Need H

Characters: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Rating: NC-17

Prompt: 3 Addiction
Word Count: 1823

Spoilers: Nothing specific.
Warnings: (if any): Airplane sex? Heh.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own anyone herein. They belong to CBS and others. No infringement is intended and I am SO not making money off these guys.

A/N: This is my first completed CM fic. Melissa Etheridge quote from her song "Occasionally" .

I'm dedicating this one to stellaluna_, Evil Genius, since it's really her fault that I signed up for this challenge. Thanks, stellaluna!

Feedback is always welcome.

Need
by Stacy L.A. Stronach

Melissa Etheridge once sang, "I guess I'm just addicted to the pain of delight."

We're on the plane heading back home after a case and everyone else is asleep. I've finished with my notes on this last case and I put the files aside. I don't always find it easy to sleep on the plane.

I look across the table at where he sleeps, jacket pulled over him, head on a pillow while his long legs hang over the end of the seats. I study him, again, even though I know every curve of his face, of his body, almost as well as my own.

He is an addiction; my addiction and I don't want to ever give him up. From that first stolen kiss after a case, when we were sharing a hotel room, I knew I wouldn't be _able_ to give him up. I don't want to give him up.

Sight. I know that when other people look at him, they judge him as being some sort of lanky, long-legged geek or nerd. I like his slimness…his lankiness. When he's sprawled on the bed, naked and aroused and waiting for me, he is sensuality in the flesh. His skin is pale except for the faint pink flush on his chest and his face.

As our affair has progressed, he's become more comfortable in his sexual skin. He'll lie there on the bed, waiting for me, his gaze heavy lidded, full of lust. One hand will be stroking his cock, his other hand will be playing with his dusky brown nipples, watching me undress and his wantonness fuels my own desire.

Sound. I can listen to him talk all day and it really doesn't matter about what; I just need to hear his voice. His intelligence, his kindness, and even the innocence he's managed to maintain…draw me to him like the familiar moth to the flame.
I love the noises he makes when we're in bed together: the whimpers, the moans, the hitching of his breath just before he comes…and his joyful shout of completion when he finally achieves that release.

He's become bolder, lately. He'll stand behind me, wrapping his arms around me, leaning forward, his mouth near my ear while he whispers things. Things that he wants me to do to him or, what I find even more erotic, what he wants to do to me. The timbre of his voice, the heat of his breath over my ear always makes me shiver and makes my dick hard.

Touch. The first time I touched him—I shook his hand when we met and I felt something. He's told me that it was like that for him as well. Now, when he touches me or I touch him it's like there's electricity flowing through me into him and back out again. I've never felt anything like this with another person. Not even my wife. I've told Spencer she doesn't mind but I really haven't told her anything. I keep them both separate, much as I do work and home. Although, if Haley ever did find out, I doubt it would bother her. Our reasons for marrying had little to do with love. She doesn't touch me the way Spencer does….

I know which touches are ticklish for him, making him squirm. I know which touches make him squirm because it's turning him on. I know that he loves to have me run my fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. Sometimes, after we make love and we're in bed, just holding one another, I stroke his hair, almost like I'm petting a cat. I often think that if he were a cat, he would be purring.

Taste. The taste of his skin is addictive. There's always the basic taste of _him_ but in his mouth it's sweeter, flavoured by whatever he's been eating or drinking; on his cheek, it's rough and sometimes I can taste traces of the soap he uses; the soft skin under his ear is saltier, but it is smoother. I love how he arches his body against mine when I run my tongue on that little spot of flesh. If he isn't hard before I do it, he is afterward. The skin of his cock is hot and smooth under my tongue and the taste of him there is intense and the most addictive. It's sharp and musky and so intensely _him_.

I hear a noise and look over at Spencer Reid. He's waking now, hazel eyes open and staring directly into my own. A slow smile spreads across his face. I know he can read my arousal as easily as he reads a book. I look around—the others are all still sleeping. I tilt my head toward the bathroom as I stand up, thanking God that the plane isn't huge. I make my way slowly to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, I hear his fingers tapping on the door and I slide it open. I don't need to ask if anyone saw him. He wouldn't be here if they had. Spencer walks inside and locks the door. Before I can speak, he's turned me so my back is against the sink before he sits on the toilet. We stare at one another and without breaking that gaze, he undoes my pants, pushing them and my boxers down far enough to free my cock. When he slides his mouth down to the root of my cock, I let out a strangled breath, my head falling back as my eyes close.

I wrap my fingers in his hair, holding on, not guiding. The only thing I'm aware of is the wet warmth of his mouth sliding up and down my length; his tongue teasing along the underside of my dick, swirling around the tip. He slides his fingers under my cock and plays with my balls. Oh, Christ, I'm not going to last long, he knows how to get me off and does so, quickly. A few minutes later I feel the pressure building and as my release hits me, I see stars behind my closed lids. My harsh whisper of his name, "Spencer," echoes in the small room. He swallows my come, keeping his mouth around my dick as it softens, releasing it before it becomes uncomfortable for me.

I open my eyes and look down at him and can't help but smile. He's grinning at me and stands up. We kiss, sliding out tongues together; my hands are still wrapped in his hair and he has his hands on my waist. I can feel his erection pressing against my thigh. We pull back from each other a little, breaking the kiss and I look at him. "What do you want?" I whisper.

"To fuck you," he replies equally quiet.

"Lube?" I ask. There's nothing in this bathroom that we could possibly use. He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a small tube of the stuff. I grin. "You weren't a Boy Scout."

"But I always though their motto was a good one," he says, kissing me briefly.

I manage to turn around and Spencer pulls my pants down. They pool at my feet and I spread my feet as much as I can. I hiss when I feel the coolness of his lubed finger push inside of me. I grip the edge of sink and look at our reflections in the mirror. Spencer isn't looking up; his concentration is focused on the finger he's sliding into my ass. I gasp when I feel him add a second one to start stretching me.

He looks up when he hears my gasp and smiles at me in the mirror and our gazes lock. "Do it, fuck me," I say, voice harsh with need.

Spencer doesn't look away as he positions his cock and slowly pushes into me. I barely manage to keep my eyes open; the exquisite sensations are enough to overwhelm me. I push my ass back, taking him completely inside me. He makes a small moan in the back of his throat and then he starts thrusting into me, his hands on my hips, holding me still. The only sounds in the room are the echoes of our harsh breathing and the slap of his balls against my ass.

I keep staring at him in the mirror and he stares back. It's an incredibly sexy thing and I’m not sure why. My cock is twitching but I know I won't get hard or come again; it's too soon and I don't have the advantage of youth that Spencer has. This still feels good though; I love being fucked. Spencer's thrusts are getting quicker, less rhythmic; he's close to coming. As I watch him in the mirror, he finally breaks eye contact when his head tilts back. He thrusts into me hard, once more and grunts as he tilts over his edge, coming inside of me.

The tenseness leaves his body and I feel his softening cock slip out of me as he leans forward, kissing the back of my neck and whispering my name. "Aaron, God that was…" he trails off. We stay this way for a few seconds, catching our breaths.

Finally, he stands up, moving away so that he can do up his pants as I do the same. I look at my watch—we've barely been in here for 15 minutes. I hope like hell that no one has woken up. We just might get away with this. Done with rearranging ourselves, hopefully making it look like we didn't just fuck in an airplane bathroom, I smile at him and lean in for a quick kiss. I slowly open the door, peering out and I'm relieved to see that no one else seems to have awoken.

I'm out in the hallway and before I let go of the door, I turn and grin at him. "Welcome to the Mile High Club," I say and am pleasantly surprised to see the faint blush on his face. I let the door close and walk casually back into the seating area, my eyes scanning my coworkers. Everybody is still asleep. I settle back into my seat and put my jacket over me to keep warm in case I doze off.

A few minutes later, Spencer is back in his seat, lies down and gets as comfortable as he can. Once he's settled, he looks at me and smiles; I smile back and watch him as he falls asleep. He looks so young….

Spencer Reid is my addiction…and I will not give him up.

W. H. Auden once said: "All sins tend to be addictive, and the terminal point of addiction is damnation."

Spencer Reid is my sin, my delight, and my addiction. If that damns me…then I will gladly suffer in Hell later, if it means keeping Heaven here on earth now.

~~**the end**~~