Title: Aftermark
Author: Bow (bowie28 )
Pairing: Hotch/Reid (essentially)
Rating: FRAO/NC-17
Word Count: 7,477
Beta: runriggers
Warning: extreme angst + graphic sex + some kinks
Spoiler: Up to "The Slave for Duty" (notably "Tabula Rasa")
Disclaimer:Written for emotional indulgence, not money. I own nothing but the plot.

Summary:Everything is about sex except for sex itself.

Author's Note:The story takes place sometime after "The Slave for Duty" where Reid can walk normally again. I hardly ever write porn. It's there for a reason, so bear with me. Feedback makes me happy (and less lazy).

Aftermark

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I lived on air that crossed me from sweet things

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It was one of those days.

One minute he was heading home, the next he was watching himself slip in and out of another man's body. The pale soft skin contrasted with his tanned rough hands. Sweat oozed, greased his fingers. His nails dug deeper, bruising the thin hips. He felt feverish and sick.

"More." The younger man pushed back.

"Shut up." He jabbed his hips.

"Please."

The word cost him another jab before he grabbed the long hair and pulled until the bare back was pressed against his chest.

"I said no talking."

Another thrust, deep and sharp, and the younger man shuddered, head jerked. Tightening his grip on the bruised hips, he kept on, relishing the tight wrap around him, ignoring the urge to kiss the exposed skin and whisper comfort. An obscene moan urged him to thrust again, which he did, faster, deeper, more precise.

"That's it."

You're beautiful.

"Fist yourself."

So beautiful.

"Just like that."

I love you.

When the other man arched and choke out a silent cry, he couldn't stop himself from thrusting into the pulsing heat, needing to feel it tighten, kneading out the pain. Then he was coming, brutal, inane.

He was stiff and sore when he pulled out. The young man flopped down, spreading across the bed, boneless, sated, youthful face hidden behind long dark hair, bony hips marked in reddened handprints. It was a sight and his fingers itched to feel the sensitive skin.

Instead he got to his feet, pulled off the condom and headed for the bathroom. He knew when he got out, fresh and clean, the room would be empty and the money on the nightstand would be gone. He knew when he got out and looked at the crumpled motel bed sheets, he'd be wishing the next time he wanted, needed to feel something, he would have the balls to call Spencer instead of the man whose name he'd never asked, would never ask.