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posh--bee · 16 days ago

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THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! Glad you liked it!!! 💕💕💕

all bark no bite || Aaron Hotchner

pairing → Aaron Hotchner x Reader

summary → It starts with your boss slash older boyfriend's hand simply resting on your thigh while driving in one of the team's SUVs through the night. But it soon turns into your hand on the noticeable bulge in his tight pants, teaching him a long overdue lesson.

warnings → smut (18+ only), fem!reader, BAU!reader, secret relationship, age gap, teasing, handjob, car sex...?, heavy on the dog imagery, shamelessly pushing the desperate loser bottom Hotch agenda

author's note → This was supposed to be a blurb but after the first 500 words the story looked me dead into the eyes and told me it's a full fic. And now, a few days and this year's ESC later is! And I really don't what happened here, all I can say is that I am but a mere slave of the freaky spirits that possessed me to write this. Let me know what you think about it ;D

word count → 4k

masterlist(s)

The countryside outside your window passes by in a blur of various shades of black, the darkness closing in all around you, broken only by the blindingly bright headlights of the government-issued (and in your humble opinion, incredibly ugly) massive SUV you're currently driving in.

Well, you're not actually the one driving, Hotch is, because he insisted like the annoyingly caring boss slash secret older boyfriend he is, his focus solely and sternly on the road in front of you to keep the car from crashing into the thick line of trees standing next to your path through nowhere America, population: just you and him, and some forest dweller thankfully smart enough to wait for you to pass by them before stepping their paws or hooves onto the cold and bumpy asphalt.

You're just sitting prettily in the passenger seat, bored out of your mind with a headache brewing behind your eyes from the long and exhausting day you had that is already bleeding into the next one, examining the different secluded locations your current unsub dumped his victims' bodies to be discovered by unsuspecting hikers weeks or sometimes months later.

You scrub your hands over your face and rub your tired eyes which earns you a sympathetic chuckle from your personal chauffeur, his eyes never leaving the road ahead of you. You resign yourself to fiddle with the fancy radio of the SUV, skipping from obscure local station to obscure local station, from generic country song to generic country song before you turn the stupid thing off for good with a huff of grouchy frustration.

"Don't worry, the motel isn't far anymore, okay?"

If his low and gentle voice isn't enough to appease your mood, the big big hand that leaves the steering wheel in favor of coming to rest on top of your thigh definitely is. He softly squeezes your leg, his doting eyes finding yours for just a moment and you can't help but to smile at the man who stole your heart with his brown eyes following you longingly whenever he thought he was unobserved, with his awkwardly gentle touches and his sad attempts of what he thought qualified as flirting. The warmth of his palm seeps steadily through the fabric of your trousers into your own skin, the pleasant feeling spreading from there through your whole body and you relax into your seat, immediately mollified by this simple touch of his.

But as his thumb starts to rub slow circles into your clothed skin, even absentmindedly tracing along the inner seam of your pants, the depraved part of your brain that embarrassingly is always just a little bit horny for him deliberately misreads your boyfriend's innocent gesture and suddenly, your whole body is wide awake. You try to be good and ignore the tingling sensation between your legs each slow and heavy drag of his thumb against your skin feeds, but it gets more and more insistent by the second and you can't help but hope against hope that his deliciously thick fingers will be shoved down your panties to toy with your clit and fill up your lonely cunt within the next few minutes.

You're 99.8% sure that Hotch isn't sharing this particular vision of yours, with the remaining 0.2% wishful thinking at best, but that doesn't stop you from curling your fingers around his much larger hand and slowly, playfully bringing it closer to where you so desperately need it, need him.

Regrettably, your boyfriend, who is much more concerned with decorum than you could ever be, proves you right.

"Behave, will you?" he gently scolds you, a lovingly exasperated smile playing on his lips as he wiggles his hand from your insistent fingers. He shifts slightly in his seat then, raising his hand to your face, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before simply cupping your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin softly.

You lean into his touch immediately, the whine that spills past your lips making you sound incredibly pathetic but you don't care about that right now. You're exhausted and frustratingly turned on and just want him to make you feel good while you're enthusiastically returning the favor. If he actually loved you, like he always tells you he does in the stolen moments during cases or in the privacy of your apartment, he'd just stop the car on the side of the road and let you climb over center console onto his lap, let you spit in your palm to work him to complete hardness before pulling your panties to the side and sink onto his cock that you're actually convinced ruined you for any other man on the planet—not that you would admit that in front of him, ever. And then he'd let you ride him to your heart's content, you gasping and moaning on top of him as his infuriatingly perfect dick hits all those sweet spots inside of you with every sharp thrust while he hides his face in your neck, groaning wetly against your skin, his hands leaving bruises against the soft skin of your hips while desperately chasing his own release—until you're both shaking with ecstasy and exhaustion, the tinted windows of the SUV fogged up from your exertion, and your shared spend dripping from where you're connected so intimately, making a sticky mess of his trousers and the black leather of his seat.

But instead his thumb brushes lightly over your pouting bottom lip before he's leaning into your space to place an infuriatingly deep and lingering kiss to your lips, his talented tongue tracing the seam of your lips teasingly while his eyes flicker between your half-lidded and blissed-out ones and the dark road stretching in front of you.

The only thing that that kiss accomplishes is to stir the simmering arousal deep in your belly into a blue-flamed fire and make you a little bit stupid which he's completely aware of, smugly smirking against your lips before pulling back completely, even placing his other hand back on the steering wheel.

This time, you swallow the pitiful little noise rising in your throat, clinging to your last measly shreds of dignity with burning ears and the miserable throbbing of your neglected clit between your legs.

You stubbornly turn your head with your chin held high to watch the blurry darkness rush past your window instead of longingly staring at his side profile and strong jawline for the rest of the drive like your heart—your pussy—wants to. (Same difference, really.)

You hear him chuckle quietly to himself which only makes you raise your chin higher, visibly flinching when you suddenly feel the tips of his fingers ghost over the naked skin of your arm. He immediately squeezes your elbow in apology for startling you and you can't help the smile tugging at your lips at the sweet gesture, hoping he doesn't feel the goosebumps that his initial touch caused to rise on your skin.

Then he says your name all adoringly with that stupidly attractive voice of his and you aren't strong enough to not look at him then. The slow grin that forms on his handsome face and the cocky rise of one eyebrow however tell you that you fell right into his trap. Because apparently, he's not done teasing you yet—far from it.

But two can play this game, you decide with an overdramatic roll of your eyes, especially when he opens his mouth again, drawing out his words slightly.

"Be good for me, sweetheart, and I promise you I'm all yours when this case is over and we're back home."

The indignant huff that pushes past your lips at his words only makes him grin harder, the enticing crow's feet framing his eyes and the dimples at the corners of his mouth mocking you with how stupidly attractive you find them—find all of him, really.

But you're quick to wipe that grin off his face when you reach over and drop your hand to his lap, unceremoniously cupping him over his tight dress pants.

His reaction is everything you knew it would be—and then some.

Instinctually, his hips roll forward, pushing himself more insistently into your touch, into the warmth of your skin bleeding through the layers of fabric and the delicious pressure you're squeezing him with, his jaw going slack in the process, his control immediately slipping through his fingers as they're gripping the steering wheel for dear life. You revel in this sight without shame, without mercy, the realization of how much power you're holding over him giving you a headrush like it did the first time. And you're really not a good enough person to not exploit this little fact unashamedly, not when he was acting like that, toying with you like that.

He may have you wrapped around his little finger, but his leash is in your hands and you're keeping him on a tight rein.

Because for you and only you, this big bad, scary FBI agent becomes a docile little lapdog, one single assertive touch of yours and he's presenting his belly to you.

All bark and no bite.

Because while you're playing the role of his hypersexual younger girlfriend perfectly, not only easily 10 years his junior but also his subordinate for the extra sprinkle of office drama wrapped in an HR nightmare, he's the pathetically repressed and touch-starved middle-aged, overworked and divorced father who wallowed in shame and guilt over his 'inappropriate' thoughts and feelings for you until you showed him absolution by shoving him into his office one night when the bullpen was completely deserted and simply yanking his tie down until his lips crashed into yours.

And you're very happy with your complementary roles in this still-secret relationship of yours, because you know you're only acting like you are with him, because he's the first and only man you have ever fully trusted with your body and soul, with every fiber of your being, knowing with absolute certainty that your trust won't be broken.

You're even more pleased about it when his head falls back against the headrest of his seat and a rough moan reaches your ears, a guttural sound coming from deep within his chest that resonates between your legs. And for now, you're kind enough to continue your ministrations, not when he's standing at attention for you so nicely after only a few light and teasing touches of yours.

Your usually so composed boyfriend curses under his breath which in your humble opinion is one of the hottest things he can do, only surpassed by staring down patronizing and sexist small town police officers with a superiority complex and calmly but sternly putting them into their place, or rolling his shirts above his elbows to do literally anything. Bonus points if he's wearing his bulletproof vest for any of these three scenarios.

"What are you doing?" he manages to grit through clenched teeth before his breathing hitches delightfully, your hand purposefully stroking over the mouth-watering shape of his generously sized and equally aroused dick clearly outlined against the tight fabric of his pants. Your fingers close around him as best as they can like this, the sheer girth of him shutting down your brain momentarily as you're reminded just how perfectly he fills you up when you sink down on his cock, the stretch toying deliciously with the fine line of absolutely heavenly and almost painfully. Your poor neglected cunt clenches around nothing and you feel your arousal turning your panties into an uncomfortably sticky mess.

You're brought back to reality when you feel his cock twitch pitifully against your hand in its confinement and you remember your boyfriend asked you a question that you haven't answered yet. How rude of you.

So you look at him with your eyes fluttering innocently, your head tilted to the side in mock-confusion, all while your hand continues to stroke him and make him lose his mind—the realization that he will finish in his pants if you keep your sweet torture up only makes the coil in his stomach tighten, his ears and cheeks burning in humiliation.

"What do you mean?" you chuckle lightly, mirth dancing in your bright eyes, getting drunk on the sight of your usually so commanding and imposing boyfriend being turned into this pathetic mess of a man from just your nimble hands. "I'm only returning the favor."

Not even a second later your face falls and your eyes widen in belittling concern, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth before you ask him gingerly, "Or do you want me to stop?"

You're cruel enough to pull your hand back, too, folding both of them in your lap while searching his suddenly panicked eyes, looking almost earnestly, but the condescending smile on your lips gives you away immediately. Not that you were really trying to hide it.

The wanton little whine that spills past his lips is answer enough, pleading with you out of the corner of his eyes, his gaze torn between your pretty and mean face and the road he's still driving the massive SUV on.

You however are not merciful enough to answer his pleas, too entertained by watching your poor boyfriend figuratively and literally squirm in his seat. But like the misbehaving and greedy mutt he is he blindly reaches for your hand in your lap, his shaking fingers curling tightly around it before pressing it back to his erection straining against the dark fabric of his pants, stroking himself with your hand swallowed by his own, his hips rolling mindlessly into the touch.

Your surprised little sound that was decidedly not a moan is drowned out by the relieved sigh pushing past his lip. You only allow this crude stunt of his because you're literally too stunned by it to do anything else but watch him with your mouth hanging open, letting him use your hand as he pleases, debauched and desperate, your touch the only thing on his mind.

Oh, you'll have to seriously put him in his place.

Because if he really thinks he can get away with misbehaving like this, denying you earlier what he's doing right now, there is a horribly rude awakening waiting for him on the horizon.

That's the only thing on your mind as you struggle to regain your composure even as your fingers curl around his twitching dick, squeezing him harder than is probably comfortable in punishment, before wrestling your hand out of his grasp.

"Fuck, don't stop—"

You ignore how your name leaving his lips in a moan makes your thighs clench together, ignore how your poor clit throbbing with want screams at you to just shove his hand down your pants to finish what he wouldn't earlier, ignore his words and not dignify him with any spoken answer.

Instead, you lean closer to him over the car's center console, your fingers making quick work of his belt before unceremoniously popping open the button of his trousers. His hips shift closer to your touch again while both of his hands have the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grasp, his tongue peeking out to wet his dry lips briefly.

"Sweetheart—"

His eyes snap down to his own lap where you're slowly pulling down his pants' zipper but you pause halfway through when you notice where his attention has shifted to.

"Eyes on the road, Agent Hotchner," you scold him sternly and he obeys at once, firmly fixing his gaze on the dark road still stretching out in front of you, humming appreciatively when you open his fly all the way. You bring your hand closer to your lips then, shamelessly spitting in it while you have front row seats to your boyfriend hurriedly pulling his erection out of his underwear without his eyes straying from where you've told him they should be. He's well-behaved enough to immediately return his hand to its place on the steering wheel, even when you take a moment to appreciate him in all of his glory like this. His cock stands up proudly for you, coming to rest against his stomach, gently twitching. Even in the dim lighting your eyes can easily follow the prominent vein running down his considerable length, the head of him a miserable shade of red and the drop of pre-cum shining on the tip beckoning you closer.

You give into the temptation, your spit mixing with the sticky clear fluid as you bring your wet palm to his sensitive head, your hand closing around it before you slowly, deliberately work your way down, making sure every single inch of his stupidly big cock feels the delicious tightness and warmth of your fingers wrapped around him, keeping the same maddening pace when you reach the base and retrace your path back to his weeping tip.

He sighs your name oh-so gratefully and you're almost willing to forgive this blatant misbehavior of his during tonight's drive now that your hand is wrapped so nicely around his cock, burning hot to the touch, his skin silky-smooth and soft, your thumb tracing along the vein at the side. Especially now that you feel the whole weight of him against your palm, real and perfect and twitching desperately, and only for you. Yours to play with, caress and tease until his whole body goes rigid as his orgasm hits him, his dick pulsing in your hand as you work him through it, thick ropes of cum spurting from his tip, covering your fingers and running down your hand, his length, little drops of it getting caught in the coarse dark hairs at the base.

But you square your shoulders, figuratively that is, reminding yourself that you can literally drool over his cock after you're finished with this basic lesson, teaching your unsuspecting boyfriend that actions have consequences and that he should know better than to string you along like he did.

Without warning you pick up your hand's pace, deliberately neglecting his most sensitive spots while you steadily jerk him off, the sounds of the car rolling a little less than smoothly over the bumpy road drowned out by all of his enticing noises, groans and gasps and moans, high and breathy, by the sound of your hand guiding him closer and closer to the edge.

You're attuned well enough to his body by now to keep him from falling before you want him to, expertly dancing around his point of no return, slowing down when he gets too close, replacing your palm with just the tips of your fingers or stop moving altogether, simply holding him with your hand wrapped around the thick base before beginning to gently stroke him again.

So with all that petty torture you're subjecting your now writhing boyfriend in the driver's seat of the still moving SUV to, you're admittedly a little surprised when you look up and see the red neon sign of the cheap motel the team is staying at for this case glowing like a beacon in the dead of the night, the bold "M" flickering sickly, instead of ending with the car's whole engine block wrapped around a tree somewhere in a ditch next to the desolate road like you expected you would.

With his last ounce of strength and sanity, your boyfriend jerkily maneuvers the car onto the motel's premises, pulling up next to the other two government-issued SUVs before carelessly and quite crookedly throwing the car into park. He impatiently unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches over to do the same to yours, giving you no further warning before his strong arms wrap urgently around your waist and back, half-lifting, half-dragging you over the center console to place you squarely on his lap.

His big hairy paws immediately cage your face between them, insistently pulling you closer until his hungry lips are pressed to yours, groaning deeply against your mouth in pure, bone-deep relief, all but devouring you like the starved mutt that he is.

And you let him, meeting his desperation with the same hunger, the same greed, your fingers far from gentle where they grab onto a fistful of dark strands of hair at the back of his head, pulling on them just for the sake of it, just to swallow the curse that tumbles from his mouth into yours when his tongue finds yours.

His arms are wrapped almost suffocatingly tight around you, trapping your body against his while his fingers are digging into your soft skin, and it doesn't seem like he plans on letting you go anytime soon, wanting you just like this. Right here, right now, parked in front of a little motel with the car's headlights not even turned off, the engine still idling—a motel, you might add, that all of your medically certified insomniac teammates are staying at too.

How adorably hypocritical of him. At least you wanted to fuck him on the side of a deserted road in the middle of nowhere.

So finally, it's your turn to grin wickedly against his lips and slowly pull back from him. You chuckle quietly at the way he immediately sways forward, blindly chasing your touch, his dark and dazed eyes blinking open sluggishly when he doesn't find it again because you're moving out of his reach further.

He searches your face in stupefied confusion, the warm brown hue of his eyes swallowed almost completely by his blown-out pupils, while you only smile serenely at him, your arms wrapped around his shoulder lightly while your fingers are playing with the short strands of hair at his neck.

"Sweetheart, please."

He actually whimpers and you don't know what that says about you, but it's probably the hottest sound you've ever heard coming out of his mouth. His fingers dig deeper into your skin, hard enough to leave bruises and bordering on painful but you really don't mind, too drunk on this beautifully debauched sight in front of you. His usually carefully and strictly styled hair is a mess, the apples of his cheeks rivaling the red glow of the motel's neon sign and his lips kiss-swollen and shining with spit while his belt is unbuckled and his pants are open, his painfully hard dick trapped between your bodies, begging for the release you denied him over and over again during the drive. Release, he realized in desperate dread, you're not planning on allowing him now as well.

You lean closer to him again, your chest pressed against his while your breath fans over the shell of his once-pierced ear. He didn't try to deny it when you asked him about it, after all, you could see the little mark left on his earlobe from when he was younger, but to this day he heartlessly refuses to show you a picture of him back then wearing an earring even though you promised him you would be normal about it. (You absolutely wouldn't. You know that. And he knows that too.)

Your low voice so close to his ear makes a shiver run down his spine, but the words leaving your lips in a condescending purr turn the blood in his veins to ice.

"You didn't seriously think I'd let you come after teasing me like this, did you? Oh, you poor, delusional man."

You catch his earlobe between your teeth and with one last dirty roll of your hips you reach for the door handle on his side and hop out of the SUV, striding to the entrance of the motel, letting the metal ring of the key to your single room spin around your finger.

"Have a good and restful night, sweetheart," you sing-song without looking back, your lips curling into a devilish smile when you hear your boyfriend's broken "Fuck—!" that sound like a sob echoing through the dead of the night.

You really hope he will remember tonight's lesson—for his sake.

Because only well-behaved good boys get their treat.

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