Derek Morgan
He doesn't google Matt Gray with the intention to fuel his fantasies. Not at first, at any rate. So yes, he clicks on the More images link, and yes, he has SafeSearch off. It still is not his fault that there's a booming market for famous people lookalikes in the porn industry, but maybe he shouldn't have spent that first night after they came back, the memories still too clear, looking at videos and pictures at far too disputable websites, and jerking off to them.
Okay, he definitely shouldn't have.
But it is not as if he expects to meet the kid again, at least not any time soon. Even if they both work in federal agencies, there's not enough overlap between a FBI behavioral analyst and a LA based CIA undercover agent's circles.
And thus, after that first night that leaves him feeling dirty and disgusting because he really doesn't believe the kid would say the things his lookalike lustfully drawls, he turns to real images of the guy. After all, he has a healthy imagination, and some of the pictures are good enough fodder for imagination.
There is one in particular where pain and pleasure are equally clear in the young man's face, and that never fails to make Morgan hard in two seconds sharp. And then there is a series from a photoshoot where nothing covers the kid but a bunched up white sheet and an equally naked beautiful woman that makes Morgan realize he has absolutely no interest in her.
After that, he forces himself to stop cold turkey. Yes, he is healthy, and he is a man, and sex has never been something he recoils from since, well, since taking back control of his life. But what he is doing is verging on the edge of obsession, and as an obsessional crimes expert, he knows best than anybody how dangerous that can be.
Still he keeps the news alert and reads everything that comes into his mail, but allows the guy to slide from his brain as soon as he closes the window. And even if now and then he still has some incredibly vivid wet dreams featuring a pretty man with long limbs and pouty lips, his sexual life is back to what is was before the Strada case.
And then Spencer Reid grins at him, and Morgan's world lurches.
"I knew you still had it in you, pretty boy," he says after a beat, chuckling when Reid rolls his eyes and turns back into his apartment, leaving Morgan to close the door.
It is almost funny how the sight of the guy in a ratty t-shirt and old jeans only makes him recognize that yes, he has a cute ass, when six months earlier he'd have been planning how to get into his pants. Down, boy, he orders to his body when an inkling of desire stirs at his thoughts, and smiles fondly when the lust dispels.
It is easy because now I really know him, he tells himself, a conclusion he arrives at on the first week of the kid at the BAU. It is easy because the kid is now Reid, a geeky young man that knows too much of everything and is still in awe of the simplest things, and not the beautifully fake supermodel posing for photographers.
"There's a leak in the shower and another under the kitchen sink," Reid says, repeating what he already said to Morgan at work the day before. They cross the small living room, and Morgan has to stop and look around, raising an eyebrow.
"You said you've been living here for two weeks," he says, incredulous. All doors are open, and the bareness of the small department is more obvious by the fact that all he can see on it, beside the walls and kitchen and bathroom fixes, is a shiny microwave oven.
"I have," Reid declares matter-of-factly, making Morgan roll his eyes. For someone who used to live with the level of luxury that accompanies his former career, Reid has a fondness for simplicity that verges almost on monastic life. "Most of my things are at the other department, but after Monday I'll have to rent a storing unit if I haven't moved everything."
Ah, okay, that makes more sense. Still … "And where exactly have you been sleeping?" he asks, entering the first room and looking around. Nothing.
"Inflatable bed," Reid explains as he follows Morgan into the second room. "But I had to put it away to avoid damage from the paint." True enough, there is a small mountain of paint cans and painting implements in the corner - although, in fact, the mountain is not so small.
"That's much more than you'll need for this room," he advises, turning around and looking at the state of the walls and the size of the room. God, and he thought Reid's old department was small.
"I know, I plan to paint it all."
Morgan stops what he is doing and looks back at his friend. "The entire apartment," he says, and Reid nods. "All of it in one day." And when the kid nods again, he has to poke the wiry bicep. "Sorry to bust your bubble, genius, but I don't think you have the stamina for it."
"Well, I know I do," Reid declares, glaring at him and crossing his arms.
Okay, maybe that was the wrong thing to say. "Look, kid, even for someone who exercises regularly like I do -"
"I exercise regularly."
And that was too funny to let it pass. "I doubt lifting your coffee cup a hundred times a day counts as exercising, Reid."
"I practice Yoga three days a week, and Tai Chi two days a week, and -"
"I mean real exercise, Einstein."
Later, when he returns from his blackout to find a slightly worried Reid looming over him, he mentally kicks himself. The kid might look fragile, but he's still ex-CIA.
"What the hell did you do?" he asks, chest burning with every swallow of air gulped down.
"As I was going to tell you before being rudely interrupted," Reid says, still glaring although now without real fire behind it, "I have a pretty good understanding of anatomy. And you better stay down a bit longer, or you're going to pass out again."
"I didn't pass out," Morgan retorts, because dammit, he's never passed out in his life. Still, he follows Reid's advice, if only because the floor is pretty comfortable at the moment.
"I actually was planning to do it last week, a room a day," Reid eventually admits, sprawled on the living room's floor many hours later. Morgan is feeling as tired as the kid looks, pride the only thing keeping him sitting instead of horizontal. That, and the fact that lying down wouldn't allow him to appreciate the sight. Flushed, sweaty and boneless is a good look on Reid.
"Nice to know you aren't really that much into masochism," he responds, smiling at Reid's tired growl. Even after six months, the younger agent still isn't used to the unpredictability of the BAU's life; although, to be honest, last week had been their scheduled time down, but with the rest of the teams out and a high profile case right in DC, the two of them plus Prentiss had ended crashing at Quantico five nights in a row.
He realizes he really shouldn't have allowed himself to relax when the doorbell rings.
"Oh shoot me," Reid whimpers but valiantly gets up. Technically Morgan can do it, he can get to the door and pay for the pizza, but the kid had insisted, back when they agreed on what would be appropriate payment for him helping paint the apartment. Plus, regular exercise or not, Morgan's muscles aren't used to the type of work he's been asking from them for the last hours.
Still he gets up, grunting like an old man, and catches the kid at the kitchen, looking at the food and obviously debating whether he is more tired than hungry.
"This isn't going to work," he says, knowing that Reid understands what he means. The kid hasn't complained, but Morgan can notice that the fumes have been bothering him, and he can see the red blotches that the drying paint produce on the pale skin. To be honest, he's not feeling top notch himself, but he at least knows that a warm shower and a soft bed are waiting for him at home. Reid? Not so much.
Unless …
He closes the box and puts it on the kid's hands, herding him out of the apartment and then into his truck without protest. The truck is old and the upholstery is easy to clean vinyl, so he's not worried about paint damage, which is a good thing, because he's too damn tired to worry about anything more than taking them home while avoiding causing a traffic accident.
"I'm not sleepy anymore," Morgan says to the police officer, because he isn't.
"It's the adrenaline. There's a chance that you'll crash later once your body absorbs it."
You're not helping, he wants to growl to Reid, but given that they are not alone, he only glares and tries to silently convey the message.
"Usually we'd offer to drive you home, but we've just been called…" the officer trails down, looking at his partner, who is still attached to the patrol's radio. "Is there a friend we can call to pick you up?"
"I won't leave my truck here."
The officer looks at him, and Morgan can see he's losing his patience, but seriously. The truck is the first vehicle he ever bought, it made the trip from Chicago with him, it is the only way he has to take Clooney anywhere. He's not taking the chance for it to be vandalized, or stolen, or-
"Hey, it's me. Look, we're about ten minutes from your place," Reid says on his cell phone, having dialed someone without Morgan noticing. Oh god, what if he called Hotch? Or worse, Rossi? "Morgan and I. Oh, and there's a nice police officer here too, and we agree that we shouldn't be driving." Except none of the two lives less than an hour from the area where they are right now … "No, not drunk, it is a long story. Yes, that would be helpful, thank you. Morgan's truck. Where? Well, the nice police officer wants to talk to you, maybe you can ask him?" And then Reid says to the officer, handing him the phone, "Kevin Lynch, technical analyst for the FBI."
It doesn't take long after all. The officer (who, for the record, is only nice to Reid and keeps glaring at Morgan) talks to Lynch for a moment, and apparently convinced about Lynch's capacity to handle Reid and Morgan, says his goodbyes (and threatens to jail Morgan one more time, if he dares drive while tired again) before jumping into the patrol and leaving.
"How is it you know where Lynch lives?" he asks casually after they are back in the truck's cabin, eating the now cold pizza while waiting.
"How is it you don't? With how close you and Garcia are, I'd expect for you to have Kevin's dossier memorized."
Kevin, Morgan's mind stresses. Reid is extremely formal most of the time, which is why it surprised the team to hear him call Hotch Aaron when he first landed himself in a hospital. But they have known each other and worked with each other for a longer time, so it not so unusual. Kevin Lynch, on the other hand …
He looks out of the window, trying to will himself into some semblance of calmness. He has no reason to be jealous. Hell, he has no right to be jealous. Just because Reid hasn't called him Derek yet, it doesn't mean they are no friends.
It doesn't mean anything, really.