A Friend in Need

A Friend in Need

Feelings are not supposed to be logical. Dangerous is the man who has rationalized his emotions. ~ David Borenstein

“Seriously, how do you do it, Sugar Lips?” Garcia asked, stretching her short and stubby legs to match Morgan’s long stride. “How do you manage to look so freaking hot every minute of every day?”

“Baby Doll, when you got it, you got it,” Morgan said with an easy laugh. It had been a tough case, another deranged serial killer put away, but another set of memories to invade and shatter his sleep. Images of bodies drained of blood, the squish of a gore soaked carpet, and the smell of death lingered- even now.

Garcia laughed and pulled her keys from her purse and stopped in front of a Cadillac. Normally, a car like this would strike one as dull and perhaps a little stodgy, but this impressive Cadillac had Garcia written all over it; a hot orange exterior, sleek white leather seats and big fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view made it all hers.

Reid watched them through the bar’s window for a moment before turning back to his drink: a rum and coke. Beads of sweat ran down the sides of the glass leaving snail trails of moisture on the outside of the glass. Stretching out one long, thin finger, Reid traced the droplet’s path. Maybe if he hunched over a bit more, curled up into himself no one would notice him.

“Reid, are you alright?” Derek Morgan asked, almost startling Reid off his precarious perch on the bar stool. Reid had watched Morgan walk Garcia to her car, but somehow he had lost a few minutes; he didn’t even realize Morgan had re-entered the bar, definitely not good for an FBI profiler to miss.

“I, uh… fine. I’m fine,” Reid stuttered, attempting to glare at Morgan, but failing miserably.

“No you’re not. You don’t drink, and you look like shit warmed over,” Morgan said, sliding onto the barstool next to Reid.

Reid turned away, embarrassed and angry. Embarrassed that Morgan could read him as well as he could; that even with his attempt to keep a neutral face and control his speech, Morgan knew. He knew.

“How would you know if I drink or not? It’s not like you hang out with me after work or anything. You’re out with your women,” Reid spat, not daring to let himself look at Morgan.

The soft sound of jazz music and the murmur of the other patrons of the bar filled the silence between them. Reid counted to ten just to prove to himself that he could control himself and not react to Morgan’s baiting.

Finally, Reid looked around at Morgan. “And I do not look like excrement warmed over,” he said loftily, a slight drunken slur tainting his words.

Morgan grinned, his dark brown eyes lighting up. “You never change, even when you’re mad as hell at me.” He laid a hand on Reid’s forearm, his fingers softly caressing the nappy wool of Reid’s sweater.

The touch of his hand smoldered through the material, burning an imprint of Morgan’s hand on Reid’s skin. “What are you doing?” Reid asked, his eyes flickering up between Morgan’s eyes and down to his hand on Reid’s arm.

Morgan ignored the question and gestured at the glasses lined up precisely in front of Reid. Three dead soldiers waiting to be taken away.

Reid snorted, picked up his drink and swirled the ice before taking a long drink. He ran his tongue over his lips before putting the glass back on the napkin, precisely on the water ring marking where the glass had sat. “Leave me alone.”

Morgan leaned in so that if anyone had happened to glance at them, it would look like nothing more than an old friend telling another a secret. “I’m not letting you drive home like that,” Morgan said softly.

Reid jerked back, his lip curling in a disgusted grimace. “Fine. I’ll get a cab.” He waved his hand as if to dismiss Morgan and picked up his drink again.

“I’m not letting you take a cab either. I’m driving you home,” Morgan said, his tone soft, yet authoritative.

“Well, yes sir, Mister Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan,” Reid said with a mock salute with his half-empty glass. “I’ll go with you when I’m finished here and I’m not finished until I have at least three more drinks.”

“You’ll finish that one and then we’re leaving,” Morgan said. Reid was not quite drunk and definitely not sober so it was better to get him out of the bar before he got too tipsy. That skinny body surely couldn’t hold liquor like a more muscular man.

“Seventy-two percent of all drinkers know when to quit, and thirty-five percent prefer rum and coke,” Reid said before tipping his glass back and downing the rest of his drink.

Morgan chuckled. “Come on, pretty boy, let’s get out of here. Hotch is going to have another case for us tomorrow and you know how he is about being late.”

“Like it matters. I’m useless to the team.”

There it was, out in the open now. Reid was giving in to his insecurities. It was true he was the youngest and probably physically the weakest of the team, but he had a mind like a steel trap; once it got a hold of a fact or a detail it didn’t let go until it made order of it.

“You know that’s not true,” Morgan said soothingly.

“It is. I can’t even qualify to carry a weapon without Hotch tutoring me,” Reid said, his voice cracking. He sat the glass down and rubbed his eye sockets with the heels of his hands. Reid knew deep in his gut that it didn’t matter that he couldn’t carry a gun. Gideon had said that one didn’t need a gun to kill a man; a profile and knowing the unsub was more deadly than any weapon. But those were just Gideon’s words and just because he said them didn’t make them true.

“Hey… hey,” Morgan said softly, his hand tightening slightly on Reid’s forearm. “You did good that night; you saved Hotch and a lot of innocent people in the hospital that night. As far as the team is concerned, you’re qualified to carry a weapon.” Morgan shifted slightly to make sure that Reid would have to look at him when he took his hands from his eyes.

Reid slowly removed his hands; his intelligent blue eyes glistened with barely hidden tears. “It doesn’t matter really; the team would be better off without me.”

Morgan shook his head slowly from side to side. Reid was too absorbed in his own doubt and pain and nothing he said would make Reid believe otherwise. “Reid… Spencer, come on, let’s get out of here. This is not going to solve anything.”

Reid nodded dumbly and jerked his arm free from Morgan’s grasp. He slid from the barstool, almost stumbling as his loafer-clad feet hit the floor. Morgan was there in an instant, steadying his team mate, his friend. This was not like Reid who was usually so in control, so precise, so orderly in his thoughts.

“I’m all right, really, but you’re probably right, I need a ride home. Eighty seven percent of accidents that involve individuals who aren’t used to drinking are usually fatal. I don’t want to be the cause of someone else’s death or my own,” Reid said with the smallest of grins.

“You actually made a joke,” Morgan said, openly smiling at his friend. He had tried in the past to get past the façade that Reid hid behind. He wanted to know how this brilliant young man thought; how his mind worked. It was fascinating to watch him in action, reeling off facts and putting the pieces of the unsub’s puzzle together to help the team solve the case.

“Well, I must be drunk then,” Reid said, starting toward the door. Morgan followed, allowing Reid to have some control in this. He had given up a little bit of his shell that he hid behind when he finally agreed to allow Morgan to convince him to leave the bar.

The cool night air hit them like a sledge hammer when they walked outside. The bar had been warm and noisy and this change in environment was completely opposite. As they walked away from the cheerful neon-lit bar, the darkness enveloped them like a friend’s hug. The crisp night air made every sound unusually loud.

Reid stopped and Morgan almost ran smack into him.

“I don’t know what kind of car you drive,” Reid said sheepishly, shrugging.

“Black GMC Yukon, right over there,” Morgan said pointing to a shiny black vehicle, its chrome gleaming in the flickering streetlight.

Reid nodded and started walking toward the SUV. Morgan hit the unlock button on his key fob, and followed Reid. The men got in the vehicle and Morgan started it up. The engine caught with a manly roar and Morgan shifted into reverse, easily backing out of the tight parking space.

With the car pointed forward now, Morgan realized that he didn’t know where Reid lived. In fact, he realized that he really didn’t know where any of the team lived. It was like they vanished into some sort of limbo only to come alive again when they were all together and they were being briefed on a case.

“Where to?” Morgan asked, feeling just a little bit ashamed that he didn’t know. Again, the team did value its privacy and its time away from the job.

“Woodbridge, Glen Arbor, Apartments,” Reid mumbled, his head lolling back on the seat.

“That dive? Spence, you could get a house if you wanted,” Morgan remarked idly. He turned left onto the ramp to Route 1, settling back into his seat for the fifteen minute drive. “You could be building equity instead of paying good money for that place.”

“Listen to you,” Reid mumbled, his eyes fighting to stay open, “I just need somewhere to sleep and sometimes eat; doesn’t really matter if it’s nice or not.”

Morgan didn’t reply, but his hands tightened on the wheel. This wasn’t the self-assured Spencer Reid he knew; this man was lost in a pit of self-disgust. This was the peril of being a profiler – it was too easy to read people, to figure out what they were thinking; to empathize with them.

The road wove gently through the night and Morgan chanced a glance over at Reid. He was sleeping, his lips parted slightly and the tiniest trace of drool at the corner of his mouth; his longish brown hair flopped messily over his cheek. He looked so innocent, so peaceful, so unconflicted.

Morgan gripped the steering wheel tighter. It was not his place to comfort this man, this innocent boy-man. The urge to push the messy sheave of hair out of Reid’s face, to brush his finger across the dark circles under his eyes or to stop the car and just hold him until the pain that ate at his heart and soul had dissipated, was not his right.

The interstate wound through the gentle hills and into the night and the exit to Woodbridge came and went and Morgan drove on. He couldn’t take Reid home because he truly didn’t know where home was and to leave him alone when he was this vulnerable and confused was not the act of a friend, and Morgan was Reid’s friend.

Morgan drove on into the night, the hum of the tires against the road, the soft scent of green growing things coming in through the vents, and the steady rhythm of vanishing street lights, calmed the turmoil and allowed him to formulate a plan, or at least something that felt right to him.

Three more exits came and went and finally Morgan turned off the interstate. Dark strip malls and closed stores dotted the way until Morgan made a left into his subdivision. It wasn’t anything fancy or elegant, but it was home. Two rights and one more left landed him on his street and into his driveway. He shut off his car. He should have thought through this a little more; what would Reid say to waking up in Morgan’s home? But, it was too late now to do anything else. He was tired and Reid was out like a light.

Morgan slipped out of the car and closed the door as silently as he could. Reid was still sound asleep and now snoring softly. Morgan opened the front door and quieted Clooney, his dog. He turned on the hall light then took Clooney to the back door and let him out. Reid didn’t need a big old slobbering dog all over him right now.

Quickly, he grabbed a blanket from the hall closet and tossed it on the sofa in the living room. He could sleep there for the night and Reid could have his bed and in the morning, they could hash out and find an answer to what was eating Reid.

Morgan went back to the car and opened the door. Reid shifted slightly and mumbled something under his breath. He looked so young and fragile and dare Morgan think it, worn?

Without thinking, without worrying about the consequences, Morgan slid his arms under and around Reid and lifted, as one did a sleeping child. He was light for someone so tall. Shoving the car door shut with his hip, Morgan started toward the house with Reid.

Morgan laid Reid on his bed, watching as Reid curled into a ball. He slipped off Reid’s loafers and untied his tie, sliding it free from Reid’s collar. He almost chuckled when he pulled the comforter over the sleeping man. One wouldn’t describe Derek Morgan as maternal. Yet whatever had possessed him to take care of Reid and bring him to his house was something that made Morgan Morgan. It was the right thing to do.

Morgan walked quietly back to the living room and locked the front door. He needed a shower; he smelled of smoke and sweat and the faintest hint of alcohol. He pulled off his tee shirt, sighing as tight muscles stretched. It was good to be home, his one place against all the evil that his job brought to him.

Outside, Clooney barked, the sound echoing in the still night. Damn, he’d forgotten to check the batteries on the automatic dog door. It had been sticking and it was a wonder that Clooney hadn’t done something worse than lay on Morgan’s sofa.

Clooney bounded in and danced happily around Morgan. He couldn’t help but grin at the dog, but it was late and he needed a shower and sleep. Morgan sniffed his pit and decided that sleep came first tonight.

He glanced down the hallway toward his bedroom and flicked off the hall light. Morgan again wondered why he brought Reid home; the sofa was hell to sleep on, that is if he could sleep.

XXXXXXX

“No!... noooooo!” Reid screamed, sitting bolt upright in bed. He blinked and blinked again, not knowing where he was, and for the briefest moment he wondered if he was going to be a victim of some unsub.

“Reid?” Morgan asked uncertainly, flicking on the hall light. “What’s going on man?”

Reid pushed his hair out of his face, his fingers fluttering around his face like demented butterflies.

“Morgan? Where am I?” Reid asked, calming a little.

“My place, man. You feel asleep in my car and you were out. I just brought you here,” Morgan winced and wiped his sleepy eyes. “I didn’t think about you waking up in a strange place. Shit.”

“Oh, right. I’m fine.” Reid’s hands fluttered over the comforter, picking at the binding.

“What were you dreaming about? Didn’t sound good,” Morgan said, yawning.

“Northing, nothing,” Reid said quickly. “Go back to bed.”

“Can’t, you’re in it.”

Reid flushed and looked down.

“Listen, Reid… Spencer,” Morgan said quietly, moving and settling down on the edge of the bed. “What's wrong, man? You’re not yourself.”

Reid shook his head, and moved to get up.

“Sit down and talk to me, Spencer.” Morgan said authoritatively. “I am your friend, you know that?”

Reid nodded and after a minute looked up and met Morgan’s gaze.

“I don’t feel. I know it sounds stupid, but I don’t feel,” Reid said quickly. “I should go home.”

“No, it’s not stupid and you’re not going home. At least not yet. Have you talked to Gideon or Hotch about this?” Morgan asked and then shook his head. “Of course you haven’t. You haven’t talked to anyone, have you?”

“No-oo,” Reid said softly. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I need to get home. I appreciate your attempt to keep me safe since I was foolish enough to drink too much. It won’t…”

“Shut up, Reid,” Morgan interrupted, grabbing Reid by the arm. “At least shut up until I finish talking.”

Reid’s eyes widened, realizing at that moment that Morgan could stop him from leaving and that he didn’t really know where he was anyway. Morgan was much heavier and stronger than he and really, what did he know about Morgan anyway?

“Don’t look at me like that!” Morgan exclaimed. He released Reid’s arm, then patted it softly before leaning back on his arms. His casual attitude seemed to lessen the tension between the two men.

Reid sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Finally, he looked expectantly at Morgan and cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Reid, does this all have to do with your shooting the unsub at the hospital? Because if it is, you did your job man. You did your job. You have nothing to be upset about. He was scum and he would have killed you and Hotch just as soon as he would've blinked. You were nothing to him, man! Nothing!” Morgan exclaimed.

“I know I did my job,” Reid said in that oh-so-factual voice of his, “but, I killed a man. He was someone’s son or brother. Who am I to take a life? I’m not God.”

“You’re a man who did what he had to do to survive,” Morgan said softly, sitting up. He scooted a little closer to Reid.

“But… I should feel something! Happy that I shot him, miserable that I’ve taken a life, overjoyed that I’m alive… something. Morgan, I should feel something, but I feel nothing. Not a damn thing.”

Morgan smiled at Reid’s cursing. Maybe he had gotten through to the other man. Maybe he had cracked that hard shell that surrounding Reid.

“I … I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Am I losing it?” Reid asked miserably, blinking furiously to keep the tears from falling.

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Spence. Nothing at all. You’re finding out that sometimes it’s okay not to feel.”

Reid wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. He looked like a whipped puppy and felt like crap.

“Seriously, Spence,” Morgan said quietly, “it’s alright. You’ll feel what you need to when you need to.” Then Derek Morgan did something so unlike himself, so comforting that Reid nearly gasped. He tucked Reid’s hair behind his ear.

“What are you doing?” Reid whispered, afraid of what he was feeling, of what Morgan was doing. His eyes raked over Morgan’s dark muscular form, the swirling tattoos that covered his shoulder and arms. He’d seen Morgan without a shirt before, but not this close, and not so close that he could smell him; the tang of clean sweat, the slight taint of alcohol, and some essence that was uniquely Morgan.

“You know so much and yet you know so little,” Morgan murmured. “I see how you look at the world, how you look at the team members, how you look at me.”

“I look at everyone. I can’t help it, I’m a profiler, just like you,” Reid stammered quickly.

“Spencer…” Morgan said softly.

His dark chocolate eyes drew Reid in; he felt like he was drowning in a swirling pool of chocolate water. He wanted to climb out and yet he wanted to succumb and feel Morgan invade his every pore as he sank into those dark, hot depths.

Morgan’s lips brushed Reid’s oh so gently as to almost be an illusion, then they pressed harder, nudging Spencer’s apart. He met Morgan’s tongue, tasting him and tangling in an intimate embrace. He should push Morgan away, he should stop this, but his desire for the other man squelched that thought as quickly as it began. He felt Morgan… Derek put his brawny arm around his shoulder and he pressed his hands against Derek’s hard chest, feeling the excited racing of the other man’s heart. Morgan was hot and Reid lost himself in their kiss and he was burning.

It was if Spencer’s heart was going to burst from every feeling that was streaking through him, passion, fear, desire, nervousness and the longing for Morgan to consume him in every way.

Morgan tasted of heat and spice and he wanted to remember that taste, the feeling of his lips on his own, the strength of his body so he could play it over and over in his mind when the world was going to shit.

Yet, all good things slowly come to an end and panting, the men withdrew from each other.

Spencer quickly pulled his hands away from Morgan’s chest; he glanced down wondering if he had burned an imprint of his fingers on Morgan’s chest.

“Do you feel, Spence?” Derek whispered, his face still so close that if Spencer shifted just a bit he would be lost in him again.

Spencer couldn’t talk, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but dumbly shake his head from side to side. This was a dream… it had to be.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Derek said so softly before he leaned in to capture Spencer’s lips again.

Spencer felt himself falling, falling as Derek’s arms encircled him. It was a dream, nothing like this would ever happen in real life, yet he could feel the hard ridge of Derek’s erection pressed into his groin. Spencer groaned into Derek’s mouth and allowed his hands to slip away from the hard muscles he’d pressed against and to flutter like nervous moths over the other man’s torso, counting the well-defined ripples of his abs, flittering over the hard mounds of his ass.

It was too much and not enough and Spencer daringly slid his hands under Derek’s waistband. The silken skin was warm and inviting and he splayed his fingers over the hard muscles.

Derek was kissing his face, his neck, nuzzling under his ear and Spencer felt the ache of want deep down in his balls.

“Oh God,” Spencer moaned, his body arching under the onslaught of Derek’s touch. He felt his shirt being undone and Morgan peeled it off his shoulders. His mouth was hot on Spencer’s nipples. His soft mouth kissed and nuzzled Spencer’s chest and ribs, the stubble on Derek’s face scratched lightly as he moved across Spencer’s pale skin. Spencer Reid was dying, dying in the very best way.

Reid slid his hands around to the front of Derek’s waist and fumbled with the button of his jeans. He wanted to be close to him, to feel the heat and thickness of his cock against his own.

“Hang on there, pretty boy,” Morgan said, his eyes twinkling. Derek pulled out of Reid’s grasp and slowly undid his zipper. He winked at Spencer and shimmied his jeans and briefs down his body until he kicked them off to the land in a heap on the floor.

Reid sat up on his elbows, watching intently as Derek crawled toward him like a big black cat on the prowl. He licked his swollen lips in anticipation as his dark lover undid his belt and slowly pulled down the zipper to his khakis, making sure to run his fingers over Reid’s aching cock as he pulled the clothing down Spencer’s body.

Spencer closed his eyes, fighting not to come, knowing that Morgan was going to touch him there… and maybe even there and he was going to come and Morgan was going to laugh and he was going to die of embarrassment.

“Spencer… look at me,” Derek whispered.

Spencer cautiously opened his eyes, afraid to breathe, afraid that this was nothing but a wet dream.

“Do you feel?” Morgan asked, his hand warm on Spencer’s chest, holding him down.

“I feel your hand,” Spencer said matter-of-factly, feeling stupid and horny at the same time.

Derek flopped down beside Spencer, grinning, making him bounce a little. “Well, lover boy, you’re going to feel a lot more in a few minutes.”

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked nervously, but knowing that he would do whatever Derek wanted. He just hoped it didn’t hurt too much. He glanced down at Derek’s thick, long cock bobbing as shifted on the bed. It was a beautiful thing.

“I mean that I want to have sex with you, Spencer Reid. I want you to know that feelings come with time and that I want you to have another feeling to experience besides whatever pain you have locked inside,” Derek said gently before pulling Spencer on top of him.

“I…I… I’ve never done this before,” Spencer stammered. Morgan was hard and hot beneath him and he wondered if it would hurt when Derek entered him.

“Get between my legs and do what I do, little boy,” Morgan instructed.

Spencer knew he looked comical, his eyes wide open and the look of shock frozen on his face, but he did it anyway, He settled himself between Derek’s powerful legs and watched in astonishment as Derek slid a long finger into himself.

“You… you want me to do that?” Spencer asked, his voice cracking.

Derek smiled enticingly at him and took his right hand, outlining Spencer’s long fingers with his index finger. He nodded at Spencer.

Spencer Reid looked down at Derek’s hand, his finger still inside and carefully worked his finger in next to Derek’s finger.

Derek squirmed and exhaled in pleasure. “Another, Spencer,” he ordered.

Spencer added another finger, watching in anticipation as Derek groaned and bore down on his fingers.

“There’s lube and condoms in the night table, top drawer,” Derek rasped, reaching up and grasping a handful of sheets, before closing his eyes.

Spencer reached over and yanked the drawer open. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake before this was finished. He grabbed the tube of lube and flipped the top open and felt the slippery gel ooze over his fingers.

He slathered it over his cock then grabbed a condom, tearing the packaging with his teeth. Morgan took it from him and rolled it down the younger man’s erection. Morgan held out his hand for the lube and after Reid had squirted a gob of it in his hand, he watched breathlessly as Morgan smoothed it over the condom.

“Now, pretty boy,” Derek whispered, want and need and yearning all mixed up in a low rasp.

Spencer took a deep breath and lined himself up with Morgan’s entrance. He pressed in, breaching the loosened muscles.

Derek was hot and tight and writhing in front of him, his hands fisting in the comforter and sheets. Spencer waited, not wanting to hurt the other man but knowing that it had to be painful.

“Derek?” Spencer asked fearfully. What if Morgan ordered him to pull out?

“Stroke slowly, I like it that way,” Derek said, grabbing Spencer’s hand and circling his own throbbing cock with both their hands.

Nodding his head nervously, Spencer began to move, his thrusts gentle and uncertain, but the wondrous tightness and heat of Derek’s body made him forget to be careful, to be gentle and Spencer Reid began to fuck the willing body beneath him harder, making Derek gasp and cry out.

Spencer stroked Derek’s cock, feeling the precome wet the velvety smooth skin beneath his fingers. He felt the other man stiffen beneath him and Spencer gave a savage thrust and Derek came in a hot white burst across his hand and chest. He shifted and rode the other man’s orgasm out and the deep hot heat down in his balls exploded from Spencer and he filled the condom with his seed.

Derek pulled Spencer down into a passionate kiss that slowly evolved into a gentle, sweet kiss that left Spencer longing for more. Derek kissed Spencer’s eyes and then gathered him to his chest. Spencer couldn’t believe what had just happened, how good he felt, how warm and comfortable and relaxed he was. He laid his head on Derek’s broad chest and he drifted off to sleep.

ZZZZZZZ

The morning sun shone brightly through the window, streams of heat and light danced over the still form on the bed. Spencer stirred underneath the covers. He lifted a hand and brushed his messy hair from his sleepy eyes. He opened them, blinking at the light, then sat up abruptly. He stared in disbelief at his surroundings. His rumpled shirt hung from his khaki trousers and when he looked over the side of the bed, his favorite shoes sat on the floor, ready for him to put on.

“Oh, you’re awake!” Morgan said cheerfully, leaning on the doorway frame. “I hope you slept well because you have just enough time to take a shower. I found some sweats that were too tight on me that might fit you. I can run you by your apartment and you can dress for work.”

“Why am I here? I remember being at the bar and you told me you were going to drive me to my apartment…” Spencer’s voice trailed off.

“Well,” Morgan said sheepishly, “I wasn’t exactly sure where your apartment was and I thought you could just sleep here.

“Oh.”

“You weren’t yourself last night,” Morgan offered. “I was worried about you, princess.”

“I know… I just had some things to work out of my system,” Spencer replied.

“Good… good,” Morgan said turning. He turned back and examined Reid, his face a mask of puzzled concern. “How do you feel, Reid?” he finally asked.

Reid shrugged, his fingers fluttering over the edge of the comforter.

Morgan smiled and turned, walking with a slight hitch back toward the rest of the house.

Reid grinned as he watched Morgan’s retreating form. “I feel fine.”