Fic: Whiskey Mouth [Criminal Minds]
Title: Whiskey Mouth
Author: wanderingjasper
Rating: NC17/FRAO
Characters: Reid/Ethan, Morgan/Reid, Hotch
Word Count: 2993
Themes: Angst.
Warnings: Minor references to drug use.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, but I do take liberties with them for no financial gain.
Notes: One-shot. Fill for the prompt "betrayal" at angst_bingo
Summary: In New Orleans on a case, whiskey and an old friend end in Reid making a huge mistake.
“To me, the thing that is worse than death is betrayal. You see, I could conceive death, but I could not conceive betrayal.” - Malcolm X
His mouth tasted of whiskey and his skin smelt smoky as he pushed Reid up against the wall. His beard scratched against the flesh of Reid’s jaw as a hand tangled in his hair, forceful, demanding, angling his face to dominate the kiss. Spencer clung to the body and gasped when a knee was pressed hard into his growing erection.
“Ethan...” he breathed, asking for respite that didn’t come.
Ethan lifted his other hand, the open bottle of whiskey ready when he pulled away and replaced Reid’s lips with the glass rim of the bottle, taking a long drink. Hissing with the burn dulled by familiarity, he offered the bottle up to Reid’s mouth. He brought he own hand up the steady it but he still drank, and pretended that drinking made what he was doing okay.
Nimble pianist fingers got frustrated with the buttons on Reid’s shirt and began to tug, and as teeth connected with sensitive flesh of his neck he registered the sound of a thread snapping and one plastic button falling and skittering away on the wooden floor. Ethan’s next kiss was furious, tongue pressing forward into Reid’s receptive mouth as he shrugged off his own shirt and then dropped his hand to Reid’s belt to undo it.
His hands were rough grabbing at the clothed flesh of Reid’s thighs, forcing his feet off the floor, making it necessary for him to cling to Ethan to stay up, digging his nails into the man’s back, pressed against the wall with more insistent force than he’d ever experienced with the alpha that usually shared his bed, the man who had smiled and told him to have fun catching up with an old friend, the man who loved him.
“Oh god,” he breathed, not sure if it was because of that thought, or the way Ethan was rocking their hips together, or both. He pushed Reid’s slacks away from his hips and then his underwear and grabbed roughly at the naked flesh at the back of his thigh, nails digging in. There was no pause, no soft look of affection or reassuring touch like he was used to, just Ethan pushing his legs apart and lifting a leg so it hooked over his hip, pressing his erect cock hard into Reid’s own and resuming the rocking, capturing Reid’s mouth again. Reid’s body responded, arching into the other, and he couldn’t even pretend he didn’t want what was happening; but for a while he could pretend he didn’t hate himself for wanting it.
He knew he was drunk, too drunk really to be doing this; he couldn’t tell what colour the walls were. Over Ethan’s shoulder they’d looked blue, up close they seemed green, and Reid couldn’t work out whether it was lighting or his own compromised brain function. But when Ethan offered him the bottle of whiskey again he took it, taking a large swig that stung his mouth and throat and quickly made everything even hazier. Ethan took the bottle and downed the last of it, a dribble of whiskey managing to leak out over his beard. He leant in to kiss Reid again, and the other man felt the warm alcohol slide a trail down his neck, pooling in the hollow of a clavicle for a moment before it slid down his exposes chest.
“C’mon Reid, turn around,” Ethan slurred, only a trace of Vegas in his New Orleans accent now, as he grabbed the man’s hips and turned him roughly, pulling his shirt off and pushing the man’s underwear down around mid-thigh. Reid braced his hands on the painted brick, submission to the other’s eager force making him no less complicit in the action, no less aroused by the touches. Ethan grabbed Reid’s hip in one hand and kicked his legs apart, there was the sound of him spitting into his hand and then he was angling the tip of his cock against Reid’s tight ring of muscle. He let his cheek rest against the rough brick and even through the whiskey haze he knew he should ask for proper lube; but he didn’t, because he thought he deserved for it to hurt.
Ethan jutted his hips forward with a grunt, breaching Reid’s underprepared entrance. He yelled and Ethan groaned, leaning forward and sucking on Reid’s neck. The other hand moved to the opposite hip and he used his grip to pull Reid back onto him and push him forward, shallow but constant movement, a little more of him entering with each inward motion. Reid rocked his hips, the pain easing slightly - he had average dimensions, and it was enough for the friction to register as pleasant, too. More than pleasant - utter fire and warmth, Reid’s cock rock hard and bumping uncomfortably into the wall with their movement. He braced his hands more firmly and pushed back into Ethan’s thrusts, and small moans started to tumble out of him.
“I forgot how much noise you make...” Ethan groaned, teeth grabbing at Reid’s ear and tugging, nipping the flesh in time with his hard thrusts. “But god you’re tight. You’re out of practice,” he teased, “how long’s it been?”
Reid groaned and didn’t answer, not wanting to vocalise how long it had been, that it had never been with Morgan; as much as he wanted and as often as he asked, almost a year together and Morgan still hadn’t agreed to penetrative sex. It wasn’t out of discomfort with his sexuality that he’d refused - the reason made what Reid was doing even worse in his mind; it had been out of patience, of building Reid up to be able to accommodate his considerable size, because Morgan would rather spend months and months preparing than risk hurting him. Ethan had no such qualms; they had been together before, known each other briefly but intimately. He could pretend it was because Morgan didn’t understand addiction like Ethan did, didn’t understanding craving, but Reid was under no illusion that he had been aware of the likelihood of what would transpire when he met the man for a drink, purposefully drank to dull his inhibitions, and eagerly returned the action when Ethan had kissed him.
A hand tangled in Reid’s hair, pressing the side of his face against the wall as Ethan thrust his hips, holding him in place. Reid grunted with every thrust, pain and pleasure alternating in dominance. Ethan pulled out suddenly, and with the hand still in Reid’s hair pulled him away from the wall towards the bed, pushing Reid down onto his stomach. He pulled the other’s hips up a little and pushed back inside, and lowered his body along Reid’s back, gripping his fists where they were balling in the sheets and nipping at his neck as he began to buck his hips again. A series of particular violent motions of his hips ended with Ethan biting down hard on the curve between Reid’s neck and shoulder, making him cry out and moan into the sheets.
“FUCK! Ethan!”
Ethan held on a few seconds, pressure increasing before he released Reid’s flesh. He pushed himself back on his fists until he was on his haunches, bringing Reid with him, onto his knees, with his upper torso flat against the bed.
“C’mon Reid...” he urged, slamming his hips against the reddened flesh of Reid’s ass.
He slipped his hand under himself, finding his rock hard cock and twisting his fist along his length, groaning at the feeling of Ethan pushing into him and pulling out, his flesh burning where they were connected, pain increasing as the man’s thrusts got harder and faster.
“Fuck!” he breathed. “Fuck!” his toes curled as he felt warmth coiling in his belly, fist pumping fast as his orgasm hit him like a freight train, making him groan and gasp and bite down on the pillow to muffle his cries as he spilled out onto Ethan’s sheets.
“I win,” Ethan slurred under his breath. Reid could have laughed if the connections between sections of his brain weren’t seemingly blocked in the immediate aftermath; his knees gave out and he collapsed, but Ethan went with him and continued to pound him into the mattress, a hand at the back of his neck keeping him prone.
Finally with a loud groan Ethan came, emptying himself into his friend, hips jerking erratically as he grunted through the feeling.
Several long moments later, as Ethan pulled out and rolled away, Reid realised from the sticky feeling that they hadn’t used a condom. His face creased into a grimace he hid in the sheets; he wasn’t quite drunk enough not to know that made a huge mistake even worse. The sated feeling of being so thoroughly fucked didn’t sit well with the guilt that flooded him, the mental barrier that had been sustained during the sex breaking apart as his heart rate slowed again.
“You okay, man?” Ethan said lazily from beside him, the sound of him lighting a cigarette. Reid didn’t turn his face to look at him, instead staring with the eye that wasn’t pressed to the bed, into the middle distance.
“I just cheated on my boyfriend.”
“Mhmm,” Ethan sounded, dismissive in his drunken state, “New Orleans ain’t a town for monogamy. Besides, you knew what you were coming here for.”
That was true. Every time he’d seen Ethan since their lives had gone in different directions they’d hooked up; he’d known the idea of that would be on the table. He hadn’t even told Ethan he was dating someone - not that it would have been Ethan’s responsibility to ask if he should be doing it, he didn’t care. He’d wanted sex and so had Reid; the complexities of emotion and relationships had seemed easier to put aside with increasing amounts of whiskey.
When he pushed himself up off the bed and looked over, Ethan was asleep.
---
Reid looked at his watch; 2:34am, then back at the hotel door he’d been standing in front of for at least a minute. The walk back to the hotel had sobered him up enough for the full extent of what he’d done to hit him. Morgan would be asleep in the room they were sharing as usual - briefly Reid wondered if Hotch would still permit it if he knew they were in a relationship. Morgan was fully clothed but for boots and dozing in an armchair when Reid opened the door, which was enough to wake him.
“Hey Reid. Spencer,” he spoke slowly, correcting himself; they were still getting used to using first names in private while keeping up appearances by only using surnames in public. He rolled his shoulders and pushing himself out of the chair.
“You stayed up.” Reid’s throat felt tight.
“Yeah,” Morgan smiled as he padded across to him, “you seemed kinda... off earlier, I thought it might be good if I waited up.”
Reid wanted to cry. Half the reason he’d gone to see Ethan was because he thought Morgan hadn’t noticed his edginess and had wanted to avoid him noticing, because he couldn’t help. But Reid knew he’d have tried.
Morgan had reached him, smiling a little groggily from sleep. Absently he put his fingers on Reid’s front, where the button was missing on his shirt, cocking an eyebrow curiously. Reid pressed his lips together and pushed Morgan’s hand away. Immediately the older man frowned, and his eyes raked over Reid; he was clearly drunk, and he noticed the button missing from his shirt, the red mark on his cheek, the even more messy than usual hair. He caught sight of something else and lifted his hand to Reid’s loose collar, revealing the bite mark on his skin and red marks along his neck; he smelt of alcohol and... sex.
“Spencer..” his gaze flicked to meet the other’s eyes, which were wide with fear. “Did someone attack you?”
Reid bit his lip and closed his eyes, tears coming fast and he couldn’t help them leaking from the corners of his eyes, because Morgan trusted him so much, that he saw what was obvious and still he couldn’t possibly blame him.
“Spencer?” Morgan prompted softly, panic underlying his voice as he put a gentle hand on Reid’s jaw, cradling his face.
“Ethan,” he muttered.
“Ethan?” Morgan echoed. “He did this to you?” Anger was suddenly there, but he was clearly trying to keep his touch soft for his lover. “God, I’ll kill him, I’ll-”
“No, he didn’t.” Reid shook his head, shrugging away Morgan’s contact and ignoring the urge to let Morgan believe Ethan had assaulted him, just for a fleeting selfish moment, because it hurt less to think of that playing out than the truth. “I haven’t... it was consensual,” he admitted.
“What?” Morgan blinked slowly, cocking his head slightly as his brow furrowed.
“I had sex with Ethan.”
Morgan withdrew his lingering hand and took several steps backwards, a look of utter surprise on his face, eyebrows twitched upwards, mouth open. After several long seconds Reid realised the man wasn’t breathing; he had to wait even longer for him finally to release a shuddering breath.
“Why?” He said shortly.
“I was drunk,” Reid said pathetically. He knew it was true that it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t gotten drunk, but he knew it did nothing to absolve him.
Morgan raised an accusing finger and opened his mouth, but it turned into a shake of the head and the hand balling into a fist by his side.
“You had sex with him,” Morgan said, and then suddenly his shoulders pulled back with tension. “You mean proper, full sex?”
“Derek I’m-”
“God-fucking-damn-it!” Morgan shot, gritting his teeth and screwing his eyes shut. “What the hell! You just couldn’t wait?” he asked angrily. “Was that it? I didn’t keep saying no to fucking you to mess you around. I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t-” he paused, forcing down the heartbreak from playing across his face. He failed. “I didn’t want our first damn time together to be like mine.”
“I’m so sorry.” Reid’s voice broke, the back of his throat hurting from the effort of holding back the urge to just cry wantonly. He could feel Ethan’s cum leaking out of him, and he bit back a wave of self loathing and shame.
“You should have been sorry when he had his dick in you!” Morgan barked. “Why, Reid?” he asked desperately. “Why? Being drunk is how it happened, not why. Is it because I wouldn’t fuck you? You told me you loved me this morning-”
“I do!” Reid said desperately.
“BUT YOU FUCKED SOMEONE ELSE!” Morgan yelled. His breath suddenly hitched with the effort of trying to hold back an angry sob, and Reid felt it like a fist in his chest. Morgan didn’t cry, and there he was so close because of Reid.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Derek-” a little sob broke through him.
“God, I told you everything! I trusted you! I thought you wanted me!”
“I do.”
“Or anyone else who’ll have you!” Derek spat. “Do you want to be with him? Do you love him?”
“No!” Reid insisted. “I love you. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done.”
“’Sorry’ doesn’t unfuck him! Sorry doesn’t -” he paused suddenly, voice dropping in volume as something occurred to him. “Did you use a condom?”
Reid gave a tiny shake of his head, dropping his gaze, too ashamed to look at Morgan, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
“Holy shit, Reid!” Morgan took two long strides and punched the nearest wall with the side of his fist. “We were gonna - Christ! He’d a damn jazz musician in New Orleans, Reid!” Morgan yelled, disappointment and hurt and panic twisting around his words. “He’s probably riddled! You risked your health, you risked us, for some fair weather fuck!”
“I’m sorry,” Reid sobbed, because there were no other words, nothing that could remotely make it better.
“We’re done here,” Morgan snapped, grabbing his boots from beside the bed and pulling them on haphazardly.
“Please don’t go,” He begged.
“Go to hell, Reid,” he spat, moving for the door. Spencer fought back the taste of whiskey and the urge to vomit as he reached out for Morgan’s arm; his fingertips barely brushed his flesh but Morgan moved his arm like he’d been burnt. “DON’T TOUCH ME! You don’t get to touch me!”
Just as Morgan’s grip found the handle, there was a knock at the door.
“Morgan?” Hotch’s voice, stern, concerned. “Reid?”
Reid caught Morgan’s eyes and looked pleadingly at him. Morgan’s jaw set and he opened the door.
“Move,” he muttered, barging past Hotch, who looked after him with confusion, watching him stride off down the hotel corridor for the stairwell. He looked completely taken aback when he turned to take in the state of his other agent; drunk, dishevelled, chest twitching and little sharp exhales from his nose and mouth as he tried to hold back sobs.
He seemed to be putting the pieces together when Reid felt the surge; he put his palm against his mouth and stumbled in the direction of the bathroom, the drink repeating on him - but even through his haze he knew that was only part, a bigger part was the guilt. The guilt of knowing he had betrayed the man who loved him, whom he loved, the man who had never let anyone else so close, who had carved an entrance in the emotional wall he’d spent a lifetime creating just for Reid. He had ruined everything.
“I get up and pace the room, as if I can leave my guilt behind me. But it tracks me as I walk, an ugly shadow made by myself.” - Rosamund Lupton