Teaching a college course was not outlined in the BAU Employee Guidelines and Expectations, but, then again, fucking your boss wasn't either.
While you had a lot of experience delivering profiles to police departments and towns, even having your face broadcasted across national television, the premise of teaching a college course was daunting. Maybe it was because you were in the same position as the students just a few years ago, or maybe it was because you didn't know if you were capable of teaching a class with Hotch by your side without scandalous thoughts crossing your mind.
Hotch, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind. While Rossi and Reid usually went down to teach the collegiate courses in their spare time, Hotch didn't shy away from the idea. In fact, Hotch never seemed to back down from any task thrown his way. Every challenge, every obstacle that came at him was carefully maneuvered.
It was evident in the slight eye bags that furrowed under his eyes and how every so often he would close his eyes when he thought no one was watching and exhale a sigh of relief that he scrutinized himself more than Strauss or the media ever could.
You admired his work ethic. He spent hours at his desk. He never missed a deadline. You couldn't even think back to the last time he was late.
You had to wonder what motivated that man.
Parking in the staff parking lot at the University of Virginia, you find your way to the temporary shared office you had with Hotch, settling your bookbag and notes down on the table before heading to the lecture hall.
You watch from the door as Hotch shifts the podium microphone to meet his towering height while some of the students begin to file in.
You meet him in the middle, his eyes carefully tracing you up and down. "Your skirt is quite short."
You scoff, running your tongue against your bottom lip. "Dress codes are a bit out of date, don't you think Hotch?"
"They are," he agrees, continuing to eye the hem of your skirt. His voice drops deeper and quieter. "But if I were to bend you over this desk, that pretty pussy of yours would be on display for everyone to see. Is that what you want, brat?"
"Hotch." Your eyes dart around the classroom cautiously, relieved that none of the students were paying attention yet.
"Don't act like you wouldn't like it," he whispers into the sensitive crook of your neck before returning to his notes on the other side of the lecture hall.
Eventually, the room fills up with students. Their eyes set on you.
"Welcome," Hotch introduces. "I am SSA Aaron Hotchner, and I am the Unit Chief of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. Our job is to create a profile of an unsub to catch criminals ranging from child predators to serial killers. We focus on behavioral sciences, studying these criminals to be able to predict them better."
He turns to you, prompting for your introduction.
"Hello," your voice picks up cheerily. "My name is Agent Y/N. Behavior profiling has helped us catch some of the most prolific killers in the world. Our curriculum will follow these elusive criminals and their behavior. I'm going to pass around a copy of the curriculum."
"Any questions so far?" Hotch asks, surveying the room.
A hand shoots up from the front of the class. A male student, whose voice was haughty and skeptical. "Come on, do you guys really believe this? It's a scam. There's no science behind profiling."
Hotch raised his eyebrows, walking across the front of the room contemplatively as the entire class waited on his answer. You don't know if you should step in, but Hotch's heavy voice settles into the atmosphere once again.
"You have a job interview in an hour," Hotch states as you try to follow his disorienting train of thought.
"How did you know that?" the boy asks unsteadily, fiddling with his fingers.
Hotch turns on his heel deliberately, and you see an unprecedented light spark in his eyes.
"When you walked in, you instinctively chose the seat closest to the exit, but not because you care about this course. You've flipped through your planner seven times since class has started, which is a lot considering class started five minutes ago. You're wearing an expensive, name brand, button down, but you haven't taken it out of your closet in years. The shoulders of the shirt are still stiffly peaking up after spending months on the hanger. You don't realize it, but you chose the seat closest to the door because you have a meeting, and, frankly, it's all you can think about."
The boy continues staring wide eyed.
"You think the job is out of your reach, right? But you're just doubting yourself. You are well qualified for the job, but you forget this and try to compensate physically. So," Hotch quizzes, "am I right? Or is profiling just a scam?"
"You're right," the student mutters under his breath, sinking deeper into his seat as Hotch continues.
"As I said, questions are welcome. It's good to question things. That's how you learn."
The arms of the clock seemed to be on fast forward as the class ended quicker than expected. Hotch and you had spent the entire class studying one of the first cases Hotch had worked on, introducing the students to common vocabulary and procedure.
The students were invested, picking their heads up from taking fastidious notes and fully devoting their time in following the banter between you and Hotch.
And although Hotch would never admit it, you could see the ease of not having to work a gruesome case for a day or sort through paperwork rush through him.
As the students file out, Hotch turns to the outspoken male student, catching him before he leaves. "Good luck with your job interview. You need to stop doubting yourself," he reminds as the kid nods in awkward appreciation.
You meet Hotch in the front of the room, following him out into the hallway.
"How's the team doing with the case?" you question, noticing he's busy with his phone. You see Derek's name up at the top of the screen.
"Two new victims. Local PD can't figure out what's happening, but they're sure it's a serial killer."
"No victimology?"
"Not even a bit. First suspect was a white, brunette small town politician's daughter. Second suspect was a black police officer, and the third was a blonde stay at home mom. There's no correlation."
"Hotch, I can tell you're stressed about not being there with the team, but Derek can handle this. You know you don't need to constantly overwork yourself right?"
"I don't deserve you," Hotch mutters beneath his breath, shaking his head as you guys walk into the shared office. Rossi had taught here so many times, they had reserved an office just for FBI and criminal expert lecturers.
"You just need to unwind," you suggest, noticing all the wrapped up tension within him.
You drop your folders and papers on the desk, hearing the sharp click of the door lock from behind you.
"I think I know the best way to unwind." His sultry voice travels from behind you, and his deep footsteps inch closer to you.
"Oh, really?" you respond cheekily, letting go of the papers you were rearranging. You begin to turn around, but his voice cuts you off.
"Bend over the desk," he demands.
"What?" you ask, flustered. Your throat goes dry as the heat in your cheeks begin to burn up.
"I said, bend over the desk."
You do, your skirt inches up gradually up the back of your thigh. The fabric teases your skin as it rises until your elbows click with the surface of the table.
The black lace of your panties are out in the open air as your skirt rides up on your hips. Your thighs rub against each other, trying to satisfy the lack of friction in the cool air.
Hotch comes up behind you. "I told you that skirt of yours was short, you brat. What a sight."
His calloused fingers starter at your knees, trailing all the way up until he reaches your covered slits. Painstakingly, he curls his fingers and moves your panties to the side, allowing his fingers to explore.
"I can tell you like this, looking like a little whore, powerless with my touch."
He comes up close to your ear, his light scruff brushing up against your neck. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, you're going to forget about every single person you've been with before this."
His finger playfully rubs against your entrance, slowly entering you. "Is this what my slut wants?"
You huff out a soft yes as a building fire burns in your core. You feel him inside you, even with the slightest movement. His finger surges into you repeatedly, skillfully brushing up against your pleasure points. A low, guttural moan erupts from his chest, vibrating down inside of you due to proximity.
You can feel your nipples stiffening under the fabric of your blouse. You're gripping at the end of the wooden table, your nails digging into the curve of the furniture as he continues to curl his fingers up against your walls.
You let out an achy moan, growing out from inside you like an untameable spirit. Every touch renders you unspeakable, but you can't help but cry out for more.
"Quiet, brat. I know I make you feel good, but you're going to have to be quiet." His voice is dark and decadent, hitting your ears like a soothing tune. "Or am I going to have to fuck you speechless?"
"Please," you mutter out in a hushed whisper. "I'm going to cum."
"Did I give you permission to beg yet, you slut?"
Your feet dig deeper into the floor as fingers continue to enter you. He adds another finger, going slower as you teeter on the edge of your orgasm. Your toes curl up in your shoes as his other hand wraps around to your chest.
"Tell me what you want."
"I want to cum all over your fingers. Please." You sounded weak, the last words coming out barely as a breath.
"Mhm, show me how good I make you feel."
You ride through climax euphorically, shuddering as he finishes you. You're transfixed in that moment of overwhelming intoxication, but you're quickly pulled out of it as his wet fingers enter your agape mouth. "Open."
His chest is pressed up against your back as your tongue swirls around his wet fingers. You feel his growing bulge rub up against your ass.
"I'm going to fill that hole of yours, okay slut? I'm going to use you like my pathetic toy. My pathetic, needy toy."
You jump onto the desk, spreading your legs apart as he unbuckles his belt. His erection is palpable with precum, and his lustful eyes gaze into yours.
You decide to tease him. "You know, I'm not the only needy one, sir. You can't resist me."
His eyes, once a soft hazel, burns up like caramel. "You're right. Do you how long I've thought about fucking your pussy until you couldn't walk? The amount of times I've came thinking about you moaning my name?"
His cock slides up between your slits, tapping at your wet entrance. "I'm not going to hold back anymore."
He thrusts into you, his long cock filling you. He goes in deeper as you arch your back higher with pleasure.
"You're going to take all of me, and you're not going to complain."
He continues, unabatingly ramming into you with his cock. He hits every sweet spot, and you feel like you're dissolving in undeniable gratification until a familiar tune fills the room.
Your phone is ringing, but Hotch continues mercilessly and ruthlessly into you. Your fingers scramble towards the edge of the desk as Hotch's undeviating hips buck against your ass. You try to hold onto something solid, trying to control the anticipation of ecstasy.
"Go on," he says definitively. "Answer it."
"It's Strauss," you advise cautiously, feeling his unforgiving touch on your sensitive clit.
"Answer it. I'm going to teach you how to be quiet, you pathetic slut."
You pick up the phone, voice strained as Hotch's hand begins to travel up your body. The look in his eyes is amorous and hot-blooded.
"Hello?" you ask as Hotch's cock fills you. He tightens his hold up against the sides of your neck, rubbing tiny circles in the dips of your throat. His large coarse hands test your demeanor with every sound.
"Good afternoon, Y/N. I'm just checking up on the two of you after the class. Did everything go well?"
"Yes," you mutter, trying to suppress your moans. Every syllable comes out clenched. Hotch continues to pound into you, never pausing to give you a breath. "It went great. The students are i-interested."
Her voice raises in question. "Are you alright? You don't sound too well."
Hotch smirks at that, chuckling darkly. You're lucky Strauss doesn't hear from behind the phone, but his echo lingers.
"Yes. Yes. Of course. Everything is amazing."
"Has Aaron been too rough with you?" Her voice feigns care, but you know her intentions are lined with malice. "Because if so, his unwarranted behavior needs to come to my attention."
"Not rough at all," you croak out, causing Hotch to thrust into you harder. His cock throbs inside of you, touching up against your walls in complete control.
"Well, good. That's all. I was just checking in. Give Aaron my regards."
"Will do."
You put the phone down, almost dropping it from how senseless you felt as Hotch pushes you down against the desk. He pins you down, nails digging into your wrists. "My little girl did so good."
You brace yourself under his weight, clinging onto the sturdy surface beneath you. Every touch seemed electrified, and the vivid current that runs inside you is intoxicating.
He's relentless and needy, toppling on top of you trying to absorb every physical touch. Every brush up against the skin felt exhilarating, and you could see it in the way his lip tugged at the corner that he was undeniably content. He's melting into you, like two wholes becoming one.
"Deeper, please," you say in a pleased hum, tilting your head back and feeling the rush of blood go up your head. Everything feels light and heavy at the same time, like a paradox of pleasure and lust. Everything is inexplicable, and your mind is running faster than you can register it, but you know one thing for certain: you need him.
"Don't ask for what you can't handle," he rebuttals hoarsely. His voice is heavy, unkempt, and you can see his stoic attitude unravel. His hair is falling loose up against his forehead as he revels in the sight of you.
"Fuck. Fuck, I'm so close." Your strangled whimper falls off your tongue. The frenzy of your climax corners you, unescapable. You feel it in every muscle like a kindling fire just ready to meet gasoline.
He holds your head in his heads, stroking in and out of you. "Look at me. I want to see your face when you cum around my cock, little girl."
You feel yourself release, your pussy pulsating as he tightens his grip around your neck. Shockwaves run through your body, a trembling pressure running through every conduit in your anatomy. No nerve is left untouched as your pleasure completely drowns out reason and logic.
He lets out a series of untameable moans and grunts, fucking you endlessly through your ograsm. Your breathing is strained, and everything becomes a blur. His face is in focus, your mouth slightly agape as your pleasure becomes vocal.
He buries his head in your neck tenderly, breath warm and pressured. "You were so good, little girl," he mutters out breathily as he begins to tend to your limp wrist. "So good."
author's note:
loved, loved writing this chapter with both professor hotch and Y/N! thought it would be a nice 'best of both worlds' in hotch fics, but no worries, we will be returning to the BAU soon!
hopefully you guys enjoyed this chapter!
any reader recommendations for the smut scenes? i'd love to add stuff you guys enjoy
<3