Title: After the Hunt
By: Sam
Pairing: Hotch/Reid/Morgan
Rating: FRAO
Warnings: slash, sex, threesome, breathplay, mention of pedophilia
Prompt: A case gets to particular members of the BAU, causing them to seek escape in each other.
Kink: Breath, delayed gratification
Prompter: wildwordwomyn
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
Summary: Spencer takes on an interrogation of a serial pedophile alone.
A/N: Set in my CM/SPN Hunter AU - John Winchester helped to raise Spencer Reid (another demon/psychic child) when his father left.
A/N 2: I'm not sure who coined the phrase 'kitten glower' for Reid, but I've used it for this story. :) It just - fits.

***

"Do you have rape fantasies, Doctor Reid?"

Sitting across the wide metal table in Interrogation One, Spencer jerked, flinching at the knowing smirk in the suggestive tone. "I - no."

A serial pedophile, Travis Garvin was a very large man; dark, imposing. Over six foot with muscles built from working road construction and hitting the gym from an early age, though now in his late forties, he was used to using his height and bulk to bully others; to get what he wanted. He was also a sexual sadist who reveled in his sick fantasies of torturing and raping young boys. Thirteen victims altogether, so far the ages ranged from 11 to 17; at least the ones for which Garcia and Morgan had matched bodies to missing person reports. All slender, almost delicate, their bodies had been dumped naked and exposed in various landfills across New Mexico. Spencer was just his type.

"Someone like you? In a boys club like this?" Garvin chuckled, an oily sound that made his skin crawl. Spencer kept his eyes on his notes and didn't respond. Tried not to flinch when chains clanked against cold metal as Garvin leaned forward. "Sure you do. I'll bet you go home every night, maybe make you a bit of dinner, just itching to crawl into bed so you can have somewhere to hide while you wrap your hand around your cock and jerk off to everything you want your fellow agents to do to you."

Unable to help himself, Spencer protested weakly, wishing his voice wouldn't crack so loudly. "You're wrong."

"Ah, but I'm not wrong, am I? I'm right." Garvin chuckled again. Leaning back in his chair, knowing he had read the younger man correctly, self-satisfaction oozed from every pore. "The black man..."

"A-Agent Morgan - "

"Agent Morgan. You want it rough with him. Maybe you want him to grab you and shove you into a closet; ride you hard while you stand there with your pants around your knees and the metal of the supply shelf digging lines into your cheek while his hands leave lovely bruises on those pale hips."

"No - "

"And my dear friend, Agent Hotchner - "

Hotch had tackled Garvin in his gravel driveway before he could reach his car and handcuffed him after a brief struggle where Hotch had had no qualms about taking the bigger man down any way he had to...

"You want him to force you on your knees in his office. Maybe take you over his desk while the edges dig into your stomach, his cock running so hard and deep inside you, you can't help but make noise, your throat already raw from getting him ready."

"Stop."

But Spencer couldn't meet his eyes and Garvin only smiled, pouring salt on the wound. "And last but not least, let's not forget Agent Rossi. Older man - kinda like me. Not as - big - but, well. I bet he knows what to do with a boy like you. And I bet you want it. You more than want it, don't you, Agent Reid? You want it, I can see it in your eyes. You want to be under his desk, on your knees at his every beck and call; anything he wanted to do to you. You want to taste him in your mouth while he's on the phone. Maybe briefing the rest of your team while they all wonder - just how far did the kid need to go for the coffee? The boy-genius Doctor Reid, playing at being a profiler, all the while his only wish that the real men on his team would just take him and use him - over and over and over - until there's nothing left but an empty shell, bleeding and bruised and beautifully broken."

"Is that what you did to the others?" Spencer was unable not to ask, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes not quite meeting the flat browns of Garvin's, shining now in predatory avarice. "Leave them broken and bleeding after you raped them?"

"Mother always did say I was too rough with my toys. You're next, pretty boy," Garvin promised. "Pretty, pretty profiler, too pretty for your own good. You want it. They all did. And just like them, I'm going to take what I want and make you beg for it."

"What -" Spencer asked and had to clear his throat as his voice caught on the husk of fear and arousal at the threat. "What will you do to me?"

"I'm going to bend you over and take you over this table," Garvin promised. Spencer could hear the chair scrape along the floor; the chains rattling as the larger man clenched his fists and pulled at the links. "Dry, raw and screaming while your friends outside try and break the door down. But they won't get to you, because you'll be mine. I'll leave bruises bone deep; wrap these chains around your throat so tight you can't breathe, can't scream for the help that's just outside this door. But before they can get to you, I'll be finished, mixing with the blood so deep in your body you'll never be able to get me out. None of you will. Not you, not the boys I took. None of you. Even dead, you're all mine."

As the words left the pedophile's mouth, Spencer straightened, all earlier submissiveness erased from his posture. His voice was steady, no trace of fear or hesitation in the even tones as he said calmly, "I'm glad to hear you say that, Travis."

Meeting the glittering eyes head on, Spencer calmly watched as doubt and then anger flared as Garvin demanded angrily, "Didn't you hear me?"

"I heard you, " Spencer agreed. "We all heard you. All we needed was a confession, and now we have one."

Standing, Reid gathered his papers, notes and case photos, turned his back on the enraged serial sadist and left the room.

--

Dave Rossi was standing on the other side of the two-way mirror, feeling just as stunned as Garvin when Reid dropped his bomb. The quivering submissive act was *good* and one Rossi wouldn't have pegged the younger man for having the chutzpah to pull off; much less so well, and with such solid results.

Hotch's presence at his side barely registered as he watched Reid gather up his things and blithely leave the room. "I told you, Reid knows what he's doing."

Rossi couldn't argue with that. He turned to admit the fact, but Hotch was already out the door.

--

Hotch found him in the break room off the main squad room, slouching in one of the most uncomfortable plastic chairs he had ever had the misfortune to come across, eyes closed and a cup of bad PD coffee in his hand.

"You all right?"

The answer, when it came surprised him.

"Would you really fuck me in your office?"

Crouching down by the young hunter's side, Hotch waited until Spencer took his arm from over his eyes to say, firmly, "If you wanted me to. Do you?"

To which Spencer only laughed. Making a face at the oil slick in his hand, he dumped the cup, coffee and all, into the trashcan without getting up. "Yes, I do. And I want Morgan to push me up against the shelving in the closet and Gideon back at his desk, and I want..." his voice choked up on a sigh and Spencer's voice trailed off.

"Spencer?"

"Would you come to my room tonight?" he asked instead. "You and Morgan. I can't get Garvin out of my head."

A hazard of getting into the unsub's head was they had a nasty habit of getting into yours if you weren't careful, Hotch knew, and so much more dangerous for Spencer, who could quite literally get lost in there. Those thoughts must have been on his face, or else Spencer was reading him now, because he smiled, insisting, "I didn't have to go very deep, Hotch, I promise. He just...lingers. Like a bad taste in the back of my mind that I can't get rid of."

"And you want to get the image of Rossi out of your head," Hotch guessed.

"And I want to get the image of Rossi out of my head," Spencer nodded, his lips curled somewhere between rueful and disgust.

"Ok," Hotch smiled. "We'll all wrap up here and go out to dinner later," he suggested. "Head back to the hotel and get a good night's sleep before heading back home tomorrow."

Spencer's lips curled into a smile that was almost predatory as the younger man demanded, "What makes you think you'll be getting any sleep?"

Hotch caught the hint of pain and need behind the amusement in the hazel eyes and amended, readily enough, "We've slept on the plane before."

--

Spencer shivered as a hot mouth attacked the patch of skin behind his ear, Morgan pressing in close behind him. Skin to skin above the waist, Spencer could feel the hard plains of muscle slick against his back in the late August heat; was well aware of the differences in their bodies, size and mass, as Morgan held him gently. For all of the older man's quiet dominance, the welcome touch was soothing; arousing with the promise of the comfort that would come after the sex rather than the promise of sex itself.

Though when Morgan hit that one spot and started to nibble, and Hotch moved in front of him, capable hands on his belt, buttons and zipper, Spencer freely admitted that he wasn't about to skip the sex that would get them there.

"What do you need, baby boy?" Voice dark as sin and rough as the whiskey Dad used to drink, Morgan pulled him back until the graze of teeth along the shell of his ear made him shiver. "Tell us what you need."

"You," he panted softly as Hotch slowly began to work his pants and underwear down past his hips; corduroy and cotton scraping maddeningly light against his skin. "Both of you. In me. In my body and in my head..."

"We can do that," Hotch promised, dark eyes intent as he rose from the floor to claim a kiss, urging Spencer to step out of the clothes that threatened to hobble him.

"Damn right we can do that," Morgan echoed.

They had each opened their minds to the other during sex before, Spencer holding the link, and tonight would be so much more because of that intimacy. Enough to run Garvin right out of Spencer's head, replaced by love and a different kind of darkness as Aaron and Derek rolled in to fill all the recesses Garvin had managed to soil. That was okay. Everyone held a taint of darkness on their soul, some more than others, and Spencer knew the darkness that Hotch and Morgan brought. Not evil, no, but old wounds worn down to a pale shadow of the original pain every time it was shared.

Fingers tapped the middle of his forehead from behind and Spencer opened his eyes to find Hotch staring at him in concern. "Enough thinking, genius," Morgan chided firmly in the ear he had been nuzzling. "Garvin's gone."

Dark eyes held his; strong hands on his hips grounding him back in the here and now. "Or he will be by the time we're through with you." Hotch promised.

Spencer reached out suddenly with one hand and pulled the older man in for a hard kiss. "Good."

--

With that kiss, the link opened between them and in an instant Hotch saw what it was Spencer needed from them.

--

Morgan gasped at the sight of Spencer claiming Hotch's mouth with single-minded purpose, his body responding to the sight with enthusiasm. When the link opened and he saw what Garvin had said, what the man had intended if he had ever managed to get free, he shuddered behind Spencer, a fierce mix of fear and protectiveness warring for dominance in his heart. Between the strenuous training Winchester had given him and his FBI training, his head knew Spencer was more than capable of taking care of himself, but the thought of Garvin anywhere near their younger, smaller lover...

Morgan pressed his forehead to the top of the younger man's spine and held tighter to the slender frame pressed between him and Hotch.

::Whatever he needs:: he told Hotch, feeling a matching determination rising to meet it.

::Whatever he needs.::

--

Spencer groaned in lust and desire as Hotch broke the kiss only to initiate another, and then another, grabbing his face in his hands and just kissing until Spencer was laughing into them, Morgan chuckling behind him, feeling all of the love, concern and determination behind the playfulness. The sound of rustling told him Morgan was getting undressed but Hotch wouldn't let him turn to watch, claiming his mouth for real instead and not letting up until Spencer was gasping for air and Morgan was once again a solid weight pressed in behind him.

Hard fingers, slick with lube pressing up and inside his ass made him arch on his toes and squeak into the next kiss, Hotch chuckling into his mouth, his hand reaching down to stroke Spencer's cock in time to the working of Morgan's fingers. Swaying in a shallow rhythm between them, Spencer wrapped his arms around strong shoulders and lost himself in the kissing, in the slow give and take, reading the flush of pleasure from both Hotch and Morgan melting away the play and feeling it every bit as much as his own. Rolling off of the three of them, it blanketed them in gentle warmth, ebbing and flowing with each kiss, each tender touch; each needy gasp and moan looping around to feed the fire slowly growing until it burned away the last remaining touch of Garvin's mind on his.

The call of his name broke him away from the unwanted memory.

"Spencer."

Eyes locked, the sight of Hotch going to his knees in front of him, fully clothed in the shirt, tie and slacks he had worn to the office, sent a jolt of pure lust through him intense enough to make his knees buckle; only Morgan's strong arm around him kept him upright as Hotch opened his mouth and took him in deeply on the first pass.

"Hotch - "

The groan pushed past the startled gasp and grew until Spencer gave up trying to hold anything in and just let go, laying his head back on Morgan's shoulder as Hotch wound his arms around his hips and concentrated on working his mouth and tongue along Spencer's cock. Twining his fingers through the short dark hair, Spencer held on and tried not to trap Hotch too deep while he began a slow thrusting in an out. He had just about lost himself in the consuming rhythm of wet heat and the perfect scrape of teeth when Morgan shifted, lining up and pushing in slow and deep with something that was wonderfully *not* fingers.

The burn mixed with the feel of heat and incredible pressure and the taste of himself on his tongue, and he could both hear and feel the low moans as both Hotch and Morgan shared it all with him.

A single stuttered pulse when Morgan grazed his prostate had Hotch choking before they all found a rhythm that worked. Lips and teeth grazing over Spencer's shoulder, Morgan pushed in, slow and deep while Spencer swayed back and forward , Hotch meeting them halfway, his hands now holding onto Morgan's hips, both to steady and urge him on. Lost again in the heady swirl of lust, sex and desire, Spencer just let himself drift between them, feeling the strong, full slide of Morgan inside of him bottoming out and withdrawing with each deliberate thrust and Hotch moving up and down along his erection, the short hair tickling his belly whenever Hotch reached bottom.

Long moments later, with only soft gasps and low moans accompanied by the soft, nasty sound of flesh on flesh to break the silence, Spencer whimpered and tried to increase the pace, only to have Hotch rise up and abandon him completely. Spencer tried reaching for him, but he stepped out of arms length and it was Morgan's turn to keep him from following.

"Not yet," he whispered in Spencer's ear. "Hotch is mite overdressed for what's coming next, don't you think?"

As that smug observation was accompanied by an image of Spencer sprawled face down on the bed, with Hotch taking Morgan's place behind him, Spencer more than agreed. With that cheerfully lascivious chuckle, Morgan pushed in deep and began walking Spencer into the next room, each step by torturously pleasurable step driving him in deeper, more than a few grazing against that one spot that had Spencer seeing stars.

Behind them, Hotch chuckled, "Don't break him."

Morgan snickered back, "I won't." Watching with an incredulous eye while Hotch folded his clothes, Morgan shook his head. "Some things never change."

"Should they?"

"No, but - "

"Well they had better, or I'm going to knock you both to the bed and have my wicked way with you if you don't DO something!" Spencer growled, frustrated at the pair. They chose *now* to snark? They were worse than Sam and Dean...

"Okay, genius," Morgan agreed in a deceptively mild tone that instantly worried him. "You got it."

And with that Morgan gave him a shove forward, dropping him onto the bed and forcing the cock that had been lodged in his body to pull out. Spencer cried out from where he had sprawled on the bed at the sudden loss and glared back over his shoulder at him. "So not nice, Morgan," he huffed.

"We'll make it up to you," Hotch promised smiling. Sliding onto the bed, he urged Spencer to turn over and when he was settled, immediately took up where he had left off, one hand milking Spencer even as his mouth closed over the head, causing Spencer to drop his onto the pillow. Looking up with a smug smirk, brown eyes glittering with good humor, Hotch asked, "Better?"

"Much." Spencer approved and demanded, "Don't stop."

Morgan chuckled, "Bossy."

Humming thoughtfully, Hotch agreed. "Isn't he, though?"

Before Spencer could do more than get a start on what Garcia had dubbed 'the kitten glower', Hotch bent back to his task, his tongue tracing maddening patterns around the head and down the vein. When Morgan joined him, both men trading kisses over and around the head of his cock, Spencer gave up and groaned loudly. Unfortunately, this time they wouldn't let him do more than that; both men keeping one hand on Spencer's hips to keep him from moving or going anywhere.

"Have I mentioned you're killing me here?" He whimpered, striving for a conversational tone. Too bad, unlike with Garvin, the crack and pitch change in his voice was real this time. And making your lovers laugh when they had your cock in their mouths was never really a good idea. It tickled.

And it drove him insane.

And, curse them, they knew it.

When Hotch finally levered up and over, it was almost painful to lose that torturously sweet suction, though the equally sweet burn of penetration did chase it away quite nicely, especially when Morgan replaced his mouth with his hand, pushing up to give Spencer a true taste of himself and Hotch on Morgan's tongue. His hand kept up a slow, heavy pull in time with Hotch.

"Harder, Hotch," Morgan said, studying the flush on his face as Spencer gasped and moaned, his legs falling wide and able to move his hips only a little as Hotch gripped and held onto them for leverage. "That's it. Just like that. Show our boy who he belongs to."

Hotch kept up that pace for a long while; a good, steady drive with a hard snap on the end that garnered a groan more often than not, Spencer writhing under him until Morgan had to give him a squeeze and a sharp pull that turned the stuttered groans into a sharp cry of not-quite-pain.

"Sorry, Spencer, not quite yet."

But he was so close - and he needed it so bad...

"Please - oh god, please - "

Biting back a curse at the desperation Spencer put in the plea, Hotch sped up, his last few thrusts sharper than before, breaking the smooth, steady rhythm until Spencer felt the driving hips push forward one last time before locking in place, a sudden warmth flooding through him as Hotch's release was pushed deep inside.

Reeling with the distant echo of shared release, though not his own, Spencer ran shaky fingers through the short dark hair as Hotch rested his head on his chest, his lips pressing out of breath kisses against Spencer's wildly beating heart. Slow minutes of Morgan claiming his mouth with long, lazy kisses and his hand tormenting him with those same easy, comforting pulls, later, Hotch picked his head up off of Spencer's chest and moved in for a kiss, claiming both his and Morgan's lips indiscriminately until he pulled away, teasing, "Your turn."

Morgan dove in for another clutch of those smiling lips before peering down at Spencer, the predatory glee in the brown eyes tempered with affection. "Ready, Reid?"

"Don't make me hurt you."

The larger man smiled, flashing him a grin as he positioned between Spencer's long legs. "Wouldn't dream of it."

This time when the pleasure built, it was with a deep, smoldering ache that threatened to consume him and wipe everything away in its wake. Twice more he was prevented from coming, Hotch watching him closely and providing a sharp tug when it was needed until the crest of the urgent need had passed, once more submerged into the general wave of pleasure that lapped ever higher at his mind until he threatened to drown or go mad.

And still, as Morgan rocked into him and Hotch soothed his frantic attempts to get closer, to get *more*, it wasn't enough; Garvin was still there. He still saw the chains...

Rocking his head back and forth on the motel bed, his pillow long since cocked at an odd angle between the headboard and his shoulder, Spencer whimpered, mouth desperately working against Hotch's neck. "More. I - I need more..."

--

::Whatever he needs.:: Hotch's voice sounded in his head, having caught the image, and Morgan felt his chest tighten before resolve set in. But he had agreed...

God help him.

::Whatever he needs.::

--

He never thought they would do it.

Arms stretched and held over his head, Spencer groaned and arched against the heavy body suddenly holding him down, making it harder and harder to breathe. It was so much better than he had ever thought it would be...and that was before Morgan put one hand against his throat and began to squeeze...

--

Whatever he needs.

--

The hand around his throat cut off his breath as Morgan continued to drive into him; fast, deep rolls of his hips that burned with a heavy pressure in time with Spencer's heartbeat. Spencer could feel every roll, every snap, every strong push that made the growing tide of pleasure that much more intense as his world threatened to go black. Morgan's intense brown eyes never left his as his breath grew more shallow, the warm hand and worried concern completely erasing the image of cold chains and cruel violation as his body reached it's limit, arching up into yet another warm hand. No longer impeded, when Spencer came, it was sharp and almost violent and he shook with that release, gasping out his last breath.

Sated and completely drained, no longer haunted, he let himself fall into darkness, surrounded by warmth and the pull of two men who wouldn't let him fall too far.

--

"He's out."

"Yeah, no kidding." Morgan snapped. Running his hand over his head, he took in the peacefully sleeping form of the younger man as Hotch cleaned him up and gently tucked Spencer under the covers, checking his vitals to the ticking of his watch. The anger was met with understanding and Morgan cursed tiredly, instantly contrite. "Sorry...I - "

"He's fine, Derek. You did good," Hotch told him gently.

"I can't believe he wanted that." More in control now that Hotch had assured him that Spencer was sleeping safely, with no ill-effects from Morgan essentially choking him to death while he raped him, he stopped pacing to fall into one of the hotel chairs that came with Spencer's room, uncertainty and self-loathing written in every bent line. "Hotch - "

But the older man was already by his side, sitting on the coffee table in front of him; and wouldn't the rest of the BAU be surprised to see stiff laced SSA Aaron Hotchner unbending enough to actually sit on a piece of furniture *not* specifically designed for that purpose...not to mention naked, as they both were at the moment...

His mind was wandering and a little piece of the profiler not bound up in frantically screaming about what he had just done identified the first signs of shock...he had even come, for gods sake...enjoyed it...

When Spencer had convulsed, his back arcing so hard that Morgan thought it would break, his eyes rolling back, there had been that little smile on his face...almost relieved...almost...peaceful...

Dark eyes caught his, and Morgan could see the tumble of emotions in the darkness as they held him. Regret, old pain, relief, pride, strength, love, fear - they all tumbled together until Morgan found himself getting lost in them.

"You didn't Morgan," the older man told him firmly. "Never that. You saw Garvin; heard what he said. Spencer knows what he needs."

It was only because Morgan had shared everything with them through the mental link - pain, fear, trust and pleasure alike - that he could pull in a stuttering sigh, remembering that smile, and admit, "Yeah. Yeah, ok." And then, because they had to be careful, "What about the bruises?"

Spencer was going to have bruises on his throat tomorrow, probably a thumb and four smaller ones on the other side - hard to choke a man and not leave that kind of evidence behind.

"We'll deal with it." he sighed.

Hotch rubbed his head tiredly, and Morgan was struck by how much this case had taken out of all of them. Joining the FBI, no one had ever told them what happened after the case was over - what they would need to do to stay sane after the rush of the hunt and the chase was over. What they would carry with them after the bad guy was brought to ground and put safely behind bars where he couldn't hurt anyone else ever again.

Battle scars. They all had them.

Child abuse cases were always bad, but Garvin had been extreme; flaunting what he had done and making it clear he had enjoyed it and daring them to catch him. Morgan knew why Reid had taken it hard - mental abilities and having all that sick lust and violence directed at you had hit the kid hard - and he knew why *he* had taken Garvin personally; Carl Buford would never be gone from his mind, not completely. But Hotch?

And suddenly the profiler in him reared its ugly head and Morgan looked at Aaron Hotchner with far different eyes. He didn't like what he saw.

"What happened to you, Hotch?" he asked, full of pain and anger at the flinch he saw before Hotch shuttered again. Sadness and exhaustion won out as Hotch denied, "It was nothing. A long time ago.", though he didn't close down all the way. That was a good sign.

Because there was nothing more they could do about it tonight; they were both about ready to drop as it was. Wading through the sludge of an unsub's psyche was a heavier burden than they told you at the academy; heavier than most people realized. Even shared with the people you cared about. The people you loved.

Morgan took his hand. Pulling the older man up from the table, Morgan kissed him softly, pouring everything he had left into the kiss, praying that some of it managed to find its way through the link Spencer had opened earlier. He had hope that it succeeded when, as he pulled back slightly, while still exhausted, Hotch no longer looked quite as haunted.

"Bed," Morgan told him. "Before we both fall on our noses. That is one accident I do not want to explain to Emily and Rossi."

Hotch snorted and Morgan was never so glad to see the humor lurking in those eyes as he was now, because it chased those ghosts away. "Right. Bed. If I know Spencer, we may be able to get a couple of hours before he's awake and ready again."

"You ain't kidding." Morgan chuckled and led Hotch back to the bed and their youngest lover sleeping the sleep of the blissfully sated. He looked so young...so innocent - which Morgan knew without a doubt he wasn't; except that, in so many ways, he was...

Running a careful hand through the soft brown strands, Morgan pushed the hair that had fallen back away from his eyes. There were dark circles under them. "It's all that damned caffeine."

Hotch kissed him gently. "Come on. The morning is going to come way too early as it is."

With one last look at Spencer, Morgan caught the fondness Hotch no longer tried to hide, at least not in private, and slipped into bed behind the smaller body. Hotch did the same on Reid's other side - a sudden move over and Hotch was kissing him; a slow, soft glide of lips on his that was more promise and encouragement than it was passion.

"Goodnight, Derek."

"Night, Aaron."

Ghosts exorcized for the moment, exhaustion soon claimed them and both men joined Spencer in slumber.

End