Title: Overture in Solo, Prelude to Decrescendo Accelerando
Author: Druscilla Ryan
Rating: Hard R; FRM.
Pairing: Slash, Reid/OMCs.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters that you recognize.
Word Count: 966.
Author's Notes: This story is set before Elle left the BAU.
This is a list of the musical terms applicable to both this story and it's sequel.
Summary: Picture if you will, a musical piece of all your mistakes for the past few months. Reid can't wait to turn the record over.

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Overture in Solo, Prelude to Decrescendo Accelerando


I. The Scotch Sonata


He really shouldn't have gone. The bar was too dark, the drink was too strong, and the arms were too possessive. He couldn't see the eyes, couldn't see the face. He barely knew it was happening until he was pressed up against the side of a car with Scotch flavored lips pressing against his. He opened his mouth to the kiss, reminded of the fact that he'd always hated Scotch.

He was pushed into the backseat of the car suddenly; he hadn't even seen the door open. A noise somewhere between a squeak and a gasp left his parted lips as the other man moved over him. I can't fuck in a car! It's illegal and I work for the FBI. Rationality was quickly replaced by fear as two hands immediately began unzipping his jeans. Foreplay wasn't required, but a few minutes of it might have eased some of the tension from his body.

But, then again, maybe it was the eyes. Almost too dark to be human.

"Condom." He barely got the word out of his mouth.

"I don't..."

"Get a condom or get off of me." Being half drunk and completely terrified didn't destroy all prudence. You can't unhinge years of terrifying statistics with a few sloppy kisses.

"Don't be..."

"Off." He was surprised at how strong his arms were at that moment, and he had to fight the smirk when the guy opened his wallet and pulled out a condom. He had won. Two minutes later, however, it didn't feel like winning. No prep, no lube. Pure white-hot pain. Incessant thrusts.

"A little s-slower." he managed to gasp.

"You'll be fine." Unceasing, unrelenting.

He turned his head to the side, finding a tear in the upholstery and staring at it. He fought the tears brought on by the pain. This had been a bad idea.

He hated Scotch.


II. Morning After Etude


His initial thought when waking up was how glad he was that it was Sunday. Apparently the gods of chemical ingestion had decided to spare him a hangover he most definitely deserved. He momentarily debated turning off his cell phone and taking his home phone off the hook, but decided against it. A shower, Tylenol, and a few hours would cure the pain . . . he hoped.

He got the phone call ninety minutes later. For the most part he could move without wincing, but he decided he could play it off if anyone noticed. He made sure his shirt had a collar high enough to cover the two light bruises on his neck.

He really shouldn't have gone looking for trouble the night before. He really shouldn't have drank and he definitely shouldn't have gotten into a car with a guy who could have easily raped him. His intelligence wasn't too often shadowed by sheer stupidity, but when it was the results were an understatement for ‘far from desirable'.


III. A Bourbon Minuet


He either learned slowly or was so sick of learning things that he denied his mind the right to learn from the Scotch mistake. Or perhaps he was just sampling different types of liquor until he found one to his taste. Bourbon lips tasted darker than Scotch, but the scent was fainter. His lips were bruised by the time they made it back to the apartment. The pair tripped on the stairs numerous times, only breaking kisses when needed.

It seemed softer, more gentle. But it only seemed that way. After ten minutes and a half-assed blowjob, he was gasping out in pain again. His hands shook as he placed them on the man's shoulders. "Slower." he whispered thickly.

"Shut up."

He collapsed against the bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling and waiting for it to end. Afterward he dressed and left the apartment without a word, calling a cab company from his cell phone.


IV. Alcoholic Lullaby


Rum was sweet until it wore off. Collared shirts covered the attempted strangulation marks until they faded.

Vodka was a ridiculous mistake. A forced blowjob in the car, a hard fuck in the kitchen, and a hard fuck on the bedroom floor. He got the phone call just as he left the apartment, forcing him to work through the pain and self-disgust for the next twenty-four hours.

Gin nearly got him arrested. Two minutes longer and indecent exposure charges would have been pressed when the owner of the bar made his way into the storage room.

Tequila lead to a black eye and too many questions at work. Tequila encouraged a break from the nights of bar hopping. Tequila lead to the sampling of cocktails when he returned to the alcoholic underworld.

A man who downed seven screwdrivers in forty minutes nearly tore him in half with his indifferent, rapid thrusts. The man in the suit who drank martinis had a penchant for blood, biting and tearing at skin with his fingernails. After the mixed drink fiasco which lead to a second man in the apartment and nearly choking to death, he halted bar hopping for another two months.


V. Intermezzo


"Hey, Reid." Elle said, organizing the files on her desk. "You coming with us after work?"

He looked up, startled out of his thoughts. "What?"

"New bar just opened." Morgan said, grinning as he stretched his arms. "And yours truly has the connection."

"Don't you always?" he asked with a bit of a smile.

"So, you coming?" JJ asked, stopping at his desk. He hadn't even noticed her walking down the stairs. "Come on, Spence. Your books will survive for a night without you, won't they?"

He looked at the faces of the other two and then the woman beside him. "Sure." He gave a smile. "Yeah."

Solo cadenza.

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Next story in series - Decrescendo Accelerando, a Duet.