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K is for Kissing Hotch/Reid
New Years Eve is a holiday even the reclusive Dr. Spencer Reid believes deserves a drink, and by a drink, he really means several. Reid watches as his coworkers happily pay his tab to get him toasty. They seem to think they’re tricking him into getting drunker, but he doesn’t care. He has every detail finely in tune. His cab fare is secure, his designated don’t-puke-all-over-your-Middle-English-texts-er is standing by at the ready, and to top all of it off, he has still yet to break the Benjamin he has securely in his bill-fold.
The evening is an accumulation of assorted spirits and beers, and by time the ball drops, all of his coworkers are wondering how he hasn’t yet. There is a smug sense of satisfaction Reid has that he has in fact officially drunken David Rossi under the table. What happens next makes Reid ponder with the few inebriated portions of his brain even still holding on to his sense of super-ego and self-preservation go into overdrive.
His Designated-don’t-puke-on-the-books-Spencer-you’ll-regret-it has pulled him into his face, locking lips as the ball on the teleprompter lowers to a halt.
It seems all of his teammates have, except for Hotch who is aptly maneuvering his tongue. Reid leans into it, enjoying the taste of Hotch’s assorted drinks even though Reid has never been partial for Scotch.
Hotch pulls back and for a moment seems to realize he has collected quite a few dirty looks from his subordinates, so, Reid devices a plan that perfectly matches his sobriety. Sloppy, and with poor execution, he pulls Morgan in for a kiss, which is as passionate as pressing his lips into a luke-warm pane of glass. Garcia snaps a photo anyways for memories while Reid strikes a pose against a silently freaking-out Morgan, and with that bit of self-dignity slain, Reid moves on to his next victim.
David Rossi, even when drunk, plays a good defense, he turns, making Reid catch his cheek instead, and Reid systematically maneuvers his kissing frenzy onto the single and semi-single ladies of the group.
Momentum is picking up now, though, and while everyone is truly finding this turn of events unlikely, and wondering who spiked Reid’s drink, others- outsiders- start getting roped into this grand scheme.
As women and somewhat surprisingly more men swarm the kissing-bug that has become Spencer, he is starting to realize he can’t even recognize these people anymore from even standing near him during the celebration. He breaks it off with a grounding halt, and finds Hotch, draping himself over the man and snogging him instead. It seems to make some of the crowd disperse, but not until several of them give a, “Damn! I didn’t get my chance…”
Even more disperse as a protective arm tucks beneath Reid’s waistline and starts maneuvering him, the way Hotch’s eyes shine with jealousy is mistaken by most of his subordinates as over-protectiveness. After all, it is Hotch’s job to keep his team in line and safe. Who knew Reid would come out of his shell when drinking!
And boy is he coming out, apparently the looks Reid is receiving from his teammates is more intent on him than Hotch. They don’t even question letting the man who’s impassioned kiss set loose Spencer the kiss-fiend throughout the joint. They don’t blink when he helps him stagger to the curb for a cab. They don’t even look back to see them making out in the back of the taxi, to the driver’s fervent protests in Arabic. Reid doesn’t feel like correcting the man as he calls them drunken buffoons that can’t even tell men from women.
He probably still could, his tongue heavy and slurring from liquor might lead to a fierce insult though. Hooking sounds at the wrong interval always seem to lead to those sorts of situations, it never comes out as the comical, “I have tute cats,” instead always favoring, “I have two pussies.”
Reid happily takes advantage of his lover’s streak of possessive jealousy making him attempt to erase all those other kisses. What he doesn’t realize is that to Reid, they already are out of sight out of mind. In fact, Reid only remembers them solely so he can say, “Someone must have slipped me something! Who even does that at a party!”
It doesn’t matter if his team might now wonder if he is bisexual because the smokescreen is adequately set for Aaron, to keep that mask up if he so chooses, and Spencer doesn’t mind if he does choose so. He does, however, care that his lover’s bout of jealousy might have been for not. He is only now recalling that Morgan forgets anything without a fine rack and nice ass when he drinks as much as he has, that Prentiss won’t want to talk for days afterwards thanks to her infallible ability to pick up a hang-over, and that Rossi already knows about Reid and Hotch.
Garcia is hardly a wild card, she’s easy enough to bluff into thinking she either imagined it, dreamed it, or that if she’s a very good helper-elf will get to see more of it with cameras not involved. Seaver, on the other hand, well… that he reserves as a necessary act of pseudo-heterosexuality that Reid performed.
Secretly, after the simultaneously excrutiating and exquisite two-hour session of bare-backing with Hotch, Reid is happy for the reprieve of National Hang Over Day to come on a Sunday. His phone dances at a respectable 2 PM of nervous friends asking how he feels, if he’s hung over, if he got checked out for being drugged, hell, that he’s just still alive and if he even knows what he did on New Year’s Eve.
Even more happily, Reid sets the phone back down to walk back to the shower he and Aaron plan on sharing for another hour or so. And come Monday when he can’t walk straight and has a headache from dehydration, he is all but happy to blame it on unknown drugs and booze, and not in fact on the real root cause- that Aaron forgot to get Gatorade before the stores closed last year. The two are more than happy to keep the weekend they carnally exploited to themselves, and if Reid is honest, even when Garcia shows him his ‘handy work’ and he pouts and looks offended, he finds himself in Hotch’s office no less than fifteen minutes later laughing about it.
Seriously, he looks like an octopus trying to attack a very uninterested diving bell. Morgan won’t even look him in the eyes, but he ruffles his hair glad that he’s okay, saying things like, “I’ll make sure Garcia keeps that to herself.”
Reid can’t even tell if Morgan’s concern is for drunken debauchery being forgotten or if Morgan is uncomfortable even in a photo as staged-looking as that. He doesn’t care, but he makes it a point to accidentally suggest Garcia make it Morgan’s phone’s background. Because it is funny to watch his friend squirm now and again, normally it’s Reid who has to.
And with that, he decides to return back to his desk and get lost in his headache, and aching insides that throb and are hot for one SAIC Hotchner who did a number on his lower back. He hopes he’ll dial that same number again this weekend, but he plans to stay more sober and keep the kissing reserved for the one he wants to kiss most, his Aaron. Even Spencer can get jealous, and yes even Spencer can get drunk.
Fin.
A/N: You can probably guess that this is dedicated to my K is for Kissing prompt, and that I think all the issues people are even bringing up about the MGG and KK kiss are being made up by some fans who either are too far gone from reality or are just homophobic. I get MGG was joking, I get that he doesn’t really care, and I get that someone is going to tell me that someone else said that he did care (if anyone will even own up to that, but I’ve heard NOTHING on this so it’s doubtful) and say this: HE POSTED A PICTURE TWO DAYS LATER OF SIMILAR CONTENT, he doesn’t fucking care. Even if he does, the Internet is Forever, he was a pro-Model, he knows how to spot a camera and he knows what they do… if he minded so much, he wouldn’t have posed.