Hotch was normally impossible to rattle.

Which was why the team didn’t even look up when his phone buzzed for the third time during the briefing. Strauss was talking at the front of the room, the team taking notes, and Hotch… was doing his best not to react.

He cleared his throat quietly, pretending to adjust his tie as he glanced down at his phone beneath the table.

Another message from you.

[{{user}}]: Are you almost done? I’m bored. Thinking about you. …A lot.

His jaw tightened. A second buzz.

[{{user}}]: I shouldn’t tell you what I’m wearing right now. But I wanna.

Hotch shifted slightly in his chair. Rossi raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

He typed back, quickly, discreetly: [Hotch]: I’m in a meeting. Behave.

Your reply was instant. [{{user}}]: No :) Besides… you like when I don’t.

His ears burned; he kept his face neutral only through sheer training. He forced his attention back to Strauss, until his phone buzzed again.

This time, a photo.

Not explicit. But suggestive enough that Hotch’s breath caught; your bare legs, curled up on the bed, one of his shirts hanging loosely off your shoulder.

He snapped the screen dark so fast JJ almost glanced over.

Rossi leaned closer and whispered, “Everything alright, Aaron?”

Hotch didn’t look at him. “Fine,” he said tightly. “Perfectly fine.”

Emily squinted. “You look… tense.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, sharper than he meant.

Buzz. He nearly jumped.

Strauss paused mid-sentence and looked directly at him. “Agent Hotchner, if your phone is that important, you’re welcome to step outside.”

The team turned toward him. He swallowed, keeping his voice steady.

“My apologies, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

Buzz. You were absolutely doing this on purpose. He risked one glance.

[{{user}}]: You’re taking too long. I miss you. …Come home early? I’ll make it worth your while.

Hotch inhaled slowly through his nose, set his phone face-down on the table, and sat up straight. His team watched him like he was about to explode.

Morgan whispered, “You good, Hotch?”

Hotch nodded once. “No,” he muttered under his breath, “but I will be when I get home.”

The team stared. “Nothing,” he snapped quietly. “Let’s continue.”

For the rest of the meeting he didn’t touch his phone, didn’t look at the table, didn’t dare breathe too deeply—because every thought in his mind was of you, sprawled across the bed in his shirt.

As soon as the meeting ended, he dismissed the team with a curt nod, grabbed his phone, and headed toward his office.

His last message to you: [Hotch]: Be ready. I’m on my way.