Chapter Text
Soft.
That was what it always was with him.
His skin.
Like goddamned velvet. Little freckles everywhere.
His eyes, first thing in the morning when they blinked open, sleep still clouding his hazel irises.
His touch.
Electricity. Barely awake and he’s shocking me with a glancing touch of his arm.
Deft fingers tracing invisible maps up and down his bare back, writing words in languages Derek Morgan could listen to him speak for hours, even if he would never understand their meaning.
His voice.
“Hey…”
Softest whispers gathering strength as the sun rose and they stayed in bed, wrapped up in each other until the soft turned to rough, the gentle intimacy building into something entirely other.
“G’morning…”
“Morning…”
The soft paradise of his dreams always ended with good morning.
Derek woke up that morning well before the sun, his alarm clock blinking its harsh digital blue light instead of the soft golden eyes still teasing his imagination as the dream faded.
Another day.
Another endless struggle to pretend he didn’t crave the company he could never have.
Derek didn’t notice how flushed he felt as he rose with purpose to start the morning routine; if he did, he attributed it to the lingering effects of the absurd fantasy his subconscious Omega instincts kept torturing him with.
He left for Quantico like he did every day. Ready to get through it, ready to slap on the flirty macho mask and nail the required performance, no matter how hard it was for him to quell those soft old unrequited feelings.
The heavy, steady rain and fresh smell of spring hit him full in the face as he headed out the door.
April showers…
Shit.
He was glad he thought to bring his extra suppressants now that he remembered the time of year it was.
His commute suffused with the background noise of the dream that wouldn’t leave him, those soft hands haunting his distracted thoughts all the way to work.
…
Attention: SSA Derek Morgan
Enclosed are your results from your yearly physical assessment dated March 4, 2009. The estimated date of your annual Heat cycle is April 12, 2009. Please be advised that per Bureau Omega Board regulations you are obligated to refrain from unnecessary travel--
Morgan hit close on the email that had just hit his inbox to greet him that rainy April morning. He didn’t bother to read the rest of it, knowing perfectly well all the do’s and don’ts the Omega HR rep would spell out for him as if he were a first-timer.
Nearly eight years of working for the BAU and they still insisted on treating his annual Heat like it was a goddamned emergency drill. He guessed he should be grateful that things had changed so drastically from the dark ages not so long ago, when Omegas like him weren’t even allowed out in the field to begin with. It still pissed him off to be reminded of how close they were to those prejudiced times.
He didn’t need the Bureau Omega Board breathing down his neck year after year to remind him about his damn Heat; it hadn’t deviated since his presentation as a late blooming 18 year old. Always in April, always like clockwork.
Drip drip drop, little April showers… Gross.
Morgan stretched his arms out over his desk to work out a kink in his muscles, probably left behind after his punishing lifting routine that morning. He hadn’t taken the time to do his stretches properly. Garcia’s urgent text about a spate of murders in Maine summoned him to the conference room before he even had a chance to pop his OmSups and chug a protein shake.
The round table meeting to discuss their latest case only lasted ten minutes before Hotch called wheels up in thirty and the Team dispersed to gather their go-bags. Morgan at least had a few minutes to get himself together.
Opening his damn email had been a mistake in that regard.
He didn’t waste anymore time on his laptop, packing it up instead as he popped his OmSups for the day and checked his desk calendar.
It’s only April 4th. Plenty of time to get up to Maine, wrap this case and get back.
And then…
He felt a familiar dread kindling in his gut at the prospect of spending yet another yearly Heat at his house, drugged up and miserable until the shakes and fevers finally broke. It wasn’t even the humiliating physical symptoms or the inherent vulnerability of his Omega nature that made him anxious to get through the weeklong saga; it was always the piercing loneliness that haunted him the most.
Morgan had never-- willingly --taken an Alpha to bed with him, and at this rate, he never intended to. The man who stole his childhood and still hadn’t let his mind go from the trauma had been an Alpha. A person who was supposed to protect him--a man he looked up to until that night at the lake. And every other night for months after that.
His past being what it was, when he turned 18 and presented as Omega in a surprise twist of biological fate no one was anticipating, he resolved to exclusively date Betas and leave the old school ‘mating ritual’ out of his life.
Only one unlikely Alpha had ever tempted him to break this solemn promise to himself, but that ship had sailed. At least… He kept telling himself there was no damn ship to sail.
Morgan drew a quick circle in red ink around April 12 on his calendar before he tossed the pen aside and grabbed his back-up bottle of OmSups from his drawer, rattling the pills to make sure he’d have enough to double up his doses over the next few days. Just then, a whirlwind of red glitter and heeled boots arrived at his office door smelling like a delivery of fresh cottage roses and white wine.
Shit. I can already smell everyone… it gets more intense every year, she’s ten feet away AND she’s a Beta, why the hell can I smell her like that?
“Hey there my sweet chocolatey Derrier--you better get a move on, Hotch is already on the elevator and I do believe dear leader must be close to Rut or something, he’s in such a sour mood today--”
Penelope paused and cocked her head to the side. She sniffed the air thoughtfully, then honed in on Morgan’s faintly blushing cheeks as he hurriedly stashed his orange pill bottle in his jacket pocket. Her eyes flicked down to rove over his desk, landing on the calendar like a laser pointer.
Sometimes he hated how brilliant his best friend was as he watched her jump straight to the correct conclusion in a microsecond with only the barest hint of anything being off.
“Oh--it’s already April! I totally forgot, we’ve been so busy lately I barely even had a chance to celebrate April Fool’s--are you going to stay here then?”
She made quick work of shutting his office door before approaching him with a supportive smile.
Morgan waved off her concern, rolling his eyes. “Nah, Baby Girl, not due for a week yet. I’m not missin’ this case just because I’m feeling a little extra flushed.”
“Well I wouldn’t call the run-up to your yearly Heat feeling ‘extra flushed’--I remember last year, don’t think I’ve forgotten your little confession just because I didn’t push it --” Garcia whispered with a devious smirk.
Morgan pushed past her, gently but with purpose as he opened his door back up. Never one to take a hint, she kept on needling him.
“You were a mess that whole week, don’t pretend just because you’re a big, strong, macho-man Omega outlier that you can magically handwave it away like it’s nothing--”
“Because it is nothing. And that was different, mama, don’t even bring it up again. I was drunk when I shouldn’t have been and I said some stupid shit in the heat of the moment.”
Garcia stared at him with an artfully raised eyebrow, arms crossed, her aura exuding silent sass as she leaned up against his desk. Morgan flushed deeper at his unfortunate choice of words. Thank god for his dark complexion to hide his stupid tell--mostly.
“I see that blush, Derek Morgan. And you know I’m just saying this out of pure love and concern for you--are you sure you wanna go out with the Team on this one? You can just stay with me in the batcave, we can eat ice cream and you can profile from here to your little heart’s content! They don’t even need to know it’s that time of year, just tell them you’ve got a cold or mono or something.”
“I’m going, Garcia. Don’t you worry about me.”
Her obvious worry only intensified.
“Seriously. I can handle myself, I have before and this time’s no different,” he insisted when she did not appear convinced in the slightest. He sighed and walked back over to lift her chin up, his thumb playfully snagging on her pouty lower lip.
“I will be fine . We’ll get this case over with quick, and then you can be the one I call to take me home and wrap me up in blankets when it’s time, aight?” The rare offer of future sexy Omega snuggles seemed to lift her spirits almost as much as the flirty kiss Derek pecked her forehead with. She still glared at him reproachfully when he backed away with his bag slung over his shoulder, a not-so-convincing carefree grin on his still-flushed face.
“I guess… fine. But I will hold you to that promise of cuddles and blankets, Sir. Still,” her expression took on the typical deeply attuned Garcia serious face he never could resist, “You call me if you think it’s coming on early. Promise me you won’t mess around with this--especially if your drunk little secret is actually the truth.”
Morgan felt his heart skip a quick beat.
It is true. I hate that she remembered.
I only told her that one time. But it’s Penelope, of course she fucking remembered.
She knows it can’t happen. I know it can’t happen.
I wish it could but it won’t and I’ve made peace with that--I’ll be fine.
He rolled his eyes with a false nonchalance he wished he could feel for real.
“You’ll be the first to know if I go into Heat in the field, Pen. Gotta jet.” His curt response intentionally skirted the heart of her concern.
Penelope stayed in his office, watching the living, breathing Greek marble statue that was her Omega best friend stalk down the hall like he owned the place, tossing flirty grins to everyone he passed as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
She might be a Beta and thus blissfully free from the biological mandates most of her work family had to deal with but she still knew a gut feeling when she had one; and this particular gut feeling was ominous. She just had to trust that Morgan had been around the block enough times to know what he was doing when he played with fire like that.
And she also had to hope that one particularly obtuse Alpha on the Team might finally get the memo when it came to their resident Omega’s clear, years-long infatuation with him.
Maybe this will be the moment…
If it isn’t, I swear to GOD I’ll knock that silly genius upside the head the second they get back.
…
“Reid, you and Morgan will have to head up the mountain tonight. We need eyes on the scene first thing in the morning and it’s a rough drive. With this weather coming in I don’t want to miss our chance at an undisturbed dump site.”
Spencer Reid looked up from his deeply engrossing perusal of the documents before him, his lips perched on the edge of a frayed paper coffee cup.
The young alpha agent didn’t much fancy leaving the cozy confines of the station to drive through the icy rain and sleet up a mountain in the dark.
Hotch glanced at him from his cluttered table, noting the dissatisfaction painted all over his face.
“Morgan will drive, Reid, you know how he is. If you start now you’ll get there before the sun goes down, the rangers have bunks ready at the station for the pair of you.”
Reid set his coffee cup down with an irate plunk at that.
“Bunks? As in, stacked beds, one on top of the other, bunks? ”
Hotch’s glare did not falter. “Yes. Bunks. Be glad you have that much to look forward to, the rest of us are two to a room at the Motel 6--JJ swears she saw a roach when she checked us in but it’s the best Garcia could find within a reasonable distance.”
Reid’s mouth was hanging open, a long curl of hair framing his incredulous expression as he grasped at any straw he might have in his arsenal to circumvent this unfortunate order.
“Hotch, I still can’t walk without a cane, what makes you think I can climb into a bunk bed?” He gave his ornately carved cane a tap to iterate this point to his Unit Chief.
“I watched you move pretty fast to make it to the coffee cart before it closed at the airport this afternoon, Reid. Didn’t seem to phase you then. Also I’m sure Morgan will have no problem taking the top bunk.”
Reid’s expression curdled slightly. He rolled his eyes and stood up with an exaggerated groan but he knew he’d already lost this one with Hotch.
“Fine. If I injure my knee again I’m claiming workman’s compensation and putting your name on the complaint before I take a three month vacation.”
“You do that, Reid.”
Reid huffed petulantly at the older Alpha, grumbling beneath his breath as he laboriously went about cleaning up his temporary work station.
Watch me, he thinks I’ll never do it, tell me to drag myself out into the woods on a frigid night like tonight to sleep in a cabin with strangers, BUNK beds probably full of insect eggs and rat poop and who knows what else, give me a disgusting Motel 6 over that, I’ll take sink roaches over spider webs any night… Morgan’s going to hate it too, he just told me the other day he hates camping out, why do we have to be the ones to go, dammit--
He looked around the small room and out into the Sheriff’s office crowded with deputies, his teammates milling about among them in various stages of their own investigations.
His partner was conspicuously missing. Usually Reid could hone in on the guy within seconds wherever they were. He attributed this ability almost entirely to their close brotherly friendship built upon years of working together 500 hours a month, rather than the fact that Morgan was the only Omega on the Team.
Reid didn’t much subscribe to the outdated and often sexist old tropes of their gender-organized society. He might have presented early on as an Alpha but he never aligned with the flawed Freudian definition of traditional ‘Alpha’ in the slightest; fortunately, his best friend didn’t align well with his biological designation either, and that was one of the many logical reasons why he and Morgan were so ‘tight’ as Morgan often phrased it.
The last few hours of this case, though, Morgan had been disappearing to ‘use the bathroom’ or ‘take a phone call’ every ten minutes. It seemed as if every time Reid looked up to find him or ask him a question, he was on his way out the door. Now he simply wasn’t there at all.
What’s up with him… I hope he’s not getting sick, Garcia said something about mono going around before we left the bullpen… Kissing disease, if he has mono he either got it from drinking after someone or he hasn’t been telling me about his latest exploits… I wonder if it’s Charlene from HR, she’s been asking strange questions about him everytime she pops in with her annoying rules and regulations on inter-team banter… He can do better, why does he always go for people like that?
A familiar feeling of disdain and vague envy curled in his gut while he ruminated on this potential source of the mononucleosis infection Morgan might be exhibiting the first symptoms of. Reid never much liked Morgan’s choice of frequently rotating sexual partners, and this outcome was exactly what he was talking about when he chided him for ‘getting around the block’ a little too often.
Another glance out the door confirmed his kiss-happy friend was still missing in action.
“Where is Morgan, then?” he asked as he started gathering his notes, files and maps to pack up his bag, the irritation at the entire situation clear in his tone.
Hotch checked his watch and frowned, glancing around in a quick visual survey to come up empty-handed.
“Not sure. I’ll give him a call--”
The bathroom door across the hall opened just as Reid was buttoning up his coat.
Morgan emerged looking slightly odd, as if he had indeed just been ill. Both Hotch and Reid noticed before he could slap an easy smile on his face to try and hide it.
“There you are. You alright?” Hotch pocketed his phone, gazing at Morgan with some concern. Morgan shrugged, eying Reid’s tweed coat and bulging bag.
“Yeah, sorry, I must’ve eaten something weird, stomach’s a mess. Where are you off to all bundled up, Pretty Ricky?”
Reid huffed, gesturing back at Hotch with a magnificent eye roll that didn’t quite hide his worried interest in Morgan’s gastrointestinal upset.
“Where are we off to, actually--Hotch wants us to head up to the newest dump site before dark. We’ve been invited to sleep at the Ranger Station!” His sarcastic inflection was not lost on Hotch.
“Spencer, if you are so set against it I’ll just ask Prentiss and JJ--”
“Nope, no, it’s fine, we got this, right Derek, we LOVE camping with strangers while a winter weather advisory bears down on us--I’ll go get a car!”
Morgan chuckled as he watched the grouchy guy limp off down the hall mumbling mutinously about bunk beds and spider eggs. His eyes lingered on the way Reid’s sculpted hand gripped the head of his cane.
“Morgan? Are you sure you’re alright? I wasn’t joking, really, I can send JJ and Prentiss instead. I mostly chose you and Reid to piss him off,” Hotch said glibly, his arms folded across his chest as he too watched the haughty young Alpha go off in search of four wheel drive car keys.
“Why? He cheat at poker on the jet again?” Morgan asked, distracted.
He found it very difficult to drag his eyes away from watching Reid speak with the Sheriff secretary. Reid’s lips were so expressive when he talked.
Hotch gave a vague nod, his attention once again trained on Morgan. “Yep. Little shit. Do me a favor and fight him over the bottom bunk.”
Morgan shrugged his coat on, trying to ignore how uncomfortable the extra clothing felt.
He was plenty warm enough, and he knew why, but he wasn’t about to give it away by going outside in this freezing, wet weather without an outer layer. Hotch’s request didn’t help.
Something about the idea of fighting Reid over the bottom bunk struck a chord in him that his Unit Chief most likely did not intend to strike.
“You got it, boss. I’ll call you when we get there.”
Hotch reached out to grip his arm before he could leave. Morgan glanced at him, nostrils flaring at the simple contact sending flames from their locus throughout his body.
He struggled not to react and wrench his arm away when his Alpha supervisor peered closer at him.
“Morgan… it’s April.”
Shit. The man is astute, I’ll give him that.
He bit his lip, the easy fake smile fading into a tight, guarded line.
“Sure is, Hotch.”
Hotch’s expression softened but his concern visibly deepened. “You’re due soon. Do you need to stand down?”
Morgan pulled his arm out of Hotch’s gentle grip, his jaw clenched tight.
“No. I’m good, man. It’s not due til next week, I’m just having hot flashes.”
“Hot flashes.”
“Yeah. It’s normal. I’ve got my sups, I’m doubling up--I am fine. If I wasn’t, you would know.”
Morgan made it clear with his stance and his tone that he wasn’t fucking around. Hotch had no business telling him to stand down when his Heat was still a week away; technically, he didn’t even need to tell his Alpha boss his time was near, but Hotch had known his Heat date since he was in the Academy, still training, trying to fit in with the other cadets who couldn’t quite believe he was Omega.
Hotch relented but only after a long few moments of intense eye contact, his stony glare boring into Morgan almost to the point that Morgan felt the need to look away.
“Alright. Go ahead. But please, Derek--bail if you need to bail. No one will fault you for it.”
I’ll fault myself for it, though.
“Understood. Thanks. Call you later, if we have service.”
“Safe driving.”
“So long as it’s me behind the wheel you got nothin’ to worry about.”
…
“--NEVER would have made it out of the Sarlac’s pit, though, Morgan, I don’t know how many times we need to go over this--”
“We never need to go over it again if I have my way, Reid, you’re arguing with yourself about something I literally give no shits about, conversations are not chess games--shit, can you shut up for a minute, I keep losing the road in this mess.”
Morgan strained his eyes to peer through the constantly fogging windshield at the invisible road ahead. Everything was shrouded in a deep freezing mist that simply wouldn’t relent as they drove up the winding road toward the remote ranger station.
It did not help that his eyes were aching and bleary already, an unfortunate side effect of his impending Heat. One that he hadn’t prepared for, either. He had prescription glasses he hardly ever used, really only when he was in the thick of his yearly Heat and literally unable to see through the heavy haze of needy lust. He neglected to bring them along on this case, under the assumption that he couldn’t possibly be that close yet.
Reid ceased his endless one-sided ramble about Star Wars fan theory, leaning forward to try to wipe the windshield clean of the muggy condensation building up in the cab. He flicked on the defroster, frowning at the aircon set to cool rather than heat.
“Weird--the heat’s off in the car but it’s so warm in here. Must be faulty.” He played with the dials for a minute, twisting them this way and that with his agile fingers. He heard a strange sound that might be the air system hissing, almost like a moan--he twisted the dials again and leaned forward even more, concerned when he heard the odd moan louder this time.
“What the hell is up with this thing…”
He realized Morgan hadn’t responded. The car was slowing down.
When he looked up he was shocked to see Morgan’s face drained of color, his jaw tightly clenched, knuckles white around the steering wheel. He watched him suck in a breath and realized the moaning hiss he heard wasn’t the car--it was his friend.
“Derek? You okay? What’s wrong, is it your stomach again?”
Spencer reached over to rub the guy’s shoulder but Morgan flinched away, the tires screeching to an abrupt halt against the frosty road.
“Sorry--um--don’t--don’t touch me, Reid, please--I think I’m gonna be sick--”
Morgan threw the car in park with a clumsy jerk against the gear shaft, his other hand fumbling at the door handle until he stumbled out of the car, desperate to feel the cool air on his overheating face.
Unlike every other time he ran away to the bathroom complaining of his stomach only to splash water on himself during a ‘hot flash’, the abrupt nausea was very real.
And what it meant--well, he was simply not prepared for Hotch and Garcia’s concern to be warranted.
It’s happening--NOW.
I’m going into Heat, now, here--with Reid--he’s right there--the damn dials, all it took was one glance at his fucking fingers playing with the dials and I feel like I’m gonna combust--nope--vomit--
He threw up into the frozen bushes clustered along the side of the narrow track when he realized that this situation was real and not some delirious romantic fever dream he cooked up during his last Heat.
His entire body was alight with a dreadfully familiar, aching, bone-deep need . For the first time in his life, though, Morgan was not at home alone, surrounded by the dull comforts of his possessions, dosed up with ativan and suppressants to keep the worst of the annual experience at bay.
He was in the middle of goddamned nowhere, hours out from the rest of the Team and civilization, with night falling rapidly and a storm about to descend upon them on this deserted mountain road.
And the only person there with him was the Alpha he’d been nurturing a secret flame for ever since he met the skinny, infuriating genius.
The second round of vomiting came with a violent impulse to get on his knees and beg Reid for help.
Oh god, no, no, fight it, just say no, tell him to get me back to the Station or--or just leave me the fuck here--
“Derek, I’m right here, man, just get it out, it’ll be over soon…”
The comforting voice came from his right, breaking through his overwrought thoughts with the addition of a firm hand between his heaving shoulder blades. He actually moaned through the last of his vomiting fit when he felt that touch.
His goddamned beautiful hands are TOUCHING me--
Morgan spit a few times, his blurred eyes scrunched shut as he fought off the need to turn around and grab Reid, wrestle him to the frozen ground, get on top of him and pin him there until those pretty hazel eyes finally saw what was right there in front of him.
The compulsion to tell Spencer exactly how he felt about him was so strong, Morgan was stunned.
He wanted to tell him about his Heat, tell him he did this on purpose--
I didn’t--I didn’t, it’s too soon--I didn’t know it would happen like this, I never would have gone out, how could I do this to him--
“Can you say something? God, you’re burning up--you’re--oh.”
Morgan stayed rooted to the ground on his knees, trembling but not because of the frigid rain misting down around them as dusk fell.
He could sense Reid crouched behind him, just inches away. His heightened awareness of their surroundings started and ended with Reid; everything else faded away but Reid.
Morgan could hear his quickened breath so clearly. Feel the glancing touch of trembling fingertips unsure of how firm to grip.
He could smell him, too. A rare occurrence--he had never once caught so much as a whiff of anything other than the subtle cologne the guy wore.
Reid took a heavier dose of suppressants than anyone on the Team in his all-consuming effort to efface his secondary gender. Like everything he did, the genius took it above and beyond the normal scope of effort to keep himself under control at all times as an Alpha.
Morgan had spent far too many stolen moments alone imagining what Spencer Reid might actually smell like beneath the mask.
Hot honey and dusty, handmade paper.
Like a flame being snuffed out by a sudden gust of wind, Morgan’s heat-fueled nausea evaporated the second he registered the intoxicating scent of the Alpha hovering so very close to him.
He needed to focus. Get up. Move. Talk to Reid, tell him--
Tell him everything, confess it, fuck, I’m in love with the guy and he’s RIGHT THERE, close enough to smell, to touch, to feel--
“Morgan, you--you’re going into Heat?”
The words crashed into him like a belated wave finding the shore. He could feel them physically, the sound of each syllable elongated weirdly, echoing around through his head long after Reid finished speaking.
At least it felt like ages before Morgan could interpret what the question was.
Reid was talking again now, too soon for him to phrase a response or remember how to speak without begging.
“...I need you to get up, Derek--we have to get you sequestered safely, the Ranger station shouldn’t be too far, they should have a safe room there--”
Those hands were finally touching him.
Morgan couldn’t help his immediate impulse to collapse in his arms; Reid never should have touched him.
He felt the slighter man dragging him away from the cool, hard ground, heaving him up and back until he let his body ragdoll backward.
“Shit--Derek, I can’t--I can’t support you, man, you need to help me out--can you hear me? Shit shit shit--”
Spencer Reid was very close to panicking.
A thousand realizations had slammed into him all at once when he approached Morgan’s heaving body crumpled on the side of the road--when it finally clicked why his friend had been disappearing all day, why he’d been acting so odd, the nausea, the flushed cheeks, it wasn’t MONO, it was something far more dangerous if he didn’t get it under control, NOW--
When he got close enough to reach out and touch his shoulder, his fingers slipping upward to graze the base of his neck just beneath his collar, he nearly snatched his hand back at the fever he could feel radiating just beneath the surface of Derek’s bare skin.
And then the obvious, absolutely overwhelming scent of an Omega in Heat permeated his head to knock out every other potential thought. How he had missed it all day was beyond him, but then again, his suppressants usually rendered him unable to smell much of anything.
An Omega in Heat-- this particular Omega-- wasn’t something his dull olfactories could ignore indefinitely.
Spencer had never been gobsmacked quite so thoroughly by such a primal surge of insatiable lust mixed with horror in his life.
The instant erection pressing violently against his tight slacks didn’t help his brain function while he tried to figure out what the hell to do.
There he was about to collapse beneath Derek’s dead weight as he attempted to drag him back to the car from the ditch. He had been so concerned for his friend that he forgot to bring his cane, an oversight he knew he’d regret later once the adrenaline wore off.
If the adrenaline wore off, that is.
At the moment his heart was racing and he felt like his weak knee might actually buckle if Morgan didn’t at least try to get his feet under him.
“Derek, I really can’t hold you up like this, you need to try to walk!”
The urgency in his tone seemed to get through to the larger man he was barely supporting. Morgan gasped like he hadn’t been breathing properly but he managed to take a few haggard steps, just enough for Reid to get a shoulder underneath him in a better position to support his limp body.
Reid got the backseat door open and with some feat of strength he had no idea he possessed, he succeeded in hauling Morgan inside without further incident. He tried to take a step back and catch his breath but suddenly Morgan was sitting up, panting, his eyes dark and unfocused, pupils blown wide as he reached out and grabbed Spencer by his coat to yank him back in.
“F-Fuck, Derek, let go--I know you’re not feeling like yourself right now, I uh-understand, just try to hold out a little longer and we can get you somewhere safe--ge-get you suppressed before this ge-gets worse--AH--”
“No. Reid…” Morgan’s fist only clenched tighter around the soft wool of his collar. “Can’t let you go… I have to tell you… I need to tell you… god you smell so fucking good, Spencer.”
With a shudder and a deep, drawn out moan, Morgan buried his face against Spencer’s neck, nearly sending the Alpha toppling backward into the ditch. Spencer just managed to fling out an arm and catch himself on the doorframe.
Morgan’s well-built arms were already wrapping around him tight, the heat of his body radiating from him like a furnace turned up to eleven. Spencer finally felt a surge of something other than shock when he realized how far gone his friend actually was to the throes of his Heat. Too far gone for words to reach him.
He would have to be forceful or this situation could and would get very messy, very fast.
I can already feel it happening--shit, I’m--I’m responding, if he keeps this up I’ll go into Rut, we’re too close, I care about him too much--I know I won’t be able to resist if that happens--
Would that be so awful?
YES, it would be awful--this is DEREK MORGAN. He would despise me if he EVER knew the filthy things I’ve thought about him while I’m lost in a Rut. He has no idea what he’s doing--I have to be firm with him or I’ll ruin our friendship forever.
Reid hated himself for the rapid-fire resolve he felt when he shoved Morgan away from him, hard.
He hated himself even more when he heard the clear Alpha command slip from his mouth, the closest he had ever been to actually growling in his life.
“STOP it, Derek. Get off of me and calm down, now. ”
Morgan fell back, stunned and wide-eyed at the force of Reid’s shove. The command was impossible for him to ignore; it went against the core of his nature to defy a direct command from an Alpha he loved and respected.
There was a reason it was completely taboo for any Alpha to issue such a directive to an Omega outside of a life or death scenario--or the intimacy of a bedroom.
Morgan felt as if he’d been doused with ice cold water. A thousand tiny knives piercing his skin all over, extinguishing the glorious heat he was seconds away from getting lost in when he experienced the relief of Reid’s body so close to his.
It was gone, replaced by instant shame and dread at the stricken look on Spencer’s white face as he stood there, glaring at him.
He couldn’t find words to speak, or maybe his tongue had simply forgotten how to form them. Either way it didn’t matter; Spencer didn’t give him a chance to say anything.
“I’m sorry, Derek. Just stay there, I’m going to drive us to the ranger station.”
The door slammed shut in Morgan’s face before he could process the abrupt end to his delusional, heat-born breakdown.
He fell back against the leather backseat, gasping as he tried to catch up to reality and fight off another wave of sickening Heat clashing with the cold dose of rejection he’d just received.
The engine started up, another echoing slam of a car door from up front, and then he felt the tires spinning beneath him as they tried to keep up with Reid’s frantic press against the gas pedal.
All he could manage to do was shut his eyes and try to stem the useless tears as that familiar cramping need began to build in his gut, flashes of Spencer’s furious, horrified expression branding itself in his brain.
Spencer gunned it down the slippery road through the dense fog as fast as he dared, his heart hammering in his chest.
He had his cell phone in one hand while the other gripped the steering wheel tight.
Come on, come on--
The “No service” message killed his attempt to dial Hotch. He typed out 911 frantically instead, praying that maybe he could get through on the emergency channels that might have coverage out here.
No dice.
“Fuck!” In a fit of rage and adrenaline he would definitely regret later he threw the stupid cell phone at the dashboard, unintentionally snapping it right in half.
“FUCK.”
He had to calm down. There was nothing for it but to drive as fast as he could to make it to the Ranger station, where hopefully he could get Morgan sequestered and dosed up with whatever the Rangers had on hand for emergency Heat management.
Knowing the kind of people who end up Rangers in these remote parks, they’ll all be more interested in how they can lure Derek off and take advantage of him… probably all horny, amped up Alphas, Alphas who don’t get out much, just dying for the chance to fuck a desperate Omega in Heat--especially a rare one like Derek.
The very idea of Derek being accosted by the imaginary amalgam of cruel, mountain-man Alpha his brain concocted did nothing to stifle Reid’s enraged panic. But he had no choice--it was either Rangers or deal with Morgan himself while he tried to make it back to town, hours back down the mountain.
His foot pressed harder on the gas as he careened recklessly up the crooked road, his jaw set in a tight line, barely even seeing anything.
He had to try very hard to breathe only through his mouth as the car quickly steamed up again from the intensity of his friend’s building Heat. If he got another full whiff of Morgan's intoxicating scent... he knew it would all be over.
A clumsy pass at the air conditioning did nothing to clear the fog on the windshield.
Then he heard Derek groan from the backseat.
The pitiful sound sent a shock of electric longing through his body straight to his already aching cock. Spencer flushed deep red and bit his lip, chancing a glance in the rearview mirror.
Derek sprawled across the entirety of the backseat, his back arched as he tore at his jacket desperately to get it off.
It was a bad idea to look.
Reid forced his eyes back to the fog-shrouded road and found his voice.
“Just, try to hang in there, Morgan. Um--I’ve got the AC on full blast, take your jacket off if you need-- shit-- ”
He hit an icy patch of asphalt and the tires lost their grip in an instant. Spencer felt the spin, tried to correct, tried to ease the brakes just enough to slow their momentum but there wasn’t time and the road was far too narrow for even this one small mistake. He knew it was going to happen a split second before it did.
“MORGAN HANG ON!”