New Cshr Dropped While I Was Doodling This, My Life Is A Joke

GAME OF THRONES, 2.07 "A Man Without Honor"

I support perverts. Like all of you for example

K NSFW HC but before they get together, Hotch totally gets himself off to thoughts of Reid on the regular and then immediately feels horribly guilty about it, because he probably feels it’s disrespectful. Not that it stops him, of course. And then when they’re working together he tries TOO hard to remain professional in Reid’s presence but he ain’t fooling anyone about his feelings for the genius, except maybe Reid.

I feel like Hotch could give a Catholic a run for their money with his giant guilt-complex, just saying.

Hnnnn GOD I am probably too exhausted/buzzed to be doing this but I can’t stop thinking about it so HERE WE GO:

NSFW

Under the cut cause it’s about to get X-rated in here

You are 100% right about his guilt-complex, because he is an adult and the Unit Chief and he has responsibilities and dozens of people to look after and monitor and a whole ass department to run (not to mention he’s got a son, and an ex-wife, possibly going through the divorce at this point or we’re after that (but not to Foyet yet) and he’s just got so much on his plate all the damn time) -- and he should not, CAN NOT, be getting lost in thoughts about the youngest member of his team. 

But he does, on the regular, and he can’t seem to stop. 

Even if it started out a little lighter, like a crush (and dear God he hasn’t had a crush since grad school what is wrong with him) where he can’t stop staring at Reid and always pairs them up for canvasing and questioning and on cases. So often, so much, that it’s really only a matter of time before those constant, all-consuming thoughts bleed into when Reid isn’t even there. When no one is there. The only person left that could judge him being himself --

But sometimes, what plays out behind his eyes is so good, he doesn’t even care.

Lying in bed, sitting in his chair in his home office, in the shower where the deluge of too warm water always drudges up vivid, elaborate thoughts before he can tamper them back down. Memories of the day that don’t have anything to do with what happened or any events taking place -- his head is instead filled with the smallest details. Pieces of Spencer that get placed together bit by bit to remind Hotch why exactly he’s been staring so hard lately.

Because Reid is...  unbelievably gorgeous and Hotch just can’t bring himself to look away.

The way his profile is exquisite to watch, while he works or while he’s reading, deep in thought and lips moving as he reads even faster than his eyes can register. The sharpening lines of his jaw, the careful curve of his nose and roundness to his lips. How he licks his lips in that gesture that’s just the slightest slip of a pink, soft tongue that is far too spell-binding and shouldn’t be leaving Hotch in a daze but it does. How his mouth goes a reddish pink with the cold and stands out stark against his face, like those lips have been over-worked somehow--

Hotch will usually shake his head roughly at this point, to rid himself of that train of thought. But all it does is derail him into a different tangent.

Like his hands, he is obsessed with Reid’s hands and how they move when he talks. How lightly his fingers turn pages at rapid-speeds as he works and reads, how he can nimbly do things like make coins disappear or twirl a pencil through the long digits -- how they cradle a coffee cup in the mornings, when it’s far too early for Hotch to be thinking about how long and dexterous those fingers are and what it would feel like to one day have them slip beneath the waistband of his pants and take hold of him fully. 

It’s around this time that he would give up and take matters into his own hand, quite literally, and allow himself to let that residual guilt about authority and the bureau’s hierarchy (or the age difference, God) just fall away and he let’s himself think of Reid. Of Spencer, who has told him a few times he doesn’t mind Hotch calling him that -- not everyone, but with Hotch it’s okay. A small smile there when he says it. Hotch could lose himself in that smile, in the slight curves and angles of his body, of the lines of his neck and the mess of curls he can never tame and those overly expressive eyes that always watch him back so earnestly and --

And he’ll let his head tip back, or forward (depending where he is, in the shower he can’t do anything but brace himself against the wall in case his knees give out) and think of those eyes and that mouth and his hands and how if given the chance Hotch could absolutely wreck him and never stop. He’ll stroke himself slow and languid at first, and imagine it’s Spencer’s hand and not his own, that studious gaze on him and him alone and he’ll feel picked apart and dissected in the best possible fucking way, like his hand around Hotch’s cock is a learning experience, an experiment that needs to be conducted over and over again until he finds the just right way to make the older man’s spine melt and his toes curl.

And fuck Hotch would let him. He’d show him everything he could, everything he knows and everything he only knows in theory. The things they could discover together...

He’ll imagine every scenario, every position, ever sound that would escape that mouth, and the filthy things they could share through mere touch, until he’s fucking his own fist as it all builds higher and higher, and before he even knows it he’s coming so hard it’s a wonder he actually managed that all on his own. Alone. Spencer isn’t actually there --

And then the guilt would crash down around him violently, and Hotch wouldn’t be able to look Reid in the eye for days. To the point the younger man probably thinks Hotch is mad at him. Talk about heart-breaking. Reid looking so down-trodden and trying to make it up to him when all Hotch is trying to do is put SPACE between them so he can stop thinking about Reid constantly. Eventually relenting and telling Reid ‘no, I’m not mad at you, I promise’ just to see him smile again.

Until once day, not too long after all of that, the sun will catch Reid’s profile just right, stopping Hotch in his tracks, and he’ll stare too long and it’ll start all over again...

1x06 - L.D.S.K

Not me having thots about Hotch having super detailed and intricate tattoos that cover both of his arms and connect to each over over his shoulder blades/back. They stop a little below his elbows, so they're super easy to hide under his suits (even when he rolls his sleeves up a little).

But then the team are called in for an emergency case. There's no time to change into proper clothes--they have to grab their go-bags and meet at the jet. And he's walking on in a dark blue button-up, the top two buttons open, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and black jeans. And everyone is staring at him.

For a moment he's puzzled, setting his bag down under his seat before his eyes widen in realization. He let's out an exasperated sigh before sitting down, already feeling the headache coming on from the questions that are sure to bombard him. And, of course, they do. Mostly from Derek and Penelope, actually.

Derek is shocked. "Hotch, man, I didn't know you had ink! How long have we known each other?"

Penelope is practically vibrating in her seat (she's coming with, her own outfit a bit eccentric for a case), "Oh my goodness! What do they mean? How many do you have? Wait, can I have a closer look?"

The only people who are silent throughout the whole ride are Rossi and Reid. Rossi because he already knew about the tattoos, and he's mostly just shooting Hotch an amused look from over his file.

Reid, however... Reid is speechless. Eyes tracing over every bit of exposed skin, trying to map what might be hidden underneath the shirt. Trying to piece together the puzzle of black ink that permanently marks Hotch's skin, wondering what it all means. He doesn't notice that Hotch catches him staring (more than once), nor does he realize how his face has flushed a pretty rosy red the longer he imagines how far those tattoos go along Hotch's back. Do they curl over his ribs? Do they go down his hips, his thighs?

His fingers twitch. The urge to trace along those thick lines, to feel every inch of skin that is marked forever by an artist who spent hours (days? weeks?) laboring over their work, perfecting every little detail--it makes his skin tingle.

And then they're landing in Colorado, and Reid has no clue what their case is about, blinking back his embarrassment for having not paid any attention to his team whatsoever. He swallows, adjusting his satchel over his crotch as he walks out after Emily. Thankfully he can read over the case on the way to the precinct. Unless he ends up riding with Hotch--because he isn't too sure his imagination will let him focus otherwise.

(Tagging under the cut)

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matthew gray gubler as russell in the great buck howard

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never wanted to suck dick so bad in my life