Rattle of Bones
Summary: Morgan likes to kick in doors, we all know this. Hotch, not very secretly, really likes when he does it. There is no actual plot here, just a lot of them being really fucking pretty and a lot of splintered wood.
Warnings: some (not graphic but definitely emotionally charged ) sexy time, doors kicked in, alcohol, minor injuries, canon-typical violence (minor), mention of Foyet & scars
Pairings: Hotch/Morgan
Words: 2.8k
Notes: This story is for @there-must-be-a-lock's Fics Against Humanity writing challenge. My chosen cards were: (white) Derek Morgan kicking down a door // (black) _________ to lovers is my favorite trope. Honestly not much of a stretch for me, but very very fun to write and totally chaotic, just like them.
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Total: $257.43
“What is this?”
“It's a bill from the Shoreline Motel in Seaside, Oregon where you apparently kicked a door in. After they gave you a room key.” Hotch smirked, folding his arms over his chest and reclining with one hip firmly planted against his favorite spot on Morgan's desk. It was somehow smoothest right there, maybe from years of flagrant leaning like it was his job. Seeing Morgan squirm was almost delightful, the indignity of being billed for kicking a door off of its hinges to save lives too much for his skin to bear.
“The Bureau won't pay for it, apparently they've decided you've crossed a line this time. Something about unnecessary destruction of private property.” Gideon watched from the catwalk, leaning on the railing and feeling very pleased with the way the scenario played out. He'd intended to give it to Morgan himself, but Hotch needed the experience, the promotion talk was getting louder with each passing day, harder to ignore the noise from above, the sideways glances and the drooling over something they couldn't have. Yet. Not quite ready, he had to learn how to have the hard conversations with people he liked, not just people who had committed heinous crimes. People he thought fell into his narrow view of justice were easy to stare down, easy to interrogate but people he liked, situations he deemed unfair, those were tricky for him. Troubled waters when things went from black and white to muddy gray. So, Gideon watched them bicker over whether or not it was right, a point that he found to be a source of endless amusement because he knew very well that they were, essentially, both on the same side – Hotch's job may have been to hand over the bill and make sure it was taken care of, tow the Bureau's line as Lead Profiler and future Unit Chief, but that didn't mean he agreed with it. That was, sometimes, the job.
“This is bullshit,” Morgan muttered incredulously, tossing the bill to his desk. “I caught that guy.”
“Guess the motel thought you should have used the key they gave you...”
