Disclosure: Nope, they aren't mine and Lord knows I make no profit off them -- except for the psychic satisfaction and amusement of pushing them into new and uncomfortable places.

A/N # 1: I never wanted to get into a chapter kind of thing, but this will take three chapters, just because my freakin' life is so freakin' unnecessarily weird and complicated at the moment. Besides, it falls fairly neatly into three segments. From the close of this puppy onward, however, if it ain't finished, it ain't posted, and that's a promise. Probably.

A/N # 2: Since it seems clear that Spencer Reid and my muse aren't currently speaking to each other, Morgan is taking over the narrative, probably clear through to the end of the story.

The Structure of His Spontaneity, Chapter 2

"So," Reid said, collecting their empties and stashing them in the kitchenette. "Do you have it all?"

"Sure. Cape Town to stop it, Please to increase it. Don't move, don't talk, don't open your eyes--"

"Derek, I would appreciate it if you said, and I quote, 'I won't move, I won't talk ...' Will you do that for me?"

God, you're a pissy little thing.

"Jeez, all right. I won't move, I won't talk, I won't open my eyes. Happy?"

"Getting there," Reid replied. "Fifteen minutes. Is that a commitment?"

Morgan hesitated. Part of him still thought this was a pretty stupid idea. "Yeah," he said finally. "I'm committed to fifteen minutes. I do have another question, though."

"Hit me," Reid said.

Morgan chuckled. "Man, I'm not sure that's a real smart thing to say in this kind of situation."

Reid laughed too. "Excellent point. Moving on, what's your question?"

"If what you do is all power and control, then what's the whole whips and chains thing? As a rule, we class that as sexual sadism."

"And that's what it is," Reid responded calmly. "It's a continuum. What we're doing is just an introduction to surrendering control. It can branch out anywhere from there – or not branch out at all. Role-playing, bondage, discipline, S&M, or even just straight sex that's performed in a rougher manner than is normal. There are people who jump right in to a full scene, but I prefer that the person involved and I start with the basics and expand on it as we go along. I enjoy watching an identity, a relationship, develop organically over time."

He stopped dead and indicated a straight back chair and a fuzzy white bolster. "Chair, or polar fleece?" he asked.

That was a no-brainer to Morgan. "Chair." He looked at Reid, and when Reid said nothing, he seated himself. "And you're always the Top, not the bottom?"

"Always the Top," Reid responded, then frowned and corrected himself. "Almost always the Top. Sometimes I coach people I'm already involved with in being a Top or appreciating a Top, or just exploring the idea of power. When I do that, for the first stages, they practice on me so they don't wind up doing something goofy or actually dangerous to someone who didn't know what to look for."

"And you're not a whips and chains type?"

"What gave you that idea? If both of us will enjoy it, I'm a full-service Dom. I've been doing this since, God, while I was finishing up my Chem dissertation. That's, um, wow! Eight years. How time flies. I can roll any way I need to roll."

"That's creepy, Reid."

Those gingerbread-colored eyes met Morgan's directly. "Yes," he purred, his face all confidence and predation and his body positively feline. "It certainly is. You want to put your feet flat on the floor?"

Morgan did so.

"We start now. Hands down. You surrender everything but Cape Town and Please. Nod if you understand this."

Morgan's heart thudded. Reid's voice seemed unimaginably cold. "Nod?"

Morgan nodded.

"Do not talk. Do not move. Do not open your eyes. Nod if you understand."

He nodded again, then said, "Where should my hands be?"

He sensed rather than heard Reid approach him. A finger tapped his lips sharply, one tap per syllable. "You. Do. Not. Talk. You. Nod. Or. You. Shake. Your. Head. Got it?"

"Yeah."

"Morgan!" Spencer's voice snapped like a whip. "We're having a little trouble with basic instructions tonight, aren't we?

Morgan opened his eyes and growled, "If you weren't so damn pissy--"

Reid moved toward him swiftly, as though about to knee him in the crotch. Instead, he tipped the chair backwards. After an instant of flailing, Morgan found himself uninjured save for his pride. The chair was tipped at about a 45

degree angle, the section below the nape of his neck hooked onto the lip of a book case.

"Whoa," he said, teeing the fingers of one hand into the palm of the other. "Cape Town, time out, whatever."

He tried to rock the chair forward, but Reid held it stationary with the arch of one foot. "You're fine," he said softly, in that slower, deeper voice that Morgan thought sounded so freaky. "What seems to be the problem? How hard can it be to stay still, shut up, and keep your eyes closed?"

"Problem? How about you out of nowhere shoving my chair back, could have killed me?"

Reid sighed. "Keep your arms still, please." He bent down, grasped the cross brace of the chair with one hand, and slowly lowered it so all four legs were on the carpet.

Considering that Morgan's weight must have been nearly twice Reid's, and that Reid deliberately took his time about lowering the chair, Brainiac boy was clearly stronger than Morgan (or probably anyone else) had suspected.

While Derek pondered that, Reid continued. "I warned you up front that if you failed to cooperate I would assume that you were playing a power game and I would respond appropriately." He shifted positions and crossed his arms over his chest. "It seems to me that I set out only a very few rules and expectations. When you persisted in looking around and grabbing hold of things, I took the action I promised you I would take." Reid's eyes, simultaneously calm and hard, were uncomfortable to look into.

"You really don't expect me to believe that crap about no surprises, do you?"

"I absolutely do expect you to believe it, Morgan. I won't lie to you. You're serious about this or you aren't. If you aren't, you can leave."

Derek forced himself to relax a little, but he couldn't let it go completely. That would give the win to Reid. "Ought to have references like other--" He sketched quotation marks in the air. "--'professionals.'"

"I'm not a fucking professional, Morgan. Whores are professionals. I'm a dedicated amateur. You'll have to back off on that."

"Fine. It was a metaphor. Or a figure of speech, Or something. Look, I'm sorry, man."

Reid withdrew his cell phone from his back pocket and gave it to Morgan. He lounged against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, and his arms again folded. "You want references?" he snapped. "Fine. Call Hotch. Speed dial four. He said it was OK." He rolled his eyes. "This is gonna be a long, long fifteen minutes."

"What would I call Hotch ab-- Oh, uh-oh, no, Brainiac. Tell me you haven't been doing the nasty with Hotch."

"'Doing the nasty,' huh? That certainly gives me an insight into why you're chickening out here just two minutes into your time. Haven't I been saying all along that this isn't about sex, that it's about getting yourself unwound and trusting your body?"

"Fuck." Rather than trust using Reid's speed dial, Morgan thumbed the number into the phone from memory.

Beeps.

Two rings.

A familiar dark baritone. "Hotchner."

"Hey, Hotch," he said, feeling more than a little silly. "I'm at Reid's. He says--"

"Right." Hotch sounded sleepy. "So what do you want to know?"

"You've really done this? With Reid?"

"Yes. Can we get a move on here, Morgan? My patience is a little thin. I've been up almost thirty hours."

"OK." Morgan took a deep breath. "I'm serious here, man." When Hotchner said nothing else, Derek took the plunge. "Did Reid lie to you or misrepresent anything when you were--?"

"No." On Hotch's end, Morgan heard the clink of ice in a glass.

"And he said, no sex, no abuse."

Hotchner cleared his throat. "Technically, what he said was no sex, no abuse, no nothing that you don't give explicit permission for him to do," he said.

Morgan dropped his voice and turned his head, but Reid was too close. "Hey," he said, "Why don't you go get us a couple more beers for while we hash this out?"

"Sure," Reid murmured, a can't-fool-me grin twisting one side of his mouth. He straightened with eerie grace and sauntered toward his kitchenette. Since when does he saunter?

When he was gone, Derek whispered into the phone, "I don't want to be intrusive, but – did Reid tie you up?"

"No."

"Did he undress you?"

"No."

"He took my tie and my shoes."

A pause. "I don't think I was wearing a tie or shoes," Hotch said.

Morgan felt sweat popping out on his forehead. He was slipping precipitously into territory marked Stuff I don't really want to know. Another deep breath. "Well, what were you wearing, man?"

"Jesus, I don't remember. Sweatshirt, jeans, probably. I think I was barefoot. It was the night we had Szechuan at my place."

Yes, that fit. Derek seemed to recall that Hotch had been wearing a red sweatshirt that night, and at some point he'd slipped his shoes off.

"And he didn't hurt you or--"

"All I will say about details," Hotchner sighed, "is that I knew in advance everything that he would do, that he never misled me about what he was doing. He always gave me the opportunity to stop him, a basic yes-or-no choice."

"You mean like saying Cape Town."

"Well, first I had the option of indicating yes or no. Cape Town would have been for if I said yes and changed my mind, I think."

"You think?"

An awkward pause. "I would presume so."

"Hotch, what do you mean, you presume so? I thought you said that you did this with Reid. Excuse me, but is this some weird, elaborate mindfuck?"

There was a long, deep sigh. "Morgan."

"Yes, sir?"

"I never said Cape Town. I never said no, never made any attempt to stop him. And that had better address your concerns. Relax, Morgan, and enjoy the ride. Or don't. One or the other."

And Aaron Hotchner hung up.

Crap, they're in this together. This is just way too creepy.

Reid returned with only one beer. Morgan glared suspiciously between him and the bottle. Reid threw up his free hand in apparent exasperation. "I don't like to play buzzed, Morgan, that's all. Look at it; it hasn't been opened."

Morgan considered the actual likelihood that a fellow BAU agent would drug his beer and realized it was a stupid idea. Instead, he looked up and said, "Hey, Brain Boy."

Reid raised an eyebrow.

Morgan watched the kid – Stop it; he's no kid! -- carefully. "How did it go with you and Hotchner?"

Spencer Reid's dreamy smile was unsettling as hell. "Ohh, yeah," he said. "Hotch was fun."

That did it. Morgan's competitive gland was thoroughly engaged. If the most repressed son of a bitch Morgan had ever met outside a psych ward or an interrogation room could do this, so could he. He handed the still-unopened beer bottle back to Reid. "Let's do this. Turn the clock back to fifteen-hundred and we'll start out fresh."

"Chair or fleece?"

"Let's go with the fleece, man. Fresh start and all."