Title: Funk Soul Brother
Author: nebula99
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: FRAO/NC-17
Type: Slash
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Summary: "Dancing is a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire"
Kink: Dancing - for slash_girl for rounds_of_kink and #022 Twins/Non Canon Siblings for wtf27
A/N: Beta read by the ever helpful slash_girl. Thank you!

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"All the ills of mankind, all the tragic misfortunes that fill the history books, all the political blunders, all the failures of the great leaders have arisen merely from a lack of skill at dancing."
Moliere


Work can be stressful. By definition it is the opposite of leisure and for many people, a job is what you do when you are not doing the stuff you enjoy.

Some jobs are more stressful than others. People who have a stressful job need to have a way to relax, to unwind from the tight tension of their working days.

The BAU were no different.

When he wasn't working, one of the things Spencer Reid liked to do was watch TV. He wasn't a particularly discriminating viewer - the legacy of a childhood with very restricted television access. He watched the usual Sci-Fi shows but he also liked cartoons, soap operas and the occasional made-for-TV movie. The only time he actively switched over was when the news came on. He got enough misery at work.

He knew that most of his other teammates had found their own ways to unwind and clear their heads of the horrors that they processed at work. Nearly everyone had a hobby or a pastime.

Except for Hotch.

Morgan had once joked that when Aaron Hotchner wanted to relax, he would undo one of his shirt buttons. Or if he was really kicking back, he'd loosen his tie. Slightly.

As far as the team were concerned, Unit Chief Hotchner was never off duty.

Reid wondered about Hotch's life when he wasn't at work, now that his family were gone. Hotch came in earlier and seemed to stay later than everyone else - perhaps he had no life outside here. Maybe Hotch didn't really exist outside the BAU. An image entered Reid's head of Hotch slumped over his desk, like a toy with the batteries taken out, inert and waiting until for someone to switch him back on. It wasn't an amusing image; it made him feel sad.

Chiding himself for spending so much time thinking about Hotch, Reid jogged down the stairs towards the gym. There were some clothes languishing in his locker and unless he washed them soon, they would walk out of the building on their own.

As he walked along the corridor, he heard music.

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A short while later, he was jostling with Garcia and Emily for a better view through the practice room window. They bobbed and stretched, gasping with the effort of standing on tiptoe and trying hard to see everything - without being seen themselves.

They all felt sure that the man they were watching would not take kindly to being spied on.

"Who's the other guy?" hissed Reid. He recognised the face but his name eluded him. Maybe he was one of the assistant directors.

Emily rolled her eyes. "You really don't know?"

"I do know him," replied Reid, indignantly, "I just can't remember his name. He works upstairs."

The women exchanged a look and then burst into giggles that were quickly smothered. Reid felt his face glow red and scowled, turning away to stare though the window. The man-he-couldn't-name was fussing with a large music player.

In the centre of the room, Aaron Hotchner was stretching out his hamstrings.

Satisfied, the man turned to Hotch with a grin. "Warmed up now, Aaron?" he asked. Hotch nodded and the man continued. "I want you to try this one. I've got a feeling it'll work really well for tap - just go with your own rhythms." He pressed a button on the music player and sat down on a chair next to it.

The music started to play and to the watching trio's surprise, Hotch took a deep breath, shook out his arms and then began to dance.

Reid stood still, mouth hanging open, looking in amazement at his boss tap dancing. Hotch's feet moved slowly at first, tapping out the rhythm of the drums, but as the sound began to build, his movements became faster.

Hotch's shoes clicked and tapped on the wooden floor as he shuffled and hopped and stamped his feet. Swinging his arms out, he jumped and landed with both feet on the floor, before running gracefully to the far corner.

There was no trace of his usual severity on his face as he moved to the music. Reid had never seen Hotch looking this animated - or this relaxed.

"That is just so . . . awesome," breathed Garcia. "D'ya think they'll dance together?"

"Oh God," said Emily, turning to her with a smile. "That would be amazing. Did you know about him?"

"Who?" asked Reid but the women ignored him.

"I knew Hotch had a famous uncle, but I didn't expect it to be him," said Emily with a shake of her head.

"Nobody expects Christopher Walken," replied Garcia with a grin.

"Christopher who?" asked Reid, his voice a little louder.

Garcia rolled her eyes at Emily and then said, "That guy in there - he's Hotch's mom's brother and he's an actor - The Deer Hunter, Pulp Fiction, Sleepy Hollow? That's where you recognise him from, not from upstairs, Mr. Genius."

"Oh," said Reid quietly. Then he turned away from her to concentrate on Hotch who was clapping his hands together and springing gracefully across the room.

They watched the dance in silence for a moment before Emily let out a sigh of appreciation. "Hotch is hot," she said dreamily.

Reid cleared his throat. "Um, aerobic exercise causes the body to heat up due to the, um, chemical reactions that convert food to energy. The Eccrine and Aprocrine glands are activated as a result. Hotch is undertaking vigorous exercise and so naturally his body is produced sweat in response. You can see by the damp patches on his t-shirt how hot he is."

His voice trailing off, Reid glanced nervously at Emily and Garcia. They were smirking.

"Reid," said Emily softly, "I meant hot as in sexy."

Reid swallowed nervously. "Oh," he said. "Um, I wouldn't know about that." He pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Obviously I don't think Hotch is sexy - I would never, um, think about my co-workers like that."

Emily gave him a reassuring pat on his arm. "Of course you wouldn't. You are just naturally very observant."

Garcia made a strange snorting sound and then followed it with a prolonged coughing fit.

Embarrassed, Reid focused his attention back on Hotch. His movements were so fluid and yet so precise. He was graceful but there was something else in the way that he moved. Hotch was so light on his feet - Reid was still amazed at this aspect of him. The only word he could use to describe it was . . . joyful.

Reid allowed himself to smile. The dancing was fun to watch anyways, but seeing Hotch so relaxed and so unwound was an even better experience. Hotch was always fairly reserved, but lately he had seemed so tightly controlled, almost as though he didn't dare release even a fragment of emotion. He rarely smiled these days, never laughed, and now here he was engaged in an activity that was the very antithesis of tension.

Plus there was the fact that Hotch looked so hot.

Discretely sliding his messenger bag in front of his growing erection, Reid gulped and continued to watch Hotch's routine, enjoying the way his black pants clung to his ass and thighs.

As the song reached a crescendo, Christopher Walken took off his jacket and joined Hotch in the middle of the room. Together they twirled and slid, effortlessly matching each other's pace and movements.

"Wowser," said Garcia softly. "Walken and Hotch - like Fred and Ginger, only way, way scarier."

"Yeah," laughed Emily, "Dancing and death glaring - they should really be doing Flamenco."

Reid didn't speak but continued to stare at Hotch, mesmerised by the sheen of sweat on his skin.

The music finished and the three observers let out audible whines of disappointment as the dancers stopped and bent over, hands on knees as they caught their breath.

Feeling a sharp elbow jab to the ribs, Reid turned to Emily.

"Close your mouth," she whispered. "You're drooling."

"I am not!" replied Reid quickly, blushing as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

Hotch and Walken talked quietly together for a moment before both bursting into laughter. Then Hotch pulled his damp t-shirt over his head and dabbed at his forehead with it.

Walken picked up a pale blue towel from the bench and tossed it to Hotch, who began to wipe himself down with it, mopping the sweat from his face and neck before towelling under his arms and the rest of his upper body.

"Guess somebody's going to need a cold shower," said Garcia, looking pointedly at Reid. She then caught Emily's eye, resulting in another fit of giggles from both women that they were helpless to stop.

Still holding his messenger bag in front of his crotch, Reid ducked his head and tried to will the redness from his cheeks.

The door opened suddenly and then Hotch stood in front of them, one eyebrow raised and the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "I see you've discovered my secret identity," he said, dryly.

Emily gave a little embarrassed cough and then said, "You're very good. We were impressed."

Hotch shrugged. "I used to be better," he replied, self deprecatingly. "I don't practise as much as I should."

"Yeah, keep it up Aaron," said Walken, clapping Hotch on the shoulder, "And one day you'll be as good as me."

Hotch laughed and turned to him, saying, "Let me introduce you. This is my uncle Chris and these are Penelope Garcia, Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid."

Reid stepped back and waved awkwardly as Walken kissed both Garcia and Emily's hands.

"Delighted to meet you, ladies," smiled Walken.

Hotch rubbed the towel over his forearms, causing Reid to swallow hard. The dark hair on Hotch's arms formed damp whorls and it was all Reid could do not to reach out a hand to touch them. He shoved one hand into his pocket and gripped the strap of his messenger bag tightly with the other.

"If you'll excuse me," said Hotch, starting to walk towards the locker room, "I'm going to get cleaned up."

Reid waited a moment while Garcia and Emily chatted excitedly with Hotch's movie star uncle and then scurried off to collect his clothes. He made his way straight to his locker and began to rummage in it, acutely aware of Hotch undressing and towelling himself down at the other side of the room.

Reid stole a few furtive glances at Hotch's naked body, turning back quickly whenever Hotch lifted his head. Then he peeked under one arm as Hotch strolled casually to the showers, his cock swinging as he walked.

As Hotch closed the shower door and started the water running, Reid tiptoed to the bench where he had left his clothes. Carefully, he picked up the damp towel and brought it to his face, taking in the warm sweaty smell. He closed his eyes and cupped his hard-on through his pants.

The sound of a door opening startled him and without thinking, he crammed the towel into his messenger bag and hurried out of the locker room, almost colliding with Hotch's uncle as he went.

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The journey home seemed to take forever. Every jolt of the train made Reid's messenger bag swing gently against his body, causing his cock to twitch and making him bite his lip to prevent himself from groaning.

When he reached his building, he almost scampered up the stairs, scrabbling for his keys and praying that none of his neighbours would want to chat.

Once inside his apartment, Reid kicked off his shoes and hung his coat up. Then, with his messenger bag still slung across his body, he walked quickly to his bedroom, undoing his belt as he went.

He unzipped his pants and pushed both them and his underwear down, kicking them off as he reached his bed. He was so horny he just couldn't wait. Then he took off his messenger bag and reached inside for the towel, letting out a soft groan as his fingers pressed into the cloth. He pulled it out of the bag and brought it to his face, inhaling the scent of Hotch's sweat. Another groan escaped his lips as his cock swelled. A dreamy smile spread across his face as he lay back on the bed, sniffing again at the damp towel.

Reid took hold of his cock and began to stroke it. His fist pumped rhythmically as he took deep breaths into the towel, pressing it against his face and then rubbing his cheek, his closed eyelids and finally his open mouth with the rough cloth. He moaned aloud and the sound of his pleasure being muffled by the towel just made him even more turned on.

Feeling the pressure build, Reid took his hand away from his cock to prolong the sensations. He didn't want to come just yet. Instead he slid his hand up under his shirt and pulled and rubbed at his nipple. His movement was constricted by his shirt and the feeling of gentle cotton stretched taut across the back of his hand made him moan again. He rubbed the towel around his neck and shivered at the sensations it produced.

His balls were almost aching with need but he wanted to wait just a little longer. He wasn't going to last if he kept on touching his cock. His hips circling unconsciously, Reid undid his tie with trembling hands and unbuttoned his shirt. Then he smoothed the towel over his throat and started to rub and slide it over his naked chest.

His cock jerked at the feeling and he quickly brought an image of Hotch to the forefront of his mind; Hotch towelling himself quickly, rubbing the sweat from his glistening skin. Reid imagined himself leaning towards him, opening his mouth and then sweeping his tongue across warm skin, licking up the drops of sweat. He groaned loudly at the thought of it. The image was so vivid that he could feel the warm salt taste in his mouth. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to be able to press his open mouth to Hotch's damp skin.

"Oh god," he gasped, panting with desire. Then Reid brought the towel down across his flat stomach and gently massaged his pubic hair with it. His hips bucked upwards and he moaned again. "Oh god."

He spread his legs wider and moved his fist in between them, caressing his smooth inner thighs with the towel. His voice grew higher and he cried out. "Oh god . . . oh god."

Unable to delay any longer, Reid moved one hand to continue jerking off and with the other, stroked his balls and the base of his cock with the stolen towel. Hotch had touched this towel and now it was touching his crotch. He was nearly there.

As the familiar sensations started to overtake him, Reid planted the soles of his feet on the bed and lifted his hips, pushing his cock up into his palm. He stroked harder and faster, thrusting up lewdly with his hips as louder cries tumbled out of his mouth. Then with a loud yell he came, jerking his pelvis and gasping as his orgasm tore through him. He swirled the towel automatically over his dick and balls as he lay back, eyes glazed and panting.

When his breathing returned to normal, Reid blinked and then smiled. He loved jerking off but that had been something special. He hadn't enjoyed an orgasm that much for a long time.

Propping himself up on his elbows, he reached for a tissue from his nightstand and cleaned himself up. He dabbed at the sticky patches on the towel and then experienced a moment of slight panic.

He really should return the towel, but now he would have to wash it first. And if the towel had been laundered, then Hotch might be suspicious. And if Hotch was suspicious, he might get it examined. Reid was aware that semen stains could still fluoresce even after washing . . . then Hotch might ask the crime lab to test for DNA . . . and then he would be exposed as the kind of weirdo who stole his boss' towel to masturbate with.

There was no other solution. He had to keep the towel.

Reid sighed and sat up. It wasn't the first item of Hotch's that he had borrowed but it was certainly the biggest. He reached into his nightstand drawer and took out the box containing a blunt pencil, a coffee stained napkin, a hastily scrawled post-it note and a broken shoelace. Reid ran a gentle finger over his treasures and then looked over at the crumpled towel. He needed to find a bigger box.

Shrugging off his shirt, Reid reached for his pyjamas and started to pull them on. He didn't mean to take those things - he had just seen Hotch discard them and then next thing he knew, he had palmed them and stuffed them in his bag. It was silly but it made him feel as though there was really a connection between them.

Reid was aware that his behaviour was uncomfortably close the trophy-taking of some of the killers that the team hunted - keeping an object that was connected with the focus of your fantasy in order to relive the experience. He suspected that Hotch would be horrified if he knew what Reid was doing.

But he had no desire to harm and he didn't exactly stalk Hotch. He just paid him very close attention. It was a crush that was never going to go anywhere and he knew that his trophies were the closest he was ever going to get.

Reid was brought out of his musing by the rumble of his stomach. His average refractory time was twenty-three minutes so he had time to make himself a snack before he went for it again. He smiled to himself - watching TV was a pretty good way to relax, but alternating his shows with whacking the dude was going to make it all the more enjoyable.

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Hotch noticed the missing towel as he packed away his workout clothes. He frowned and looked around the locker room, feeling sure he had dropped it on the bench before showering.

His search was interrupted by his uncle strolling in.

"C'mon Aaron," said Walken, "My stomach thinks my throat's been cut! If I'm buying you dinner, we have to go before I start gnawing on one of my own limbs."

Hotch looked up. "Sorry, I was just looking for my towel," he said. "I thought I left it here, but I can't find it now."

"I think your skinny co-worker took it," said Walken with a shrug. "I saw him stuffing it into his bag earlier."

Hotch frowned at him. "Reid? Why would he do that?" he asked. "Why would he take my sweaty towel?"

Walken smirked at his nephew for a moment before saying, "Why indeed? You're the profiler, Aaron, you tell me."

Hotch stared at his uncle for a moment, confused. Then a flash of understanding crossed his face and his eyes widened in surprise.

Walken shook his head and laughed. "And you guys are supposed to be the experts." Then he turned towards the door. "C'mon. Let's go spend my money."


"Dance is the hidden language of the soul of the body."
Martha Graham

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