(no subject)
Title It Tastes Like Grief (3/?)
Main Pairings: Morgan/Reid
Characters: Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid
Rating: pg-13
Word count: 1037
Warnings/Spoilers: alcohol abuse
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Summary: Morgan and Reid go back to their friendship and more.
Reid sits on the foldable chair watching Morgan pull down rotting wood.
“I didn’t know you liked Bob Dylan,” Reid says conversationally.
They’ve moved back to being friends; it’s tentative and awkward. But Reid’s all right with pushing these hardships if they can go back to the way they were.
“I don’t,” he says and his arm muscles strain as he wails on a warped nail, “I know you like him.”
Reid smiles at the easygoing response.
“Do you need any help?”
Morgan snorts, lays down his hammer, and turns toward Reid, “You didn’t come ready to work, pretty boy, so why are you offering? I mean for fuck’s sake you’re wearing new Oxfords and a sweater vest.”
Reid looks at his hands sheepishly and shrugs.
“Thanks though,” Morgan says as he picks back up the hammer and pulls down the other boards.
Reid watches his muscles move and he’s struck by the beauty of Morgan’s body. He can see his shoulder blades move under his tight t-shirt, his glutes tighten in his pants, and all the contractions his body makes to demo the room. Reid knows muscles; he studied his biology text, but watching Morgan’s body move is fascinating and time consuming.
“Do you always do the demolition yourself?”
“Normally, when I bring in other, they’re in it to rip everything out and remodel,” Morgan says, “I’m in it to restore it to the closest possible reconstruction of the building it used to be. I try to reclaim everything I can.”
Reid thinks about how Morgan has restored himself. How much he’s changed; how he’s overcome. Every one of them in the BAU has overcome something and they’re about restoring themselves as people and not just replacing things in their lives. Reid smiles to himself and tips the chair back.
“If you tip that back too far and break your neck, I am not liable,” Morgan jokes as he examines the archway between the living room and dining room.
Reid can’t help but laugh and drop his chair back down so all four legs are on the ground. Morgan smiles when he hears the legs smack the ground.
When they are, well Morgan is, finished, Morgan hugs Reid affably. He smells of cologne and perspiration. His skin and shirt are damp. He’s almost too warm. And Reid savors every second that the hug lasts.
When they fly to Chicago, Reid feels anxiety pour through his veins and he finds himself watching every move Morgan makes. When Morgan shares his story with the whole team, Reid feels his heart in his throat. He has second-hand acid reflux, his mint dissolving too fast in his mouth, for Morgan as he methodically explains how Buford got to the boys, himself included. For the most part, the team knows; well they at least had inklings. But to hear it, so methodically laid out, causes the members to be struck by the realness. Hotch stands like he’s ready to back Morgan up at any second. Rossi rubs a hand over his face and looks resigned. JJ gets this motherly look on her face that is outlined by aggression. Blake looks empathetic and ready for retribution. And Reid is pretty sure he looks heartbroken. Morgan sounds like he’s detached himself from the events, but he loses his flow, hits a snag in his speech, and hiccups with emotion.
Reid is not the aggressive type, but nothing has made him want to kill a human being more than hearing what happened to Morgan makes him want to kill Carl Buford. The whole case he watches Morgan like a hawk and he looks mostly put together; at least, it is better than last time. Reid walks into the precinct’s kitchenette and Morgan follows closely behind him.
“You’re driving me crazy,” Morgan says as he leans against the door.
“Excuse me?”
“The looks you’re giving me are driving me crazy.”
“How?”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity.”
“Then what is it?”
“Sympathy.”
“That’s just a fancy word for pity, pretty boy.”
“And love.”
Morgan closes his eye and leans his head against the wall.
“I wish you would stop saying stuff like that,” Morgan whispers, pushes himself off the wall, and walks back to the team.
Watching Morgan tell the reporters about his abuse is both nerve wracking and a great relief. Maybe the confession will bring Morgan some peace and maybe it will help other people like him. When Morgan gets the call on the place, the tears are mostly relief, but Reid cannot pinpoint the other emotion that is mixed in there.
After the phone call, Morgan does not talk, even when they get off the plane. He walks purposefully and Reid feels like he’s almost jogging to catch up.
“Come home with me,” Reid demands.
“That’s not a good idea.”
“You can’t be alone, right now.”
“I wasn’t going to be.”
“Where are you going then?”
“To a bar, preferably one where I can find willingness for guilt-free sex.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Still not a good idea.”
“I don’t care.”
“Fine.”
Morgan drives them to a place that is walking distance to Reid’s place. He calls for two shots of whiskey the minute he pushes through the door. He’s going for the efficient way. Reid sits next to him uncomfortably at the bar as Morgan pounds shots.
“You drink or you leave,” Morgan says suddenly, pushing a shot in front of Reid. Reid looks at it speculatively and throws it back. He tries to pace himself and watch Morgan, but his tongue starts to get fuzzy and his limbs feel languid. Morgan starts to flirt with the people at the bar. It scares Reid.
He pulls on Morgan’s arm and says, “Come home with me.”
“’S not a good idea,” Morgan slurs.
“Yes, it is.”
“Okay, maybe ‘tis.”
They stumble the two blocks, Reid fumbles with the lock, and they finally stumble into the door.
“We can…” Reid trails off, when Morgan pushes him against the door and kisses him roughly. The kiss is a clash of teeth and mouths. Morgan’s hands clench. It edges on the side of painful and Reid grips Morgan’s head and pulls him closer.
Main Pairings: Morgan/Reid
Characters: Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid
Rating: pg-13
Word count: 1037
Warnings/Spoilers: alcohol abuse
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Summary: Morgan and Reid go back to their friendship and more.
Reid sits on the foldable chair watching Morgan pull down rotting wood.
“I didn’t know you liked Bob Dylan,” Reid says conversationally.
They’ve moved back to being friends; it’s tentative and awkward. But Reid’s all right with pushing these hardships if they can go back to the way they were.
“I don’t,” he says and his arm muscles strain as he wails on a warped nail, “I know you like him.”
Reid smiles at the easygoing response.
“Do you need any help?”
Morgan snorts, lays down his hammer, and turns toward Reid, “You didn’t come ready to work, pretty boy, so why are you offering? I mean for fuck’s sake you’re wearing new Oxfords and a sweater vest.”
Reid looks at his hands sheepishly and shrugs.
“Thanks though,” Morgan says as he picks back up the hammer and pulls down the other boards.
Reid watches his muscles move and he’s struck by the beauty of Morgan’s body. He can see his shoulder blades move under his tight t-shirt, his glutes tighten in his pants, and all the contractions his body makes to demo the room. Reid knows muscles; he studied his biology text, but watching Morgan’s body move is fascinating and time consuming.
“Do you always do the demolition yourself?”
“Normally, when I bring in other, they’re in it to rip everything out and remodel,” Morgan says, “I’m in it to restore it to the closest possible reconstruction of the building it used to be. I try to reclaim everything I can.”
Reid thinks about how Morgan has restored himself. How much he’s changed; how he’s overcome. Every one of them in the BAU has overcome something and they’re about restoring themselves as people and not just replacing things in their lives. Reid smiles to himself and tips the chair back.
“If you tip that back too far and break your neck, I am not liable,” Morgan jokes as he examines the archway between the living room and dining room.
Reid can’t help but laugh and drop his chair back down so all four legs are on the ground. Morgan smiles when he hears the legs smack the ground.
When they are, well Morgan is, finished, Morgan hugs Reid affably. He smells of cologne and perspiration. His skin and shirt are damp. He’s almost too warm. And Reid savors every second that the hug lasts.
When they fly to Chicago, Reid feels anxiety pour through his veins and he finds himself watching every move Morgan makes. When Morgan shares his story with the whole team, Reid feels his heart in his throat. He has second-hand acid reflux, his mint dissolving too fast in his mouth, for Morgan as he methodically explains how Buford got to the boys, himself included. For the most part, the team knows; well they at least had inklings. But to hear it, so methodically laid out, causes the members to be struck by the realness. Hotch stands like he’s ready to back Morgan up at any second. Rossi rubs a hand over his face and looks resigned. JJ gets this motherly look on her face that is outlined by aggression. Blake looks empathetic and ready for retribution. And Reid is pretty sure he looks heartbroken. Morgan sounds like he’s detached himself from the events, but he loses his flow, hits a snag in his speech, and hiccups with emotion.
Reid is not the aggressive type, but nothing has made him want to kill a human being more than hearing what happened to Morgan makes him want to kill Carl Buford. The whole case he watches Morgan like a hawk and he looks mostly put together; at least, it is better than last time. Reid walks into the precinct’s kitchenette and Morgan follows closely behind him.
“You’re driving me crazy,” Morgan says as he leans against the door.
“Excuse me?”
“The looks you’re giving me are driving me crazy.”
“How?”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity.”
“Then what is it?”
“Sympathy.”
“That’s just a fancy word for pity, pretty boy.”
“And love.”
Morgan closes his eye and leans his head against the wall.
“I wish you would stop saying stuff like that,” Morgan whispers, pushes himself off the wall, and walks back to the team.
Watching Morgan tell the reporters about his abuse is both nerve wracking and a great relief. Maybe the confession will bring Morgan some peace and maybe it will help other people like him. When Morgan gets the call on the place, the tears are mostly relief, but Reid cannot pinpoint the other emotion that is mixed in there.
After the phone call, Morgan does not talk, even when they get off the plane. He walks purposefully and Reid feels like he’s almost jogging to catch up.
“Come home with me,” Reid demands.
“That’s not a good idea.”
“You can’t be alone, right now.”
“I wasn’t going to be.”
“Where are you going then?”
“To a bar, preferably one where I can find willingness for guilt-free sex.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Still not a good idea.”
“I don’t care.”
“Fine.”
Morgan drives them to a place that is walking distance to Reid’s place. He calls for two shots of whiskey the minute he pushes through the door. He’s going for the efficient way. Reid sits next to him uncomfortably at the bar as Morgan pounds shots.
“You drink or you leave,” Morgan says suddenly, pushing a shot in front of Reid. Reid looks at it speculatively and throws it back. He tries to pace himself and watch Morgan, but his tongue starts to get fuzzy and his limbs feel languid. Morgan starts to flirt with the people at the bar. It scares Reid.
He pulls on Morgan’s arm and says, “Come home with me.”
“’S not a good idea,” Morgan slurs.
“Yes, it is.”
“Okay, maybe ‘tis.”
They stumble the two blocks, Reid fumbles with the lock, and they finally stumble into the door.
“We can…” Reid trails off, when Morgan pushes him against the door and kisses him roughly. The kiss is a clash of teeth and mouths. Morgan’s hands clench. It edges on the side of painful and Reid grips Morgan’s head and pulls him closer.