Title: You Can Have Me Anytime
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Greg Sanders/Spencer Reid
Fandom: CSI: Vegas/Criminal Minds
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Greg Sanders or Spencer Reid, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.

***

Greg looked at his watch as he hurried into the hotel; he'd been worried about being late, but fortunately, he wasn't. He still had a little more than five minutes before he would be officially late, and possibly in trouble with the head of the agency.

He hadn't really wanted to take this job at first, but he'd found after the first few times that he enjoyed being an escort, he mused as he pressed the button to call the elevator. It made him more tired than usual when he went to work at the lab, but he had no choice.

He'd known that he would take a pay cut once he was promoted to being a CSI and got out of the lab, but he hadn't realized just how much it would be. And since he wasn't about to ask his parents for money, he'd taken this second job out of necessity.

The only thing he really disliked about it was having to move to day shift, though that hadn't really ended up being so bad. Everyone who worked days was nice, and he didn't have to deal with people who still thought of him as a lab rat and didn't treat him like a real CSI.

Being an escort hadn't been something he'd thought that he could do all that well -- but he'd been told that he should capitalize on his looks, and it had seemed as good a way of earning money as any. Besides, he could always quit at any time. He wasn't bound to it.

And he'd been surprisingly successful, he thought as he entered the elevator and watched the doors close. There had been no shortage of gay men, both Vegas residents and visitors to the city, who wanted to spend an evening in the company of an attractive young man.

His evenings didn't always involve sex -- but a lot of them did. Greg couldn't count the number of men he'd been to bed with since he'd started this job -- and he couldn't even remember most of their names. There were a few who stood out -- but they'd been the bad ones.

The good ones were simply a pleasant evening, a few hours in bed, an orgasm or two -- or sometimes half a dozen -- and then a murmured goodbye and the feeling that he'd never see them again. He didn't let his emotions get in the way. He didn't get personally involved.

The bad ones .... Greg couldn't keep back a shudder at some of the memories that flooded his mind. There had a been a few that he'd rather not remember, nights when he had stumbled out of hotel rooms feeling bruised and battered, though he couldn't tell anyone about it.

It wasn't like he could go to the people he worked with and tell them he'd been beaten and raped while he was working as an escort. He simply had to deal with the mistakes as best he could, and hope that he would never run into those men again.

There were times when it was hard to make himself get into bed with any of the men that the escort service booked him with, no matter how well they paid. Though of course, he did always have the right to say no -- it was just all too easy for them to force him.

When they were bigger and stronger than him, saying no wasn't an option. And neither was bringing it up with the people who ran the escort service. They would simply tell him that he took on certain risks with his job, and that he had to deal with them on his own.

The guy who he was supposed to spend the evening with tonight sounded nice; they'd said that he was young, and that Greg would like him. But that wasn't the point, was it? It was immaterial whether or not he liked any guy who the agency set him up with for the night.

The important thing was that the guy liked him. He had to be charming, show the guy around the city, and if he wanted to end up in bed at some point, he had to be willing to put out. It all went along with the job -- and he was paid well for it.

The agency not only paid him well for spending the entire night with a client, but the clients also had to pay for any services they expected. If they wanted to take an escort to bed, they had to have the money up front, and they had to pay the escort directly.

The agency looked at it as being compensation for the services rendered. And most escorts felt that the money was worth the wear and tear on their bodies -- even if the clients turned out to be more violent than they might have at first bargained for.

There hadn't been many men who'd paid for his time who hadn't wanted to bed him, Greg thought wryly. He could only remember two out of the couple of dozen men who had been his clients. And neither of them had been the kind of man he wanted to sleep with, anyway.

He had to admit that there had been a few who he hadn't minded going to bed with. They'd been attractive, and even good in bed. And some of them had even been gentle and tender with him, looking for someone to lavish affection on for the evening, not just meaningless sex.

What would the guy tonight be like? He could at least be glad that this one was young; he'd been told that Spencer Reid was almost as attractive as he was. Greg had to laugh at that; the owner of the agency had what he could only refer to as dubious taste in men.

Fortunately, he was never stuck with older men. He'd specified that when he had started working as an escort; he wasn't going to be one of those guys who became sex toys for sugar daddies. All the men who had access to him were on the younger side.

Greg didn't really want to let himself think about what might happen when one of the men he serviced in his secret life came into contact with his day job. It was bound to happen sooner or later -- and he knew that he was walking on a tightrope that he could easily fall from.

When and if that happened, he would have to deal with it. He wasn't going to spend his time worrying about it -- because it might not take place. Though he had the uneasy feeling that it was only a matter of time, and that his days at the crime lab were numbered.

Or would it be his days as an escort that were numbered? The crime lab might not want to lose him. It wasn't as though he was an invaluable CSI; he'd just started in that capacity, and he was still on the low end of the totem pole where that aspect of his job was concerned.

But he was a valuable asset to the lab. If what he was doing with his nights came to light eventually, he could easily be demoted back to the status of lab rat -- and never be given a chance to work in the field again. That was one thing he didn't want to happen.

It might not even happen, Greg told himself firmly as the elevator doors opened smoothly in front of him, allowing him to step out into the hall that Spencer Reid's room was on. He ran a hand through his hair as he headed towards the room he knew was at the front end of the hall.

So what would this guy end up being like? There was no way to tell until they'd talked for a while -- and for all he knew, Spencer Reid might not want to talk. He might just want to spend the evening in bed, without even going out to dinner or getting to know each other at all.

That wasn't usually what escorts were wanted for, of course. Most people wanted him to do just what his job title said -- to escort them to a party, or for an evening out on the town. Taking him to bed was simply one of the clients' perks, if they wished to make use of it.

There were always exceptions, though. There had been a few men who had been trying to rip Greg's clothes from his body before the door was even closed, without caring about anything but the sex they felt that they were entitled to get from him.

Coming to a stop in front of the door, Greg cleared his throat, then rapped a few times with his knuckles. He had no idea if Spencer Reid would come to the door quickly, or if he would take his time; some men liked to keep their escorts waiting for a few minutes.

When the door opened, Greg looked up -- and up. The young man standing in front of him was much taller than he'd expected; he wasn't a short guy himself, so that kind of height was pretty impressive. That was a point in Spencer's favor; Greg had always liked tall men.

It took him a moment to remember to breathe as his eyes traveled upwards to Spencer Reid's face. He was usually pleasantly surprised by the men who the agency set him up with as far as their looks were concerned, but this time, they'd outdone themselves.

Standing in front of him was one of the most gorgeous men he'd ever laid eyes on. Warm brown eyes, a tentative, almost shy smile, and long brown hair that framed a face Greg could have sworn had come directly from the heavens above, not from any place where mortals resided.

"H-hi," he stammered, holding out his hand, unable to think of anything to say for a few fleeting seconds. "I'm Greg Sanders. I'm the escort you hired for the evening." It sounded stupid, more so than when he usually said it, considering what he wanted to be saying to this man.

What he really wanted to say was, "Take me, I'm yours. Let me walk into that room, lock the door behind us, and take me to bed and keep me there all night. Do anything you want to me, I won't say no. You can have me anytime."

But he didn't say that; he didn't dare. Instead, he let the young man take his proffered hand and shake it before walking into the room and letting Spencer close the door behind him. His heart was pounding, his breath coming fast, his hands shaking a little.

"Hi, Greg," Spencer said, his voice soft and even. "I'm Spencer Reid. But I guess you already know that." He closed the door, then turned to Greg with that small smile still curving his lips, and Greg knew that his heart was utterly and irrevocably lost for all time.

***