The Secret Obsession

Reid discoverys(edited)

Strung out on coffee doctored with too much sugar, Reid presses the tips of his fingers to his eyes, rubs, and winces.

He's had a headache for days, and the bright light that Morgan's working by isn't helping matters any.

They've been working this same case for weeks now. It feels like they're chasing after ghosts.

Reid's so tired that he can barely think straight. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, king-sized, in the only room that had been available. Some kind of convention's in town, and there's a party going on in the adjoining room. From the sounds coming through the wall, Reid doubts the party's going to end anytime soon, which is just perfect in a not-perfect way.

A quick glance at the hotel alarm clock reveals that it's half past one in the morning. He's never been this tired.

"Reid, why don't you get some sleep?" Morgan says, he doesn't even glance up from the police report that he's reading, the same report he's read at least a half a dozen times over the past couple of days.

Reid opens his mouth to speak, ends up yawning instead. He blinks sluggishly in Morgan's direction, tries, a second time, to work up a response, but is thwarted by second jaw-cracking yawn. He rubs at his eyes and scowls when he sees that Morgan is watching him with a teasing grin twitching at the corner of his lips.

"'M fine," Reid manages around yet another yawn.

He rubs at his eyes to try to get rid of his double-vision. He doesn't need to be mocked by two Morgans, thank you very much. Even if both of them are kind of hot, even dressed as they are in wrinkled clothes that haven't been changed in a couple of days.

"Sure you are, kid," Morgan says, a hint of laughter in his voice.

And Reid really wishes that Morgan would stop calling him that. He hasn't been a kid for years. Maybe never really was a kid to begin with.

Kids don't carry government-issued weapons.

Kids don't work for the FBI.

Kids don't profile and track down serial killers.

Kids don't picture their partners, naked, skin slick with sweat, lips wrapped tautly around a pulsing erection.

Reid can feel himself blushing, and, in spite of his exhaustion, he's hard. He imagines how Morgan would taste. How he'd taste on Morgan's tongue if Morgan sucked him off. It's enough to drive him mad, and make his headache even worse, because he knows that none of that will happen.

"I think it's time you went to bed," Morgan says, there's a hint of laughter in his voice. "Your eyelids are starting to droop."

Reid's eyelids might be drooping, but another, more insistent part of his anatomy is definitely wide awake and on high alert. Far from dropping, it's pushing up against the zipper of his pants, straining, begging for release, and Reid really needs a shower right now. Preferably one with Morgan.

The image of Morgan's hands, wet and lathered in thick, white soap, wandering over the length of Reid's body nearly takes his breath away, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from whimpering aloud.

He closes his eyes and pictures Morgan kneeling in front of him in the shower, shoulders rounded, head bent, water streaming down his back. The spray of the shower pinging off of Morgan's bowed, and bobbing head is nearly Reid's undoing.