you lick his lips. You feel the stubbles of his beard rub against your cheek. Hotch's hair is a mess, his pupils are so wide that his irises look black. You take his right hand and put it around your neck.

His eyes widen in surprise. You grin at him: "Sometimes I like a taste of my own medicine."

"I…I don't know how to…that properly…without hurting you." His hand barely touches your skin.

Smiling, you tell him: "Press here." You push against the fingers at the side of your neck. "You have to momentarily cut off the blood circulation. That's what causes the rush."

Hotch rolls onto you, kneeling left and right of your hips. You push one of his hands down to your core. He finally stimulates your clit, causing your hips to jerk up.

Then he carefully starts to apply pressure to the side of your neck. Your chest starts to heave. You have to force yourself to keep your eyes open. Hotch stares into your eyes, vigilant of every movement you make. You nod.

His grip tightens. His movements at your clit get faster. When he bents down to kiss you again, his weight partially rests on your neck. Your eyes roll back in your head. Your legs twitch. He rubs fast circles at your core. Only him sitting you on you keeps you down.

When he straightens his back and lets go of your throat, the endorphin rush overwhelms you and sends you into a spasming orgasm.

Your blood rushing in your ears is all you can hear. Apparently, you are moaning loudly because Hotch covers your mouth with his hand. You bite your tongue and slowly come down from your high.

When you are in control of your noises again, you bite Hotch's palm, and he lets go of your mouth.

Unbelievably tired and relaxed, you pass out, lying next to Hotch.

ɤɤɤɤ ɤɤɤɤ ɤɤɤɤ

Whereas everyone else has a slight hangover, you can simply enjoy the flight back to DC.

That is, until Hotch catches your gaze. He is apparently done with his report, because now he is staring at you, biting his lip.

You wink at him.

The idea of hooking up on the jet excites you, but that really would be too far.

Laying your head back, imagining fucking Hotch in the bathroom has to suffice for now.

Because of your injuries you are on leave for at least two days. Then you have to report to the medical department to get yourself cleared for duty. So, after landing, you say goodbye to everyone and drive home.

After taking a shower and redoing your bandages you get an idea. You have to think of Hotch's sparse front yard. Grabbing your bag, you go back to your car. There is a garden center not far from his house.

You get a cart and search for some shovels and flower soil. Grinning, you get as much lavender as can fit in your car. When you look at your phone, you see a message from Hotch.

Can leave in about three hours. Should I come over to yours?

It makes your stomach flutter. Damn, he's lovely.

Actually, let's meet at your place. :)

You throw your mobile in your handbag and drive off.

Your hands and jeans are dirty, and your forehead is sweaty. You, however, are happy with your work. There are now two long rows of lavender, gracing the front of Hotch's house. You lean the leftover soil against the side of the house.

A neighbor came by earlier and observed what you were doing. Planting flowers apparently didn't alert him, and he let you be.

You are just cleaning your hands when Hotch pulls up. He smiles at you and gets out, looking all dapper in his suit.

He wraps one arm around you and kisses you deeply. Only when he lets go of you, he notices the flowers.

"Did you do that?" He stares at the lavender.

"Do you like it?"

He kisses your hair: "It's amazing. Thank you." He pauses. "Nice touch, using lavender. Marking your territory, huh?"

"Damn, Hotch, did you just make a joke?" You laugh. "Also: yes, absolutely."

His hazel eyes meet yours: "Is this your way of asking me to be your boyfriend?"

You shrug your shoulders, but your mouth twitches when you try not to smile: "If you want to."

Hotch stares at you in amazement: "I'd love to."