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Derek Morgan is a gentle man.
Sure, he's a built like a linebacker, looks like he could bench a medium sized hippo and outrun a horse but at his core, he's so very gentle. It shows in the way he stops into Garcia's office to give her a kiss on the cheek, just because he can. Or the in the way he'll tease Reid about his newest interest while still letting him ramble about it. It's in the way he still calls his mother every Sunday and makes sure to check up on his sisters. It's why young children, especially victims, are drawn to him like moths.
Despite this, there is nothing gentle in the way he imagines fucking his unit chief.
The fantasy leaps out at him out of nowhere, so out of left field that it gives him whiplash. He's sitting at his desk in the bullpen, spinning a pen in his fingers and watching through the blinds of Hotch's office as Strauss lays into him about some other bureaucratic mishap. Even from this distance, he can see the hard line of Hotch's eyebrows and the tense set of his jaw as he replies with a clipped yes or no ma'am. Several minutes later, Strauss strides out of his office, down the catwalk, and across the bullpen, head held high and heels clicking.
The team trades raised eyebrows as their gazes inevitably swivel towards the window to where Hotch is doing a remarkable job of not throwing a fit and trashing his office. Instead, they watch him take several very deep breaths and shake his head before exiting and shutting the door a little too sharply.
As he makes his way towards the bathrooms, everyone but Derek buries their head in paperwork, pretending to be busy. Derek forgets to and accidentally makes eye contact, nearly shuddering at the thunderous look on Hotch's face. The moment passes and he disappears through the door marked "M".
Derek imagines following him, cornering him up against the sinks.
"Morgan," he says, not paying him much attention as he splashes cold water on his face. Derek steps closer, crowding his personal space until his chest is pressed up against Hotch's back. He goes still then, hands wet. "Morgan."
Undeterred, he slides his hands around and down his chest, untucking his shirt and flicking open his belt buckle, pulling at it until it hits the tile with a clatter. "You need to relax," he murmurs, sliding a warm palm up Hotch's dress shirt to undo his tie and open his collar.
His mouth drops open ever so slightly as Derek tweaks a nipple and presses a kiss to the back of his neck. "The door," he protests weakly, head lolling forwards.
"You want me to stop?" Derek sucks lightly on the side of his throat as Hotch shakes his head no. His other hand makes quick work of the button on Hotch's pants. He's a beautiful shade of red now and it makes Derek want to devour him whole. Instead, he dips below the waistband of his boxer and fists his cock, drawing a sharp inhale. "So tense," he starts to stroke him, slow at first. "Let it go, Hotch."
Hotch keens and drops his head back against Derek's shoulder, hips already shifting slightly to match his rhythm. He's nearly panting, which goes straight to Derek's dick. "More," he breathes. "Please."
And who is Derek to deny a request like that? He speeds up his hand and nips savagely at his exposed throat. A whine tries to claw its way out of Hotch's chest as he fucks Derek's fist in earnest. "Like this?" he huffs, voice so low its nearly a growl, "Or do you want more?" He gets a quiet moan in response. "Of course you do. Needy slut."
Hotch gasps, both at the words and at the way Derek has just bent him over the sink. He grinds his still clothed dick against Hotch's ass and has to muffle a shout into his shoulder. "Yes," moans Hotch. "Morgan, need you- need you to fuck me."
That sends him to the edge right then and there. He nods against his back and grips his hip, pulling his ass firmly against his crotch. "Next time," he promises. "I'll give you what you need."
"Fuck. Morgan, I'm- I'm not- I'm gonna-"
The pace Derek sets is punishing, shoving his hips forwards and squeezing around his cock almost painfully tight. In the mirror, he watches as Hotch's eyelids flutter and feels his legs shake. "Go on then," he says, winding a hand into his hair and pulling. "Come. Show me how bad you want it."
Hotch spills over his hand with a barely stifled cry, hips twitching as Derek works him through the aftershocks. The sight of him falling apart has Derek coming in his own pants, static filling his head. "Morgan," says Hotch, voice slightly wrecked. "Morgan. Morgan. Morgan-"
Derek blinks. He's still sitting at his desk, spinning his pen aimlessly. "Morgan!" Emily snaps her fingers in front of his face. "Earth to Derek."
"What..." he mumbles, in a daze. She scoffs.
"You were staring off into space for like ten minutes," She rests her chin on top of her hands. "So... Whatcha' thinking about?"
"Nunya," he shoots back, sticking out his tongue.
"Uh huh. I'm sure," she looks at him disbelievingly and turns back to her work.
Derek breathes out a sigh, rubbing his temples. Turning, he can see Hotch in his office again, scribbling over some forms and the fantasy comes back in full force. With some alarm, he notices he's half hard.
What the hell.
The next time it happens, they’ve just finished verbally eviscerating each other in front of half the precinct and okay, maybe Derek was being a little unreasonable but the case was rough and tempers had been steadily rising since mid morning.
Derek slams the door of his hotel room and flops face forwards on the bed with a groan.
Fuck him, he thinks. Fuck Hotch and his stupid eyebrows and his stupid suits and his stupid hair and his stupid need to follow the rules. Which is a dangerous line of thought to follow because fuck Hotch turns into fuck Hotch and Derek thinks about stuffing a lube packet into his pocket, marching down the hall, hammering on his door and storming inside, pushing the suit jacket off his arms and shoving him back towards the neatly made bed.
"You drive me insane, you know that?" he mutters, swinging a leg over to straddle him. Hotch huffs and wriggles his hips insistently.
"You gonna do something about it?" Alright, asshole. Challenge accepted.
It could almost be considered a brawl with the way they bite at each other's mouths and leaves scratch marks down backs and arms. Hotch manages to flip them for a while until Derek yanks on his tie until it comes undone and practically throws Hotch forwards onto his stomach, sitting across his legs and pinning his wrists to his lower back. "Settle down," he growls, leaning down to nip at his ear. He hisses and bucks against Derek's weight. In response, Derek wraps the tie around his wrists like a pair of cuffs, leaving a small amount of material in the middle for him to grab onto. When he tugs, Hotch's back arches beautifully, knees shifting apart so that he can press his dick against the mattress. "Much better."
"If you came here to fuck me," says Hotch, slightly muffled by the pillows. "I'd suggest you get on with it."
Derek swats him across the ass and grins at the soft moan it elicits. "I'll do what I damn well please," he shoots back, but he makes quick work of Hotch's belt, pants, and underwear. Fumbling for the lube in his pocket, he tears the packet open with his teeth and coats his fingers, teasing around his hole. Hotch's hips shift backwards like he wants them in him already. "Wish the rest of the team could see you like this," he muses, pressing the tips of his index and middle fingers inside for just a moment. "Wonder how they'd react to seeing their boss absolutely gagging for it."
Hotch whines, clenching down around him as Derek works his fingers all the way in and leaves them there. "Move," he huffs, though there's no bite behind it. Derek scoffs.
"And do all the work? Nah," he lays another strike against Hotch's thigh. "Go on, move." Hotch's dick twitches as he slowly shifts back on his knees, fucking himself back against Derek's hand. Derek watches the muscles in his leg and back flex as they fight to keep him stable. "Good boy." Hotch moans, thrusts stuttering as he starts to slow down. "I didn't say stop."
"Gonna come," he gasps, though he dutifully rocks his hips back again.
"Don't care. We're done when I say we're done." This time, fucks his fingers in when Hotch moves against him, finding his prostate and pressing against it. Hotch twitches at the relentless pressure, feeling his release start to crash through him.
"Morgan!" he wails, unable to do anything than hold on for dear life as his body moves almost of its own accord. "Oh, oh, oh-" He comes untouched, grinding his dick into the mattress below.
Derek pulls his hair as he pants, head spinning. "Good boy," he praises, pushing his face back into the pillows. Slicking up his cock, he presses inside with little preamble. Hotch makes a beautiful, broken sound, oversensitive body lighting up with sparks all over. "God, they really knew what they were talking about when they called you a tightass," he says through strained laughter. He snaps his hips forwards, setting a punishing pace that brings tears to Hotch's eyes. His world narrows down to nothing but the wet heat around his cock and the shivers that wrack Hotch's body as he fucks him through his orgasm. Derek hears the quiet sobs that he's muffling into the pillow and decides he really wants to see that.
When he flips Hotch onto his back, he catches his breath. He's gorgeous, lips red and puffy, tears running down his cheeks, a blissed out look in his eyes. "Fuck me," he pleads, spreading his legs further apart. Derek sinks back inside, enjoying the way it ripples through his entire body.
"I got you, princess," he murmurs. "You just lie there and take it."
"Yes, yes, please." He undoes the tie and wrangles Hotch's wrists up above his head, pinning them there as he continues to pound into him. Hotch's cock gives an interested twitch.
"You gonna come again, baby?" Hotch keens and tucks his face into his arm. Derek's answering chuckle, low and dirty, makes him dizzy. His legs wrap around Derek's waist urging him deeper, harder. "I think you like arguing with me," he pants, starting to lose some of his control. "I think you like riling me up on purpose so I can come and take care of you after."
Hotch yelps when the head of his cock rolls over his prostate. "Believe what you like," he says, nearly a whine. "It works, doesn't it?" Whatever snarky remark he's going to make next is cut off by Derek wrapping a hand around his cock, jerking him in time with his thrusts.
Derek grins as Hotch's eyes roll back into his head. "Yeah, that's what I thought." It only takes a few more thrusts until Hotch comes again with a whimpering cry, painting his stomach. HIs walls ripple around Derek's cock and he muffles a groan into his shoulder.
"Morgan. Derek, fuck, don't stop," he gasps, even as his entire body twitches with overstimulation. Derek folds him almost in half as he chases his own release, the sound of their hips connecting loud and lewd. "So good, so good, fuck me so w-well. Oh my god-"
His cock twitches and he draws back to pull out, only to be stopped by Hotch crossing his ankles behind his hips and dragging him closer. "Hotch," he says, unsteady with the implication.
Hotch nods frantically, arching up to try and kiss him. "Inside me, please." Derek lets out a shaky moan and thrusts into him again, teetering right on the edge. "Give it to me," Hotch whispers and he's done for, spilling into that tight warmth. He slumps forwards, catching himself on his forearms and tucking his face into the other man's neck. Large, warm hands trace meaningless patterns up and down his back. "Feel better?"
Derek chuckles, kissing the length of his jaw. "You're an ass."
"If the last twenty minutes were anything to go by, you seem to like mine."
He shuts him up with another kiss.
By the time he's calmed down enough to go down for dinner, any leftover resentment he feels towards Hotch is gone. This is helped by the tentative look that Hotch shoots him as he sits down.
I'm sorry.
Derek gives him a soft smile in return.
It's alright. I'm sorry too.
The rest of the meal goes smoothly, gentle banter floating around the table, half-hearted theories lobbed back and forth. By the end of it, Derek's nearly put the entire fantasy out of his mind. That is until desert comes and Penelope insists on feeding Hotch a bite of her black forest gateau. The way he leans forward to wrap his lips around the fork has Derek fighting a blush, and the way he licks the rest of the cream off his lips spells disaster.
He sighs, rubbing his eyes. It's going to be a long week.