𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞
summary: domestic bliss with agent hotchner is hard to come by. you take advantage of your time with him at home when you can.
word count: 1.4k
author's note: eeeeeee. cannot stop writing for this man. not bau!reader explicitly and also not smut explicitly, more in between. enjoy!!
The house you and Aaron buy is small, and in one word; picturesque. The outside panels are a soft, faded yellow and the shutters are brown.
It’s not a fixer-upper by any means, though Aaron talks often about the wood floors that will need to be redone in a few years, and the kitchen tile and backsplash that aren't in the condition he would quite like.
There’s other things too, like the downstairs bathroom with the peeling, floral patterned wallpaper and the carpet in Jack’s room. He worries about redoing the wallpaper—visions of hours of peeling it off and getting new sheets up and if there’s mold behind the paper, but you like it. It makes it feel like you’ve lived in this house your whole life.
Your shared bedroom is upstairs, down the hall from Jack and the first room off the stairs. You like the simplicity of this house most of all, nothing too grand or vain. When the realtor had taken you for a showing, Aaron was off on a case in Florida and Jack was at school. You felt silly touring alone, because it would have been easier to imagine living here with Aaron and Jack by your side, but you do it anyway.
You love Aaron’s apartment and you have more memories than you can count there—visions of making oatmeal raisin cookies with Jack and your first date with Aaron (a dinner that he cooked followed by a record playing softly and dancing in the living room) pop into your mind—but it’s running out of space, and it’s not quite like home.
This house is home in all the best ways. A big kitchen with an island, where you can picture a cookie jar and a tall counter stool where Jack sits and eats his oatmeal before school.
The living room has big windows and there’s a smaller playroom off the foyer, and in an instant you can picture the rest of your life here. You tell Aaron that night on the phone, and the three of you pay a visit the following weekend. You’re signing papers and packing up boxes two weeks later.
It doesn’t feel like it’s been much time at all, but you realize you’re coming up on almost a year of this house. Your house, the both of yours, the family house. This will be Jack and his siblings’ childhood home.
If you can ever get your husband into bed, that is.
It’s eight-thirty on Friday night. Jack has been at a birthday party-sleepover night since about five. Aaron returned from a case in Michigan less than twenty four hours ago. You had been asleep, late Thursday evening, when he came back home.
He’d gone to the office today and then picked up Jack from school to bring him over to the sleepover. You had triple checked that he’d packed everything he needed—pajamas, toothbrush, his emergency Epi-pen—but forgot the birthday boy’s present in the back seat of your car.
You and Aaron drive back over to deliver the gift, make polite small talk with the parents, and then rush out of there.
Aaron had set up a whole plan. Dinner reservations, dessert at the ice cream place near the house, and then a quiet night in, which was long awaited and desperately needed.
However, nothing goes as planned. You miss the reservation window by ten minutes trying to get Jack’s friend the stupid gift—a Lego Star-Wars kit—before they open presents and cut cake. The ice cream shop is closed due to renovations. You return home to missed calls from your boss and a stack of Aaron’s paperwork on the counter.
“Take out it is,” Aaron says, rifling through the drawer next to the oven. There’s more flyers in there than he thinks, and he still can’t find the one he’s looking for. “Honey? Where’s the menu for that one Indian place-”
“Side of the fridge,” you call back, typing away on your laptop. He doesn’t have to finish his sentences anymore. It makes him smile every time. He locates the menu and brings it to you on the couch.
“What’d you think? The usual?”
“I have a couple ideas.” You are starving, and not for food.
You’re in Aaron’s lap before you can even think about it. He has big hands, very big, very strong hands, that grip you by the waist and hoist you on top of him in a moment. It takes your breath away, momentarily, and then he really takes your breath away.
He kisses you like it’s his first and last time ever being able to do so. His hands roam all over your body and it makes every part of you tingle in anticipation. He grabs your ass with both hands and then slaps it hard—hard enough that it hurts, but he knows you well enough to welcome the moan you emit into his mouth.
Your hands run through his hair and then focus on loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. It’s hard to think, though, with him beneath you and his hardness pressing against you in all the best ways. You want to stay here on the couch and grind yourself against him until you’re both sweating and cumming—but he has other plans.
Always a gentleman, always patient, he pulls away from the kiss and lets you catch your breath. Your foreheads are pressed together, noses touching, and you briefly take in that after so many years of knowing him, Aaron will always take your breath away.
“Why’d you stop?” you question innocently, and he thinks he’ll lose his mind.
“Let’s go upstairs.”
“Why? I think this is perfect.” You lean back in to kiss him hard, losing yourself in the sweet taste of his mouth—always coffee—and his aroma, which draws you in no matter where you are.
He laughs into your mouth, pulling away again. You make a soft noise of displeasure, but it all goes away when he lifts you up to carry you to your bedroom.
He puts you down first, and gets rid of the tie you undid downstairs. You watch with big eyes while he hovers over you, until he finally leans down and your lips meet again. It’s all too natural to take off your dress and spread your legs and help him pull off his button-up, moaning into your kisses and enjoying the feeling of his hand in your hair, pulling softly.
You like Aaron all of the time, but you’re incredibly biased when he’s like this. You’ve never had to ask for anything, and he somehow knows everything you like. He lines more kisses along your neck, down to your chest. Just as you hear him, low and heady, murmuring, “Tell me what you want,” and getting ready to answer, needy out of your mind and ready to tell him that you need to be fucked, hard, now, his phone goes off.
You exhale. Aaron drops his head in defeat against your chest.
“I’m sorry, honey, hold on a minute,” he starts, leaning over you to get his phone from the nightstand.
“Who is it?”
“JJ. It must be a case, I’ll just-”
“Wait, wait,” you whisper. “If it’s a case you can go in ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes?” he questions, eyebrow raised. You look back at him sheepishly.
“Okay, fifteen minutes. I mean, nothing’s gonna change in a half an hour, right? Fifteen minutes here and then fifteen minutes to get there.”
“Honey, I really shouldn’t-”
“I mean, think about it. Everyone else probably isn’t even there yet. You’ll just be sitting around waiting for them before you start. So really, I’m saving you time.”
You both lock eyes and burst into laughter.
“I’ll get your go-bag,” you say, as he answers JJ’s call. You’re about to get up, looking for your haphazardly discarded dress and Aaron’s shirt, when you feel Aaron grip your forearm.
“Hotchner. Okay, JJ, thanks. I’ll be there in forty.” He hangs up and looks back at you, frozen in place. “You have twenty-five minutes to tell me what you want.” You squeal when he pulls you back into bed, kissing you hard.
He gets to the office an hour later.
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