A/N: Written for the Masquerade challenge at Chit Chat on Author's Corner forum. Main characters: Morgan/Reid. Costume: Elvis.

Warnings: Slash and some language.

This is Morgan/Reid in an established relationship; Garcia is throwing a Halloween costume party and Reid has chosen Morgan's costume for him. Hope you like it!

Seds

"I love you."

That's what he'd said. That's what Spencer Reid had said to Derek Morgan, early that morning, and then again just twelve hours later: "I love you." Three little words. How could three little words be responsible for so much trouble?

Twelve hours earlier...

The morning had started out just fine; a quiet overcast dawn that held the promise of a crisp autumn day. They'd woken up tangled together among the sheets and blankets and Morgan had sleepily flailed about, intending to go back to sleep, but instead he'd somehow become aroused, and he and Reid had ended up making love.

Afterwards, Morgan had Reid snuggled contentedly against his chest, and was just about to regretfully point out the fact that they needed to get moving if they were going to make it to work on time, when Reid idly ran a finger over Morgan's well-defined abs and announced, "Don't forget-Penelope's party is tonight; I went ahead and ordered your costume for you. Pick it up on your way home, okay?" Reid had then given him an affectionate kiss and added, "I love you," before rolling out of bed and walking naked into the bathroom to shower.

Morgan had stared after him, speechless. He hated Halloween, and he hated costume parties with a particularly vehement passion, and he thought he'd made that pretty damn clear to his innocent-looking boyfriend on more than one occasion. But, there he went, adorable butt and all, cheerfully confident that Morgan would docilely accompany him to not just a Halloween party, but to one of Garcia's goddamned Halloween costume extravaganzas without complaint, even after he'd categorically refused to go.

Morgan had been fully prepared to stand pat. His first response had been a bear-like growl of disgust, a preamble to saying something like, "Oh, no. No way. I already told you, pretty boy, I am not going to any freakin' Halloween costume party. Uh-uh, forget it."

But, hot sex, three little words, and one naked butt later, and he'd ended up agreeing not only to go, but to pick up the damned costume himself.

All without a single word of protest.

Those three little words and thoughts of Reid's ass were the only things compelling Morgan in the opposite direction from home as he left the BAU at the end of the day. He drove as far over the speed limit as he felt he could get away with, without attracting an officer's attention. "Not going to get a speeding ticket on top of everything else," he grumbled to himself. He turned into the busy downtown area and found the right street, then slowed enough to be able to read a couple of storefront addresses. Thank God, he was in the right block; now, if only he could find a parking place-

His phone rang.

"What?" he snarled, after ascertaining the caller's identity.

"Where are you?" Reid asked.

"Where am I? I'm here! I'm-damn it, thought that was a parking space-I'm right here, in front of the goddamn shop, just like you told me."

"You're only just now getting there?" Reid sounded mildly perturbed.

"Yes, I'm only just now getting there!" Morgan mimicked in his best snarky-teenager voice. "I didn't get out of the office until 5:30, traffic was a bitch, and now I can't find a parking spot! You want to discuss it further?"

"No, no. By all means, take your time. It's not like Garcia's expecting us or anything."

"Goddamn it, Reid! I'm doing the best I... Just a minute." Morgan managed to swoop into a parking place, then he turned off the engine. "Look, I'm here now, I'm going inside, I'll be home as soon as possible. So, give me a break, will you?"

"Okay. But, hurry. The party starts at seven."

"I know the party starts at-" Morgan stared at his phone in disgust. Reid had already hung up. Cursing, Morgan got out of his car and strode up to the dingy little costume shop. He paused a moment before opening the door. God, he hated shit like this. He flung open the door and the jarring jingle of bells alerted a clerk to his presence.

"May I help you?"

Morgan stepped in and glanced around.

It was worse-far worse-than he'd expected.

There were costumed mannequins all over the place: a devil, an ape, Batman, a vampire, a French maid, and, the worst-an evil, snaggle-toothed clown. Morgan sneered, then turned to the clerk, who had stepped behind the counter. Lining a shelf behind him was a row of masked styrofoam heads-Mardi Gras style, a ghastly bloody monster face, a green space alien, a werewolf, Richard Nixon. Morgan swallowed.

"The name's Morgan. You have something for me?"

"Oh, yes." The man went to the back and returned with a black plastic suit bag on a hanger. It was zipped up tightly. "Good thing you got here when you did, we close in a few minutes. Did you want to check it?"

"No, just... Give it to me. How much?"

"Already taken care of. I just need your signature."

"Okay." Morgan signed the receipt and the clerk handed him the bag.

"The rental is for twenty-four hours, so have it back by this time tomorrow or you'll have to pay for another day."

"Fine."

"All right, thank you. Have fun this evening."

"Yeah, right." Morgan turned and fled the costume shop, jumped back in his car and headed for home.

"Reid! I'm here!"

"Finally! Jeeze, Morgan, Garcia's going to wonder where the heck we are." Reid was dressed in a long black coat, short pants, a red neck piece, white stockings, and he had his long brown hair sprayed with gray streaks and teased into a wild 'do. Morgan stopped short.

"Who the hell are you supposed to be?"

"Ludwig van Beethoven, of course."

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Beethoven. What kind of damn Halloween costume is that? It's not even scary, except for the hair, that's kind of freaking me out."

Reid gave him a sweet smile. "It's in keeping with the character's appearance, as depicted by Joseph Carl Stieler in the early1800s. And, I chose him because Garcia has a theme for the party-come as your favorite musician."

Morgan stared at Reid in horror, then turned his gaze to the zippered bag. "Reid... what the hell is in this bag?" Visions of gold brocade, lace cuffs, and a powdered wig flashed through his mind.

"Derek, we don't have time. Just go get dressed, and hurry. I'll put the food in the car."

Morgan watched his lover stride to the kitchen to gather the pot-luck casserole he'd prepared, then numbly went to the bedroom to change.

He hung the bag on a hook, braced himself, and unzipped it. He relaxed slightly-no brocade. No lace. But, as the zipper slid down, it was the glittering sequins which first caught his eye, rapidly followed by the shiny white spandex.

No.

"No... Oh, no," he gasped before bellowing, "Oh, God, no-REID! I am not wearing this, you little bastard!"

He ran out to the living room, but Reid was already at the car, putting the food inside. Morgan considered dashing out there and wrapping his hands around his beloved's scrawny little neck, but he waited until Reid came sauntering back. Morgan met him at the door.

"I'm not wearing that, Reid."

"Yes, you are. It's a costume party, therefore, you have to wear a costume."

"Not... that."

"Morgan, it was all they had as of this morning. Halloween is a very popular holiday, it's difficult to get a good costume at the last minute." Reid negotiated his way past Morgan. Morgan followed at his heels.

"Spencer, you know very well my favorite musician is not Elvis."

Reid sighed. "I know that."

"Then, why-"

"I'm sorry, but if you went as Barry White or Lionel Richie, no one would know you were in costume. Now, go get dressed, you'll look great."

"No! This is bullshit, I'm not going anywhere dressed like an overweight dead guy who stole the brothers' music. In fact, I'm not going at all. You go by yourself, and have a good time. I'm staying here to watch the game, just like I told you I would in the first place." Morgan folded his arms and directed a triumphant smirk at Reid. His defiance left him feeling relieved and a little giddy. He was already planning a quick trip to the store for beer and potato chips when he noticed that Reid was biting his lip worriedly.

"Please, Derek." He went up to Morgan and kissed him, softly at first, then deeply, with a heat that sent tingles rushing through Morgan's body, all the way down to his toes. Reid pulled back, and for a moment, the prospect of Morgan's pleasant un-Halloween evening was forgotten in the depths of Reid's huge, sorrowful brown eyes. "I don't want to go alone. I want to be with you." He tipped his forehead against Morgan's. "I love you," he said in the raspy, sex-splashed voice that Morgan usually only heard in the bedroom.

He felt his defiance melt like ice cream on a hot pavement.

"I-I love you, too."

Reid sealed the deal with a grateful smile-Morgan was sure he only imagined he saw a flash of wickedness-and Reid patted him on the chest. "Good. Now, go get dressed."

"Okay," Morgan said hopelessly, and he turned and went back to the bedroom.

Ten minutes later, he emerged. His taut muscles were well-defined under the cling of white spandex. The black wig fit, including the sideburns, and made him sort of miss having hair. He stood in the doorway and let Reid inspect him.

Reid nodded. "Very nice. Garcia won't be able to keep her hands off of you."

Morgan sighed. "Couldn't you at least have gotten me a 'young Elvis' costume? I could see myself in a motorcycle jacket."

"They were sold out. Now, come on."

Morgan glanced at himself in the hallway mirror and decided he looked ridiculous. He slowly shook his head. "Forget it, Reid. I can't go like this."

"Why?"

"I look like an idiot. It's humiliating."

"It's Halloween! It's fun, and you look fantastic! Come on, Derek, you said you'd go. Be a good sport."

Morgan heaved a disgusted sigh. "Yeah, okay, all right. But, I'm taking off the wig and sideburns."

"Fine." Reid shrugged.

Morgan shot him a suspicious look. "What do you mean, fine?"

"If you go without the wig and sideburns, I'll tell everyone you're Bjorn Ulvaeus."

"Who?"

"One of the two men in the Swedish pop group 'Abba.' I'll tell everyone they're your favorite band ever. I'll tell them you sing 'Dancing Queen' in the shower and 'S.O.S' while making love. I'll tell them you hung the poster of them dressed in tinfoil in our bedroom, and that you have "Mama Mia" tattooed on your-"

"All right, all right!" Morgan threw up his hands, his lips pressed together tighter than he'd previously thought possible. "I give. But, just so you know, I hate you."

"That's okay, I love you. Let's go."

Three little words, Morgan thought as Garcia/Lady Gaga squealed and Rossi/Frank Sinatra chuckled. Even Hotch/John Lennon (in Sgt. Pepper garb) cracked a grin.

After much prodding from Prentiss/Robert Smith, Morgan curled his lip into an Elvis sneer and struck a hip-out Elvis pose, earning him a round of hoots and appreciative laughter from his co-workers. Reid was at the forefront, smiling in a way that had Morgan thinking about what would happen later that night when they got home to bed, or possibly within the hour, in Garcia's spare bedroom, after a couple of well-deserved shots of tequila.

Reid leaned over and whispered, "I love you," then winked, and went off to dip up some punch for the two of them.

As far as Derek Morgan was concerned, Beethoven never sounded so good.

Morgan watched him walk away, and a smile spread across his face. He thought of the lyrics to an old song:

My hands are shaky and my knees are weak

I can't seem to stand on my own two feet

Who do you thank when you have such luck?

I'm in love

I'm all shook up*

There was no question about it-he had to admit it. All it took were three little words from his hunka-hunka burning love, and here he was, reduced to a toasted Halloween marshmallow. Just then, the hostess came to stand in front of him and give him a lascivious once-over. She giggled.

"So, Elvis, huh? Reid pick that out for you?" Garcia's eyes twinkled mischievously, and Morgan put an arm around her, answering in his very best Elvis-drawl.

"Why, yes he did, little lady. What do you think?"

"I think you're hot. And, that Reid's the luckiest damn son-of-a-biscuit on the face of the planet."

Morgan grinned, did a sexy little pelvic move just for Garcia, then went off to see if Reid needed some help with the punch.

The End.

*Words and music by Otis Blackwell and Elvis Presley