A/N: Oh, boy. What to say about this one... This is a story about an ongoing dream Morgan has which is intertwined with his reality. Warning: The dream sequence will contain a fairly graphic sex scene and, also, Spencer's under age in it. Just to be clear, the dream part is super AU (as dreams tend to be) and our boys are no doubt out of character. If you make it to the end, you'll find them back in their normal BAU world, and future chapters (if this is worth continuing) will go back and forth between the two worlds.
I'm purposely being non-specific about the dream time period, but I'd say it's late 1890's.
Hope you like it.
Seds
"People think dreams aren't real just because they aren't made of matter, of particles. Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes."
—Neil Gaiman
It was a late summer afternoon. The air was warm and thick in the town of Camden, Virginia, several miles outside of Monroe.
In honor of the good luck he'd had at poker the night before, Derek Morgan was sporting the sharp new suit he'd bought with his winnings. It had rained earlier, and as he sauntered along the cobblestone street toward his hotel room, he raised his eyes to the darkened sky, and in spite of the gloomy weather, a slight smile played across his face. He had money in his pocket and a train ticket to New York City.
He felt good. Things were looking up; he'd be back in civilization in no time.
The boy was loitering by a food cart.
He watched the dark-skinned man approach; his gaze lingered as he passed. Oh, he was handsome—a tall man, making long strides with a confident step, muscles flexing under his perfectly tailored attire. Rich brown skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat that begged to be licked away...
The boy considered for a moment, then scampered around a building and gained the advantage over Derek in the sparse afternoon crowd. He timed it so that he was walking a few paces in front of the well-dressed man. He carefully chose a large puddle and slapped his boot into it, sending a small shower of dirty water backward onto Derek's new trouser cuffs and freshly-shined shoes. Stunned, Derek stopped in his tracks and stared disbelievingly down at the mess.
"Aw, hell. Shit. Hey, now..." Surely it hadn't been a deliberate act, but... He looked up from the ugly droplets marring his gleaming shoe leather to the slight figure disappearing into an oncoming throng of people. Nah, he thought, that was ridiculous—just a careless kid. Oh, well, nothing a bit of laundering and a good buffing couldn't cure. But damn, what a pain in the ass, when all he wanted was a hot bath and a good meal. He irritably shook his head and picked up his stride again.
He hurried along the boulevard and became engrossed in thought. Suddenly, a now familiar figure materialized ahead of him. He didn't have time to notice another puddle nestled among the stones before a shower of muddy wetness splashed him below the knee. His eyes narrowed and his mouth curled into a snarl.
"Hey, youngster—you need to watch what you're doing!" This time he didn't stop to examine the damage, in fact, he sped up—and, either coincidentally or instinctively, the young man did too—and now Derek was fairly running to catch up to him. The lad was wearing a battered black top hat, a tailored green crushed-velvet jacket and pinstriped trousers. His hair flew out behind him in a tangle of honey-colored waves. When Derek finally overtook him, he clamped a large hand onto his shoulder and spun the boy around.
The kid looked shocked, his face full of bewildered, wide-eyed innocence. "Pardon, monsieur? Excusez-moi?"
"You got me wet there, kid." Derek pointed to the splashes on his legs, the droplets on his shoes. "You need to watch what you're doing."
"Non, non. It was not me. You are... crazy?" The boy spoke with a thick French accent and made a swirling gesture around one ear.
Derek pursed his lips. "I'm not the crazy one. Look, be on your way, but try not to be so careless, all right?"
The boy shrugged, and casually pulled a kerchief from his pocket. He squatted down and began "shining" Derek's shoes, much to his annoyance. He glanced around, embarrassed, and tried to pull away, but the boy had one ankle in a surprisingly strong grip, and Morgan grunted in consternation. "Hey! Hey, now, that's not necessary! Stop, just—leave me alone, will you?" He gave his foot a good yank and freed himself, then smoothed down his jacket in a vain attempt to regain his dignity.
The boy gazed up at him, concern awash in his huge, long-lashed brown eyes. He spread his hands apart appealingly. "I help. Is not good?"
"No, it's not good! Just—run along now, all right? Jeeze."
The boy gave him a look of profound hurt and betrayal, then slowly rose to his feet and turned away, head bowed, shoulders slumped. He trudged forward a few steps.
Then, he splashed a puddle back onto Derek.
"Hey! Damn it, boy!" Furious, Derek reached for him. Oh, if he got his hands on the skinny little bastard, he'd... "You need to be taught some manners!" The tips of his fingers skimmed the soft fabric of the boy's coat, but, at the last possible second the youth turned and easily skipped just out of reach, and damned if he wan't laughing. His eyes were lit with mischief and a most beautiful grin transformed his previously serious face, revealing gleaming white teeth surrounded by full, delicious-looking lips.
Now, Derek Morgan was a ladies' man. He was known in gambling houses up and down the Mississippi for his skill at unbuttoning a well-filled bodice and shimmying silky panties down over slim eagerly-parted legs, but it was a fact that, on occasion, he'd been inclined to take a bit of comfort in the arms of a certain sort of young man, as well.
But, no one, male or female, had ever struck him right in the crotch the way this boy did.
It was the smile that stilled Derek's steps, and the kid took the opportunity to skitter off, long gawky limbs seeming to move completely out of tandem with one another, but he was lightning-fast nonetheless. Derek went after him and after two more blocks, the boy stopped, dramatically supporting himself with his forehead buried in the crook of his arm against a building, gasping as if desperate for breath. Derek caught up to him, grasped him by the shoulder, whirled him around and pinned him to the wall. He raised a fist threateningly and looked into the boy's eyes.
"You goddamn little brat, I ought to—"
Those eyes widened in apparent terror, and he struggled frantically to twist out of Derek's grip, but the muscular man held him securely. Derek hissed, "Ease up, junior. I'm not going to hurt you. But, damn it, boy, you—"
You took my breath away.
The thought remained unexpressed as Derek sought to maintain a suitably menacing countenance while at the same time assuring the lad that he wasn't about to experience a deservedly sound thrashing.
The boy had been panting as if his lungs were ready to burst, but suddenly his breathing returned to normal and Derek stared into what two seconds ago he would have sworn were two immensely frightened eyes. Now, those eyes were not only laughing at him, but it felt as if they were penetrating his soul. Derek felt something come over him, something he had no name for. The boy took an exaggeratedly deep breath, straightened, and casually brushed some unseen lint off his lapel. Derek could hardly believe it when the boy asked, "Monsieur—you are hungry?"
"What?"
"Ah, oui, you are hungry. I know. Come—I take you to place with delicious food. C'est magnifique. It will be, how you say? My treat—to make up for mess." He tsk'ed disapprovingly and gestured at Derek's pants, then tugged at Derek's arm, obviously confident that his offer would be accepted. Derek found himself being pulled along.
"Oh. Well... Okay. But—why? Why did you—" Before he could finish his question, the boy scampered ahead, turned and motioned for Derek to follow him. A number of unsavory motives ran through Derek's mind—ambush, robbery, being lured into the hands of murderers hidden in wait—but somehow he didn't care. He followed like a goddamned Pied Piper as the boy led him down a dirt road to a clearing in the woods just outside of town to what appeared to be a gypsy camp. Food was cooking, and the aroma was intoxicatingly wonderful, reminding Derek of just how empty his stomach was.
Several brightly painted horse-drawn travel wagons were grouped in a circle. The boy led Derek to one and he opened a weather-beaten wooden door. Inside, tattered burgundy and gold velvet draperies and faded quilts were hung over windows and served as insulation on the walls. The boy smiled at Derek and shyly spread his hands wide apart. "Bienvenue—welcome to my home."
Derek looked around the small space. "You're a gypsy?"
The boy frowned for a moment, silently mouthing the apparently unfamiliar term. "Eh—'gypsy?'" (He pronounced it 'gzeep-zee.') Then, he brightened. "Ah, oui! Yes. I am gypsy. And... I bothered you because I like you. I like... the way you walk. Such a man. I like... Your mouth. Oui, votre bouche, monsieur, she is tres jolie..." He put his arms around Derek's neck and kissed his lips firmly. Stunned, Derek stood motionless for a moment then peered into the boy's eyes.
"You a whore, son?"
The boy's eyes widened, then turned dark. "Un prostitue? Mais, non... such a thing to say. Non! I like you, that is all." He turned away, wrapping his arms around himself, clearly wounded. Then he turned back. "If that is what you think of me, monsieur, perhaps you should go. I am sorry for your clothes. Je regrette. I will pay for the cleaning of them." He took a drawstring bag out of his pocket and pulled it open. He counted out some coins, then held them out to Derek, who sneered irritably at them.
"I don't want your money! I just—I don't get you, kid. What the hell do you want from me?"
The boy bit his lip. "I only want kiss. And, to give food." His hurt expression fell away and he brightened. "I bring?"
Derek took a deep breath, utterly discombobulated. The kid was so strange, but so damned appealing. And, he'd been promised food, and he was hungry, so...
"Well... All right. That would be nice."
The boy's smile widened, and he ran outside, returning with two tin plates piled high with chicken and potatoes in some kind of aromatic sauce, with a thick slice of fresh bread on top. He gave a plate to Derek, then they made a place for themselves on the floor and ate with their hands, sopping up the gravy with the bread.
"Stuff's hot!" Derek commented, mouth full.
"Hot? Oh, oui, yes. Gypsy food—the spice, she ignites the blood—to make one ready for love." The boy raised an eyebrow and gave a naughty grin that belied his age. Derek decided he'd better concentrate on his food, and not on how the boy's skin seemed to glow in the waning light, or how it looked like a sensuous act when his pink tongue came out to lick dripping gravy from his fingers.
After they finished, the boy took their plates and set them outside on the steps. He then pumped some water from a crock onto a cloth and knelt beside Derek. He took one of his hands in his and used the cloth to carefully clean Derek's fingers. He moved to Derek's other hand, then wiped his own. He dabbed at his mouth and then impulsively leaned over and licked a small speck of food from the corner of Derek's mouth and smiled. He didn't give Derek a chance to react before he kissed him again, his full lips lightly skimming Derek's spice-enflamed ones.
This time, Derek leaned into the kiss. The boy's mouth was warm and wet, with a cool little tongue that somehow slipped between his own lips to teasingly explore. It eased the burn, while at the same time hitting nerve endings that sent urgent messages down to Derek's cock. Derek slipped a hand around the boy's slim waist and pulled him closer—he wriggled into Derek's lap. He fit into all the hollow spaces, and he tasted sweet.
He trailed a finger over Derek's cheek, down to his neck and chest. "You wish to make love with me?" he asked hopefully. Derek looked at the boy's face. He looked so young, so achingly young.
"How old are you?" he whispered.
"Oh, I am not little boy." The kid shook his head emphatically and straddled Derek's lap, leaning back far enough that he could open the buttons of his trousers. He pushed the fabric down low so that Derek could see the curly blondish-brown thatch of hair impudently peeking out. He looked at Derek and pointed down at himself. "You see? I am man. Like you!" He laughed and Derek laughed, too.
"A man, huh? I don't think so. But, old enough, I guess. Okay, kid, let's... make love." Eagerly, fluidly, the boy stood up, then took Derek's wrists and pulled. Keeping one in his grip he led him to a heavy curtain strung up with rope and pushed it aside. Behind it was a bed with a fluffy feather mattress. He patted it, then pulled the curtain closed, making a tiny private room for them. The boy lit a small oil lamp that was fastened to the wall above the bed and it cast a warm yellow glow over the snug space. He began to take off his clothes, revealing a skinny, boyish body, then he turned to smile at Derek and gestured for him to strip too.
When the boy was naked, he pulled back the covers and crawled onto the mattress. Derek quickly joined him and took the boy in his arms. He smelled of spices, fresh sweat... and rain. They melted together, warm velvety skin snug against skin, safe under the covers. The boy wriggled against him, kissing him happily. He took Derek's swollen, pulsing cock in his hand, then pushed back the blanket to give it a closer examination. He gaped and gave a low whistle of admiration.
"Oh, monsieur, you are so big! Mon Dieu. Votre penis—il est enorme! Never have I seen such a one in all my life. And, the testicles—so heavy—like, how you say? Ostrich eggs. Oh, mais non, c'est imposible!" The boy was laughing with delight as he cupped and rolled them in his hand.
Derek laughed, too. He stroked the boy's bony back and admired his slender cock, a velvety, pink-tipped thing. It curved back, quivering, until the head almost touched the boy's flat little belly. Derek reached for it and squeezed; he enjoyed making him gasp as he rubbed his thumb in the already leaking slit. He looked at the youth's face, yearning evident in his luminous eyes.
"You're beautiful, kid."
The boy crawled on top of Derek, kissed his mouth, then slid lower, attending to his nipples, his belly, until he was on Derek's cock, licking, nipping. He suddenly looked up, his brow knit as though he were struggling with a particularly knotty problem. Derek frowned.
"What's wrong?"
"Oh, monsieur—I so wish to give you the—how you call it? Ah, yes, the 'blow job,' mais... j'ai peur qu'il n'ira pas." He shook his head sorrowfully.
"Huh? I don't understand..."
"Ah... " The boy swirled a finger around the thick girth of Derek's cock then pointed to his mouth with a comical expression of grave concern. He stage-whispered, "I think it not fit."
Derek burst out laughing and caressed the boy's delicate face. He took his chin in his hand and moved it from side to side, jokingly studying his wide mouth and full lips. "I don't know, kid, that pretty mouth looks like it was made for it. Why not give it a try, and let's see?"
Thus encouraged, the boy set to the task. He tentatively took the head past his lips, and slipped his tongue all around the velvety circumference, making Derek moan. He inched him in a little deeper, holding the base of the heavy member at an angle, then pulled back and gave it a skeptical look. Derek tangled his fingers into the boy's hair and gently guided him back down, and he gave it another try. This time, damned if he didn't take in all but a couple of inches down his throat. Morgan hummed appreciatively.
"That's the way, boy. Keep going. I don't think you're gonna have any problem whatsoever."
The boy moved his head back and plunged down again. He did that a few times, then concentrated on just sucking the first few inches and playing with his balls, but he stopped when Derek strained too hard, got too close.
"Non, s'il vous plait—you will come inside of me? Yes?"
Derek groaned. The thought of entering the boy made his balls feel as if they were going to explode. "Hell, yeah... got some oil or something?"
The boy wiggled over Derek, reached below the bed and brought out a small ceramic pot. He pulled out the cork and smeared a glob of some kind of slippery goo on Derek's cock. He spread it evenly over the thick length, smiling at the task. When Derek was well slicked up, the boy rolled over onto his stomach and parted his legs. He reached behind himself and used the remaining slick to coat his snug entrance. He looked over his shoulder, making sure that Derek was watching as he invitingly nudged a fingertip at the crinkled little hole, spreading it open ever so slightly.
"You can prepare me for the sex? Please, monsieur?"
Derek nodded, salivating. If the kid was worried that he wouldn't fit in his mouth, he ought to be terrified of having his dick go into his ass, but that sweet hole was plainly in need of a good fuck. He gently slid a finger into the boy. He briefly wondered if this was new to the kid, but the desperate, joyous thrusts against his hand told him otherwise. He gently, gently worked at the tightness, amazed at the slick heat, until he felt the boy give, open up, then he got on his knees, spread apart the creamy round cheeks and slid the head of his cock into the eager, pink little hole.
He heard the boy groan deeply, felt him spread his legs wider, raise his butt higher, welcoming him in while pushing back against Derek's first controlled thrust. "Oh, monsieur... So good. You, your manhood—so big, I think you split me in two, non? Please—to go further? How you say—all the way?"
"Yeah, baby—my pleasure." Derek slid in deeper, until his pubic bone was pressed firmly against the cushion of the boy's soft bottom, leaving him whimpering and whining, wordlessly pleading. Derek pulled back, then thrust in again, a little harder and deeper this time. He gave the boy a chance to get used to his girth being inside of him, then began fucking him in earnest. The boy moaned and murmured in French, then reached for Derek's hand, clutching it to him as if seeking comfort. Derek whispered, "You okay, kid?" and heard a broken, "Oui, oui. Si'l te plait, monsieur—baise-moi plus fort..."
"Huh? What? I don't understand that talk."
"Please, monsieur—the fucking—make it harder!"
That, Derek understood. He redoubled his efforts and thrust with deeper, harder strokes into the tender channel. Soon, the boy's entire body shuddered and seized; he cried out, "Mon Dieu!" and Derek felt proud, knowing he'd made him come.
Now, Derek could concentrate on his own pleasure, and he quickly lost himself to driving in and out of the snug velvety-slick passage, reveling in the heat of the boy's willingly-given body. He clutched the thin hips tightly, pulling and shifting him as he needed, as he desired, and the boy just moved with him, moaned and made soft noises, offering himself, loving it.
Derek's efforts soon rewarded him with sweet release, and he spurted thick ropes of come deep within the boy. He collapsed on top of him, letting the heat dissipate with his slowing heartbeat, and then he rolled off and pulled the youth around to face him. They wriggled into a twisted bundle, amazed, panting, smiling at each other. Derek gasped, "Tell me your name, kid."
"I am Spencer. And, you are?"
"Derek."
"Derek. De-rek." The kid said it with satisfaction, as if it were a coin he could hold in his hand. He burrowed into Derek with a sigh and before he knew it, the kid was sound asleep. Derek chuckled. He was warm, his skin soft, and his hair ruffled when Derek exhaled onto him. His gentle breathing was a rhythmic lullaby, and soon, Derek joined him in slumber.
Morgan stood in front of the BAU coffee machine, irritably trying to work a kink out of his neck as he waited for the pot to finish its brew cycle. Hell, he didn't know how much more coffee he could take without developing a case of the shakes, but he needed at least one more dose of caffeine to approximate being awake.
He hated nights like the one he'd just had; too much stress, not enough sleep. Even an extra long morning run hadn't helped to restore his energy; he felt wrung out, like he was moving through mud. Plus, the unrelenting glare of the overhead fluorescent lights made his eyeballs hurt, and he wondered what the hell he'd done to make his back ache like a son-of-a-bitch.
"Wow." Spencer Reid walked in and joined him, empty coffee cup in hand. "That's, what, like your third cup? You're getting to be as bad as I am."
Morgan huffed a bit, then tiredly exhaled. "I think I've still got a long way to go before I'm as bad about coffee as you are, but yeah." He shrugged. "Rough night."
"Oh? Who is she?" Reid grinned as he poured his cup full of the thick grog.
"Ha ha. Nothing like that. I just... Man, I had some weird dreams."
"Ah." Reid finished doctoring his coffee and turned to lean against the break room counter, blowing at his drink to cool it. "Work stuff?"
"No, not exactly. It was kind of... Old-timey. And, you were there."
Reid raised his eyebrows. "Me? Great. What happened, did I get shot with a musket gun?"
"No, no, you were... You kept pulling some stupid practical joke on me, and when I got mad, you offered me some food. And, you spoke French." Morgan sure as hell wasn't going to offer any further details, especially not about Reid's age in the dream and absolutely nothing about the sexy parts, but he was curious to see if Reid could shed some light on the symbology behind his dream.
Reid's brow was now knit in thought. "Well, that doesn't really sound like something I'd do—offering you food, I mean. If I actually managed to get your goat with a practical joke, I'd just enjoy the ride." Reid gave him an impish grin, then went back to thought mode. "So I spoke French in your dream? I do speak French, but I don't believe you've ever heard me do it. That's an intriguing aspect."
They both stood there mulling it over for a moment, and then Reid shrugged and turned to top off his cup. "Well, I've got to get back to work. If I have any insight into your dream, I'll let you know, but it sounds fairly run of the mill to me."
"Mm." Morgan watched him head toward the door, then asked, "Reid?"
He turned. "Yeah?"
"You ever dream about me?"
Reid eyed Morgan narrowly for a moment and then nodded. "Oh, yeah. All the time." Then, he slid one hand under his sweater vest and rapidly moved it up and down, simulating heart palpitations. "You're such a heartthrob, you know." He chuckled at his own humor and left.
Morgan frowned and shook his head. "Great," he thought. "Pretty Boy's got jokes, now." He downed the rest of his coffee and went back to his desk.
BTW, sorry about the fractured French. I only took 2 years in high school, which was a looong time ago, and they didn't teach us naughty phrases anyway, so I relied on Google translation. You're welcome to correct me, but I probably won't be inclined to go back and change it.