the art of flirtation
haven’t written in over a year so this may be rusty and not great, I do apologise but blame @ssamorganhotchner for giving me this idea <3 not proof-read aaron hotchner x female reader wc: 1.9K slightly pining, flirting
You’d always been blissfully inappropriate and you knew it. The team were used to Garcia & Morgan at this point, having heard their flirtatious jokes for years, but they didn’t expect the newest BAU recruit to have such a dirty, sharp tongue...and they certainly didn’t expect it to aim for Aaron Hotchner. The first time you did it, you’d only been part of the BAU for 10 hours. Flirting came extremely natural to you, although your game wasn’t the best, and you couldn’t help it - part of the fun was the ability to make someone flustered. You enjoyed rendering someone speechless but sometimes struggled to pick an appropriate time and place to do it. Scrap that, virtually every time you opened your mouth was an inappropriate time. You hadn’t even been on a case with the team yet - you’d barely remembered where your new desk was in the bullpen. Hotch had called you into his office to discuss some consults that he would like you to assist Dr Reid with, a very professional conversation, when the joke just slipped out. A bad joke, not your best work, but a joke nonetheless. “So with this case, Reid has mentioned that the UnSub is a nymphomaniac. Why do you think that is?” Hotch asked, raising his eyebrow slightly. “He dated me,” Hotch glared at you and you coughed, rubbing the side of your cheek in hopes that your embarrassment would subdue. “Let’s move on,” He muttered and you nodded, but you swore you saw a small twinkle in his eye...or at least, you hoped so. The second time you did it, the rest of the team heard you. You were the first one to leave the bullpen that evening - the rest of the team had more paperwork to do than you as you were still fresh to the unit. You grabbed your bag and jacket, heading to Hotch’s open office door. “I’m going home,” You waved. “Good night, L/N,” Hotch called as you turned away. “It would be if you were coming home with me, baby,” You called, sauntering down the steps out of the bullpen, smirking to yourself. Morgan raised his eyebrows at Prentiss, who giggled behind her manila file. She had warmed up to you fairly quickly and you’d flirted with her a couple of times. She took your humour in good nature and understood it, returning the quips well. But the fact that you’d just said, that in a room full of profilers, to Hotch was the icing on the cake as to how much she was starting to like you. Hotch never mentioned it, but he enjoyed it. There was something about the way you were so quick, so bubbly yet mischievous. Although your lack of filter sometimes put the fear of God in him when you were in another police force’s precinct, he liked the way you spoke. He liked that you were unpredictable but he never showed it - well, he thought he didn’t, but you’d caught onto the blush on his cheeks from the first time you did it. He feigned annoyance whenever you quipped but it was something so blissfully cheerful and it brightened up his days...sometimes, a little too much. Sometimes, although he could scarcely admit it to himself, he wished that you were serious in your flirting efforts. ------- It was a fairly straightforward case in Vegas - well, it would have been if it weren’t for the fact that this UnSub enjoyed writing in code. Morgan, Rossi and Prentiss were at the latest crime scene and JJ was talking to a reporter, which left Hotch, you and Reid in the small sheriff’s office. Reid was scribbling down seemingly random letters and numbers on a whiteboard. You were lying back in an uncomfortable chair, staring at the letters from the UnSub until your eyes started to blur, and Hotch intermittently disappeared from the room with his phone glued to his ear, talking in a low, hushed tone. You’d noticed that he’d been in a bad mood all day, he seemed snappier and more straight-faced than usual - the glint in his eyes was barely noticeable. You’d flirted with him a few times this morning but he hadn’t really reacted. You hated to admit to yourself that it hurt - admitting that you were hurt by his lack of reaction would mean admitting to yourself that maybe there was something in the flirting for you...something more than just humour...and you couldn’t allow yourself to think like that. He was your boss and you got away with more than anyone else would: you couldn’t cross that line. “Reid, how are you doing so far?” Hotch asked as he walked back into the room, his face pinched. “I’m just trying to figure out how big the alphabet in his code is,” “L/N?” Hotch looked over to you, motioning to the letter in your hand. “What? Don’t look at me,” You shrugged, placing the letter onto the desk. “You’ve been reading the UnSub’s letters for an hour,” “Well I only know of two letters in the alphabet,” You mumbled, resting your elbows on the desk and rubbing your temples with the pads of your thumbs. “U and I,” You pointed to Hotch, half squinting from your blurry eyes, with a small smirk on your face. He sighed, placing his hands on his hips. His attitude instantly made you sit up straighter, searching his face for any kind of expression other than mad...but that’s all you could see. He was really mad, shooting daggers at you. “Why are you looking at me like that? Do you wanna spank me?” You tried to lighten him up, but it only made him worse. His brow furrowed even deeper, his eyes darkening. “For once in your life, can you give it a rest? Focus, L/N,” “Hotch, I’m focused. I’ve read these letters so many times that I could recite them to you, but I’m stumped,” “Then take a walk. Get some air and come back when you’re ready to do your job,” The tone of his voice made Reid stop scribbling and turn to look at you both. “You’re sending me out?” You asked, your voice clipped and irritated. “Yes,” “God, what is up with you today?” You grumbled, mainly to yourself, as you stood up from your chair and left the sheriff’s office in a moody cloud. You did take a walk - straight back to your hotel room for a hot shower. You needed to calm down, to figure out your next move. Unless he apologised, which didn’t seem likely, you had made a decision: no more jokes. Although you were mad at him, he was right - it wasn’t professional to be talking like that to the chief of the BAU, especially during such a mess of a case, and you still couldn’t decipher when the acceptable times to flirt were...so you stopped. The case was wrapped up that night, Reid’s brilliant mind pulling you all through to a good ending, and you were boarded the jet back to Virginia by 9pm. The craft was quiet; everyone was either focused on their thoughts, sleeping or paperwork. You stared out of the window for a while, compartmentalising the case into a tidy little brain box and letting your emotions go until you felt your eyelids become heavy. “Do you want me to turn my light off?” You heard Hotch’s voice and blinked a couple of times as you looked to the right of you, to his seat where his laptop emitted enough light for him to carry on working. “Please,” You mumbled, settling back into a comfortable position and turning your head back towards the window. “Good night, L/N,” He said softly as he turned his overhead light off. “Night,” You muttered, pushing your usual ‘get here and it will be’ joke down into a cage of things you had to keep to yourself. Hotch noticed. He didn’t type for a few moments, waiting to hear it... but it never came. In a quiet panic, he stared at you, trying to rationalise to himself that you were just exhausted - you just didn’t have the energy to joke around, you were too sleepy - but he knew. He knew why you didn’t say it and the same guilt that he’d felt seconds after he forced you to take a walk washed over him again. He stared at you for a good five minutes, looking at every curve and line of the profile of your face, the way your legs were curled up against the table, the way your eyelashes twitched every now and then. He watched you until he couldn’t do it anymore, feeling a heavy sadness plunge his heart downwards. How could he miss something that wasn’t even real? ----- You did it again...but this time, it really was an accident. You stayed true to your word for a few months, obtaining the most professional persona whenever you had to interact with him. The team noticed straight away and Emily had grilled you about it, but you didn’t want to talk. At some point, Reid had spilled the beans on what happened and the team stopped mentioning it. It was just left in the past - something that used to happen, but didn’t anymore and that was that. Until Donut Day. Someone had brought a huge tray of donuts into the bullpen. You couldn’t remember who it was, but it was a help-yourself kind of deal. The box stood proudly open on the counter in the kitchenette and Hotch couldn’t resist grabbing one as he waited for you to be done with the coffee jug. “So your performance review is coming up,” He said, swallowing the first bite. He’d opted for a creme-filled donut, but he didn’t notice the small pool of creme threatening to drip over his suit from where he’d bit into it. Without thinking, you kept your eye-contact locked with him as you leaned down slightly and swirled the overspill onto your tongue. He groaned. Aaron Hotchner groaned. It was soft, almost inaudible, but you’d heard it. Hotch couldn’t take his eyes away from you. The creme looked too good on your tongue and the sexual tension was killing him, but he welcomed it. Your interactions had felt cold and disconnected ever since his outburst in Vegas, but watching you stare at him through your eyelashes with the creme on your tongue was too fucking good not to react to. You froze, slowly retreating your tongue back into your mouth, the creme dissolving away. You saw it. You saw his eyes light up, his cheeks flush. That was all the green light that you needed, you couldn’t stop the words from coming out this time. “Does that count towards it?” You smirked. Hotch blinked. “Huh?” You couldn’t stop now...not after you’d heard him groan, seen his face light up like that. You reached out your finger and scraped some of the creme out of the donut, then quickly put the finger into your mouth, sucking and lingering. He watched your every move intently, the blush in his cheeks subsiding but his pupils blowing out. With a pop, you slid your finger out of your mouth. “How is my performance?” You smiled. His lips tilted into a small smirk. He couldn’t feign annoyance this time. “I’d like to see more to judge,”
