You stood for a second, processing, before slowly walking down the stairs and down to your desk.
You stand there for a moment, collecting your thoughts with your palms face down on the table.
What. In the hell. Just happened?
Before you had much time to think, you saw the team come out of the room, and you quickly picked up your bags to follow them out to the jet.
You take your normal spot next to the window, putting your bag in the overhang and sitting down.
You watch the rest of the team take their place. JJ and Emily sat together across from you, laughing and talking. Derek quickly took an aisle seat next to them, and Rossi sat across from him. Spencer sprawled out on one of the long seats, likely going to get some rest.
There was one seat next to you. One seat left. And you knew exactly who was going to take it.
Hotch was the last one to get on the plane, quickly surveying the seats. You glanced up and read his face. He seemed completely unbothered, or at least if he was, he was good at hiding it.
He put his bag in the overhead and sat down in the chair, sliding his briefcase underneath.
You always got a bit nervous before flights. The whole team knew it. You never really took flights as a kid. As a matter of fact, your first flight was when you moved to Virginia. You had thrown up into one of those plastic bags.
"Seatbelt, y/n" you heard a voice say. You look around, noticing the team had already buckled in. You were about to take off.
You nodded slightly, slowly pulling your seatbelt across your lap into the holster.
You felt the usual turbulence, its power shaking your belly. Suddenly, your glad you had nothing for breakfast. Your hands clutched the armrests hard, fingers wrapping around and pressing nervously into the upholstery.
You hold your breath silently, closing your eyes as you feel yourself rising into the air. You breathe a gentle sigh of relief as you feel it steady.
You tap your finger against the armrest nervously, trying to calm yourself. One of these days you would get used to takeoffs, but that day was not today.
When you tapped your finger you felt something odd. Whatever you were tapping didn't feel like the hard plastic armrest. It felt softer, like fabric.
You look over to the armrest, realizing in horror that a single arm had taken over both pieces of plastic. The arm was wearing a dark grey suit that was slightly wrinkled from your hard grip on it.
Slowly, your eyes made their way up the arm, until they met his face.
What you had been desperately gripping during takeoff was not your armrest, it was Hotch's arm.
He had a book laid out in front of him, pretending to focus on it. You could see his eyes were on you though, looking curiously at your arm on top of his.
Quickly, you pulled your hand away and placed it on your lap, mumbling a quick apology under your breath and looking out the window to avoid eye contact.
Well, that was embarrassing.
Luckily for you, the team hadn't seemed to notice. They were all absorbed in their own various activities to see your little stunt.
You thought over it in your head, churning it around. It made a bit more heat rise to your cheeks. Above all, one question seemed to rise above all the rest:
Why didn't he stop you?
Before you have more time to think, you feel Hotch shift a bit next to you, getting comfortable. His legs spread just a bit, his knee hitting yours.
Through both of your pairs of dress pants, you felt the heat rise off his leg, warming your own.
It's just his leg y/n, calm down you scold yourself internally.
You pull a book out of your bag, opening it up to the spot you last stopped. Spencer had recommended this book to you. He recommended a lot of books, and you read them all enthusiastically. Well, what you could. It would be impossible to read every book he recommended.
Before you can focus your attention, you watch out of the corner of your eye as hotch brings one of his hands from his lap, setting it on his thigh and, subsequently, against yours. Innocently, he smoothed out his dress pants, fingers brushing against your leg.
Okay, this was bad.
Once again you try to focus, but your mind wanders. You forced your eyes to skim the book but the words weren't registering, just an odd combination of letters without meaning.
After a few minutes, you look up again, surveying the plane. JJ and Emily were laughing, Spencer and Rossi were asleep, and Derek had headphones in. You and Hotch were the only ones sitting in silence.
Out of the corner of your eye, you check to see if Hotch is distracted. His eyes are glued to his book, occasionally licking his fingers to turn the page. Pretending to read, you studied his face.
He had a strong face structure, muscular and thin, his chin sticking out, as if always in confidence. His lips weren't exactly thin, but having them always wearing a stern expression certainly made them appear thinner than they really were. In reality, they were pink and full. His skin was tanned and his eyes subtly sunken in. Tired. He looks tired you thought to yourself. His hair, which usually had some sort of product to make it stick up off his forehead, fell gently onto his skin. You could tell he brushed it every morning, as it looked neat and dark.
His eyes though, they were something else. He could change the way his eyes looked so easily. Just him looking at someone a certain way was enough to get them to do whatever he wanted. Most of the time, without him even saying anything.
As you study him, he looks up at you, catching your probing eyes.
Crap.
"I apologize agent y/l/n, am I distracting you?" He asks, his voice deep and authoritative as always.
"What?" You ask, a strange daze clouding your brain. "Oh, no, not at all. I was just, um, reading." You cleared your throat in embarrassment.
"You've been on that page for the last 10 minutes." He points out after a second "I'm not sure how much reading you're actually doing."
"I'm not an unsub Hotch" you huff "you don't need to profile me."
Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he rolls his eyes. He mumbled something before turning back.
You couldn't be sure, but it sounded a lot like brat.
_____________
The jet ride was long and uneventful. Although you usually moved around and talked to the team, you felt compelled to stay in your seat.
You stole glances at Hotch the whole way there. You had a feeling that he knew but chose not to say anything.
You tried everything to occupy yourself. You pulled out your phone, several books, and even a small sudoku book you found in your purse. Nothing worked. You couldn't quite focus on anything.
Eventually, you were forced to face the thoughts running rampant in your head. The way you were feeling.
It was something new. It felt a little painful, kind of like nervousness. It was deep, deep down in the very bottom of your stomach. It made your chest pound and face heat, but more than anything it made you feel helpless. Vulnerable.
All those things considered, you felt you should have hated it. Should have loathed the feeling entirely and put it out of your head. But in all truth, you didn't. You wanted to feel it again at any cost. The way you felt when he put his hands on you, looked at you.
And you realized something then. Or maybe you already had, but after mulling over it, the realization was brought forward into your conscious mind.
Hotch might've been impassive, and annoying at his worst, but he wasn't just your borderline emotionless boss.
He was a guy. A man, really.
The broad shoulders that accompanied a muscular body, the sharp gaze that could control a room, the faint smell of expensive and masculine cologne. You had never really paid any mind to it, but dear God, he was a man.
And not...bad looking?
No, snap out of it.
More than anything else, you knew the way you felt was wrong. He was your boss after all, man or not, and you had a job to do. Interoffice romances were seriously frowned upon. His ex-wife hadn't been gone for too long. He still had a kid.
All these thoughts, all the reasons not to, yet you still stole glances.
The funny part was, it wasn't just your mind. Your body could feel it. You remembered how gentle his hands were against your neck, moving your head up. You felt a fire under your skin where his hands had been.
Buzz buzz
Your phone vibrated in your pocket. Pulling it out quickly, you saw a text from Emily
Em 💋🔫
Em: what's with you over there?
You: what do you mean?
You glanced up, realizing Emily was smirking at you from the other side of the jet, JJ asleep on her shoulder. Cute.
Em: You look nervous. Plus you keep looking at Hotch.
You: I have no idea what you're talking about Emily
Em: come on y/n. It's pretty obvious. You're totally eye-fucking him.
You: Emily I swear to God. Stop. Trying. To. Profile. Me.
Em: okay okay. But it doesn't take a profiler to see that you're into him
You: Em, that's gross. He's our boss.
Em: whatever you say, baby
Angrily, you shoved your phone back in your purse, rolling your eyes at Emily. Your life would be so much easier if all your friends weren't FBI agents.
You laid back on your seat, trying to sleep. Even more, trying to ignore the fire under your skin.
___________
Hey guys!
I'm sorry, I know this chapter was a bit wordy. Don't worry, the next chapter is going to be much more action-filled
Hope you enjoyed it!
-s 💕