So…hi.

Didn't forget about this story.

Count down to season 12. Can't believe we've made it this far.

Sperek forever.

This chapter inspired by The Civil Wars "Falling". If you haven't heard it… beautiful song to YouTube.

Title of the chapter from The Civil Wars, "Pressing Flowers".

As always I own nothing. Love ya

R/r/E

Your body aches.

It's been weeks, you stare at the empty desk.

You hear the new recruit will be here by the end of the month.

You are not one for change.

Everyone else seems to be moving on, but you're stuck in your tracks...

You don't think this is normal.

It's not like he's dead; eyes wide and lifeless, at the hands of someone else.

He's safer, happier where he is.

You don't grieve like a man who lost his friend or brother; but like a man that has lost his lover, his life partner.

Does it make you selfish that you want him here, by your side?

You never meant to get this attached.

Involved.

Today's a wash, your thoughts going a mile a minute, you ask to finish your files up at home.

Hotch let's you go; you're grateful, making your way to the metro. People brush past you, darting about in the lunch rush.

You clutch your bag closer to you, your skin crawling with the want of isolation.

You make it to your apartment in one piece. And as you shut the door, you realize this may have been a mistake. The silence is overwhelming.

You are alone in this.

You slip off your shoes and loosen your tie.

You've got the feeling you will always be alone.

He slipped through your fingers.

With each breath, the silence is glaring.

Sometimes you've got to be a little selfish.

He's under your skin. Tattooed on your heart.

He'd always belong to someone else.

You make your way to the bedroom, face hot with blush.

Your clothes feel tight against your skin, binding.

Your fingers are unsteady as they work at the small, hard buttons on your work shirt. You hang it on the back of the chair in your room.

Your heart pounding in your ears, drowning out the silence. You're thankful for that.

He'll never be yours.

You do this more often than you'd like to admit. The heat blossoming in your core, spreading to every inch of you.

You shuck off your pants, fold them haphazardly on the chair. Sock go on balled on top.

Your bare feet pad against the cool hardwood floor as you head towards your bed, swinging your body to lay back against the headboard.

He's invading your thoughts, his warm hand on your shoulder as he laughs with you.

The way his fingers feel as they card through your hair. The puffs of breath against you cheeks as he pulls you close, whispering "Pretty Boy" in your ear.

You let out a groan as you lift your butt up, slipping the boxers off your hips, working until you can kick them to the end of the bed.

You let your hands run against your exposed skin, skimming over erect nipples, catching on your belly button as they make their way south.

You don't imagine he's here, that the touch of your hand is his; that'd be dangerous.

You already want what you can't have.

Your eyes flutter closed at the first touch. Hot fingers touching hotter flesh as you think of him.

The flash of caramel skin, after sparring, body loose from a warm shower in the gym locker room. A pang of embarrassment as he catches your eye, you scrambling to get dressed.

You run your tip of your finger along the thick vein on the length of your penis, watching in fascination as it twitches and hardens with each pump of your heart.

It eventually lie heavy against your hip; pre-ejaculate beading at the tip.

This is not a hurried thing, you reach into your bedside drawer and pull out the lube you keep stashed there. You don't need much as you squeeze it into your palm, tossing the tube somewhere on the bed.

Your legs spasm at the first touch, you work out a slow rhythm. Blush creeping up your body.

You've done this more than you'd like to admit.

You're a healthy man, this is normal…the masturbation bit. Think of your best male friend…not so much.

Memories play behind closed eyes as you thrust up into your fist, the slick sounds and your harsh breath taking up space in your room.

"F-fuck." Your voice broken as you bite down on your bottom lip, pleasure ratcheting higher as you think of him kicking down doors, laughing at your awkward attempts at jokes, his hand lingering just a little too long on your shoulder.

You could have been a good thing.

You keep going, planting your feet against the bed as you fuck up into your grip, toes curling in the comforter as your other hand reaches and presses against your perineum.

You turn your head, mouthing against your pillow. Your hair irritating as it sticks to your forehead, sweat rolling off you.

It's becoming too much.

Your rhythm falters as you think of him dancing in a nameless club, crushed against his partner.

It could have been you.

Your hips stutter as your thumb flits over the head of your dick. You contort your body a bit, curling to press two fingers into the tight ring of muscles. You open up, welcoming them into the tight, hot heat.

"Come on, come on, come on." Your voice sounds foreign in your own ears, as you wiggle, finding your prostate, you press and let go over and over again.

Your testicles draw up, penis jerking in your hand as you release, grunts being pressed out of you as you orgasm, Derek's name on the tip of your tongue.

You slump against your pillow as your penis jerks weakly when you slide your fingers out. You pull at the sheets, wiping the mess from your fingers and chest.

Your harsh breath calming down as you stare at the ceiling.

You feel tired…a little empty.

You wish you didn't want him the way you did.

You close your eyes to rest a bit.

He would never love you anyway.

A/N: This chapter has been bugging me to be written for a while. Thank you for the peeps that have stuck around. Let me know what you think.