Work Text:
The smell of coffee makes its way into your dreams: dark roasted and warm, a tang of bitterness underneath the buttery, milky swirl of cream mixed in. Eventually, the room makes itself aware to you again—you’re in bed, sunken in between silk pillows and crumpled sheets.
“You’re awake,” a timid voice says, and you turn your head to the door to see your boyfriend, tall dark and handsome baritone, in nothing but a delicate checkered apron with lace trimmings. It falls under his hips, so you’re not treated to the full view yet, but you smile, anyway.
“I wanted to surprise you in bed,” he says, strong arms carrying in a tray with all of your favourite breakfast items, and a fresh pot of coffee.
You suddenly remember what today is—it’s Aaron’s day off, which makes it a very special day for both of you.
“How long have you been up?” you ask, rubbing your eyes awake as you slide up into seated position.
“A while,” he admits, bashful as he sets up the tray on top of your lap and smooths out the sheets underneath. “Do you—like it?”
He leans in a little as your eyes drift towards his frame, wrapped in nothing but a tight little red and white apron. His everything is peeking out of it: his chest that’s leaning over the bed, arms gripping onto the sheets to keep steady, long legs stretched against the side of the bed, ass in perfect view to the side—tied up with a skinny red ribbon dangling at the back.
Aaron seems to notice you staring and catches a blush. He clears his throat in another plea, “Ma’am? Can I… get you anything else?”
You snap back into it, knowing exactly what he wants. “Can you get me my hair brush and a wet towel for my face, baby?”
He nods eagerly, pushing himself off the bed to go. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Make sure its warm,” you remind him as he goes, noticing the slight tent poking out of his apron now.
Today is going to be a very good day.
You have your breakfast as Aaron sits behind you quietly brushing your hair. It takes everything out of you not to react to the way his fingers drift over the back of your neck, twirling in your hair, gently pushing into your scalp. As you’re sipping on your coffee, you feel his fingers drifting down to your exposed back.
“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask, surprised by the harsh way it comes out.
“I’m—” he pulls his hands away, “sorry, Ma'am.”
You hear the strain in his voice, desperate for something more from you.
“What do you want, baby?” you look over your shoulder, offering a gentle smile. “You know you can ask for things and still be a good boy.”
That seems to set something off in Aaron, who shivers and turns bright red. It’s a sight you can never get enough of, even after months of this arrangement. Who knew that big bad Aaron Hotchner, stone-cold leader of the BAU, could melt like this from your words alone?
Even more, he’s so shy, so embarrassed still to admit what he wants, being the type of man who’s spent a lifetime denying it to himself. But with patience and the right type of positive feedback, anything is possible.
“I want you,” he swallows, “to feed me, Ma’am.”
You inhale sharply, unable to contain the utterly satisfied smile on your face, not when your sweet, sweet boy is asking so nicely. “How can I say no, baby?”
You let him kiss you, light and only a touch indulgent. He tries to lean into you some more, but you pull away before it makes it impossible for both of you to stop.
“I’m going to go shower. Will you pick out an outfit for me? Whatever you like,” you say, watching his lips press together, as if containing some secret answer that you can’t wait to see.
“Don’t forget to clean up the bed,” you remind him, swatting away his attempts to touch you once more as you climb out of bed. “Good boys don’t leave a mess.”
The second you step out of the shower, you see the clothes laid out on the perfectly made bed. At first, you’re confused—were your instructions not clear enough? Those are Aaron’s clothes. His perfectly ironed, FBI shirt and suit.
And then you realise—you let him pick, but you didn’t say it had to be one of your clothes.
He takes a breath, as if preparing the exact same argument in his head, but there’s no need as you tell him to wait in the office while you get dressed. Your hands tremble as you button up the shirt over some black lace underwear placed next to it, no suit trousers.
“How about I do some work?” you say, fully dressed in his office chair. Aaron’s kneeling under the table, still in the grease-spattered apron, kissing your bare thighs and warming you up before really getting started. “Or are you desperate for attention today?”
He pauses, and for a second you think back to when the last time you did this was. You’ve been almost as busy as he has, with a slew of legal cases and travel across the country, maybe what Aaron needs is your full, undivided attention.
You both recognise that it’s not the easiest thing in the world, to make time for each other with your schedules, but he calls whenever he has some downtime on the plane, and you make sure to send him pictures in varying states of undress in fancy hotel bathrooms. You could make an erotic lifestyle book out of all of these pictures, he once joked, and you said that you’d have it sent to his office desk one day.
“You should work,” he says, adoring eyes gazing up at you. “I know how busy you are… Mommy.”
Oh, how you would love for this image to be framed on his office desk.
You take a deep breath, running your fingers through his hair—part-steadying yourself in the event that you might pass out from this six foot two, wet-dream of man calling you Mommy. “Aaron, thank you for being such a considerate boy for Mommy. You know you’re not the only one who gets stressed by work, right?”
“Yes, Mommy,” he whines, gripping your thighs just as tight to stop from touching himself. “You work so hard all the time. You deserve to have a good boy waiting for you at home.”
Jesus fucking Christ. And to think you met this man in court, slamming down case files and barking orders to a bunch of high ranking FBI officials.
“Okay,” you say after counting flocks of sheep to calm yourself down, opening your laptop to start reviewing some files. You take off your panties as he watches, mesmerised, while the shirt stays on, buttons open at the top to reveal your black lace bra. “Go ahead, baby. Mommy’s going to go work for a while.”
Aaron immediately goes for it, mouth diving into you as your core tightens at the sudden sensation; even after a shower, you were immediately wet again. Aaron groans between legs, pushing them open with hands that could practically wrap their fingers around the circumference your thighs. You’re not a small woman by any means, but compared to Aaron Hotchner, well.
“You can use your hands,” you say, after about ten minutes of silence: the only sounds in the room being his tongue eating you out and your stilted typing.
“Okay, Mommy,” he replies, breathless and with a clear smile in his voice, “you taste so good.”
You blush, highlighting a correction in one of your associate’s legal document in yellow.
“Are you thirsty, baby?” you ask, conscious of the fact that Aaron’s been busy serving you all morning.
“Mmm, maybe a little bit.”
“Here you go,” you hand him the glass of water on your table, which he drinks in one go. You ask if he wants more, but he shakes his head, so you go back to your work as he slowly pushes his fingers inside you, cold from the glass of water.
You flinch, as Aaron starts apologising profusely. “Are you… going to punish me?”
“Does Mommy look like she has time to punish you? I’ll decide what to do with you after I finish my work and you finish yours.”
Aaron knows that you can be slow to orgasm from oral sex, but once his fingers get inside you, it speeds things up almost instantly. You can’t help the way your body reacts, and he holds your thighs down to the chair to keep you still as you reach your climax into his mouth, spilling out and down the chair. You hear him moan so loud, helplessly reaching down to touch himself underneath his apron, fingers still wet from being inside you.
You can let him off for that one, you think, still riding out your orgasm as he goes back in to suck on your clit. He looks so hot like this.
“Take your apron off,” you tell him, as he looks up, expectant. “I want to see my good boy come all over himself.”
He follows your instructions, rapidly tossing the apron aside as he puts on a show for you under the desk.
“Can I…” he looks down at himself, cock flushed and aching in his grip, “I want to come inside you, Mommy.” He doesn’t look up at you as he asks, as if talking to himself.
Soon, you realise that he might be preparing for the disappointment of you saying no because you still owe him a punishment. Your mind weighs up the available options.
“Come, I want you to sit on the chair,” you say, getting up to make space for him. You reposition yourself on top of his lap and unbutton your shirt completely, tossing it aside with your bra. “You can come inside me, but you’re going to do all the work,” you say, explaining that this is the punishment. Aaron nods in understanding and starts to move you, trying to match the rhythm of his hips thrusting upwards.
You wrap your arms around his neck and lean forwards, kissing his hair and relishing in his desperate sounds echoing in the room. You start thinking about what new rewards you could give him for outdoing himself, yet again—maybe you can fuck him in his SUV next time, or you could even wear his collar one day. You laugh a little at the image, certain that that would make him lose his mind.
He doesn’t seem to notice you at all, groaning as he gets closer and closer. “Trouble getting off? Have you really been touching yourself so often between cases you can’t come inside me anymore, Aaron?”
“No,” he breathes out, thrusting harder into you it makes you squeak a little, “no, please, ‘m almost there.” He buries his face in your neck, and you touch his head as a form of gentle encouragement.
“Then what are you waiting for? This is what you wanted, right? If it’s not enough for you, you could always go back to the floor and this time I will make sure you stay there when you come.”
That seems to do the trick. Aaron comes hard and deep inside you, moaning your name until you get lost in the sound of his voice and the heat of him inside you, exactly where he belongs.
Aaron eventually stands, somehow managing to lift you up while still wrapped around his body. You both look down at the mess on the chair dripping down to the carpeted floor.
“I’ll clean that,” he says.
“No, you won’t.”
He looks at you, a question trapped in his brows.
“Get yourself cleaned,” you pinch his chin, feeling for the first time how warm his face is. “Let me order in some food for you and take care of you for a while. If you want to have some more fun in the evening, we can talk about what you want to do then.”
“Okay,” Aaron smiles, still eager to please but clearly tired, “thank you so much, Mommy.”
“You’re always welcome, my sweet boy.”