Hotch frowned as he checked his watch again. If Reid didn't hurry up, the party would be over before he even got there. He knocked on the bathroom door. "Reid, you need to finish up. We still have to wire you before we leave." Silence. Hotch sighed and knocked again, a little louder this time. "Reid? Did you hear me?"

"Uh, yes." Spencer's voice was faint and uncertain through the door. "I'm just not so sure that this is a good idea. Wouldn't be better to send someone else who'd be more comfortable? Maybe Prentiss or Morgan?"

Hotch massaged the bridge of his nose and fumbled in his pocket for an aspirin. All he managed to find was a tic tac, but he popped it in his mouth and tried to convince himself that the artificial mint was enough to sooth his budding headache. "They don't fit the victimology. The unsub goes after white males. You know that."

"Why not you, then? You're a white male." Hotch leaned back against the wall opposite the bathroom and reminded himself that the kid was just nervous.

"I'm too old, Reid," he said patiently.

"No, you're not!" Reid's reply was fast, almost automatic, and Hotch raised an eyebrow at the soft sputter that followed it. He cleared his throat and said, "I mean, just because it's a party for models doesn't mean that there won't be people your age there. And it's not like you're, um, unattractive. I, uh, I think you're very attractive. You could probably, you know, pass as a retired model or something."

Hotch blinked slowly at the door. "I meant for the unsub. Stop acting like you didn't help write the profile. It has to be you. Now would you come out already?"

There was a rustle from behind the door and the handle jiggled like there was a hand resting on it. "Promise you won't laugh?"

"I promise," he said. Hotch knew that Reid had some self image issues, but this was just getting ridiculous. He'd sent Garcia, JJ, and Prentiss to pick out clothes for Reid, and, regardless of how wacky Garcia's personal style could get, he knew that none of them would have chosen something that would look bad on the young man. "I'm sure you look fine. Will you please come out?"

The door opened slowly and Reid sidled out with a sheepish look on his face. He tugged self consciously on the hem of his tight t-shirt, which immediately rode up again to expose a sliver of skin above the snug, dark wash jeans that were slung low on his narrow hips. The dark blue of his shirt made his fair skin glow and it's v-neck made his long neck almost sinfully tempting. Reid nervously ran his hand through his hair, which had been slicked back, making his large doe eyes look almost startlingly wide and pretty.

He looked young and naive and sensual and completely fuckable.

Hotch inhaled sharply, coughing when he accidentally sucked down his tic tac, and Reid bit his lower lip and touched his shoulder. "Hotch? Are you okay? Does it look that bad?"

Reid shifted uncomfortably, clearly ready to dart back into the bathroom, and Hotch shook his head quickly. "No! No," he croaked out. "You look...it's fine. It'll do fine."

Reid frowned like he didn't quite believe him, but nodded slowly. "Alright. So, conference room for the wire, right?"

"Yeah," Hotch said vaguely, gesturing for Reid to go in front of him down the hall to the conference room. He swallowed thickly when he noticed the amazing things the tight jeans were doing to Reid's ass.

Maybe it would be better if he let Dave handle taping the wires to Reid's smooth, soft, bare skin...Hotch coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. Yeah, that would probably be for the best.

Thank you for reading! Feedback is overwhelmingly appreciated.

This was originally written for a kinkmeme over on LJ. The prompt was "There's a severe shortage of Model!Reid in this fandom. Either old photos turn up (how else did he support himself and his crazy mother?) or Undercover!Reid now make someone feel all tingly in a new and unexpected way. I pretty much always prefer Hotch/Reid or Morgan/Reid."

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