Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/231443.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Criminal_Minds
  Relationship:
      Nathan_Harris/Spencer_Reid
  Character:
      Spencer_Reid, Nathan_Harris
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-07-30 Words: 716
****** Connection ******
by vange
Summary
     A self-destructive, Dilaudid-using Reid indulges Nathan's violent
     sexual fantasies.
The psychologists were thrilled that Reid offered to spend the weekend with
Nathan. Reintroducing him to society, healthy interaction, insight into the
dangerous mind, etc, etc. He wasn't really paying attention to what was coming
out of his mouth. It didn't matter next to the gnawing at the back of his mind
that needed to be shut up. And if he couldn't have the Dilaudid and couldn't
have a case and couldn't even have Ethan's halfhearted attempt at romance when
he just needed to get fucked up then he was going to take whatever distraction
he could get.
And god, Nathan was a good distraction. They ended up in Reid's apartment, it
was ridiculous to pretend it was going to end any other way, and when he was
pouring Nathan his third glass of wine (it wasn't really corrupting the
innocent since Nathan wasn't innocent at all) he finally noticed how his hands
were shaking. Nathan was staring at them nervously and Reid had to fight the
urge to hide them.
"Are you okay?" Nathan asked quietly and averted his eyes. The profiler in Reid
noted the avoidance of eye contact and the defensive body language as the rest
of him noticed how nice Nathan's face look partly shadowed by his hair. It was
getting long, the doctors probably didn't let patients around scissors too
much, but it was still tempting and soft and Reid had to crush the desire to
touch it.
"I'm taking personal time. There was a bad case." He drained the last of his
wine. He was several glasses ahead of Nathan, just drunk enough to ignore the
guilt over it.
"Oh," Nathan said. He finally looked up at Reid and licked his chapped lips.
Reid swallowed hard, telling himself he was not enjoying how Nathan was looking
at him.
"I shot a suspect." Reid didn't know why he was confessing. Maybe part of him
thought that Nathan's own violent tendencies would justify his own. Or maybe he
just wanted to be wanted by someone, even if it was just some poor, sick kid.
"Did he die? Was there blood and stuff?" Reid nodded. "Why did you do it?"
"Because he was torturing me."
That finally did it. Reid let Nathan push him back on the couch and shove his
tongue into Reid's mouth, inexperienced and desperate. When Reid grabbed
Nathan's hair, pulling it to force him into a less brutal kiss Nathan
immediately struggled, clawing Reid's sides.
Virgin, Reid's helpful mind contributed. Can't get it up for anything but
violence. And you can't get it up without drugs. He shoved the voice to the
back, instead moving to pull at Nathan's sweater, needing to feel skin because
he was starved for touch. Nathan was awkward but cooperative until he was down
to his undershirt. Then he jerked away, suddenly self conscious and Reid
realized he was hiding his arms and the long, white scars running down from his
wrists. Reid snorted as he tried to hold back his hysterical laughter at how
shy you could be over petty things next to the naked, bloody corpses he was
paid to stare at.
It pissed Nathan off, and he punched Reid in the chest. Reid made an indignant
noise before Nathan interrupted him with an angry growl and shoved Reid down
hard, yanking his head back by the hair to bite down on his neck. Reid
instinctively struggled, which just spurred Nathan on more, grabbing Reid's
throat and squeezing while he rutted against Reid's hips. Reid's body was weak
from neglect and dizzy from the wine so it wasn't much of a fight. Instead he
spread his legs, pulling Nathan in closer and pushing back against the
rhythmless violence. His weak cries were drowned out by Nathan's wheezing
pants. He sounded on the edge of hyperventilating before finally letting out a
pained groan and shuddering on top of Reid. Pathetically, his shaking collapse
was what finally sent Reid over the edge.
They laid clinging together slowly coming down. Nathan tucked his face into the
space between Reid's shoulder and neck, breathing shallowly. Reid really hoped
he wasn't going to cry because if he did he was going to lock himself in the
bathroom and shoot up until he could forget the entire evening.
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 he left Yuri in the cold when he went to Japan, and
when he got engaged so publicly. That he'd not acknowledged that Yuri had held
his heart first, before he chose to give it away.
Viktor leaves the room again, shedding his clothes. He finds the lube in the
bathroom cabinet, and he can't help his strut as he re-enters the room. He
strides over and carefully lifts Yuri up, then lays him on the floor. Yuri is
as unresisting as a doll.
"What are you doing?" he asks listlessly, and this depression worries Viktor
more than the cursing and the tantrums.
"Be mindful of your ankle," Viktor says, and he reaches into Yuri's boxer
briefs. Yuri's soft, limp and warm against his palm, but Viktor squeezes a
little, then bends his head and blows over it.
"Okay, seriously, Vitya, I can't—"
"You can," Viktor says. He produces the lube, and in the process of coating
Yuri's cock with it, Yuri's body grows clearly interested in the proceedings.
He's hard and jutting upward when Viktor's finished, and probably the fact that
he has a finger in his own ass helped with that. "Please just… go easy on me."
"Wait. You—" Yura wraps his own hand around his cock, and his other hand
reaches up behind Viktor's heavy balls to find and probe at his opening.
Viktor's done this before, but not often; his most memorable experience was an
after-banquet drunken tryst with Chris. But he told Yura the truth: he never
allowed Yuuri to fuck him. "I thought you said you wouldn't," Yura says.
"I changed my mind. Put it inside." Viktor closes his eyes and braces himself.
"You have to relax," Yuri says, "or it won't work, remember?" The blunt head of
his dick prods at his hole, and Viktor carefully loosens his muscles, letting
the stress and worry melt away from him. When Yuri slides upward, filling him,
Viktor lets out a gasp.
"You hate it," Yura says, even as his hands grip Viktor's hips to pull him
down, seating himself fully within and cradling Viktor's ass against his
pelvis.
"I, ah, I don't," Viktor says, but he's not sure he likes it, either. Then Yura
moves, a sinuous roll of his hips, his body, and Viktor is surprised.
"If you hate it, just tell me to stop already," Yuri says, but he's breathless,
and that little hitch between each word stops Viktor from doing just that.
"I love you," he says, eyes still closed, head leaned back, his hands braced on
either side of Yura's thin thighs, behind his back.
"Look at me," Yuri says, and he sounds angry, just like the teenager Viktor's
loved for so long. He opens his eyes, and he focuses them on those bright,
inquisitive, insightful green ones. And it works—Viktor's body forgets its
objections, his mind is quieted, and something about the connection forged by
holding Yuri's eyes even as Yura's dick plows into him turns the experience on
its head. Suddenly that unsure feeling is an oh yes, and Viktor reaches
forward, strokes a fingertip down the side of Yuri's cheek. At his jaw, the
beginning of light blond stubble abrades his finger, the color so pale you
can't see it, but he must be so thrilled—and Viktor is overwhelmed by just how
much he loves this man. Yuri's not a child—not anymore.
The connection between their bodies throbs, and Viktor feels pleasure spike
like lightning traveling up his spine. Yura twists his hips and thrusts upward,
and Viktor moans.
Those green eyes are so uncompromising. They are older than his seventeen
years, and Viktor is pinned by that glorious gaze. His hips are pumping, and
Viktor's grinding down, and suddenly it's Yura's turn to gasp, as he squeezes
his hands too tightly on Viktor's hips and comes.
"Ah-ah," Viktor says, and he doesn't know what does it, but the way those eyes
grow glassy with pleasure from his orgasm, the way his dick feels deep
inside—Viktor comes too, spurting over them both. It's a stronger orgasm than
he's had in awhile, and Yura's eyes finally close. From his expression, mixing
things up in their sex life has done more than distract him from his injury.
"I might, just, kinda like you too, old man," Yura mumbles, and that's about
when Potya decides Viktor's ass must be made of some hard material because she
claws him but good. Viktor shouts his own Russian curses, and Yura opens his
eyes again and laughs.
"Get off me," he says, "and turn skating back on. I can't believe you let me
into your treasured ass just to make me feel better."
Viktor climbs off, rubbing the bleeding marks on his ass.
"I didn't realize I was so transparent," he says.
"You're always transparent," Yuri says. "You aren't as sneaky as you mean to
be."
"Just you wait," Viktor says, mock-angrily, "next time I'll be sneaky behind."
"Not with this ankle."
"Just five more weeks, Yura, and you can wait till then." Viktor knows the
moment Yuri understands that Viktor means he won't fuck him again for weeks.
"You fucker!" he hollers, and Viktor smiles. The venom, the life, is back in
Yuri's voice. And the imprecation isn't meant to wound.
"I'll take you to dinner tomorrow," Viktor promises, kissing Yuri's lips
gently. "And we can make out in public as much as you want."
The smile on Yura's face tells Viktor all he needs to know about Yuri's
trust—and how much faith he really has in his boyfriend, after all.
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