- Work in Progress
- Character Bashing
- Explicit Sex
- No Beta
- Violence - Canon-Level
- Alternate Universe
- First Time
- Future Fic
Castle Mill House, St Frisewide’s View, Osney Island, Oxford, Oxon, OX2 1PR
The writing is exquisitely formed, and vaguely calligraphic which seems amazing considering it had been jotted on a scrap of recycled copier paper, with a government issue gel pen. The slight left slant shows him to be somewhat rooted in the past – but given who had written it, that wasn’t such a clever intuitive leap. Each letter gave the impression of being carefully thought out and ideally framed on the greyish surface, and yet Aaron knows the writer had only a few moments to write them.
It’s the beauty of the script that makes Aaron run his eyes across it once again.
After a few moments of staring, he flushes with embarrassment, realising he is standing in his bedroom, bare-chested with his shirt in one hand, while profiling as if he were a serial killer one of the most famous men on the planet – the man who has just given him the most amazing gift.
The sound of said gift opening the door to the en suite makes him turn around.
What he sees enthrals him – a completely naked Spencer stands in the doorway, framed with billowing steam from the shower, backlit like a mediaeval saint on a stained-glass window.
He knows the sound he makes is completely inappropriate, but Spencer is beautiful in a way he has never imagined, even the many, many times he fantasised in the quiet darkness of his bedroom.
He is completely unmanned by the surreal nature of the whole situation. He feels a strong urge to cover his naked chest with his shirt, and a small part of him is irritated that Spencer seems completely relaxed in his nudity. This is not the kind of reaction he thought he’d get if he ever finally got up the courage to say fuck the rules.
“You’re profiling him, aren’t you,” Spencer asks, his voice low and, to Aaron’s ears, unbelievably sultry. It makes Hotch shiver with anticipation, and his cock, which has been half hard since their kiss in his office, begins to thicken.
“It’s a wasted effort,” his soon to be lover continues. “There is nothing about Daniel that gives you an in. He is soft and hard, worldly and naïve, he has the knowledge of a sage but the simple inquisitiveness of a child. Open with his friends, but another person entirely with those he doesn’t know, or trust.”
By this time, Spencer has drawn level with Aaron, and the long slender cock pointing towards him, shows unequivocally that Spencer is just as affected by the eroticism of their situation as he is. He reaches for Spence, suddenly as desperate as a starving man to feel that creamy skin, and taste him…everywhere.
His shirt and the slip of paper drift to the floor unnoticed as he pulls Spencer towards him.
“Hey, hey…there’s no rush. We have…”
“All our lives,” Aaron murmurs impulsively, and he can see the surprise in Spencer’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I can’t do casual with you, Spence. It’s taken me too long to make a decision about approaching you, to let you go again.”
He buries his nose in Spencer’s hair, breathing him in like he’s the only thing that can fill his lungs. “Please, I have to…I need…Please, Spence…” He knows he isn’t making any sense, but Spencer is ahead of him as usual.
“OK, it’s OK. What do you need?”
“In you. I need in you.” Aaron’s cock slides against Spencer’s and he cries out as the stimulation is almost too much.
He knows he won’t last through prepping Spence, so resigns himself to something …less. It’s almost as if the act is necessary to join them symbolically as well as physically. In the back of his mind, he knows this has to do with Jackson and his ‘claim’ on Reid, and it makes him feel like a caveman. But his hind-brain is pushing him to fill Spencer, and only his unwillingness to hurt the other man is keeping him from throwing him back on the bed and pushing in.
He’s never been this out of control – this ravenous – for a sexual encounter, even in the early days with Hayley.
“Lie on the bed, baby.”
He knows he is looking at Spencer with puzzlement, as the other man hasn’t made any negative noises about what he’s asked for.
“I’m already prepped, Aaron, but I’ll don’t think you’re in a good place to be in charge. I know you want to see my face, so I’m going to ride you.”
Hotch’s cock gives a lurch and spews pre-come, and it takes a judicious application of force to his balls through the cloth of his pants, to prevent the whole event from being over far too soon. Hotch hurriedly unfastens his suit pants and steps out of both them and his boxers, thanking the stars that he’d already slipped off his shoes and socks. There is no way his shaking hands could have coped with the laces of his brogues.
As he settles on the cool sheet, he realises that Spencer is right, Aaron does need to see his face; he needs it to believe once and for all that Reid really does want this with him…To be his lover.
Then, with a confidence that he never shows in the office, Reid kneels over Aaron, slowly and sensually jacking his cock as he positions himself over Aaron’s groin. He’s so fucking gorgeous that Aaron is distracted for a few seconds, just watching the play of the soft light from the bedside lamp over his brunette curls.
Aaron is brought back into the room by the slick tight pull he’d forgotten he loved. Spencer lowers himself down in a slow easy slide, displaying a physicality that Aaron has never seen before.
Or perhaps he just wasn’t looking.
His cock is squeezed in the burning heat, and Aaron knows this isn’t going to be his finest performance.
“Gonna have to buy me a cock-ring,” he grits out, holding on to his orgasm by the skin of his teeth.
Spencer leans forward, his lanky height making him ridiculously flexible and laughs huskily. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re going to need a lot more toys than that.”
He claims Aaron’s mouth in a hot and heavy kiss that doesn’t last nearly long enough. Hotch is gratified to realise it’s because Spencer is just as breathless with desire as he is.
“You feel so good in me, Aaron,” Spencer moans, his pupils dilated to almost fill his irises with black. “I love to be fucked; hard, fast, slow, gentle. I don’t care as long as your big, thick cock, or your clever strong fingers are inside me, slamming against my sweet spot. I just want you to get me dirty; come all over me; my face, my ass, my hole. You can have me any way, anywhere you want; on my knees, spread out for you, against the wall or tied down and all yours to do with what you will.”
The visuals and the incongruous nature of such dirty talk coming from that sweet mouth is almost enough to make Aaron spill, but he desperately wants to see Spencer come. He’s been fantasising about watching the bliss on that beautiful face for years – ever since the young man joined the team.
Reaching out, he takes Spencer’s cock in his hand. It is just as slender and gorgeous as he is. Spencer is riding him hard now, and it takes him a moment to find a hold and a rhythm that matches, but soon they are in synchrony, both bodies perfectly in time. Spencer is moaning, long and low, and the sound is like another limb stroking over Aaron’s body, pushing him closer to the end.
“You gonna come for me, Spence?” he asks breathlessly, his hips jerking up to meet Spence’s downward thrusts.
“Close…so fucking close, Aaron.”
Hotch tightens his grip slightly, knowing that he only has a few moments more before he won’t be able to stop the inevitable. As that disappointing thought floats through the endorphin high, he finally gets to see what he’s been dreaming about.
With a high cry, Spencer locks up, his back curved in an almost painful arch. His face is contorted with the bliss of his orgasm, as stripes of come land on Aaron’s belly and lower chest. The sight is everything Hotch thought it would be and more, and the visual is just too much.
With a guttural roar, he drives himself upward into Spence and comes so hard that his vision greys around the edges. The pleasure goes on and on, radiating through his body like a firestorm of sensation.
Spencer drops onto Hotch’s chest like a cut puppet, and lies there motionless, except for the trembling of his limbs and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Aaron can’t even imagine moving. The roaring in his ears has not yet abated, and the backwash of pleasure is so acute that he feels like, with just a little encouragement, he could go again right away.
His cock gives a twitch and he’s shocked to realise that wasn’t just a pipe dream. With a low growl, Spencer starts to rock in his lap, encouraging him, and to his surprise, he feels his cock thickening. He hasn’t had this short a refractory period since he was about 13.
“Oh, yeah. I can see we’re going to have a lot of fun…”
Spencer’s eyes are nearly glowing with renewed ardour, and he playfully licks across the seam of Aaron’s lips. With entry allowed, he proceeds to blow Hotch’s mind with hot as hell kisses and hands that seem to be everywhere. Aaron’s body feels like a live wire, jumping and sparking with sensation.
Aaron doesn’t know why his body has suddenly decided to react like a teen again, but one thing’s for sure…It’s going to be a very interesting afternoon.
Aaron wakes and his eyes automatically seek out the large red numbers of the clock on his bedside table. Just as his fuzzy brain is wondering why he’s sleeping at 9.21 pm, the reason sits down on the edge of the bed, a crumpled piece of paper in his hand.
Jackson’s note, his fuzzy brain reminds him.
“I tried texting him, and then calling, but I just keep getting generic voicemail. Either his cell is off, out of charge, or he’s not answering.”
Hotch awkwardly shuffles to lean against the headboard and runs gentle fingers up and down Spencer’s naked back. He has to tell his stupid proprietorial cavemen side to shut the fuck up, as it complains loudly about another man taking up space in his lover’s mind. He squeezes his gritty eyes shut, working hard to jolt himself into thinking mode when all he really wants to do is drag Spencer back into bed and get him to make those gorgeous noises again.
“Do you know where he’s staying,” he asks, surprised at how gravelly his voice sounds, before remembering just how loudly he was crying out only a couple of hours ago. Spencer found things to do to him that Aaron had never considered would excite him. He can’t wait for the next few years of exploring more of that together. That’s the benefit of a lover with an eidetic and brilliant mind – Spence remembers everything he’s ever read, and he only has to do something once for it to be part of his mindscape. It made mapping Hotch’s hotspots a very interesting and rapid exercise.
But for right now, his lover needs him to be the bigger man, and listen to his…probably…reasonable concerns about an ex-lover. Although, Aaron’s inner voice gripes, not just any other lover; but the brave, spectacularly intelligent, famous, wealthy, and preternaturally gorgeous Dr Daniel Jackson PhD, etc. etc.
He once again berates his inner self, angry that he’s only now noticing the sadness in Spencer’s expression.
“I have no idea where the B&B is. It was supposed to be a surprise for me. He’s so good at helping everyone else, and then never asks for help himself. I’m afraid for him, Aaron. He’s putting up a good front, but there is something really broken in him, and I’m scared he may go to ground.”
That makes Hotch frown and look up in concern. “You think he’s likely to be suicidal?”
Considering what Spencer told him at the office, it was unlikely that Jackson had fallen deeply for Spence, not while helping him to finally get together with Hotch. So if the man is that emotionally compromised, he realises there is probably something else going on that Aaron isn’t privy to.
Spencer breathes out shakily. “My head says no, but my heart…”
Aaron nods. “Maybe we should call the SGC…”
There’s a tensing of the muscles under Hotch’s hand, which he catches Spence trying to control, but he still feels the rigidity under his fingertips.
“Is there something going on I don’t know about?”
“I don’t have his permission to discuss it with you, Aaron,” Spencer says apologetically, “but I can reassure you that it’s personal, not operational.”
As Hotch nods his understanding he feels a little of the tension bleed off under his fingertips. Reid’s answer has also allayed some fears of his own that he didn’t even realise he was harbouring; mostly about Spencer being called into service for the Stargate Program. The idea has terrified him since that day on the plane when Reid explained his link to Jackson. The thought of Spencer travelling to other worlds without Hotch there to watch his back makes his mouth dry and his fingers clench in reaction.
Spencer gives him a concerned glance. “You OK?”
“How seriously did you consider joining the SGC,” Hotch blurts out.
“Mom was still alive, so not seriously at all. But the idea of it enthralled me. I even made a few plans trying to find a way to make it happen. I even considered asking if she could come with me, but the idea of a paranoid schizophrenic on a floating city in another galaxy wouldn’t have gone down well with the powers that be at the SGC. It wasn’t my best idea,” Spencer shrugs.
“So if things had been different you would have left me…us to go to Atlantis?”
His lover gives him a tender but wry smile. “I don’t know. That would have depended on how you reacted I suppose.”
Hotch’s heart gives a hard, painful beat. He knows a few years ago he wouldn’t have tried to stop Reid from leaving the BAU. Only the possibility of someone else owning Spencer’s heart had finally jolted him out of his stupid, stoic denial.
Jackson owning Spencer’s heart, his psyche reminds him. The man that Spencer is concerned about right now while sitting on the side of your bed.
He tells it to shut the fuck up and makes to get up with the idea of finding his cell. “I wonder if Penny might be able to help,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound as grudging as he feels. But a hand to his chest stops him.
“There’s nothing we can do. I’m sure he’ll contact me when he’s ready. He’s probably just giving us time together. It’s the sort of selfless fucking thing he’d do. I just hope he doesn’t make stupid decisions while he’s doing it. There are certain people who would take advantage… and he deserves much better than that motherfucker.”
Spencer mutters the last few words sotto voce, but it gives Aaron the key to the puzzle; Spencer’s tense reluctance to contact the SGC and his muttered imprecation, makes a link in Hotch’s mind with the imminent wedding that has been in the headlines for the last week.
Finally, it all condenses and makes sense with something he’d only partly taken in during the conversation in the parking lot at Quantico.
‘I died – several times – for the man I love…’
Of course… Jack O’Neill.
The tension at the thought of Daniel Jackson being close to Spencer fades into nothing, as Hotch feels pity for the man. It makes what he did for Aaron even more amazing; helping to jolt Aaron into making his move even though he had lost his own chance, is the action for a compassionate person. Hotch knows he needs to thank the man when he sees him again. He also reminds himself never to tell Spencer just how insecure he’s been acting, even if only in the depths of his own mind.
Moments later he’s flat on his back, his whole body in contact with the silken skin of his love, and his mouth being devoured by lush lips.
He has a moment to think, Thanks, Dr Jackson, I owe you one, before everything but Spencer is well and truly pushed from his mind.
Donny & Francis
There are only two things on Earth that truly matter to Don Saunders: His man, Francis Jones, and the home/business they have made here in the leafy suburbs of Reston, VA
At one time, he would have put his country and the SGC up there too, but the way they were treated by people they thought they could trust has moved them to enemy combatant status. They both knew the current administration could not be trusted, especially when DA/DT was rescinded and the new regs brought in. But the SGC had always been different – safer for men like him and Frankie, who didn’t fit the generic sexual orientation boxes the powers that be wanted to squeeze them into.
Well, fuck them and the truck they rode in on. He wasn’t going to apologise for loving Francis Jones. The man had made his life worth living, and despite the problems and difficulties they had faced, they had done it together – stronger as a team than as individuals.
Gazing at the photograph in his hands, Donny knows despite how much he loves it, he would gladly give up his home if it meant he could make things right for one of the men smiling up at him so happily.
He hears his lover of nearly a decade enter the room, and turns. Francis looks pale and drained. It should be impossible for a man of 6’4” and 280 pounds of muscle to seem… diminished, but right now, his man looks like a stiff wind would blow him over.
“Come here, sweetheart. You look like you need some huggin’.”
He reaches out and snags Francis’ hand, pulling him down to sit next to him on the sectional sofa. He presses a kiss to Frankie’s temple as his lover sags against him with a deep, heartfelt sigh.
“He’s dead asleep. I think he cried himself out.”
Donny rubs a hand across his bald head. “I was just sitting here thinking what damage I could do with a Zat and a couple of trips with an Asgard beam.
Frankie’s eyes dart around the room and then flashes a concerned look at Don. “Did you use the gismo McKay…?”
“You know I did, first thing this morning. I didn’t find anything, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop. It was pure luck we found the one in the guest room last year. While we’re opening our home to people we can’t vet, I’m not going to lower my guard for anything.”
He knows Frankie doesn’t let the stress of their situation get to him most of the time, but the infiltration of their home by someone posing as a guest made them both feel violated. The fact that they were still of interest, despite being cleared of any ‘Conduct Unbecoming’, and them leaving (for which read pushed) from the Corps with honors, means they now have a finely laid exit strategy, both together and separately. So, if Homeworld, and the ‘Presidential Investigation Into Conduct and Morals’, finally manage to get some usable evidence against them, they can be out of the country and invisible in a matter of hours.
They have Rodney McKay to thank for the anti-listening bug technology which has saved their butts on more than one occasion, and a contact from their time in Afghanistan for their forged papers. They are as ready as they can be to get outta Dodge at a moment’s notice.
But Frankie’s fear isn’t about them, he knows that.
“In all the years we worked with him at the SGC, I never saw him like this, baby. The Doc was always so strong. Fuck, Donny, even when he was facing those Akkadian motherfuckers he was badass, and kept everything so fucking together. Watching him fall apart like that…”
Don can only nod. Seeing the man he admires so much drop to the floor, crying in despair, was like being stabbed in the gut. He places the framed photo carefully on the coffee table, knowing if he gives in to his temper the thing would be in pieces in seconds. He’s never wanted a fight more than he does right now, and the face he pictures breaking in his mind is one Lieutenant General Jack ‘don’t mind me I’m a good ‘ol boy’ O’Neill.
“I can almost hear you deciding where you’d hit that bastard first – belly for best impact, or balls for the satisfying noise he’d make.” Francis mutters, grabbing Don’s hand in his and hauling it over his shoulder. The man might be built like the side of a house, but he’s like a five year old girl for cuddles.
Settling down into the plush seating, Don allows Frankie to move him around until he’s found the place he’s most comfortable. Luckily, Donny is comfy too, although that isn’t always a given when former Staff Sergeant Francis Jones is concerned.
“Do you think we should call Paul?”
Donny shrugs. “I dunno. What do you think?” he says passing the buck. He has no idea what the right thing is to do. “I just want to make sure we’re covering the Doc’s six. If O’Neill or another of those asshats found out he was staying here through something we did, it would feel like we fucking betrayed him.”
Donny can almost hear the cogs turning as Frankie frowns in concentration, but he’s not surprised. Francis is always the strategist between the two of them. Donny just goes where he’s told and breaks heads, either physically or metaphorically. Right now, he’s hoping for the physical, but knows it’s unlikely.
Watching his lover think through the problem in front of them, he kisses the lines of tension on Frankie’s forehead and rubs his thumb across the calloused fingers lying in his lap, thanking the stars for the crazy happenstance that got them to meet, and found them open enough to take the chance. He’s never regretted it – even through the investigation and eventually being discharged – not one, single minute. The man next to him is the love of his life.
“What you got goin’ on in that tricky mind of yours, Marine?”
“Paul already knows he’s here, so talking to him wouldn’t give away any intel. I know they’re friends, but…shit, Donny, that man needs family, and apart from the General…”
The noise and hand signal Don makes couldn’t possibly be thought of as anything but derogatory. “I have no idea what’s going on there. How can he be marrying the Colonel? There hasn’t been one piece of scuttlebutt about them for years, in fact, if anything, the rumours were always about O’Neill and Jackson. I’ve never heard him call her anything but Carter, even when they thought no one could hear. They always tell you your team is like family – well, seems like Dr Jackson is better off without them.”
“Yeah, my thoughts exactly. So, I was thinking, that the only other person who fits the bill is… Doc Major.”
It’s official – his man is a genius. Donny gives him a kiss that promises a reward later, and Frankie melts underneath him in a way that encourages him to make later ‘right now’.
But Donny knows they need to get the Doc sorted before they can think about themselves. The man in their guest room deserves their complete attention, and more. Don is never going to forget walking away from that settlement and leaving the lone man behind, ready to sacrifice himself to a gruesome death for the sake of six others, without knowing whether rescue would come in time.
Even starved and beaten, the team had booked it to the Gate, making it there in half the time it should have taken, and called for reinforcements. That time, the General – then still only a one star – had rampaged through the Gate like a berserker, armed like a one-man war; rattling out orders and priming his P-90 before he’d even fully materialised.
SG – 13 had refused to go back through to the Mountain, determined to go back with the cavalry, and O’Neill seemed to understand, just slotting them in at the rear, where they wouldn’t slow down the fresher rescue team.
Nevertheless, by the time they got to where the Akkadians were holding him, only 90 minutes later, Daniel was beaten and bloody, his pupils so mismatched that he was sure the Doc must have brain damage. Several of his fingernails were missing, he was coughing up blood, and nearly all the bones in his hands and feet were broken after the bastards had laid into them with ‘ritual’ bronze rods.
There was no order to stop when several members of the team decided to return the favour – in fact the General complimented them on their work.
Only the hard work of the medics in triage on the planet, and Colonel Carter’s dad turning up to the Mountain to use some freaky Goa’uld hand device, saved Jackson from losing half a lung and being permanently disabled – or dead. The whole time the Doc was convalescing O’Neill was a permanent fixture at his bedside, relinquishing the watch when he was forced to either by his duties, or the medics throwing him out to eat and shower, and only then reluctantly allowing Frankie of Don to take his place.
Where is that man now? Don wonders, as he idly caresses Frankie’s rugged and slightly stubbled face.
“Where are you, Donny?” Francis shoots a worried glance at him.
He doesn’t have to say anything more. Frankie just grunts in understanding.
“Yeah, we owe him more than we can ever pay back.”
Donny watches as his lover moves reluctantly out of his embrace, readjusts the prominent bulge in his pants, and looks towards the hallway where their guest is currently sleeping.
“I think we can trust Doc Major not to tell anyone where he is, and she’s the perfect person to help him through this. I’m…I feel for the man. I wanna hold him, and tell him it’s gonna be OK, but I can’t. I’m not the right…I haven’t got…I just wanna make it right for him, Donny, but I’m outta my depth, ya know?”
Donny smiles. “Sweetheart, you are the softest, most tender Recon Force Marine I know. And I thank the stars for that every day.”
Francis tightens his jaw and glares; to an outsider he would seem offended, but the faint pink flush across his cheeks tells Donny he’s secretly pleased. Donny makes sure the almost limitless love he feels for the other man is reflected in his eyes, and is gifted with the same right back.
Fuck but he’s a lucky man.
“I have Doc Major’s number in my book. Will you check in on Danny while I call her? He cried a lot and he’ll be dehydrated when he wakes up. I don’t want him sitting in there thinking he needs to keep outta the way…”
As he strides into the kitchen Don recognises his Frankie has gone into ‘action-Marine’ mode. Through long, hard practice, he knows not to interfere as it only causes arguments – which he never wins. He just does as he’s ordered like a well-trained Marine should.
He rolls to his feet and begins to make a move into the guest section of their home, only pausing for a moment as the picture that started this clusterfuck catches his eye.
O’Neill is still grinning back at Don, his arm claiming ownership of the gorgeous and brave man beside him.
“You stupid motherfucker…” Donny murmurs as he snatches the frame up, planning to ditch the photo ASAP. “…you have no fucking idea what you’ve given up.”