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"Can I say no?"
Morgan almost laughed at the expression on his Pretty Boy's face, thin face drawn into a deep frown, hands balled into tight fists at his sides, normally pale face a shade darker with pink. He stopped himself at the stern expression on Hotch's face –similar to his usual one except with an edge to it; worry, Morgan guessed, along with frustration at himself for not solving the case yet.
"Of course, Reid," Hotch said voice comfortingly firm on the issue. "We can always have another Agent on the case." The however none of them are as close to the victomology as you and are nowhere near as efficient went unsaid but was heard nonetheless.
Reid bit his lip, his hand matting down his hair in an unconscious gesture of deep thought. His eyes flickered towards Morgan, seeking for someone to help him make the decision, but Morgan kept his expression steadily neutral. Reid would have to make this choice without his help. He reclined in the chair, crossing his arms.
He knew what Reid would say before he did.
Reid looked towards the photos on the table –men in silky dresses, harsh cuts running through their body in a repetitive pattern— then his eyes moved upwards towards the television, where news reports ran the story ceaselessly.
"Are you sure," Reid said, knowing that he didn't need to ask the question because he knew the answer better than anyone did after studying the case without a break, "That there is no other available option that we could take?"
"If there were," Hotch said calmly, "I would have taken it."
Reid nodded, thinking again. Morgan sometimes liked to imagine how Reid's thought processes worked, whether it was like a book, each option flipped through and crossed out until he found the page where the answer lay. Or maybe it was more like looking through the different channels until the right show was found. Or maybe- Morgan stopped himself, the possibilities were endless, and there was no point in thinking about how a genius would think.
Reid let out a long sigh. "But, do I really have to wear a dress?"
Morgan was unable to stifle his laugh at the question. Reid sent him a glare, but there was a small twist to his lips. They both knew that the unsub targeted men in dresses, not skirts or pants or whatever else women wore these days. Reid's eyes flashed anyways.
"At this stage in the unsub's evolution, there is a possibility that the unsub's taste in men has changed-"
Hotch interrupted before Reid could continue listing facts. "As far as we know, he is targeting men in dresses. The only way this thing is going to work is if we have a man in a dress," Hotch corrected himself, "You in a dress." Morgan saw a glint of amusement in Hotch's eyes at saying the sentence. "You have to believe me when I say that if I thought anybody, simply anyone, could pull off this task with comparable efficiency you would be off the duty immediately."
Morgan nodded. "I'd do it if I could, man," he shrugged –he would have, except he didn't fit the victomology.
Reid still looked upset.
Emily spoke up. "Listen, you're the only one who can do this," she said frankly. "Are you willing to do it or not? If you're not, we can get Arnold from the other team-"
"He has black hair," Reid pointed out.
"We can dye it," Emily said.
"He's too broad of build," Reid said, knowing that this was one thing they couldn't change, the one reason everyone in the room was staring at him expectantly.
Morgan grinned at him.
Reid almost smiled, and then he nodded. "Fine, I'll do it."
Garcia let out a small squeal over the phone, and Morgan winced at the loudness that sounded in his ear. "No need to get so excited, baby girl."
Garcia scoffed. "Reid's going to be in a dress."
He could hear her rolling her eyes over the phone. "It's Reid in a dress. 'Nough said."
"I still don't get it, so not enough."
Garcia sighed impatiently. "Reid's going to be wearing a dress. That's enough ammunition to feed my fantasies for at least a month." She brightened audibly, "Take pictures, okay? And I mean a lot of pictures, from all angles. And I'll be sharing them with all my friends so you don't need to keep them PG-"
Morgan stopped her before she could continue. "I don't need to know details."
Reid was listening in, and commented, "If that's Garcia," he said, loud enough to be heard by the girl. "Tell her she's not going to be getting a single photo of me if I have a say in the matter."
Garcia laughed, "Tell him that I have my sources."
"She says she has her sources," Morgan told Reid, then frowned. "You have sources besides me?" He pretended to be hurt. Emily carefully did not look at him. "Emily?"
She blinked, and then smiled at him. "Yes?"
"You get off on me in a dress too?" Reid asked miserably, sitting down in the chair that Hotch had vacated.
Emily smiled, almost sweetly. "Reid," her grin turned wicked, "You in a dress is something a lot of people would get off on. I just represent the brunette part of the population."
"Please don't tell me JJ's the blond representative," Morgan deadpanned.
JJ laughed. "Sorry, Reid, godfather of my son or not," she pecked him on the cheek before moving next to Emily. "You wearing a dress is something a lot of people would like to see." She paused, sharing a glance with Emily, before continuing, "Not all girls, either."
Reid froze, blushing a bright red. Morgan was reminded of Reid's complete discomfort with the idea of sex –especially voicing said idea— and he didn't think the idea of gay sex had ever appeared in their conversations. Until now, that is.
Morgan shook his head. "And I thought Garcia was bad."
"You thought I was bad?" Garcia's voice piped up in his ear. Then she giggled. "We're women, Morgan. Get used to it."
"I feel like I've found a fiendish sex operation within the BAU," Morgan muttered. Reid caught his words and his eyes lit up in an all too familiar expression. "I don't need to know exactly how many sex operations happen in organizations, Reid."
Reid sulked. "I wasn't about to-"
"You were going to say something similar though, right?" Emily guessed, although the line of her mouth was countered with the amusement in her eyes.
JJ stood up. "I have to go make arrangements for the press conference," she said, before leaving the room. Rossi and Hotch had left when Reid had agreed to wear the dress, leaving only the three of them in the room. Four, if he included Garcia.
"Gotta go, angel face," Garcia said suddenly, and she switched off.
Morgan frowned, "Bye to you too."
Three left. Morgan felt strangely like one of the monkeys left jumping on the bed. "Reid," Emily said, noting the burrow in Reid's brows and the tenseness in his shoulders, "Don't worry."
Reid looked up, eyes wide. "I don't know how to be a woman."
"Actually," Morgan said, "You don't have to be a woman. You have to be a man acting like a woman, which is what you're actually going to be, so there shouldn't be a problem there. If anything is the problem, it's trying to act more dumb than usual."
"The victims weren't dumb," Reid said.
"But they weren't geniuses either," Morgan retorted. "And you, Spencer Reid, have the habit of showing off your genius at every available opportunity." Reid's eyes widened in disbelieve and shock, with the slightest hint of hurt that made Morgan want to take back his words. "You don't do it knowingly," he said, smiling gently, "It's instinct for you, genius. You can't help yourself." He flashed Reid a bright smile, "Plus, you'll probably be too worried about messing up to even talk properly."
Emily rolled her eyes, "Nice comforting, Morgan," she said, as Reid's eyes turned downwards again. "Listen, Reid, you're a genius, you're a trained FBI agent, and we would all trust you with our lives. So don't worry about this."
Morgan had to admit that it sounded better than his speech.
Hotch stepped back into the office, followed by Rossi. "Okay, Reid, if you're going in, we're going to need agents at every corner of the place."
Morgan straightened; this was where he usually came in. "We'll all be in there, right?"
Hotch nodded. "I'll take the front with the Chief, Emily and Rossi, the back. Morgan will be with Reid the whole time." They all murmured understanding, while Reid sat in the middle of all of them, figuratively and literally. "Reid, we have to be in position by 2000 hours, so you should start getting ready now."
Reid glanced towards his watch, never under his sweaters or shirts. "But there's five more hours-"
"Only five?" Emily stood up, pulling Reid with by his arm. "I'll get JJ and Garcia to help, he'll be ready by then. We'll meet you back here in four and a half hours." Reid looked like he was about to protest about being manhandled, but Emily had already pulled him out of the room before he could say a word –before any of them could say anything.
Morgan looked at the now empty doorway.
"How long do you think he'll last?" Rossi asked after a moment. Morgan let out a laugh at that.
"I think Reid'll handle himself just fine," he said, confident in his friend's abilities.
Even Hotch gave the faintest of smiles.
The image of Reid looking like an awkward doll while he tried to walk in those thick pumps that Emily wore, or with his bony frame sticking out of one of those flimsy dresses that JJ wore when she wasn't at work, or with his hair curled up in a messy bush like Garcia chose to wear on her day offs. The combination of the three images in his head made him laugh out loud for a few moments, while the other two stared at him curiously.
"Care to share?" Hotch asked.
"Reid- the hair, clothes, shoes," he managed to get out between laughs. Rossi laughed with him, since the idea of Reid as a girl would amuse anyone –even Hotch, who covered his mouth to hide his laugh, turning it smoothly into a cough. It would be just like Hotch not to laugh at the jokes that everyone was bound to crack out of some misguided loyalty to the members of the team.
If it weren't so humorous, it would be commendable.
Hotch had a light in his eyes that warned Morgan, though. "You do realize that we will all have to dress up though, right?"
Morgan frowned. "I didn't pack a dinner suit in my out bag."
"I think we'll be loaned some," Hotch volunteered. "The restaurant is extremely high-end, we wouldn't have been able to afford the outfits people wear there-"
"They're over two grand," Rossi added, and Morgan's eyes widened.
"For one suit? That had better be some suit," he shook his head, unable to believe that people would pay such money for clothes of all things.
Hotch did smile this time. "It will be. Everyone has to be escorted for the dinner, so Rossi will be taking Emily, and I will be bringing the Chief," he was referring to the woman in charge of the station here, a pretty brunette who Morgan thought liked the camera too much. "Which leaves you to bring Reid."
Morgan frowned. "I'll be bringing Pretty Boy?"
"There are a mixture of normal couples and cross-dressing couples in the restaurant," Hotch continued as though he hadn't heard the question, "So we should all remain relatively unnoticed."
"I'll be bringing Reid?" Morgan repeated the question, and Hotch did take notice this time.
"Yes, will that be a problem?" His tone meant that, either way, there shouldn't be a problem. And if there was, they were to sort it out between themselves without ruining the investigation. Morgan shook his head, there wasn't a problem. He and Reid were friends, they would be able to pretend to have a date for one night.
"No," he said, and Hotch nodded. "In that case, I believe that the outfits will be given to us two hours before eight, which should give us sufficient time to change."
"Since we're not the ones dressing up as girls," Morgan couldn't resist adding.
Morgan stood up, heading towards Garcia's temporary room. It was actually just another one of the conference rooms –although with the number of laptops in there, it looked nothing like one— but Garcia had kindly compromised. He rapped his knuckles against the door before entering, since the last time he had forgotten he had interrupted her watching things on the internet that he would have been happy living without ever seeing. "Hey, doll face," he greeted her with a grin, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
He dumped himself down on one of the chairs, throwing one of the many items that littered the room into the air and catching it again.
"You, my Chocolate God of Adonis, need not worry," Garcia said, a sunny smile on her face.
"Why would I worry?" Morgan asked, catching the item.
"Because, you will never be replaced in my heart," Garcia stated, "Even by a Reid in a dress, as charming as that might be."
Morgan shook his head. "You girls are sad, if you're looking at Reid for entertainment."
Garcia stopped whatever she had been doing on the computer to turn and look at him. "Derek Morgan, whatever do you mean by that?"
Morgan's brow rose. "You know what I mean, it's Reid."
Garcia nodded, "Exactly. He has that nerdy thing going for him." Morgan looked at her doubtfully, and she expanded. "The tweed shirts and the talking about things no one knows or cares about," she said, "It's very in these days, and he's got it purr-fected." Morgan still looked disbelieving, so she continued. "You know, messy blond hair, long and delicate fingers, endless legs, a pretty smile, good height."
"Please tell me you're kidding," Morgan said, dropping the item on the table.
"You're the one who gave him the name Pretty Boy."
"As a joke," Morgan said immediately. "He's tall and scrawny and, like you said, all delicate, so Pretty Boy came about. It's not because he's actually," he faltered, "You know."
Garcia's eyes narrowed. "What? Good looking?"
"Well, I guess he is to some people," Morgan said, to appease Garcia more than anything, he didn't necessarily believe his own words. "I mean, he has," he searched for a compliment, "Soft hair." He did have soft hair, Morgan had swiped at it on occasion.
Garcia opened her mouth, as though to say something, then smirked devilishly. "My Chocolate God, what have you been keeping from Mama?"
"Nothing," Morgan said honestly.
"Then how do you know how Reid's hair feels like?" Morgan only then realized how his comment might be taken by some, especially creepy Reid-fans like Garcia.
"I've touched it," he admitted, almost wincing, since Garcia definitely wouldn't take that as the innocent statement that it was. "You've seen me, in the room and all that."
Garcia's eyes narrowed speculatively, "You do touch him a lot."
Morgan's own widened. "You're joking. I do not touch him like that Garcia," he frowned, "That's just wrong."
Garcia grinned. They were comfortable enough with each other to know that they could tease each about sex and gays without Carl Buford popping up at every corner. "Now, now, Morgan, tell your baby, what've you been thinking?" Garcia said teasingly, eyes dancing with mirth.
Morgan rolled his eyes. "Please, Garcia, he's Reid. He's practically asexual."
"Don't be mean. I'm sure that Spencer is a sexually active young man," Garcia said, adopting one of Hotch's official tones. She laughed at it, "I seriously wonder if he's still a virgin."
"Bet you he hasn't kissed anyone," Morgan said lightly.
Garcia perked up. "He did kiss that girl in the swimming pool," she said slowly.
Morgan straightened in his seat. "Reid? What girl? What swimming pool? Why haven't I heard of this?" He rattled off the questions to Garcia's pleasure.
"Is that jealousy I spot within those lines, sweetness?" Garcia asked sweetly. She laughed before answering, "Reid kissed that girl in some swimming pool. No further details, they didn't do anything else. So, if you bet that he's never had sex, you'd probably be right."
Morgan frowned. "Are you trying to say something indirectly again?"
Garcia shook her head. "Not this time, Chocolate Bun."
"So, how's our Pretty Bo-" Morgan stopped himself, it seemed that –unbeknownst to him— people were reading too much into the nickname. Damn profilers. "Reid doing with the dressing up as a girl thing?" he changed the topic. Garcia's eyes twinkled, as though she knew what he was trying to do –and the baby girl probably did— but she didn't stop him either.
"Ooh, Emily's started up on him, did you know that the Lovely bites his nails? Well, he used to anyways. It's hell to put nail polish on broken nails, you know, extremely difficult. And Spencer does not appreciate," she stressed the word with annoyance, "our efforts near enough. And that hair of his, it looks nice and it feels soft, but it just refuses to change or," Garcia made gestures with a hand, "be shaped."
Morgan didn't understand, but he nodded anyways. Garcia continued, ranting off her frustration to the one person who would listen.
"I mean, not even a bun, we just want it styled, and does he want us to touch his hair? No, the idiot refuses to let us even touch it up properly, always no, no, no. After all, a little bit of gloss to the hair is no problem, right?" She looked at Morgan expectantly and he nodded, not that he had hair, but he could put himself in Reid's miserable situation, and sympathize with the plight of his Baby Girl.
He let Garcia continue for a few more minutes, sparsely interjecting her statements with his nods or grunts. When he chose to listen again, Garcia was saying, "…with the clothes that we have here, because those things that he usually wears aren't seen on anyone under sixty without something being very wrong-"
Morgan turned her out again.
There was a vibration against his pants and he pulled out his phone and flipped it open, Garcia falling abruptly shut. "Hey," he greeted.
"Morgan," Hotch said, "We have your outfit, come pick it up at the conference room."
Morgan made a face at Garcia, but his voice was serious when he said, "Yeah, be right there." He closed the phone with a snap, just as Garcia laughed.
"You know," Garcia commented, "I don't know how you work with Hotch like that."
Morgan was about to explain when he paused, "How did you know that that was Hotch?"
Garcia smirked. "You use this I'm-talking-to-my- hot-boss voice when you do."
"My boss, you mean," Morgan corrected.
Garcia's smirk widened. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed that he's hot. And now that he's divorced, he's practically free for all."
"Doesn't the fact that he was married to a woman for years and had a child with her tell you anything?" Morgan said, banging his head against the table to clear it of the visuals that had arose.
"Yeah," Garcia said, "It tells me that he's a Gay Virgin."
That made him stop mid-bang. "Gay virgin? He has a kid."
"No, not gay virgin, Gay Virgin."
Morgan used the unofficial capitals. "Gay Virgin is?"
"Someone who's never had gay sex," she said with a victorious grin. "And Hotch hasn't. I think, anyways, he and Rossi seem pretty friendly sometimes." Her eyes glossed over for a few seconds, and Morgan snapped his fingers in front of them before she could drift away further.
"Is there any member of this team you don't think I want to do?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"Nope," Garcia patted his cheek, "Now, get going."
She pushed him out of her room, and Morgan left, still shaking his head. Dangerous place, The Office of The All-Knowing.
He moved towards the conference room, making sure to grin at the pretty receptionist who had stared at him yesterday. Even though he had a policy of not dating women with guns, he didn't think the department gave their receptionist one. Even if she did have a body that men would kill for.
He entered the conference room without knocking, seating himself comfortably in one of the empty chairs. Hotch and Rossi were already there, holding covered suits tenderly. "Those our suits?" he asked, tilting his head towards the clothes they held.
Hotch nodded. "They've been loaned by some generous people out there," he said. He held up his own, a dark blue, almost black, that looked like it had been tailored to fit him. "I think they had them adjusted for us," he commented, studying his closer. He picked up the one next to his, and then handed it to Morgan. "This one is yours," he said, a gleam in his eye.
Morgan took his casually, "Not bad." It wasn't –black suit, with enough areas for him to hide a gun or a mike.
Hotch smiled, "It costs three grand, I found out. So don't drop it."
Morgan only just managed to save the suit from slipping through his fingers.
Rossi laughed. "It's almost unfair that we have everything given to us while Reid has to go dress shopping."
"Wait," Morgan grinned, "Reid's going dress shopping?"
Hotch nodded. "It seems that none of the women have the same size as him, so they're going to have to buy or loan a dress from one of the shops."
"Where're they going to get the money to pay?" Morgan seriously doubted that Reid had three grand lying around to be spent on one dress.
"The department will cover all costs," Hotch said smoothly.
Hotch took his suit from him, slipping it back into a garment back, heavy and black, with letters that Morgan didn't bother to decipher emblazoned over the side in neat gold blocks. He recognized the logo, the sort of things his sisters' magazines showed all too often at prices he thought were unreasonable and his sisters thought were just unattainable.
Hotch glanced at his watch, "I expect it would be best for us to return to the hotel now to change." Morgan looked at his own –it was later than he had expected. Talking to Garcia had taken more time than he had thought.
Morgan nodded. "Yeah, I'll ride," he said, fishing out the keys to the car from his pocket.
The ride to the hotel was silent, comfortably so. The three men in the car didn't feel the need to speak most times, so there was an unsaid agreement that they didn't need to. Morgan thought it was a nice change from the chatter of Reid or Garcia, the continuous flow of thought from Emily or JJ.
Morgan was about to open the door to his room, shared with Reid, when Hotch called out his name. "Yeah?"
Hotch looked at him thoughtfully before speaking. "Don't be too hard on Reid about the dress."
Morgan grinned, "Wouldn't dream of it."
Hotch shook his head, but Morgan thought he saw a smile on his face. He found the situation as amusing as anyone else did, but he also had a maturity about him that meant he wouldn't show it. Morgan wondered if it ever became stressful, not showing your emotions as and when you wished to. He wondered if he would be able to do it if he was in Hotch's position. Probably not.
He glanced at the clock, enough time to shave, shower and dress before they had to leave. He pulled off his shirt carelessly, throwing it onto the bed. He wasn't untidy –he would pick everything up later and put it where it should be— but he didn't feel the need to be as clean as Reid always was.
He stared at the room from the bathroom door. One side of the room, the right, was slightly untidy, a few clothes lying around, wrappers from eating food when in bed, a movie case on the nightstand. It had the feeling of being well lived in, comforting, to Morgan's eyes. The other side was the clear opposite, neat bed, no random clothes occupying spaces that weren't meant to be occupied. The table was filled with papers, though, that were further strewn over the bed. A large book, which he guessed Reid would read –he sniggered, it didn't get old— within ten minutes.
The poor genius would need a lot of things to occupy him for a day.
He toed off his shoes near the doorway, since Reid was picky about that. His pants, underwear and socks rested in a messy pile at the corner of the room –steadily growing as time passed— and he walked naked into the bathroom. He started the shower, screech of rusty metal, and stepped in.
Twenty minutes later, he was out. He walked back into the room, towel tied lazily around his waist, and picked up the suit. He took it out, giving a low whistle at the sight of it. He dressed quickly, since he was used to wearing suits, even if none of them were near as expensive as this. Hell, the costs of all his suits probably didn't add to the price of this one.
He looked at himself in the mirror. Not bad.
The shirt was slightly suggestive –was it shining?— but, otherwise, the outfit made him look like a rich man. He grinned at his reflection before walking out, where Hotch was already waiting with Rossi. "How do I look?" he said, giving a small turn.
As if on stage, the woman walking past stared at him.
"You have your answer," Rossi said dryly.
Morgan laughed as they headed back to headquarters. "Think the girls will be there by now?" he asked.
Hotch shook his head, "They said they'd be coming in a while after us."
No one mentioned that it should be the girls and Reid, since the point was pretend that Reid was a girl. Although the party was for both cross-dressing couples and normally dressed, those who stayed around later were all cross-dressers, which was where Reid and he came in.
Morgan walked into the office, knowing that they were drawing stares in their suits –that screamed wealth— and turned to Hotch. "When are they coming?"
"Now," there was a voice, and they turned to see Emily enter, dressed magnificently in a white gown.
JJ followed her, dressed in normal clothes. They couldn't bring her, since the unsub would definitely recognize her from television. They turned and saw the Chief walking towards them –Melinda, his mind corrected, since calling her Chief tonight could prove to be a fatal mistake.
And then out of the elevator walked an absolute vision.
Morgan stared as the women neared them, feeling every straight man in the room do the same –which meant practically every law enforcement officer in the area— and he started from the bottom, where long legs were glimpsed through the long slit in the dress, stocking-clad feet stuck in stiletto heels.
"You know, before Coco Chanel introduced black as a fashion color, it was largely used for mourning."
Morgan's mouth hung open, he knew it looked absurd, and he forced himself to snap it shut. His eyes travelled up her legs, her hips, her chest –a little flat but he could live— and to his face. Morgan took in the rosy, full lips, the blushing fair cheeks, the short wavy hair, the intelligent brown eyes under indecently long lashes and colored eyelids.
"Reid?" he managed to get out, and there was a general gasp amongst the men present, and a laugh amongst the women. He took in the dress again, the light material wrapping itself around his body like it was made for him, the sharpness of his hipbones giving the illusion of a shapely figure, the fingers that could so easily wrap themselves around a gun now delicately clutching a purse, and, as Reid turned, a backline that plunged to just above his ass.
"Morgan, stop looking at me like that," Reid snapped.
Morgan retorted on instinct more than anything. "Hey, Pretty Boy, you should take it as a compliment that I'm looking at you."
"Girl," Emily corrected, a grin on her face that looked far too pleased with the situation.
"Yeah," Morgan breathed, wondering if it would be appropriate to whistle. Reid sent him a warning glance, and Morgan –wisely— didn't.
"Everyone," Hotch said, and eyes snapped towards him, although Morgan's mind was still stuck somewhere. Near Reid. "There's a limo waiting for us," Emily gave out a hoot, "And we should be in the restaurant soon, so out."
At times like this, Morgan thought Hotch was a cross between a mother hen and a military sergeant.
Morgan followed Reid into the elevator, gaze sweeping across the length of his back –all pale skin and fragility. If anybody knew what this boy could do, or that he was a boy, Morgan didn't think they'd believe it. "You know," he told Reid, although everyone could hear, "You make one pretty girl."
Reid turned around to glare at him, cheeks reddened and lips pursed. Now he looked like an angry girl.
Morgan grinned unapologetically, and Rossi gave a small cough. "Really, you make as pretty a girl as you do a guy, we should have seen this before. You know, Reid, if you want to do this for your day to day wear, I don't think anyone's going to complain-"
Reid smacked him on the arm with the bag. "Shut up." It was the shortest thing that he'd said thus far. "And don't even think about taking pictures for Garcia."
"Actually," Emily joined in, "I think she'll just hack into the security footage," she pointed towards the camera in the elevator and Morgan thought of the cameras that dotted the perimeter of the building. "Sorry, Reid, but this time tomorrow, your picture is going to be everywhere." She didn't sound very sorry, though, as he was sure Reid noticed. "And, if it helps, you really do make a pretty girl."
She ducked with a laugh as Reid made to hit her.
"Ladies," JJ said with a grin, "Please act like the name."
Reid stopped glaring, since everyone seemed to be intent on teasing him about the outfit. There was a ping and the doors slid open, and Reid walked out ahead of everyone, unusually comfortable in the too high heels that someone had loaned him –he guessed JJ, the sparkles and bright colors were not usually associated with Emily.
He turned around, hands on his hip and brows raised, "Well?"
Everyone had stopped to stare at him. "He really doesn't get it," Morgan muttered.
"No," Hotch agreed. "Someone should tell him."
They turned to look at Morgan in unison.
Morgan groaned. "He'll think I'm joking, Reid's not going to believe me if I tell him he's drop dead gorgeous and that he's going to be hit on by every guy there so he should keep an eye out."
Emily shrugged. "Good luck." She walked off to join Reid, the Chief following her. JJ lagged behind, waving them off. Morgan felt like a child leaving his mother on the first day of school.
Rossi spared him a sympathetic glance, but no one offered to take the job.
Morgan collected himself, then walked towards where Reid was talking to Emily. "Morgan, you know our cover-" He interrupted Reid without hesitation.
"Come on, we need to talk." He grabbed Reid by his arm –soft skin, no watch because he didn't like the metal against his skin— and pulled him towards a corner.
Reid stared at him expectantly, unnervingly.
"Reid," Morgan started, "You're hot." It wasn't tactful or anything, but Reid's eyes widened, and he seemed to understand it.
"You're fucking hot, and guys are going to be jumping over themselves to get at you, so don't be taken in by any of them." Reid's eyes narrowed with anger at the insinuation that he would, so Morgan continued quickly. "The unsub could be anyone there, so it'll be easier to lure him in but harder to pick him out. Stay close to me, don't be a hero, and don't let anyone get too close."
"Morgan, the point is for me to let the unsub get close," Reid said matter-of-factly.
"Well, since we don't know who he is, until we do, don't let anyone get too close, would you?" Morgan said, phrasing it as a request out of courtesy. It was an order in his head, one that Reid would follow if it killed him.
Reid recognized the order for what it was and nodded. "Fine."
"Is this like I'm not going to take off my vest but I do it anyways fine?" Morgan asked, since that episode would always haunt him.
Reid rolled his eyes. "I didn't even mean to do that, it wasn't any fault of mine, the unsub wouldn't let me in."
"Whatever," Morgan said, "Now, come on, the others are in the limo."
They climbed into the limo –his sisters would be so jealous of him right now— and nodded at Hotch to show that he'd spoken to Reid, and that was that. "Reid," Hotch turned to look at the man –or was he supposed to be calling him a woman— "Your name is Angel Prince, you're an heiress to the fortune of William Prince, who died last year from lung cancer. Your mother died at your birth in a car accident. Morgan, your name is Michael Taylor, you're a businessman who owns oil in Saudi Arabia."
Morgan was speculative, since he didn't think he looked Saudi Arabian, but he let it go.
"Now," Hotch continued, "the unsub is from his mid to late thirties, white male, comfortable around women and wealth. He is homosexual but he will have a female companion. He will remain for the after party which you and Morgan will be attending, and he will try to get your attention and bring you away, probably to the Employees Only room that's on the far left of the room."
"Don't follow him," Morgan instructed.
"But we've narrowed the suspect list without proper evidence, he needs to make a move before we catch him." Reid's argument, however sensible, was ignored by Morgan.
"Don't follow him," he repeated.
"We can't catch him if I don't," Reid said angrily.
"Don't. Follow. Him."
Reid did not bother to speak this time. He crossed his arms and Morgan watched the rise and fall of his chest, the length of his toned arms, the elegance of his fingers-
"Morgan's right, Reid. You are not to follow the unsub into that room, as soon as you or Morgan recognize him, send us a ring," he passed them the small devices that, if clicked, would alert the team, "And we'll be in the building. We'll have the place surrounded, so you don't need to worry about that, if nothing else, he can't escape without passing us, and he won't."
Everyone stared at Reid, since they were well aware of the genius' tendency of risking his life to save someone else.
Morgan hoped he would realize soon that his life had the same value as anyone else's –more so to Morgan, not that he would tell Reid.
Then Hotch was saying something about them being a couple who had been with each other romantically for the past three years, and that Reid had been cross-dressing since the age of thirteen –"I was reading The Principles of Chemical Equilibrium : With Applications in Chemistry and Chemical Engineering by K. G. Denbigh at the age of thirteen, fascinating book about the general theory of chemical equilibrium, including its statistical development…"— and that they had met seven years ago at a convention and had been friends since then.
It was when he mentioned marriage that Morgan looked up.
"Excuse me?" he asked.
"All the victims have been engaged, so as to fit the victimology as far as possible, Reid must be as well," Hotch reasoned. He was right, of course, not that he would say so.
Reid held up his hand, showing off his ring finger. Morgan did whistle this time, because that was some ring.
"It's 8 carats and 1 million dollars," Reid notified him smugly. "You had to work two jobs and starve yourself for a month to earn up enough money for this."
Hotch frowned, reading the page in his file. "That's not in here," he muttered.
"It won't be," Reid waved his hand in the air lazily, "I made it up to create a more definite cover story. Emily said that women always ask about the rings." Emily nodded to confirm it. "So, I'll have something to say, and you have to back up the story, got it?"
Morgan nodded obediently. Reid in male form was an amusing thing; in female form, he was somehow far more intimidating. Morgan didn't think it was normal for a male to look so comfortable as a female –or to look so good as a female either.
There was a round of silence as people stared at the far bolder Reid.
"What?" he asked with a knowing smile on his face. "I'm acting more… female."
Morgan scoffed, although he couldn't argue with the statement. He wondered if why it was that all the women he knew were all so bloody daring, nothing like the subservient women he read about in his sisters' cheesy romance novels that they tried to hide under their beds –he'd known their hiding spots since five, profiler even then.
Reid leaned back in his seat, and the slit slid up further, revealing a stretch of pale skin that Morgan quickly averted his eyes from. He squirmed in his seat, trying to force down the hardening in his pants with pure will of thought.
"This is so weird," he murmured, and Reid gave a small laugh.
"I'm the one in the dress, you know," Reid said teasingly.
"Yeah, really weird," Morgan said.
Emily looked like she was about to speak, but simply shared a look with Reid and left it at that. Morgan wondered if they had already formed some sisterly bond in the hour Reid had posed as a girl. Reid rolled his eyes in answer, and Emily's brows rose. Morgan frowned, looking between them, then gave up. It would be easier to try to decipher Garcia's squeals and looks.
"What's it like in a dress?" Morgan asked suddenly, since he was actually curious.
Reid stared at him blankly, and then slowly broke out into a smile. "You really want to know what a man feels like in a dress?"
"Well," Morgan shrugged casually, "Yeah."
Reid grinned, "Why? Curious about trying it out yourself?"
Emily snorted. "I cannot imagine Morgan in a dress, I mean, it's like," she looked around, "Hotch in a dress."
Hotch winced outwardly. "Must you-" he didn't end the sentence, only shaking his head. Morgan could understand it, having to imagine himself in a dress –and why was it that the only dress he could think of was the ballerina outfit his sister had worn at age three?— was not the nicest of thoughts.
"And you could imagine me in one?" Reid sounded insulted.
"I can see you in one," Emily pointed out, her eyes moving up and down Reid's form. She waggled her eyebrows, "You look hot, too."
Reid blushed slightly, eyes darting towards Morgan at the sound of the exact words he had said. Coughing uncomfortably, "I think we're there." The limo had stopped, and there was the sound of footsteps.
"Morgan, Reid, you two go in first, Rossi and Emily will follow, and the Chief and I will follow."
Reid nodded sharply, and Morgan stepped out of the limo. He waited for Reid to step out behind him –a long pale leg followed by a thin body— and held out his arm. Reid took it gracefully, his pale arm even paler against the darkness of the cloth. He leaned closer to Morgan, blond hair brushing against Morgan's collar, and murmured into his ear. "Keep holding on, don't let go." Reid straightened, giving a charming smile, and the valet almost tripped over empty air in his haste to move closer to him –her.
He walked through the doorway, only years of practice keeping his expression still as he caught sight of the lush carpet and swinging chandeliers, the walls decorated by pieces of art he had only ever seen in books. "That one is an original Van Gogh," Reid murmured, and Morgan knew if it wasn't for the fact he was trying to act dimmer than usual, he would have gone on a rattle on exactly how it was created, at what year, with its cost, and even the various texts it had been mentioned in.
"Wonderful," he said sarcastically.
Reid smiled, and a few of the older men standing around them turned to look at them. The majority of the patrons lost their uppity expressions, trying to look more available instead. Morgan moved a hand to Reid's back, remembering too late that it was bare.
He felt the heat rise against his skin and kept his hand still. Reid shivered though, at the touch against his skin.
"Hello," a man stepped up to them, white, in his fifties, and Morgan ruled him out as a suspect in his mind, too unsure of himself, nervous gestures. But he was willing to step up his game for a pretty woman. "I'm Jacob Rile, it- it's nice to meet you." The man licked his lips, jarringly similar to a rat, and Morgan's hand pulled Reid closer to him.
"Michael Taylor, it's a pleasure," Morgan held out his hand, shaking the other man's firmly. He felt like wiping his hand down on his shirt, but it wouldn't be proper etiquette or something, he guessed.
Rile wasn't looking at him though, slimy bastard.
"And this is my fiancée," he gave a dramatic pause for emphasis without even flinching, "Angel Prince."
Reid gave a sultry smile. "It's nice to meet you," and Morgan tried not to show his surprise at how feminine Reid sounded, voice soft and pitched higher, with a trace of an accent that he couldn't place. She –he, if he ever called Reid a she he would kill him— held out his hand daintily, grasping the other man's hand for less than a second before he pulled away.
Morgan thought that if he hadn't, he would have hit the man.
"Enchanted," the man caught Reid's hand again and kissed the back of it. Reid's nose wrinkled delicately, and he allowed the touch before snatching his hand back, laying it on Morgan's arm instead.
Morgan was surprised at how comfortable Reid seemed in the situation though, poised and elegant, smiling the entire time, even though Morgan knew without a doubt that he wanted to punch Rile right now. He was surprised at how well Reid fit against him, hand against arm, hip brushing his, head moving closer to his occasionally to give the pretence of an actual engagement. He was surprised when Rile's gaze moved lower, and there was a sharp pinch in his gut, a turn that he didn't want to identify.
They moved on, meeting another couple, followed by another, and then another.
By the time they had circled the circumference of the room, Morgan had forgotten the names of everyone in the room except the four people he had identified as possible unsubs. Reid, he knew, remembered the names of everyone, their wives, and whoever they were screwing with when their wife's back was turned.
Reid, as he had known, was spectacular. All Morgan had to do was smile politely, introduce the two of them, and Reid took it from there, with the occasional intercept by him. While he knew logically that Reid should be maintaining his cover –not speaking about everything from the new clothing line in San Diego to the political situation of some district in China— he couldn't stop the man. All bright eyes and wide gestures, sincerely interested in everything the world had to offer. It would be sin, as his mother said, to quell such innocence.
They sat down at a table, Reid speaking to Darin Barton –one of the suspects— about the great injustice of the judiciary system and the corruption within it, while Morgan ate his food, taking small bites of the already tiny serving.
Why anyone would pay so much for so little was a wonder to him.
He watched Reid as he spoke, hands moving to emphasize whatever he was saying –such thing wrists, so delicate, beautiful— and collarbones showing clearly behind the thin straps, he needed to put on weight, the genius definitely was too skinny. Muscles in his arm, clear if you wanted to notice, but unnoticed by most in the room. His tongue flickering out at intervals as he smiled at Barton, too enthusiastic. The way his face lit up, whenever Barton said something that only Reid would find amusing, or when they touched on a topic close to heart. Reid's eye would catch his own sometimes, and he would give the smallest of smiles, but enough to set Morgan at ease.
He should have been more worried about the fact that he was entirely too comfortable in his position as Reid's date, but he wasn't.
Then there was the constant hardness in his pants, which he steadfastly ignored. The stretching of his pants was hidden by the tablecloth though, thankfully.
Barton stood up, and Reid smiled, Morgan following only because his heel was dangerously close to Morgan's foot, and he didn't want to annoy Reid until the foot moved away.
"It's not Barton," Reid said immediately, voice dropping to a low whisper, although the smile stayed. Anyone looking on would have thought it to be a normal conversation between soon-to-be wed's.
"You sure?" he asked, because it was his job to ask these questions.
Reid grinned, although his eyes narrowed slightly. "Of course I am."
"You aren't swayed at all by the fact that you've been talking to the man for twenty minutes?" He knew he sounded petty, almost childish, but he really didn't care.
Reid's smile did not falter, but the foot found its mark a second later, and Morgan closed his eyes in a wince. "I know it's not him because, if you had been listening, you would know that he doesn't fit the profile." Reid turned away, both because he was annoyed with Morgan and because someone else had dropped by, one Victor Pallid, another one of the suspects.
"Mr. Pallid," Morgan said, forcing a smile. "So good to see you."
"You too, Mr. Taylor, and your dear Angel as well," Pallid smiled in what Morgan thought was meant to be a sweet fashion. He looked like a street pimp who had just earned a new prostitute. "May I?" he sat down at Reid's nod.
"Where is your date for the evening, Katie?" Reid asked, voice returning to the soft lilt he had come to adopt.
Pallid shrugged sadly, "Unfortunately, Katie had to leave. It is almost time for the after party and she," he shook his head slightly, "is not interested in such things." Morgan wished he would just say Katie is not interested in cross-dressing, dumped me and left me alone for the evening. Pallid's eyes shone as they swept over them. "Do you have a particular interest in the events?" Which translated to, are you a cross-dresser?
Morgan nodded, a hand creeping around Reid's waist. "A personal interest, you could call it." He exchanged a knowing smile with the man, who ran an appraising eye over Reid.
"I would have never guessed," he said, raising his glass in a toast.
"My fiancée is proficient in her tasks," Morgan said coolly, a nudge forcing Reid to lay his head on his shoulder, "All of them." Reid smiled, ever the obedient being.
"I see," Pallid leered at Reid, and Morgan's smile stayed, if slightly colder towards the man.
Pallid immediately engaged Reid in a conversation about politics –were all the men here tonight obsessed with the issue?— and Reid straightened, brightening. Morgan allowed himself to miss the loss of warmth and contact since, after all, he reasoned with his mind, they were supposed to be acting as a couple.
He refused to listen to the part of his mind that called him a liar. That wanted it to be real.
"Mike?" Reid's soft voice snapped him to attention, and he grinned at the two of them apologetically.
"Sorry, you know how I get," he shrugged.
Reid laughed, as though he did know, which he couldn't have since even Morgan didn't. "He tends to get caught up in his thoughts, the businesses." Reid rolled his eyes, laying a hand on his arm, "He forgets the world around him, it's difficult to snap him out when he's in deep."
Morgan thought the description was more apt for Reid when he was having one of his genius attacks than when he was daydreaming. Reid did do that, mind racing too quickly, making dots where people didn't see them, entire world fading away –all etiquette lost— to be replaced by an unnerving silence. And, when he finally saw the picture, one that no one else could, a flurry of movement as his mouth moved too slowly for his brain processes, trying to explain and catch the unsub, all at once.
"I understand," Pallid said. "I myself find the problem of forgetting the world when I am particularly," he fingered the knife on the table, like some villain out of a storybook, "Excited." He smirked, and Reid managed to look understanding and innocent at the same time.
He remembered Hotch's earlier words: he'll be cocky, arrogant.
"What were you saying?" Morgan shifted the focus of the conversation.
"I was actually talking about those horrid murders that have happened," Reid said, eyes widening in shock and disbelief, all faked of course. "I simply cannot imagine-" Reid broke off, as though the thoughts were too heavy for him to bear.
It looked perfectly natural on a female of his apparent fragility.
Morgan pulled Reid closer, a hand on his shoulder. "Now, now, calm down," he said softly, as though he was trying to calm his fiancée. He looked at Pallid with a small frown, "She gets quite upset at the mention of," he paused, then mouthed, "Death."
Pallid nodded in understanding, looking sympathetic to the bystander. But Morgan saw the glint in his eyes, the way his fingers tightened around the knife and the leg he was shaking under the table moved faster. Excited was right.
"Oh, I'll be fine," Reid said, looking up. She wasn't crying, but she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Pardon me, I need to visit the Ladies."
Reid stood up, walking towards the bathroom, and Morgan saw a black head walk in before her.
Emily had been notified, then.
"She is a delicate creature," Morgan excused Reid, sounding almost pitying.
"Yes, he is."
Morgan did not question the use of the pronoun. While it would have been rude to mention it in Reid's presence, the man was allowed to ask Morgan discretely, and he let it slide; not confirming, but not denying. They both knew the answer, anyways.
"Do you have any particular hobbies, Mr. Taylor?" Pallid asked conversationally.
"Not really," Morgan said. "I spent much of my time these days with Angel," he smiled fondly at the thought of the man, the first thing not to be faked in the course of the dinner. "We do anything under the sun, swimming, sun-tanning, we like being outdoors," he explained.
Pallid smiled, "When did you two meet?"
"Well, we met seven years ago," Morgan said, remembering their cover story. "It was at a convention, but we only officially got together three years ago-"
"Almost four," Reid piped up, sliding into the seat next to him. "Our anniversary is coming up soon, in a matter of a few days actually." Morgan tried not to show his surprise –Reid meant it, their anniversary was nearing, although it was the anniversary of Agent Derek Morgan and Doctor Spencer Reid meeting, not Michael and Angel.
"You remember," Morgan said, and Reid understood the meaning immediately.
He laughed, "I am the woman in this relationship, and it's practically my job to remember these things."
Pallid laughed with Reid. "I agree. I'm surprised you remember Michael." Morgan did not ask him not to use his first name, lulling the man into trusting him was beneficial. "I never remember my anniversaries. I usually have to have a sign to remind me."
Like a dead cross-dresser on the day, Morgan thought sarcastically.
The room was clearing quickly, and only Rossi remained of the team, at a far off corner where he went largely unnoticed. Pallid continued talking, about boats or something that Morgan didn't actually care about and that Reid knew too much about. Morgan thought that even a genius should have limits; after all, what was the use of knowing that a certain type of grain with a certain type of boat worked best with a certain type of stroke?
Music started up in the room suddenly, and Pallid smiled widely.
"Perhaps the two of you should dance?" he suggested. Morgan froze, but there was an insistent finger circling his palm –soft skin, warm, callused— and he knew what he would have to do to keep this cover.
"I would be delighted," Morgan stood up, he held a hand out to Reid, who accepted it, a slight tremor in it.
He pulled Reid closer to him, holding the man still with a hand on his back. Fuck, Reid was warm.
Hotch in a tutu, and he calmed himself.
Reid moved closer to him, and Morgan walked them to the middle of the floor. Even if everyone in the room hadn't been looking at Reid, everyone would have stared at the vision they made together. "You know how to dance?" Morgan murmured into Reid's ear, exceedingly grateful for the high shoes he wore.
Reid shook his head minutely, "Not really."
"Just follow, okay?" he asked, and Reid nodded, a movement he felt against his face. "Right forward, then left back." Reid nodded again, before tentatively moving his right leg forward. Morgan murmured encouragement, moving back with him. Morgan moved his right forward, and Reid accidentally hit their legs together.
"I'm so sorry," he said softly, biting his lip. Reid looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, and Morgan swallowed.
"Don't worry, try again," he said. He knew people noticed the flounder, but they would have also noted how Reid looked like after, and everyone would think it sweet and adorable that everyone would forget about the mistake. He led Reid through the simple steps another time, and this time the man looked down at his feet so carefully there was no room left for mistakes. "Look at me."
Reid looked up at the order, eyes wide and strained in thought.
Reid calmed visibly, back relaxing and moving more smoothly.
Reid's eyes flashed with anger, and Morgan carefully moved back in case the killer heels found his feet.
Morgan moved Reid around the room, hand slipping lower down his back, pulling him closer to his body. He could feel Reid, everything about the man, could see everything too. From the flawless skin, not a single freckle or scar, to the blond hair, not as choppy as it was in male form, to the elegant fingers, pressing into his shoulder with the slightest pressure, to his large eyes, not just brown, but colored in a way he could never decipher, to his long body-
Then there was a hand on his arm that interrupted his flow of thoughts too abruptly.
Morgan turned his head impatiently and saw Pallid. "If I may have this dance?" he said smoothly, the snake.
"Of course," Morgan said stiffly, trying not to show his frustration.
Reid laid a hand on his arm, and smiled gently. Then the man wrapped him in a hug, "Don't worry," he said, too quietly for anyone but Morgan to hear. He pulled back, then took Pallid's hand. While the two words comforted Morgan, they did nothing to ease his worry.
He walked towards Rossi, taking a seat next to him on the bar.
"Dave," Rossi introduced himself, in case anyone was listening in.
"Michael," Morgan did the same.
"I know," Rossi said, smiling. "Your girl has attracted a lot of attention." He motioned towards Reid with the glass. Every female in here was a cross-dresser, it was a fact.
"I guess I got lucky," Morgan said, almost wistfully.
Rossi picked up on it. "Then you'd better make sure you keep yourself lucky," he said, and Morgan stared at him.
"I don't think I'm allowed to," he said finally.
Rossi shook his head, "You can. Whether or not you do it is up to you and no one else."
Morgan fell silent.
Rossi allowed the silence to continue for a while, but there was a small beep, and Morgan looked up. "Is it time?" Rossi nodded, and Morgan allowed his hand to fly to his pocket, where a sharp slip hid a gun, small enough to be considered compact and light enough to carry without too much effort.
"Angel," he called out, and Reid acted.
Morgan knew how quickly these things went, logically anyways. There was a rush of movement in the room and people rushed in, covered protectively by Kevlar vests and guns in their arms. A lot of it was necessary, which was the frightening part.
Reid held out a gun before him –and where the hell had he been hiding it in that flimsy thing he called a dress?— pointed straight at Pallid. He looked far less fragile with a gun in his hand. Far more intimidating. The other occupants of the room were staring at him with complete terror.
There were the usual screams piercing through the air, and then the man was taken down, Morgan cuffing him brutally.
"You aren't ever going to touch him again, got it," he growled into his ear, before pulling him up and throwing him towards the other cops.
The unsub, Pallid, had been caught before killing again. At any other time, Morgan would have considered that a victory, because he had saved a countless number of lives, and at least one man would be paying justice for his deeds. But, this time, it was different.
This man, this slimy little bastard, had touched Reid.
There was another hand on his arm, this time smaller, and with a lighter touch, and Reid was looking at him, concern clear in his shining eyes. "Morgan?" he asked softly, but his voice was like the voice Morgan was used to hearing, not feminine, but Reid.
He almost snapped at him, for what, he didn't know, but he stopped himself either way.
"Morgan," Reid repeated, louder this time, and then Reid's hands were on his, and pulling him away.
Rossi was saying something to Hotch, and Emily and JJ were sharing conspirational winks with Reid, and Morgan wanted to say something, but he wasn't able to, because Reid was still looking up at him like that, and he saw the edge of a pink tongue, the glistening of white teeth-
Morgan closed his eyes.
"Come on," Reid said, "I'll take you back to the hotel." Morgan nodded, allowing Reid to lead him this time. The ride was, for some reason, too long, too filled –with what, he still didn't know— and Morgan was stumbling into the room too soon.
Reid had been quiet the whole time, even when the cab driver ogled at him, when the receptionist's eyes widened, when everyone took notice of the two of them, he didn't take note of them.
Morgan looked up at Reid's face. It was startlingly expressive. It was flushed red, meaning that Reid was either embarrassed or nervous or frustrated. His eyes were shifting, which meant he was thinking hard or trying not think about something. His hands were clenching and unclenching, which specified that it was thinking that he was doing, if he was forgetting, he would be more relaxed. He was shaking his head too, almost unconsciously, as though his mind was restricting his thinking.
"Reid." He didn't have a reason for saying the name, besides filling the silence. Reid looked up immediately, and Morgan guessed that he didn't like the tension any more than he did.
And then he saw Reid, like he always did, a nervous genius male whom he had, Morgan knew, liked. A lot.
"Why," Reid hesitated, "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I think," Morgan said, ignoring the voice in the head that was warning him that this was his co-worker, that this was his friend, that this was Reid, "I like you."
Reid frowned, "Well, of course you do Morgan, you're my friend."
He said it so matter-of-factly that Morgan almost laughed, except there was nothing funny about the growing hardness in his pants, the rush of his blood, the flow of his thoughts. "No, Spencer," he shook his head, "I've, God, I think I'm falling for you, man."
That had not been anything like what Reid was expecting, and his eyes widened in, an expression Morgan interpreted to be I did not hear you right so could you please repeat that, and his mouth dropped open, just enough for Morgan to see his tongue, again –too many times through the evening with him doing nothing about it. Reid snapped his mouth shut as Morgan's gaze fixated on it.
"Morg- Derek," Reid used his first name instead. "I know that work has been stressful, and that we don't have much time for ourselves these days, but I am definitely not a woman," Reid stated firmly, his brows burrowing. "And, unfortunately, I'm not going to sleep with you because you need a woman now-"
Morgan stopped him before he could rattle on about how Morgan didn't really want this because he knew what he wanted, and he wanted Reid, and he wasn't going to let the younger man's idiocy stop him from getting it. He stepped forward, and Reid flushed, but he didn't move back or away from him.
"Spencer, trust me when I say I know what I want, and it isn't a girl," he said. Reid's eyes widened in shock, but he stayed still, which was something Morgan took as a good sign –as long as he wasn't running, anyways. There were no mixed signals, and there wasn't any confusion, and Morgan was moving closer, and Reid was so close that if Morgan moved just slightly forward they would be touching-
"Derek," Reid's voice was squeaky. "What are you doing?"
Morgan smirked, "Getting my man." And he pulled Reid closer towards him with one swift movement of his arms around Reid and their bodies pressed together, and he was kissing Reid, hard and hungry.
Reid tasted exactly like Morgan had expected and nothing like it all at the same time. There was something sweet, like strawberry Jello, which Morgan didn't even like if not for the fact the hospital gave nothing better, and then a bitterness that was the wine they had drank earlier, and something else –richer and fuller and better— that was pure Reid, with all his flavor and spice. Morgan could tell, though, with the sharp angles of his body pressing into Reid's, and the hard muscle of their thighs, blocked by thin layers of cloth, and Morgan let out a feral growl, pressing his tongue in to Reid's mouth, sweeping across the edges of his teeth and the wetness of his tongue-
"Derek," Reid burst out, pushing him away. Morgan was surprised by the movement, his hands moving out to stabilize himself before he fell out of instinct more than anything. "Listen, I know that you're-" Reid broke off, apparently he didn't know what Morgan was, or he couldn't bring himself to say it. "I look good in a dress, I'll admit it, but that doesn't give you the right to just-"
Being kissed senseless robbed Reid of his ability to form coherent sentences.
"Spencer," Morgan said, raising his hands, about to defend himself and his actions. He paused suddenly when he realized what Reid had said –Derek, not Morgan. Which meant that Reid didn't completely mind what he had just done, wasn't about to kill him where he stood.
"Derek, I'm sorry but-" Morgan didn't think he'd ever heard Reid not finish his sentence before this, at least not without someone telling him to shut up.
"Spencer," Morgan said again, "I'm not after you because you're dressed up as a girl. Granted, it did wake me up to the fact that," Morgan paused, wondering how to phrase it delicately then giving up. "Fuck, you looked hot and I just realized it, okay? So, while it might have started this thing," he flung a hand between them, "What I just did was not because you're a girl."
Reid was blushing, mouth opening and shutting without actually saying anything. "Well, either way, Derek, we work together. This is entirely inappropriate and it would affect our work lives and we really shouldn't risk damaging our careers because we worked extremely hard to earn our positions and-"
"Spencer, Spencer, Spencer," Morgan said, "Calm down."
"-to do anything about it would be completely ridiculous and I'm quite sure it's the hormones, testosterone, and you've never been homosexual before this so for it to happen now would be impossible since it's defined at birth, with brain hormone events occurring before birth affecting our future sexual orientation and changing it once you're old is a biological impossibility-"
"Spencer," Morgan tried, since Reid was growing highly nervous, talking too quickly and eyes darting towards the door too often.
"-since differences in gender, being male or female, is far more complex than the average layman realizes, what with recent studies finding that bisexuals, and homosexual men and homosexual women have different hormonal levels than the average heterosexual and also have different physical characteristics-"
"Spencer," Morgan snapped finally, because Reid had to run out of oxygen at some point in time. "Calm down for God's sake." Reid blinked thrice, moving back now, stepping furiously until his back hit the wall, and Morgan moved back, hands in the air. "I'm not going to do anything you don't want."
"Of course you're not," Reid said automatically, "I wouldn't let you."
Morgan smiled, Reid wouldn't, he knew that the man was strong, he wouldn't even consider being in a relationship that he wanted no part of. "So, did you let me kiss you?" Reid frowned. "It's not a trick question, I just want to know if you were completely against my kissing you."
Reid's eyes fluttered shut, and Morgan smirked. That was an answer if there ever was one.
"You know," Morgan said, leaning into Reid, hands forming a barrier around him. "You really do make a pretty girl."
"Garcia said it was the cheekbones," Reid muttered, unsure of what to say.
Morgan lifted his hand, and then stroked the aforementioned cheekbone with a finger. "White." Reid was, growing paler with the touch, with a shade of pink covering his skin. "Good bone structure," he commented, almost casually, and Reid would have commented on the structure of the human body or something, and he moved his finger lower, running them across one lip. "Good lips too."
Reid's mouth fell open, and the finger fell into his mouth.
Morgan watched, enraptured, while Reid's eyes widened even more, if that was possible. There was cautious movement, and Morgan felt a wetness touch his skin, tasting it. Reid must have spotted the flare of desire in him, because he licked the finger again, taking it whole within his mouth before sucking it. His cheeks were hollowing as he sucked heavily, taking in the whole of Morgan's finger. As though realizing what he was doing, he moved his head back, and the finger slipped out.
Morgan watched Reid. Reid watched Morgan. The contest went on for a while longer before Morgan smiled, slowly. "You sucked me."
Reid blushed, as Morgan knew he would have. "You don't have to make it sound so… crude." He turned his head away, "It was only a finger." As though that was better than any other part of Morgan's anatomy. Frankly, Morgan liked Reid's mouth anywhere on him, finger or lower. "I- Did- You liked it?"
Reid looked at him almost cautiously, and Morgan took in the innocence –fuck, he'd probably never been fucked— and his eyes and his dress and he was moving forward again, ignoring Reid's surprised expression, the slight gasp-
Morgan grabbed Reid and pulled him into another kiss, marking his territory and carefully reconnoitering the entire area. Reid moved a little –not exactly a struggle, but not complete acceptance either— and Morgan pushed down the thin strap of his dress. Reid made a soft sound, not particularly telling of whether he wanted this.
Morgan moved back, less than an inch. "Haven't you been taught not to talk when your mouth is full?" He moved back in eagerly, a mess of teeth and tongue that was more messy than Morgan would have liked it, but Reid was finally moving, so he wasn't going to complain now; wasn't going to complain ever. Reid made another sound, a cross between a protest and encouragement, so Morgan didn't further his movements. "You want this?" If Reid didn't say no now he didn't think he could listen to reason later.
Reid watched him, blood smeared on the edge of his bruised lip, hair a mess, dress in the process of being torn off him, price be damned. "You-" Reid cleared his throat. "You should remove your suit. The department cannot afford to pay for repairs that were not part of the case-"
"Spencer, you're the hottest guy I've ever seen, I don't think they'll blame me for ripping off these clothes," Morgan said, forcing his hands to his sides so that he wouldn't touch Reid.
"Well," if Reid was wearing his glasses he would have toyed with them now. As it was, he was running a hand through that hair, and he was still wearing that damned ring.
"Spencer, I swear, if you don't give me an answer now," Morgan growled out, leaving the last part unsaid. He thought it spoke for itself.
"Oh," Reid frowned, "I thought I already had. Yes."
"Yes, of course-" Reid was going to get annoyed with being cut off soon, but Morgan was beyond the point of actually caring.
"Fuck, Spence," he pressed his lips against Reid's, gluing them together with saliva and blood, with his tongue probing those closed lips and forcing them open. Reid allowed the movement, returning it with a nudge of his own tongue against Morgan's, and his hands were around Morgan, his legs tangling with Morgan's, awkward movements prevented by the length of his dress. "Bed."
He moved backwards, half carrying the other man –no easy feat, since Spencer wasn't as light as he looked— before dropping them both onto the bed, Reid straddling him by the waist.
Reid's dress was already partially off, so Morgan flipped them around quickly, looking down at Reid against the bed, and pulled down the straps of the dress without further accord. He kissed Reid again, and Reid felt good –obedient and demanding all at once, skin hot, tongue insistent, hips pressing upwards— with him. He wrapped his hands around Reid, meeting his bare back again. "Gods, you're hot," Morgan murmured, licking at Reid's earlobe and nibbling it.
The dress was pulled off, leaving Reid bare from the waist up. Reid was flustered, hands moving nervously across himself. Morgan didn't allow him time to be self-conscious, he moved down from his ear, leaving kisses against the length of his face, biting gently because it never failed to provoke a gasp from Reid, before moving to his neck. He bit as his collarbone, sucking heavily, licking at the soreness left behind when Reid let out a soft moan. He moved to Reid's Adam Apple, and took it into his mouth when Reid whimpered, and Morgan's cock was throbbing and he pressed himself against Reid again, almost desperately.
Reid's hands moved for the first time, desperately fiddling with the buttons of his jacket. Morgan smirked, the genius lost all coordination when he was thinking and when he was about to be fucked. The former he had known, the later he had always wanted to find out.
He took off the buttons gently, soothing Reid's fingers. "Careful, expensive suit, right?"
"Thought you didn't care," Reid said, gasping as Morgan finally took off the jacket. He took off the shirt himself, the buttons easier to pull off since he'd calmed –since Morgan wasn't touching him. He parted the light fabric, pulling it off Morgan's body and carefully flinging it towards his own bed. He ran fingers over Morgan's abs, "You're- er, well built."
"We'll work on the compliments, Pretty Boy," Morgan said, moving down to meet Reid's lips, they were addictive.
"My English is perfect, I've read the updated version of the dictionary every-" Reid moaned as Morgan licked along his neck, "Year."
"Wonderful," Morgan said dryly, moving lower. He wanted to see this genius silenced by him, unable to make any sound besides screaming his name, asking for him. He moved his head lower, sliding down Reid's body, then captured the man's nipple in his mouth.
Reid's reaction was wonderful. He jerked upwards, almost convulsively, and he pressed his cock against Morgan's thigh, head falling back, all that hair splayed across the white mattress like some angel against his sheets and he moaned, "Derek." Reid's nipple hardened in his mouth, and he played with it, teeth and tongue moving around it in a pattern.
"Perfect," he murmured, moving off.
"More perfect when you were down," Reid said, eyes half-closed.
Morgan smirked, "Bossy."
"Just a suggestion," Reid corrected, almost regaining his official attitude when Morgan took the other nipple between his teeth, and Reid's fingers were on his back and on his head, pressing in everywhere because he needed to touch somewhere. Morgan looked up, grinning slightly, and Reid pushed him back down.
"Definitely bossy," he confirmed, licking the nub with the tip of his tongue. Reid groaned again, and Morgan pulled away, mainly to annoy him, but also because he felt the need to kiss Reid –again and again and forever, if Reid allowed him— so he moved up.
"Bossy means inclined to domineer, and I don't do that, I simply advise you to-" Morgan kissed Reid, gently this time, a brush of his lip against the other's. He knew Reid would be annoyed with this method of silencing, but it was annoyance lost quickly, and Morgan was almost immediately forgiven, so it was effective as well.
"Bos-sy," Morgan said against his lips, licking at the bruise.
"Derek," Reid said, frowning, "Would you get back down there? The dress is becoming increasingly uncomfortable," he said.
"Not even a please," Morgan teased. Reid rolled his eyes, and Morgan continued, "You were so realistically female in the outfit I'm surprised you don't have real breasts." Reid slapped him on the back of her head, although not painfully, and he kissed Reid again, before moving downwards quickly. Out of reach from Reid's hand was an impossible position until he got rid of the dress.
He tugged it down, then frowned. "It's not coming off," he complained. "Why the hell is this thing not coming off?"
"Oh," Reid said, tugging him upwards. "There's this zipper in the side-"
Morgan's lips thinned. "Gods, this is why people wear pants-"
"Which you still have on, by the way," Reid noted.
"Wait," Morgan said, fiddling around with the side of the gown. He stopped with an exasperated sigh. "Where the hell is it?" He gave up, and stuck his hand up the bottom of the gown, ignoring the self-conscious squeak given by Reid.
"What are you doing?" he asked, slapping the hand away.
"Trying to find the damn zipper." He was finding a lot else besides the zipper, an expanse of smooth skin surrounded by sheer material of the stockings that covered Reid's legs. He carefully did not touch it too much, feeling the side of the dress instead. "Found it," he said, pulling it down.
Reid wiggled, and the dress slid down his skin, whether it was because of the softness of his skin or the softness of his dress he couldn't guess, he guessed it was the skin. He watched as Reid's hips move, and then placed his hand on either side of them, purely because he liked the contrast of his skin against Reid's. Liked seeing the differences and the similarities because he never had before, and he might never after, so he would take it where he could.
Reid stilled at once.
"If I pressed down now, do you think it would leave marks?"
The question was sincere. Well, not completely, since he knew, if he pressed down hard enough, it would. His touch was that hard and Reid's skin was that pale. Reid nodded in answer. But he didn't comment any further, didn't move away from the touch. Morgan looked at the skin for a while longer before he moved away.
He looked down. "You're wearing panties."
Reid blushed. "That was only because the girls insisted that it would get me into the mood."
"The mood for being female?" Morgan's brow rose, part amusement and part disbelief. Reid made to pull them down, and Morgan pushed his hands away. "Allow me, baby," he said, and tucked two fingers behind the silk knickers –silk, on Reid— and pulled them down slowly.
Reid's cock sprung out, curving with its tip dripping with precome. It was an angry red, glistening, and hit Reid's belly when it was let out. "Derek," Reid moaned out.
Morgan looked up. "I could return the sucking favor," he suggested, mouth turned upwards in a cheeky grin.
Reid blushed, but he shook his head firmly. "I, well, I would rather you, you know."
Morgan's brow rose again, he knew what Reid was trying to get at it, but he wasn't going to say anything. "Well? What do you want me to do?" he asked, taunting Reid, moving up and looking straight down, directly into the blond man's eyes. Definitely more than just brown.
"You know what I mean."
"I still want to hear you say it."
Reid's face was turning an unhealthy red. "Well, could you start by taking off your pants?"
Morgan grinned, then moved off the bed and stood on the floor. He took off his pants, and Reid's mouth dropped open enough for Morgan to feel sufficiently pleased with himself, and fingered his boxer briefs. "Want to help me with this?" he offered, because Reid was staring at him as if he wanted to touch, but Reid would never do it without asking first.
Reid nodded, and then moved forward, crawling on all fours. Morgan bit his lip, trying not to thrust his hips forward, so close his lips were –indecently so, and if Morgan did something, then Reid was completely to blame, licking his lips like he was doing, and eyes so innocent. Reid's hands moved forward, fingers brushing against the skin at Morgan's hip, and Morgan knew his lip was bleeding, could taste the bitter tang of blood in his mouth.
He was hesitant, fingers moving slowly before they grasped the top of the boxer briefs, and Reid looked up, staring at his face carefully, before he pulled them off.
Morgan was careful not to move, letting Reid take control for a change.
He noticed belatedly that Reid was still wearing the stockings.
Reid moved up on his knees and kissed him gently. Then he moved lower, peppering his chest with small kisses and bites, nothing that hurt, careful to keep it soft the whole time. Morgan pushed him back, before lying on the bed, Reid leaning over him. Reid moved down, blond hair brushing against sensitive skin, and gave small licks down to his navel, spending more time there.
"Fuck, Spencer," Morgan groaned, arching up as Reid's mouth hovered over his cock.
"Now?" Reid asked, lips red.
Morgan pulled him up and kissed him hard. "You sure about this, k- Spencer?" It would be weird to call Reid 'kid' now, it would make him feel like the very person he hated. Spencer deserved more than that. Spencer deserved more than him, actually, but he wouldn't give up the best thing to happen to him in a long time.
Reid nodded. "Definite, Derek. And, er- you don't need to use a condom, I'm clean."
Morgan blinked, not what he had expected to hear. "You're a virgin?" he asked, because he needed confirmation.
Reid coughed uncomfortably, "Well, yes, is that a problem?"
He would have laughed if Reid hadn't looked so sincerely concerned. "No, it won't. But, I am going to need-"
Reid moved, hand reaching out into the drawer. "Here," he stuffed the small box of lotion into Morgan's hand before rolling off next to him. "Hurry up, would you?" he asked impatiently.
Morgan did laugh this time, rolling so that he was on top of Reid. He covered his fingers with lotion, laying the box within reach, and moved to a more comfortable position atop Reid. "Are you sur-"
"Morgan, if you ask me one more time," Reid said warningly.
Morgan kissed him, before he moved his hand down. He hadn't done this before, so he wasn't quite sure about exactly what he was doing, but the tip of his fingers brushed against Reid's hole and-
He pushed his finger into Reid slowly, feeling Reid still underneath him. His breath hitched as the word escaped Reid, because he'd never heard Reid swear before. It was hot. His finger moved deeper into the ring of muscle, nothing like he had felt with any woman before. "Say it again," he ordered, moving his finger deeper, to the side. Reid would definitely need preparation before he fucked him, a lot of it by the feel of it. Reid wasn't speaking, so he repeated the order, moving right next to Reid's ear. "Again."
Reid stuttered, but he obeyed. "F- Fuck." He squirmed slightly, "More."
"Is it painful?" Morgan asked.
Reid nodded, "A little, but, I'll get used to it. I've- I've read about it." His breath hitched, and Morgan grinned. How like Reid to read about the details of homosexual sex before he had it. Morgan frowned suddenly.
"Why? Why'd you read about it?" Reid tended to read about things that no one cared about, like the geothermal properties of cotton or something.
Reid smiled. "I was curious."
"Why?" Morgan persisted.
"Why the questions?" Reid countered, and he pushed himself down on Morgan's finger, head thrown back, and Morgan forgot about the question.
Morgan moved his finger about, before adding another. Reid drew in a sharp breath, and Morgan saw the frown on the man's face and almost stopped, but Reid nodded for him to continue. He moved his fingers, slowly, so as not to hurt him, and moved them back in. Reid's eyelashes fluttered, resting on pale cheeks, his chest already marred by small bruises that Morgan had caused, not that the genius was complaining. He would probably start on a rant about the need of ownership, also shown in packs of wolves in Africa or something.
He pulled out, covering his cock with the lotion, a mixture of sudden cold, then a gradually returning heat, with a tingling sensation that spread through his body. "Feels good," he told Reid, who looked at him with the most curious of expressions.
Reid smiled. "You look pleased."
"Going to like it better inside of you," Morgan said, kissing the man, biting at his lower lip and pulling back. "If it hurts, tell me." Reid nodded, understanding the importance of being honest about this if nothing else. Morgan settled himself between Reid's still silk clad thighs, then nudged himself in.
Reid moved his legs, wrapping them around Morgan's waist until he felt them pressing against his back, willing him to push in. "Do it," he said, both an order and a request. '
"Spencer," he groaned, because he was in, less than an inch, but surrounding by the heat of Spencer, pressing into him from all sides, and he was moving down, kissing Reid harshly, and Reid was moaning and groaning into his mouth, loud and wanting. Morgan felt the muscles in his body and back tense from having to move slowly –and he was going to, no matter how much it hurt— but Reid wasn't helping, moving up with his down.
"Derek, G- God," Reid moved up, and Morgan moved down a bit more with each thrust, his body slick with sweat against Reid.
"Just me," Morgan managed to get out, moving more steadily, the two of them achieving a sort of rhythm, smooth thrusts against Reid's body. He moved out, before plunging back in, hard against Reid, and the other man screamed, head hitting the bed painfully, a look of wanton need etched on his face.
"Always you," Reid said, panting, crying out pleas and head moving off the bed even as he tried to get more of Morgan in. Morgan's hands were pressing painfully into Reid's hips, and they were going to leave marks that he would be renewing over and over and over if Reid let him, and his balls were hitting Reid's ass and Morgan bent down and took Reid's mouth in a desperate kiss.
Reid's hands were everywhere at once, and Morgan cried out, desperate and broken, even as Reid's feet pressed into his back painfully. Reid's mouth was opening against his, inviting and needy all at once, and Morgan thrust his tongue into Reid's mouth at the same pace as his hips and Reid was moaning into him-
Morgan reached down and grabbed the throbbing flesh between their bodies, wrapping his fingers around it, and Reid bit down on his tongue, ass clenching around him so Morgan couldn't move even if he wanted to –he would have stayed there forever, that heat and tightness and Reid completely— and Morgan let out a loud howl into Reid's mouth.
"Derek," Reid screamed, and he was arching off the bed, back not touching it at all, his legs clutching at Morgan's body like a lifeline, and Morgan watched his eyes tighten shut and mouth open in a scream that never escaped him because Morgan had covered his mouth with his own again, and Reid was coming. Long, hard pulses that Morgan felt under his fingers, and a look of utter ecstasy on his face, and Morgan thrust only once more before his sacs tightened and his breath faltered.
He let out a scream, primal and animalistic, and he was deep in Reid, kissing him and in him and around him all at the same time, and his muscles were liquid and vision turning multi colored, and Morgan slumped onto Reid after a final movement.
Reid's legs detached from his body, falling onto the bed, and Morgan rolled off him, gasping as the tremors of the aftermath shook his body.
Morgan moved, his head burrowing into Reid's shoulder, because he couldn't move further if he wanted to.
He would rather stay.
"So," he said.
"So." Reid wasn't talking much for a change.
"When we do this again," Morgan said confidently, "You get to top."
Reid was smiling. He could sense it. "So, there's going to be an again?"
"If you want there to be," Morgan said carefully.
Reid moved, wrapping his body around Morgan's in a cuddle of sorts. "I'd like that, but without the dress."
Morgan laughed, "I don't know, I think I've gotten attached to the dress."
"Shut up." And he kissed him.