Author's Note: I'm still celebrating the fact that America finally fought up with Ireland, England, and freaking CANADA. Gay marriage is legal all around — and the world has never been a brighter place. Honestly, I'm kinda glad you can't see the psychotic grin on my face right now. Seriously, it'd make Heath Ledger cry.
. . . Anyhoo . . . On Facebook, it was the ever-earworming SpencerRemyLvr who suggested that, in honor of America joining the 50+ nations to embrace all love in all forms, our writing group come up with some particularly slashy things to celebrate. Literally as I was reading this, I was listening to some tunes, and this one Justin Beiber song came up . . . well, as they say, the rest is history. This is just an excuse for some schmoop, and the easiest way I know of to vent the elation I'm still channeling a week later. Oh, joy!
Just an exercise into writing something happy before I begin my next multi-chap. For some reason, writing Spencer Reid as a little kid is proving tres difficult lately . . . must be all the mountain air. Keep an eye out for that piece — but int eh meantime, enjoy the fluff.
Kudos: Uhm . . . many thank-yous to the wonderful, valiant people who've spent all this time fighting for equal rights, I suppose . . . And equally so to the Supreme Court, for finally listening.
Warning: No spoilers that I know of . . . except that my darling Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup AGAIN this year. *WHOOOOPS* Still buzzed on that win, too, I guess. Anyways, this is total AU, and a load of schmoop. That is all. Go forth, if you think you can stomach it.
Disclaimer: I own Criminal Minds as much as I do Drake & Josh! ( . . . so, uh . . . not at all, I guess . . . *groans*)
Flamers gonna flame, but just like my girl T-Swizzle, I'll shake it off. If you've got something to say, either way, the 'Review' button is right down there. *Points*
Do enjoy!
"I'd like to be everything that you want —
if I was your boyfriend.
I'd never let you go.
If I was your boyfriend."
— Justin Beiber, "If I Was Your Boyfriend"
"And that's been a great game so far, folks, with the Blackhawks ahead by a single shot, and one period in the game remaining. Who's taking home Lord Stanley's Cup this year? Find out in a moment, right after one of our lovely ladyHawks finds out a little something special of her own. Natasha, where are you?"
The camera panned in to center a plump, blushing blonde in a Crawford jersey glancing around and giggling incredibly nervously as a flannel-shirted man (presumably her significant other) bent down on one knee and grasped her hand, speaking words that the camera couldn't pick up over the din of the roaring crowd of hockey fans behind them.
Hundreds of miles away, wrapped under piles of warm woven blankets and fighting over the bowl of popcorn, Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan simultaneously made faces at the television — and though the synchronization couldn't have been more on-key, both of the men's expressions couldn't have been less alike.
While Derek grinned at the screen, his smile making his structured face look even more handsome, and entertained a few thoughts on the nature of the proposal, the genius next to him wrinkled his nose in an uncharacteristic sneer, curling his lush lips and frowning ever-so-slightly.
"Wow," both of them said simultaneously, breath whooshing out of them as the moment on the camera quickly turned from the intermission of the 2015 Stanley Cup to a Colgate commercial.
Briefly, The jingle played in the background, and the duo was left to their own musings as graphics flashed over the screen, lighting the living room around them in a pale value wash.
When the advertisement ended, Reid reached out his lanky arms, stretching, and turned to crack his jaw, finally catching sight of Morgan still staring vacantly at the TV, his expression unreadable.
Taking a moment to indulge in thoughts of how good the other man looked with his Blackhawks T-Shirt and 'apartment pants' — which were really just sweats, but the genius and grown wary of arguing about it — Reid was reluctant to break the calm, cheerful mood that permeated the place.
"Derek . . . " he tried, voice soft. Few people knew, but the agent beside hime startled almost as easily as Reid himself, and while both of them teased the other about the jumpiness, each took care to not deliberately frighten.
When Morgan continued to grin slightly at the television, Spencer cleared his throat — loudly — and spoke again. "Derek."
The man simply continued to stare.
Still receiving no answer, Reid snagged a handful of popcorn and pelted them at the other man's head. "Anyone up there?"
Finally, Morgan seemed to snap out of it, jerking back and shaking his head rapidly, blinking away his daze. Chocolatey-brown eyes turned to meet Reid's.
"What's up, Pretty Boy?"
Reid raised a single eyebrow at him. "Really? You're asking me that?"
Morgan frowned. "What?"
Exasperated, Reid sighed. "Derek, you were just completely in . . . what did you call it? La-la-world!"
The other man smiled. "La-la-land?"
"Oh, like it matters!" Reid threw up his hands in mock annoyance, his minute grin giving him away. "My point is that you weren't exactly focused on the present." He paused. "Do I even want to know where you went?"
Morgan quirked one side of his mouth up in amusement, trying not to openly laugh at his Pretty Boy. Reid always seemed so on top of things, so aware of every little thing going on in the world . . . and yet, he could be just adorably clueless and awkward sometimes. Especially when he was chomping at the bit to get a piece of information that, somehow, escaped him. The younger man was a delightful mess of contradictions, a mishmash of sharp calculation and widespread intelligence quartered by moments of social confusion and zany wit.
It had always delighted Derek.
"It wasn't really much," he said, shrugging as though the thoughts running through his head had been entirely insignificant — when, in fact, the opposite was true. At a disbelieving scoff from Reid, the older man somewhat tentatively continued. "I just . . . I was kinda thinkin' that that thing — on the hockey game, I mean — was sort of . . . well, cute, I guess . . ."
The look on Spencer's face was a curious mixture of delight and incredulity. "The proposal? You thought that it was . . . it was cute?" On the last word, a small giggle escaped from the genius's throat, and he tried, unsuccessfully, to cover it as a cough.
Morgan frowned. "What?"
"I just . . . I don't think I've ever heard you, of all people, use the word cute to describe anything." Reid was biting on his lower lip , barely keeping his smile from growing any more. "It's . . . it's weird."
"Pot calling the kettle black," Morgan shot back, tilting his head slightly. When Reid merely shrugged off the jibe, the other man leaned back on the couch, intertwining his fingers behind the back of his head. A moment passed in silence, before Reid snorted again.
"Cute?!"
And then, with an exaggerated huff, Morgan conceded. "Fine." He shook his head. "Whatever. It was a nice proposal, then. Sweet. I liked it."
"Really?" Reid mused, cocking his head at his fellow agent.
"Well . . . Yeah. Yeah, it was a great surprise. And way to make it memorable, doing it on the big screen at a game, like, showing all of the people watching how in love you are? Wouldn't any chick dig that?"
Reid shrugged. "I wouldn't know," he pointed out, tucking his long legs under him. "But, personally, I didn't care for it much. I thought it was kind of tacky — trying to boast to countless other people — strangers — that you're marrying someone they couldn't care less about, when something as sacred as an engagement should be shared intimately with the people you love the most, the important ones. A ring on your finger is more than enough evidence to any person looking that you're quite happy with whatever relationship you have. Why go and spend so much money to point it out to people who'll forget as soon as the nightly news comes on?"
Morgan whistled, blowing out a long breath. "You seem so cynical, kid."
"I'm not trying to be," Reid pursed his lips, concentrating, trying to voice his thoughts as accurately as possible. It was a challenge, discussing something so personal — no matter who he was with. "I guess it just . . . it seems so wrong. Like a violating of privacy, or as though the one proposing is trying to make a public claim of ownership. Relationships are intricate and private and built on a foundation of trust and respect. Pulling something like that seems cheap, impetuous, and superficial. Rude." He shrugged again, weary from the sudden outburst. Looking up, he suddenly noticed how Morgan's mouth was sightly agape. Embarrassment flooded his cheeks. "Sorry."
Derek blinked, shook his head a little, and, clearing his throat, took a moment to respond. "Nah, Reid . . . It's okay. I mean, you're entitled to your opinion."
The way he said it had Reid grimacing. "But you obviously don't agree."
"No," Derek shook his head. "It's not that, exactly. You're totally entitled to your opinion, same as I'm entitled to mine. I just happened to like it, is all. You don't have to."
A foreboding silence fell upon the two, and Reid shifted in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable with the void that he normally savored — even when with Derek Morgan.
"It's just . . . " he tried, voice cracking from nerves as Derek's head slammed around to meet his gaze. The man's eyes were sharp as glass, and just as clear, and Reid found himself having to think very carefully before he let more words spill from his lips. "I'm not saying the thought of the gesture wasn't rather charming — I get that it's supposed to be a celebratory moment, after all. But someone who gallivants around like that . . . What sort of boyfriend is he, for those actions? For that matter — what kind of husband will he make?"
Morgan, taking a brief moment to snort at the use of the word gallivant, now sat up slightly, curling a fist under his chin as he thought about Reid's proposition.
It was profiling on their down-time — something each of them took the mick out of the other for doing, but both did in equal measure. Though neither Derek nor Spencer wanted to allow it to be so, the fact was that their job took up more of their lives than just the hours they were getting paid for. It was a lifestyle, a passion — and as such, often wove its way into their sparse normal days.
"Well, I think you change once you're married to someone," the man posed, slowly exhaling as he lent voice to his thoughts. Reid chewed his inner cheek slightly, listening.
Moragn continued. "Like . . . the man you were, before you start dating someone — that's a play, a kind of rapport you build around with people to mesh with, like, a wide variety of them, and get to know lots of people. But once you, ya know, find the one, you're really more of yourself, who you are inside, and who you're supposed to be. You're whole."
"But that doesn't make a difference in this case," Reid insisted. "The man obviously knew he had the person with whom he wanted to grow old — and yet he still goes and does a childish thing like calling unwanted attention to someone on international television! He just . . . he seems like the kind of husband who'll be rash, and impatient, and driven by desire, rather than sense. I'm not sure that's the kind of person I'd want to marry."
Derek pursed his lips, biting back a retort. A difference in opinion, he reasoned inwardly, wasn't really something to start an argument over — not when it was his first chance in over two weeks to spend quality time with his Pretty Boy, and when the evening looked to be going so well.
He let out a long breath, and nodded once. "Point taken, kid. We'll have to agree to disagree over it, though."
Contented by the gesture, Reid lifted one half of his mouth in a minimal grin. "Agreed."
Silence fell between the two of them.
"So . . . " Reid started, only to end up staring at the print on the wall above Morgan's head. It was a copy of BLAH — one of Derek's personal favorite works, even if he couldn't remember the name of the painter.
Like so many things, it only served to make the older man more endearing to the genius.
Derek blinked at his lack of coherent sentence, glancing briefly above his head to see what Reid was staring at. He looked back down again, a small smile alight on his face, shaking his head slightly. It was common knowledge between the both of them just what the art-loving Spencer Reid thought of his collection — and it was, in all honesty, part of the reason he displayed it so proudly.
Reid was so cute when he was annoyed.
Suddenly, a thought occurred to Morgan.
"Hey, Pretty Boy," he started, waiting until Reid tore his eyes away from the blue collage above to meet his own before continuing. "I'm just curious — and I swear, I'm not trying to, like, freak you out or anything, but I was just wondering . . ." he took in a breath. "What kind of husband do you think I'd be? Like . . . in a marital situation, I mean?"
Reid's ip twitched. "How do you mean?"
Morgan tried not to let the younger man's obvious amusement at his discomfort get to him. "I don't know . . ." He gestured his hands in front of himself, as if hoping to pick the answer right from the air, flummoxed.
"If, say . . . you and I were married, what would I be like? Would I . . . be a jerk?"
"Moreso than you are now?" Reid ducked as a handful of greasy popcorn came flying at his face. "Hey!"
"You know what I meant, smart-ass. Would I be one of those guys you were just talking about — you know, driven by desire?"
"I believe that I also said something about being rash and impatient, too — if my memory serves," Reid smirked.
Derek huffed a small laugh, but the thoughtful expression never fully left his face. "Yeah . . . that, too. Like . . . would I be like that — do you think?"
"Honesty?" Reid asked, and Morgan nodded. "I think . . . I think you would be exactly like that."
" . . . Really."
Hearing the tone, Reid hurried to rectify the situation, hating to think that he might have in any way hurt the feelings of someone he cared about so very much.
"No, no, no, I didn't mean it in a bad way," he rushed out, the impulse to comfort making him stumble over his words. "I — I, I j-just meant that you would be very — spontaneous."
"Spontaneous," Derek repeated, seeing how the word tasted on his tongue. Reid gulped, now thoroughly flustered.
Why, oh why, could he not just do this one thing like a normal human being?
"What I was trying to say . . ." He paused, waiting for Derek to fully meet his eyes, "Is that — if you and I were married — you would do things just like that boyfriend on the television — but in a more romantic, less pedantic way. You would . . . you would make breakfast in bed anniversaries, take the day off of work, and leave roses lying all around the house. You would give up your coat to me on cold days, and always have coffee brewing in the morning. Write letters if we were separated by a case, and read the same books as I would, just so we'd always be able to have something to talk about, and . . . and . . ." He trailed off, only to realize that Morgan was staring at him with one of the goofiest looks he'd ever seen in his life. "What?"
"That's . . . that's really sweet, Reid. I can't even . . . I mean, it was . . ." Morgan coughed awkwardly into his hand. "Thanks, Spencer."
Reid smiled, relief in the breath he sighed out. "Anytime." Chewing his lip, it took him a moment to voice his next thought.
"Ahm," he started, almost losing his nerve when Derek's gaze never faltered. "I was actually wondering . . . what kind of husband do you think I'd make? Like, under the same . . . nuptial circumstances?"
Derek smiled. "You'd spoil me rotten. I mean, no cooking — cuz, no offense, kid, but you don't know the first thing about culinary artistry — but otherwise, I'd be the happiest husband in the world." Seeing his counterpart's raised eyebrow, Morgan easily continued, "You'd be, like, really quiet and soft — like water in a stream, always there and always moving, but in the smoothest possible way. Your love would be tender and unknowing, unasking of anything else or more. You'd . . . you'd sneak into my heart. You'd offer to help me do my paperwork at the office, on, like, those days when I was too tired to move. You'd read up on my sports teams, and go to all the games with me, just because it'd make me smile. You'd listen to me ramble, and go to the most hella unsafe flea markets and record stores just to find some jazz album I remembered from Lord-Knows-When. You'd teach me about things I never even knew of, and make me feel like I'm more of a whole person — more of who I'm supposed to be — just by sharing my time." When Morgan looked up, it was to see that the genius had angled his body so that he was closer to the other, lips trembling slightly as he looked on Derek with shining eyes.
"I . . . I don't even know what to say," Reid laughed slightly as he tugged his hand through his matted curls. "I never pegged you for such a . . . a . . . "
"Sap?" Derek supplied unhelpfully. Reid shot him a look.
"Romantic," he said pointedly, fingers running lightly over his boyfriend's shoulder, biting back the urge, as always, to grab more ahold of the man he'd loved so long. It was a never-ending cycle betwixt the two, a sort of pouch and pull that made both of them fall more and more for the other as the days — and weeks, and months, and eventually years — trickled by. The small things that had made them recognize their feelings in the first place, up until just a year ago when Derek had bent on one knee and told Spencer that he never wanted to feel any other way.
Even thinking about it, Spencer's eyes clouded up.
How had he, Spencer Allen Reid, gotten so incredibly lucky?
"And you're supposed to be the smart one?" Derek snorted, breaking the younger man's reverie in memory. Reid started slightly, jumping, before his fiancé grabbed his hand and looked at him with so much tenderness in his eyes that he instantly felt his blood pressure zero, and his insides felt like they were filling up with warm maple syrup.
How was it possible that one man could make him so excited and so calm at exactly the same time, with nothing but a flicker of his eyes?
"Kid . . ." Derek said slowly, pronouncing every word, always patient when it came to his Pretty Boy, "I love you more than any sports team or beer brand. I treasure you more than any memories, and cherish my time with you over anything else I could ever possibly do, or anyone I could possibly do it with. You're my center and my shadow, my insides and my out. I'm nothing without you, and everything with you. And I'll spend every day for the rest of an eternity proving that to you in any way I possibly can."
Reid blinked. "You already have."
For just a moment, the two of them stared into each other's eyes, leaning in closer and closer —
"Annnnnnnd, we're BAAAAAACK to the 2015 STAAAAAAANLEY CUP FINAAAAAALS!"
Both men nearly jumped out of their skins, the moment broken as both of them glared at the TV, muttering obscenities. Addmittedly, Derek's were the more profane of the two, but Spencer had some surprisingly colorful language in his own store that he saved for such wreaked occasions as this.
As the machine before them, mute to their indignant outrage, resumed its live feed from the game, Spencer glanced once more at Derek, a smile playing over his lips.
"Sounds like we'd make excellent husbands for each other," he grinned. "Maybe we should just get hitched?"
Derek caught his sidelong glance, and laughed out loud, clutching the younger's hand in his own. "We still have a week to go, Pretty Boy. Don't be so impatient. Two more bachelor parties, one rehearsal dinner, a nice ceremony and reception, and then . . . " it didn't seem possible, but his grin grew even wider. "It'll be nothing but the sweet life of Dr. and Mr. Reid."
Even thinking the thought of their ever-approaching wedding had both men lighting up like BLAH. Reid snuggled in closer to his longtime lover, taking solace and comfort in the warm, firm body that fit so perfectly next to his own.
"I'm still glad you just went the more traditional route," he finally said, cocking his head slightly to the side as he gazed ring adorning his left hand; small, silver, and subtle, it was a tasteful piece of jewelry, and exactly the kind of classy Spencer would have always wanted — had he always known that he wanted to get married in the first place.
Derek had taught him some things, as well.
"Yeah, well . . . we'll see," Derek grinned that mischievous grin that had Reid immediately slapping him across the arm.
"Don't even think about it!" he hissed.
"Too late," Morgan's smile grew.
Reid let out an exasperated sigh. "Sometimes, Derek, I cannot believe that I've subjected myself to being with you forever."
He let out a small gasp when warm fingers suddenly clutched his chin, jerking his head upward and right into that powerful gaze that hit him straight in the gut.
Derek stared, adoration flickering across his features. "With you, Spencer, forever couldn't possibly be long enough."
He leaned in, and pressed his lips to Reid's.
Author's Endnote: Annnnnnnd . . . now I feel more sappy than a Maine maple-tree in the fall. Peace, yo!