"When the sun has set, no candle can replace it." - George R.R. Martin

I.

They had come together one night on a case, even though it was quite forbidden. Perhaps that's what added to the allure; they would never know, exactly.

The team had had to share rooms, and Reid had been paired with Hotch. It was a difficult case—blond adolescent boys were being murdered all across the Denver area in horrible, gruesome ways after being sexually assaulted for days on end. Hotch was going spare. All he saw was Jack at the age of thirteen, dead in the leaves. Spencer saw himself in the leaves as Tobias pointed a revolver at his head while he waged war against his personalities.

All it was was a need for comfort, a need to feel and to just think about something else.

Neither were sure exactly how it happened. One minute Hotch was leaning against the door frame of the bathroom, asking if he could borrow toothpaste, and the next he knew, he and his subordinate were pressed against the wall, their lips fused together.

II.

After that first night, the use of each other for stress relief became a natural occurrence. If a case was going sour or if Hotch was fighting with Haley about his time with his son or if Spencer was craving, they would come together in a clash of teeth and sweat and pure white heat.

III.

Three months into their pseudo-relationship, Spencer asked into the darkness of the hotel room they were currently bunking in,

"What the hell are we doing?"

The dark room smelled of sweat and sex. The two agents lie on their backs, staring at the ceiling.

"Lying in a crappy motel room," Hotch offered as an answer, and Spencer turned to glare at the man.

"You know what I mean, Hotch," he said. He never called Hotch Aaron. That would be breaking the unwritten rules. He waved a hand between the two of them. "This thing that we have, us."

Spencer could feel Hotch stiffen next to him at the monosyllabic word, at two tiny letters.

"Reid, we've been over this before," Hotch said, his voice laced with something unidentifiable. "Us doesn't exist."

IV.

Six months in, Hotch stopped leaving Spencer's apartment after they fucked. Another broken rule.

Spencer wondered if it was a sign of the apocalypse.

V.

Seven months in, Hotch finally said one night after an hour of furious sex,

"I can't do this any more,"

and something broke inside of Spencer.

VI.

Five weeks after they had stopped using each other's bodies as outlets, Spencer was still pining for the touch of Hotch's gun-calloused hands over his ribs, of his superior's perfect teeth digging into his collarbones, of the noises that he could draw forth from the normally controlled man.

Hotch missed the way Spencer would run his fingers through his short-cropped hair, how he would wrap his legs around Hotch's waist and squeeze them until he knew he would bruise. But most of all, he missed Spencer.

They had broken the most important rule.

Do not fall in love.