Chapter Text

Chapter One

How It Came to This

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      Reid sat in the back of the small, old-fashioned pub and wrung his hands in an attempt to keep from flapping them with his nervous agitation as he waited for the arrival of his friend and co-worker. 

      Morgan had already texted him to say he was running a bit behind due to traffic, so it wasn't like Spencer had been left wondering whether or not his teammate had stood him up. Still, his nerves refused to accept that Morgan’s tardiness was anything but an indication of the other man’s reluctance to meet with him. After all the time it had taken for Spencer to finally work up the courage to ask for this meeting, every second he was left alone to ruminate upon all the things which had led to this insane plan of his felt like an eternity. 

      It honestly seemed like his whole life had been leading up to this moment in one way or another. The long-term gathering of small instances of information like so many unconnected puzzle pieces piling up in the corners of his mind until he’d suddenly come to the moment when the last peace had fallen into place. 

      With that final explosive epiphany, Reid had been able to see the obvious picture they painted and had made the momentous decision to embark upon the path laid out before him. Only, now that he had finally taken the steps to start the ball rolling as it were… he found his nerves were completely frazzled at the possibility that tonight it all might come to nothing.

      Tonight he intended to ask Derek Morgan to sleep with him, and there was a very real probability that Morgan was going to respond to him with a definitive ‘No’.

      So he wrung his hands and fidgeted to try and calm his racing mind. It wasn’t working terribly well, as his over-active brain seemed determined to review every little fact and example that had convinced him this was the right course of action to take despite the risks.

      Spencer Reid had spent most of his youth being called ‘gay’ by his bullies and acquaintances alike. Not terribly surprising; he’d certainly physically fit into the stereotypes. Undersized, too smart for his peers, socially awkward and secretive; the quality of ‘ other’ had clung to him like a burr. Labelling him as gay had simply been the shorthand used by his more immature schoolmates to define it.

      For his part, Spencer had just been largely confused by himself. 

      When he’d reached the age where his books told him to expect the arrival of certain physical and psychological changes with the onset of puberty he had been fully prepared for anything, or so he’d thought. Only, while he had indeed started to exhibit many of the predicted changes  -the slight increase in body hair, the unfortunate onset of an excessive amount of body odour, and the need to sleep much later of a morning- several key others had failed to make themselves known. Most notably, certain purported urges had simply never manifested for him; be they in relation to girls or boys.

      Confused and no small amount uncomfortable with the absence, young twelve-year-old Spencer had gone looking for them in those early days. Girls were expected -‘normal’- so he’d focused his efforts there first. 

      He’d made a point of noticing the objectively pretty girls around him. He’d encouraged himself to daydream about them, imagining that he might impress one with a sleight of hand trick -he’d really been beginning to hone his magic repertoire- or help one in the library one day when they were stuck. Then in his daydreams, said girl, dazzled by his brilliance, might ask him to come over to study with her and they would sit in her room together reading and maybe she might reach out and take his hand into hers and…

      That was always where his daydreams seemed to run dry. 

      Kissing any of those imagined girls had simply seemed too strange and foreign an idea to him. Eventually, he realized he just didn't really want to kiss any of the pretty girls he noticed.

      He had then briefly attempted to replicate his thought experiments with handsome boys, though this had proven harder due to his lingering fear of the boys he considered the most conventionally attractive. He found it hard to separate the association he’d developed between good-looking popular boys and his worst bullies, and if he wasn’t careful there was very little between those daydreams and trauma-fueled nightmares. In the end, those few pleasant daydreams he managed around a male counterpart all ended up in much the same way they had with the girls. Simply sitting and talking, maybe going so far as to affectionately bump shoulders or offer a brief hug.

      It was all very platonic.

      With that, he’d realized that the potential of a friendship was the most exciting prospect for him. That he had simply been so lonely, the idea that he might befriend one of these beautiful people and that they would want to spend time with him had been the greatest part of his desire for them. But that didn’t make any sense according to his vast reading about the nature of puberty. 

      Simple platonic friendship was not what pubescent boys were supposed to be daydreaming about. 

      So Spencer had gone looking for answers.

      He’d combed through any number of studies on the subject of sexuality. It had left him largely frustrated by the lack of truly reputable ones or by the ill-defined nature of so many of the sexualities proposed by those who ran the studies that were reputable- or, well, at least not obviously flawed in their initial suppositions. In the end, the closest he’d found to something he felt comfortable with applying to himself, was to say he was somewhere in the vicinity of being a sex-positive asexual; not disgusted or repulsed by the thought of the sexual act but not really all that interested in participating in it with a partner of any gender, either. 

      Looking back on it all, from the lofty age of twenty-four, and knowing what he did now , he could recognize he’d jumped the gun at the time in his youthful impatience. In his hurry to find answers he’d failed to recognize he had both been a late bloomer regarding these things and that his lack of strong lasting social ties with anyone truly close to him meant he’d had next to no exposure to the types of people and relationships that he had now come to understand were where his true attraction lay.

      But that was now, back then all people had seen was what they wanted to see; a skinny, undersized, awkward teenager who didn't respond normally to the rare flirtation from the fairer sex and taken it all as proof positive that he was, in fact, gay. 

      The first time he’d really come to recognize that things may not have been as he had assumed was when he had met Lila and the encounter had left him as unsettled and confused as though he was a pre-teen starting high school all over again.

      Lila was the first person to have entered Spencer’s life with whom he’d recognized a strong, immediate chemistry with. She’d left his mind in a tumult, floundering to keep up as hither-fore-to dormant physiological responses had come surging to life without any by-your-leave whenever he was in the presence of the beautiful actress. For all that it was exciting, it was also confusing, and he’d not overly relished the way it had slowed his thinking, eroding his logic and clouding his judgement. 

      He’d thought his reluctance to allow anything to actually progress with her had simply come down to professionalism, not wanting to cross that line and get entangled with a victim… but as he thought back on it, even before they’d realized she was connected to the case it had been more than mere nerves he felt when her conversation had turned flirtatious. He’d known for certain that it was to do with himself and not the job when she’d forced his hand and pulled him into the pool before kissing him.

      It had felt good, and he had kissed her back with all the hunger of a man who’d never eaten. It had most definitely woken something within him, but at the same time, he’d been left feeling oddly detached and uncomfortable in his skin afterwards.

      He’d puzzled over his reaction to that kiss for months. 

      He’d tried to explain the concept of ‘transference’ to Lila at the time, and upon further reflection, he’d come to the conclusion that a large portion of his own reaction may have been in response to her open hero-worship resulting from his being assigned as her security detail. What had confused him the most, however, was his mental/emotional response. He just couldn’t correlate his extremely invested and excited physical state with his oddly detached and uncomfortable emotional one upon sharing his first non-familial kiss; a kiss that by all rights should not have been as good as it was given the sum of Reid’s inexperience with the activity.

      Time had marched on and Reid had for the most part let thoughts of Lila and his first kiss fall to the wayside. He’d never taken her up on the offer to call her and the last time he’d let her cross his mind was when he’d heard she was supposed to have settled in with a co-star from one of her latest projects according to the gossip columns. Reid hoped it was true and that she was happy with her partner.

      His contemplation of Lila was interrupted by the waitress delivering his drink order, and he was drawn into another pivotal memory as he contemplated the rich amber hue of the brandy as he swirled it about in its snifter. This was the memory of the event which had truly started him down this particular path of self-realization, and toward this moment, if it came right down to it.

      Spencer did now as he’d done then and took a large swallow of his brandy.

      “Clearly I won that last round! You are compromising your impartial credibility here!” Reid’s eidetic memory allowed him to recall the sound of his scolding of Morgan perfectly as it echoed through time to him now, as clear as if he were a ghost watching it all play out again. 

      The team had decided to go out after closing a case, to take some time to decompress after the stress of hunting down a challenging unsub. Rather inevitably, Reid had found himself embroiled in a lively debate with Garcia, this time on the merits of the sociological impact of Classic Star Trek Vs Deep Space Nine, this had somehow turned into a drinking game which Morgan had been called in to officiate.

      As someone with next to no knowledge of either series, he'd been the perfect foil whom they each had to convince on the merits of their own opinions and every time one of them scored a winning point, the loser had to take a drink.

      Reid had had far too many drinks in his opinion, and after his second snifter of brandy had run dry, Spencer’s head was decidedly buzzy and he had felt the need to call their ‘impartial’ judge out for being biased in Penelope's favour.

      “Maybe, maybe…” Morgan had replied, flashing Spencer that dazzling smile of his before he leaned in close, “Or maybe I just wanna see you drunk enough to unbutton a bit and show off more skin, Pretty Boy.” he’d whispered with a wink.

      Reid had discovered the need to hide the sudden heat that had flooded his cheeks and the equally sudden flurry of butterflies filling his stomach that he was quite sure had nothing to do with the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. He’d been saved from the inevitable stuttering and stammering that surely would have comprised his response by a small flock of Morgan’s admirers, who’d chosen that moment to finally ask him to dance. Spencer should have been grateful for the rescue from such an awkwardly fraught situation.

      Should have been. 

      Instead, he’d been left feeling unreasonably irritated at their interference. 

      Flustered and confused -and no small bit drunk- Reid had done his best to ignore his irritation -and Morgan- for the rest of the night. 

      But that had marked the first time he’d begun to question his presumed asexuality. 

      That one mild flirt from his long-term friend had done what all Lila’s forwardness and kissing hadn't, it had managed to excite both Spencer’s body and his mind in equal measure with an all-consuming desire for more.

      It had been almost two months later, when they had yet again gone out as a team, that Spencer realized that his reaction to Morgan’s flirting had borne greater fruit than merely one night’s frustration.

      This time the venue had been less a club and more a sports bar. 

      Morgan had gotten engrossed in a game of pool with a couple of sharks while the rest of them had lined up to watch JJ eviscerate the local dart board kings. 

      JJ had been in a tight race with her main competitor, the spectators all tensely invested in the next round when suddenly, Morgan had come over to bid farewell to everyone, which had raised no few eyebrows amongst the whole team; Morgan was almost always the last of the group to call it a night. His ducking out first was a peculiarity that had, perhaps unduly, piqued Spencer’s interest and he may have made a point to watch the other agent as he went to the bar to settle his tab and then headed off toward the coat check. 

      When Spencer saw Morgan loiter there, clearly waiting for someone else to make their own excuses and join him, Reid had very nearly turned back to the dart game, satisfied with the answer to the small mystery. Only, he hadn't turned back right away. Instead, Spencer's eyes had lingered on his friend as they had grown accustomed to doing ever since that night at the club.

      So it was that Spencer was looking directly at him when Morgan's face lit up with that oh-so-charming smile of his, and the person he was directing it toward wasn’t a shapely little blond or a long-legged brunette beauty… but one of the pool sharks; a thin and darkly handsome man .

      Reid's world had slipped a little sideways then and, embarrassingly, he’d actually over-balanced on his bar stool when he saw Morgan’s hand swiftly sneaking below the tails of his companion's coat for a few brief seconds, just long enough to cop a feel, as the two men turned to leave.

      Spencer’s antics had thoroughly distracted his teammates and JJ’s opponent alike. Not only had he fouled her opponent's throw but no one but himself so much as glanced in Morgan's direction as he left the bar with his new acquaintance.

      Reid had been laughingly sent off to get a glass of water to ‘sober up some’ after that. Only he didn't go to the bar for the prescribed hydration, instead opting to hunt down the bathroom. There he splashed his face and leaned over the sink, as he tried to process all his chaotic thoughts and emotions. Seeing Morgan leave with his chosen companion had sent them swirling around in his brain in a wild torrent moving too fast for even his fast-thinking self to get a solid grip on any one of them. When he finally did manage to catch and hold onto one, he was unnerved to discover that the core of it wasn't that he was shocked at discovering his teammate and closest friend was apparently batting for both teams… it was the fact that he, Spencer Reid, was jealous of that unknown man who left with Derek Morgan’s hand on his ass.

      That moment had been a revelation on multiple fronts. 

      It was after that Reid had started to change the nature of the sort of adult entertainment he normally sought out on those rare -but growing more frequent- occasions he needed to find some release. He’d considered it an experiment at first, attempting to establish a baseline for himself. He’d been surprised to discover that he could indeed be aroused by the change in subject matter, finding much of it just as effective as any of the heterosexual or lesbian material he’d used in the past. Then he’d found a string of videos that had made an impression. Videos that had elicited reactions above and beyond anything he’d ever felt before when seeking out sexual release for himself… And they all had one thing in common.

      One or more of the participants would remind him of Derek Morgan.

      It was nothing set in stone, and it was often small things that garnered the comparison. In some cases, the men would have similar looks. Sometimes it was more about how they spoke or sounded. In one particularly surprising instance, it was as small a thing as how the man had held himself as he moved. Whatever the cause, inevitably they all drew his mind back to his co-worker and friend. The correlation between Spencer's increased level of enjoyment with his finding a commonality between the actors and models with Agent Morgan had been no small amount of mortifying when he’d identified it.

      In the end, however, he’d had no choice but to admit to himself that he had somehow developed a sizable crush on a teammate. And to make matters worse, now that he’d learned neither Morgan nor himself was strictly straight, he’d started to hyper-fixate on the potential of something happening.

      Which was completely ridiculous of course.

      He knew Morgan called him ‘Pretty Boy’ often, but that was just his way of poking fun; not any sort of indication of actual attraction.  The smooth-talking agent complimented and flattered everyone he spoke with, it was a part of his charm. 

      Reid had heard others refer to him as handsome and good-looking on occasion, it was true; nevertheless, he questioned the sincerity of it more often than not. He was too skinny and awkward to balance out those features he possessed which people were supposedly drawn to. 

      His attractiveness lined up more with the sad puppy archetype that people were supposed to want to take home and care for. Not only was that clearly not anywhere on Morgan’s radar when it came to those he sought out as partners, but Spencer himself rather hated it when people attempted to coddle him in his day-to-day life.

      Point was: wanting something to happen with Morgan was a fruitless waste of energy and Reid had done his best to ignore the warm well of emotion in his chest whenever Morgan complimented him or dropped a wink or flashed him that smile of his. 

      That only held up for so long. When it got really bad he decided to attempt to take things into his own hands and forcibly redirect his focus.

      Unfortunately, his one and only visit to a gay bar had been a notably horrid experience.

      Without his team present for him to use as a touchstone in his periphery, Spencer’s shyness had been bordering on crippling and it was a testament to his determination he hadn’t simply turned tail and run the moment he’d stepped inside. It was a good deal louder than any of the clubs or bars he’d been to with the group before and he was feeling overwhelmed and overstimulated within a minute of the doors being opened for him. 

      Regardless, he bore down and tried to work his way through it, fingers rattling against his leg and lip caught in a painful grip between his teeth as he struggled to get a hold of his anxiety.

      On the one hand, his being as agitated as he was seriously put a hamper on his ability to even consider attempting something like flirting. It did garner him several free drinks, however, as his apparent distress was palatable enough to attract the attention of a triad of good-looking friendly men who declared that it was their responsibility as old club veterans to look after the ‘Baby Gay’ as they’d called him. 

      They were very friendly and also very respectful of his unease; and after a time, Spencer had allowed himself to be drawn in a little closer to their group. One of the three was a broad-shouldered black man who maybe didn't have Morgan's painfully good looks but exhibited the same kind of playful teasing mixed with that easy awareness of when to slow down and speak softly… which was a talent in and of itself amidst the pounding music.

      Spencer had liked him, had allowed himself to be coaxed onto the dancefloor by him… 

      Then it had all gone wrong.

      All around him there had been swaying rocking bodies and the smell of musk and sex and cologne so thick it did more to make his head spin than drinking had ever done. It was overwhelming yet heady and Spencer was decidedly aroused right up until the moment he felt hands on his hips. 

      That was all. 

      A gentle grip on his hips. 

      Not even anything so forward as grinding, and yet, Spencer had quite suddenly felt nearly physically ill at the idea of letting this perfectly attractive and gentlemanly stranger touch him at all. 

      And so, with barely an apology, he had straight up fled.

      Fled the dance floor, the bar, the quarter. 

      He’d not stopped until he was on the metro and well on his way back to his lonely little apartment. Thinking back on it still made him cringe.

      Needless to say, that had been the end of his solo-gaybar adventures.

      It had been worth it in one respect though; it had made one aspect of his attraction to Morgan very clear to Spencer. If it had been purely a physical thing then, the man at the bar? He'd have made a perfectly acceptable substitute for Morgan, yet he hadn’t. In fact, Spencer had been very nearly repulsed by the feeling of being touched by the handsome stranger and that had made him realize the key to his attraction toward his co-worker. Yes, it was true that his friend Derek Morgan was indeed an attractive man, however, Reid himself was attracted to Morgan not because he was good-looking, but because Morgan was his friend.

      The realization that he wasn't asexual, but in fact, demi sexual had been eye-opening.

      Eye-opening enough for Spencer to properly compartmentalize his feelings. To allow him to focus on his job first and foremost. For a time it had been enough. Spencer went on with his work and his life… right up until the former had nearly ended the latter.

      “Earth to Reid!” Spencer jumped as he came back to the moment and finally noticed Morgan had arrived, got himself a drink and made his way across the whole bar while Spencer had simply sat staring into his brandy as if it held the answers to all his troubles. 

      “Oh, Morgan, Hey. Sorry I was just-”

      “Thinking. I could tell, So, what’s up man? What did you need to talk to me about that demanded meeting over drinks vs office coffee? I hope it’s not about work; not when we finally have a weekend to enjoy away from it.”

      Spencer swallowed, suddenly finding it very hard to meet those dark, melting brown eyes as he broke out in a nervous sweat all over, his mind scrambling to find the best way to phrase this.

      In one way this sort of was about work… if you squinted at it just right.

      Randal Garner with his delusions of being the Fisher King had been a rough case for the whole team and they had none of them walked away without learning something more about themselves. Spencer in particular, however, had learned a very great deal about himself over the course of the investigation. The most prominent of which was just how fragile his mortality was along with just how very dangerous their chosen occupation could be. It had taught him that he cared deeply, and while it was a frightening fact to face, his narrow escape had made it clear to him that he was willing even in the face of that danger to continue to lay his life on the line in order to save those he could.

      However, he’d also learned there was one thing he wasn’t willing to risk for it.

      Spencer stared at his hands, felt his knee begin to bounce without his permission and decided there was really only one way to do this.

      “Mor-” No, too formal, “ Derek… Would you sleep with me?”

      “Come again?” Morgan said, smile freezing on his face at his apparent incomprehension.

      Spencer tried to speak a little louder to be sure Morgan wouldn’t ask him to repeat himself a third time. “Would you sleep with me?” he squeaked, voice cracking with his uncertainty.

      “Oh! I get it!” Morgan said, face and eyes lighting up with one of his truly genuine grins. “This is hypothetical, right?  Like would I find you attractive enough to take to bed, yeah? Phrasing, my man! You gotta watch how you phrase things like that!”

      “No.” Reid said, swallowing when his voice shook and he shoved back against the urge to chicken out and simply let Morgan run with his assumption, taking another steadying sip of his drink to bolster his nerve.

      “No? No what? I don’t follow Pretty boy. You’re making even less sense than usual tonight Reid.” Derek admonished with a nervous chuckle, his dark eyes showing more white around the edges than was normal. A classic precursor to the flight or fight response in nearly all mammals, and one that implied Morgan did in fact follow, and simply didn’t want to accept what he was hearing. Not the best sign for this endeavour.

      “No, that's not what I meant,” Reid persisted, though it took nearly all of his courage to do so. 

      “Not what you…”

      “This isn’t a hypothetical question, I meant it, exactly as I said it.”  Spencer clarified as Morgan still seemed to be struggling to come to grips with his request.

      “Exactly as you… Wait. You… Reid, are you actually asking me to have sex with you right now?” The shocked incredulity, bordering on horror, on Derek’s face made Spencer’s gut sink. 

      “I don’t see why you’re struggling so much with this. It's a relatively straightforward proposal. I’m asking you to have sex with me, not guest lecture at Georgetown.” Spencer grumbled, his tone perhaps a bit sharp with his impatience, though he found he was still unable to look up and meet those stunned -and stunning- brown eyes. Nevertheless, he put his metaphorical head down and charged forward anyway, despite his growing misgivings. For as cliché as it may be, Spencer Reid had realized one life-altering truth in the face of Randal Garner’s bomb.

      He may be willing to die for this work, but he wasn't willing to die a virgin.