Author: Regency

Title: Definitely Cyanide

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Morgan/Reid

Rating: PG at most.

Spoilers: None, but takes place within the first two seasons

Word count: 3,070

Summary: Reid didn’t dance but Morgan came prepared to change that. In the process, he might have changed Reid, too.

AN: Written for the comment_fic prompt Criminal Minds, Morgan/Reid, Reid doesn't dance

AN II: Constructive criticism always welcome. Hit me with your best shot

Disclaimer: I don’t own any characters recognizable as being from Criminal Minds. They are the property of their producers, writers, and studios, not me.  No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made in the writing or distribution of this story. It was good, clean fun.

Disclaimer II: Lyrics belong to RBD’s Cariño Mio and Era La Musica, respectively. They’re bilingual songs. No Spanish necessary. Just thought it’d be helpful to hear them to get a sense of what kind of party they’re having.

~!~

                The case was over and they were uncharacteristically elated to be home.  Hotch had vanished on touchdown and Gideon had retreated to his office for one cause or another. Elle and JJ had dragged Garcia into the conference room, where they’d all retreated to unwind. This one had been hard on them and they were dealing as best they could.

                Garcia was blaring music out of her trusty laptop speakers.  Morgan was the first to jump to his feet.  He was the one who’d tackled the very unsub they’d had to release. He seemed to need this release more than any of them. He moved like he’d been born on a dance floor. He offered Elle his hand and she took it without hesitation.

You make me wanna salsa
You make me wanna cha cha
Slow down, get up and down
Mueve la cintura, turn it around

They swayed, swung, and spun together seamlessly. They were all hips and synchronized steps. Halfway through the song, they drew a reluctant JJ and an impatient Garcia into the fray. It wasn’t long before the normally reserved blonde had picked up the general order of the steps and was following Elle’s competent lead. Garcia seemed as content to lead Morgan.

He didn’t appear to mind, he went with it till she waved him away.  As he would have said, the sisters were doing it for themselves.

For his part, Reid was satisfied with watching from the corner. Four was a double date, five was an awkward social situation. Reid tried to avoid those at all costs, even loneliness. This wasn’t what he did for fun. He didn’t dance.

As someone with all the coordination of a bat with a crooked wing, he had been advised by his mother to ‘cultivate other talents.’ Taking her advice, he’d done just that. He was an exceptional chess player by now and, while that wasn’t exactly fodder for parties, it satisfied him.

Most of the time.

Tonight, it would have been nice for once to be able to engage his colleagues in an area they understood. They understood how rhythm conformed to the movement of their bodies.  They knew, seemingly by instinct, where they could and couldn’t touch. There was no awkwardness there. They just moved and let the chips fall where they would. That wasn’t who he was, though he wished.

“Hey, kid.” Reid was jarred from his introspection by Morgan’s sudden appearance. He had a fine sheen of sweat across his face, but he looked more exhilarated than fatigued. His smile would be best described as bright.  Reid was powerless against the compulsion to return the gesture.

It froze on his lips when Morgan asked, “How about a dance?”

He knew he must have looked like the proverbial fish out of water as he scrambled to respond. “I don’t—I can’t. I mean, I’ve never...” He stopped just short of flailing at his inexperience.

Morgan raised both brows incredulously.  “You’ve never danced or you’ve never danced with a man?”

“Either,” he shrugged, wincing.  He was not looking forward to the unavoidable teasing that accompanied his usual socially illiterate confessions.

Instead, Morgan seemed contemplative rather than mocking. He rubbed his jaw, giving Reid a more than cursory once-over. Noting Reid’s confusion, he laughed and clapped him on shoulder companionably.  “Don’t worry, just trying figure out if you should lead or follow.”

Any semblance of comfort Reid might have gotten from his earlier reprieve was obliterated when Morgan took him by the hand and led him to the middle-right of the floor.  The female contingent of their little party seemed content to entertain themselves.

Reid mostly wanted them to save him. He partly just wanted them to leave before he embarrassed himself beyond all measure. He had to work with these people; he wasn’t sure he could, knowing they’d seen him at his uncoordinated best.

As if reading his mind, Morgan nudged his shoulder. “Don’t worry about them. They like you just like you are. So do I. Let’s do this.” He guided Reid’s left hand to his shoulder and grasped the other in a secure grip. “You’re following.”

“Okay.” What more could he say, he wasn’t exactly well-versed in the rituals such a designation entailed. He supposed he was about to learn. “Oh,” he exclaimed when Morgan’s weighty hand came to rest against his ribs. He’d known there’d be touching, but he hadn’t expected…touching, at least not to this degree.

“You all right?” Morgan asked and Reid nodded before his tongue could make any decisions for him. He was fine. He was better than fine. Morgan was solid, he was dependable. He wouldn’t necessarily let Reid stumble onto his ass. Right, he asked himself, seeking reassurance. Characteristically, he stopped listening for fear of receiving a response.

“One half step with your right foot. One full step with your left. Then, step back right. Back left.”

Reid attempted to comply and grimaced when his toes came crashing onto Morgan’s in what resembled a podiatric nightmare. “Sorry.”

Morgan only flashed him another one of his carefree smiles.  “It’s nothing. Just remember that it’s your right, then, your left. Got it?”

Reid nodded once more and attempted to adhere to the count that Morgan set. It was by no means instinctive, but he was almost—dancing. Knowing his nerves were as likely to be the death of this attempt at socialization as his mindless rambling, he chose conversation as the safer option.

“So, what dance is this?”

It was Morgan, this time, who halted their beginner’s lesson. He paused and got another dose of Reid’s full weight on his shoes as reward.

This part was instinctive. “Sorry about that—again.”

Morgan shook his head, appearing incredulous once more.  “Wasn’t your fault. I was surprised that you asked. I mean, something the Spencer Reid doesn’t know? No one would believe it.”

Reid nodded, thoughtfully. “Probably not.”

                Morgan blinked at him vacantly for a moment before leaning back with his signature smile.  “That was a Reid joke. All right, I like that.”

                He didn’t even try to resist the smile now. One-upping Morgan wasn’t something he got to do often, so he savored it when he could.

                “So...what dance was this again?” His innate curiosity demanded satisfaction and he was nothing if not obedient to that.

                “The Salsa,” Morgan sang, twisting his hips and performing a show of complex footwork that Reid couldn’t hope to replicate on his best day. Of course, the awkwardness would choose then to rear its head again.

                “You look good when you dance.” His head caught up to his mouth in time for him to, quite literally, bite his tongue. It stung but it was deterrent enough to keep him from giving voice to subsequent thoughts. There are actually academic studies that show a correlation between dancing ability and sexual prowess. Given your history of romantic behavior, this explains a lot.

                That would not have lended itself to a professional atmosphere, even if they were dancing in the meeting room of BAU to Latin club music. There were unspoken boundaries.

                “You should see me when I do other things,” Morgan told him with a wink that would have seemed subtle on the Statue of Liberty and no one else.  He’d forgotten that Morgan wasn’t a proponent for things going unsaid. And boundaries were for other people.

                His tongue was excluded from that. Sore or not, it was determined to be heard. “I should,” it said and Reid was left holding the bag.

                He’d ended up back in Morgan’s space, having acclimated himself to their proximity. Morgan’s hand had risen to the center of his back and the breath between them was all there was. The breath and the words his tongue had forced him to say.

                “For a man who doesn’t dance, you’re pretty quick on your feet.” Morgan’s smile wasn’t as wide now, though Reid couldn’t discern any anger either.  He seemed both approving and apprehensive. Reid knew his body language must have echoed his anxiety impressively.  When his mouth acted without him, he spent incalculable nanoseconds deciding whether to backpedal or proceed.  He was nearly always able to construct an acceptable excuse for his behavior.

                “I can be pretty quick off my feet, too.”

                Then, there were those special occasions when his tongue saw fit to compound his public humiliation. Death by a million cuts or cyanide, he queried himself. He couldn’t decide.

                “I bet,” Morgan replied as if he’d expected no other response from the routinely introverted Reid. He began to lead him through the steps again, faster this time, to the beat of another song that had begun to play.

How enchanting, as we're dancing
My life began to change
Now I know what to control
But all that I can say is

Era la musica

                Reid found that if he trusted his muscle memory and heeded obvious cues from Morgan, his execution of the basic footwork was fair. At the very least, Morgan seemed to appreciate the effort. His full-on smile was back with Reid as its recipient. He was certainly willing to try this hard in the future if it meant that Morgan would be his partner. He was enjoying this.

                It felt almost intuitive, the compulsion towards motion. He felt it in his solar plexus, dragging him back toward Morgan before his muscles expressed intent. He knew he demonstrated nowhere near the grace of his colleagues at this, but it was liberating to try. It was twice as freeing to try and not care about the outcome. It was a good feeling, one that he wasn’t used to.

                “See how good a time you can have when you stop worrying,” Morgan asked him as they did something a resembling a cross-step from side to side.  Reid felt like a court jester as he went while Morgan performed as fluidly as a performer. He tried not to think about it too intensely.

                As usual, he failed. He analyzed and tested his weight against Morgan’s, compared the other man’s dexterity to his own. When comparison to Morgan failed, he simply tried to outmatch himself. That wasn’t hard given his newly acquired experience with the dance. He bested himself in half a dozen steps.

                “You’re doing good,” Morgan told him, shattering his reverie.  This time, he managed to keep his wits about him and avoid any more embarrassing missteps.  It didn’t hurt that Morgan chose that moment to side step out of his path. Wise move, Reid mused.

                “I had a competent instructor,” he replied. The remark felt like less than the greatest compliment he could have given his colleague.  “You’re an amazing dancer.  It must have taken years to gain that sort of proficiency.”

                Morgan nodded and guided Reid into what felt like a rather effeminate spin.  “I’ve had good partners myself. You can’t do anything well unless you’ve got the best along for the ride.”

                Reid was focused on his feet and the area above Morgan’s shoulder, but he was immediately aware of the implied praise being directed at him. He stifled the urge to stammer out his thanks. He had control enough to truncate his appreciation at, “I agree.” He ignored the warmth pooling underneath his collar and rising across the planes of his face. He hoped that Morgan would as well.

                “We can stop whenever you want,” Morgan told him.  “If you get too hot or too tired. Even if you just get bored.” He spoke as though he believed any of those to be a likelihood.

                Reid wasn’t bored. Quite the contrary, he hadn’t ‘voluntarily’ done something so physically stimulating—ever.  This wasn’t the solution to a three-body problem, yet it had significance. With each continuing step, half-step, and turn, he felt the subtle click as his instincts came to life.  He was on the trail of something with Morgan at its center. As was his natural tendency, he began to say as much:

                “Is this going somewhere?” Surprised as he was to find that he’d actually asked the question, he was more taken aback at the lack of assertiveness Morgan displayed in return. Their legs clashed another time, nearly bringing them both down. It wasn’t Reid’s doing this time.

                Morgan grabbed him around his waist, just managing to stabilize them both and prevent an ego-wounding catastrophe. Accordingly, Reid had reflexively hooked his arms around Morgan’s sturdier form. He realized, as he began to pull away, that he hadn’t had to wonder where to touch or how; there hadn’t been a question that the other man would understand. That was who Morgan was, regardless of the man Reid had always been.

                The realization was oddly gratifying.  He was less gratified to realize that he might have damaged that rapport with his prior question.  Morgan’s silence wasn’t encouraging.

                “This is fun,” he said after it seemed that his mouth was out of bright ideas. He kept his eyes on Morgan’s hands, one of which had captured his—like they were about to start again.

                “Is it?” his impromptu instructor asked.

                “Yes,” he nodded, eyebrows rising in tandem with his affirmation.  He hadn’t been this content in a long while. “I think I’d like to do it again some time.”

                Morgan eyebrows rose in response.  “Yeah?”  Reid smiled slightly. He thought it was answer enough.  “If you’re sure, I think that can be arranged.”

                Out of habit, Reid moved to put his hands back into his pockets, but Morgan was still holding one. Reid didn’t feel the need to protest.  “By all means.”

                Morgan squeezed his hand slightly. “Then, I guess it’s a date.”

                Of all the emotions Reid had expected to feel when Morgan said that, excitement wasn’t on the list—or exhilaration. But, it now topped the list; they both did.  “I guess it is.”

                It was strange, he thought, that this interaction seemed so easy.  Whatever his internal turmoil, he felt that he was putting an attractive face forward. He was showing himself as an equal, an available equal, to someone he wanted to impress. And he wanted to impress Morgan now.  He wanted to show the other agent something he excelled at. He wanted to best Morgan and earn the intimacy that had come so quickly tonight. This wasn’t something he wanted to lose.

                “We should head probably shut down for the night,” Morgan told him conspiratorially.  He gestured for Morgan to look at their three colleagues, huddled whispering by the door.  The festivities had dwindled to the two of them and the rest were set to go. Reid guessed this was how it usually happened. He tended to be gone by now.

                “I can walk you to your car,” Morgan offered once Reid managed to take a step back and let go.  The younger agent’s first instinct was to refuse. His car was secure in the parking garage and he had his weapon should anything occur; but, that subtle tugging in his gut twisted his tongue to form other words:

                “I’d like that.”

                Reid made it a point to ignore the suggestive elbow prodding Garcia directed toward them as they left to gather the last of their things.  He felt at a loss for how to proceed from here. He’d never been walked to his car. He’d never even walked anyone to their door. He was a complete stranger to front doors and car windows. He was steeped in his anxiety by the time they were standing on the elevator to the parking garage.

                Morgan shoulder brushed against his in a compartment with space enough to carry four of each of them. He’s choosing to be close to me. Reid was flattered and felt a now signature heat flaring underneath his shirt.  He didn’t have to think about how attractive Morgan was; he’d observed him  up close for some time now. He was attractive—attractive and close. He was closer than Reid was used to.

                They didn’t talk on the ride to the garage level where BAU agents left their cars.  Reid had pursed his lips to save himself from anymore possible humiliation tonight. It was ending on a high note and that was what he wanted.  He was on the brink of a new discovery. He could learn something new and Morgan was the catalyst. He wasn’t as shocked to see himself wearing discernible smile the reflection of his driver side window.  He was inwardly mortified of destroying what he’d just found, yet it didn’t show.

                “I enjoyed learning that dance tonight.”  With no restraint to prevent him, he folded his hands together in front of him. He felt his car keys digging into his leg inside his pocket but he ignored them.

                “I had a good time teaching you,” Morgan confirmed and mimicked Reid’s psychological state of mind with his hands in his pants—pockets.

                “You must enjoy having your feet stepped on.”  He hazarded a look at his friend to discover that as he profiled, it was being done to him in return.  He was curious to know what Morgan saw. Partly.

                “I’ve had worse,” Morgan waved off his self-deprecation. “You were eager to learn.”

                Reid edged toward him: a half-step. “You were eager to teach.”

                Morgan took a full-step closer. “I was.”  His hand came to rest on Reid’s shoulder, as if it was his turn to follow instead of lead.

                “Yeah.” The very breadth of his unpreparedness washed over Reid and he had to look away from the momentary intensity Morgan had displayed. He shifted towards his door and felt, like a tactile sensation, Morgan stepping back.  Unlike Reid, he had the ability to change gears mid-stream; from a dance partner to a friend.

                “You were still pretty good on your feet,” Morgan quipped and Reid had to applaud his talents; they were many.  To comfort, to instruct, to arouse—in Spencer a need to do something more than he had before. He would have then—told him everything, if it had occurred to him. Unusually, he had other things on his mind.

                “I’m better off of them,” he told Morgan for the second time tonight. He couldn’t hold his tongue responsible for this misstep, but he was determined to try. “You should see.”

                Only Morgan’s rumbling laughter, as it reverberated out into the dark, stopped him from choosing decisively, Definitely cyanide.

                It almost seemed the more painless choice.