adventures in spaciousness

If you were wondering what I was doing at 2 am on Easter morning, wonder no longer:
( The correct answer: writing barely-disguised porn. )
No promises on whether the rest of this will ever see the light of day, but I have a Haley/Hotch/Rossi scene in my mind that won't quit.

The art homework won't even be started until after midnight, though. Have a few sentences from the fic I've been working on for the past few days instead.  
  

He goes over and over possible escape plans until he works himself into a panic, and then spends a good deal of time examining the rusted ironing board in front of him. There's floral fabric under the grime, and it strikes him as being very out of place. He's been kidnapped by a man who presses his shirts, evidently often enough that his secret lair requires a floral-print ironing board.