fics: kink meme fills (criminal minds)
all unbeta'd, and hastily assembled
fine | morgan/reid, nc-17, ~730
written for this prompt
“I’m fine.”
“Fine.”
“Yeah.” The tone is a little too flat, only Reid’s years of familiarity giving him the ability to detect the pain under the words.
“Fine.” Working hard to stifle his initial annoyance, a little too relieved that it had been a slide instead of something worse, he edges carefully around the spray to bend beside Morgan. “Obviously.” He checks the shoulder Morgan refuses to admit is dislocated, and the multitude of scratches that trace his ribs and stomach. Coasting fingers down, he’s completely sure there are going to be bruises on top of bruises which is wonderful, really. “I told you to wait.”
Morgan says nothing, pointed study of the shower floor a sign of how frustrated he is, and while Reid wants badly to shake him like a child, he isn’t an idiot.
Because, yes, it’s true that he could have dislocated his other arm catching himself or twisted an ankle going down, or he could have cracked his skull open on the porcelain and bled out before Reid had seen through his ‘no, really, I need the soup now, really, Spencer’ lie but all of this will go in one ear and out the other. Because Morgan is self-reliant to an extreme that at times makes him an idiot, and because he is deathly afraid of depending on anyone who could use that against him. Still, powerless to smother his frustration for just a moment, Reid snaps, “You could have fractured something.”
“I’m fine.”
“Which is why you can’t even get to your feet.” He ignores the glare in favor of considering the situation, weighing the fact that he had been planning to get him into the shower later against the reality that Morgan will probably be incapable of even sneaking off like an idiot in a few hours. Decision made, he blows out a breath and starts stripping off his shirt, tossing it into the far corner of the bathroom for the time being. “You’re going to bed after this,” he informs his hostage as he adjusts the showerhead and returns to the figure propped against the back wall of the shower, “and Emily will be staying with you when I go to the store tomorrow because I clearly can’t trust you not to jump off a bridge just to prove you can.”
“Don't you-” The words break off into a whine, head thumping almost comically back to the wall as Reid wraps a palm around his cock and squeezes just this side of rough.
Satisfied by the reaction, he nudges Morgan until the man scoots down for more contact, eyes darkened through as the water hits his stomach and chest. Reid takes another moment to make sure his hair is plastered back from his skull before he fumbles for the washcloth with his free hand, starts to work it behind Morgan’s knees and up his thighs. It’s clumsy at first but after a moment he knows what he’s doing, can slip-slide the pads of his fingers quick and too-light from base to tip as he works the cloth over whatever skin is exposed.
There are moments when he is ridiculously grateful for his ability to multi-task.
“God,” is whimpered once but Reid barely hears it, is focused on swiping the towel as carefully as possible over an injured shoulder and down a bruised arm, grateful that Morgan is so focused on the pleasure he doesn’t seem to feel the touch. “Oh god- fuck-” Job done, he drops the cloth to the side and slips fingers forward, strokes sharply over the perineum until he hears the muffled shout, watches Morgan thrust eagerly into his hand.
When Morgan collapses backward against the wall, he shifts enough to rinse Morgan off, standing after he’s sure the soap’s completely gone to twist the water off. Stepping out of the shower to grab the towel off the hanger, he turns back to find Morgan staring at him, expression a mix of satisfaction and amazement. “What?”
“You-” There’s a glance at the washcloth folded into the corner, a startled blink. “When did that happen?”
“I’m good at multi-tasking.” He drapes the towel over Morgan and helps him shift his weight, noting with some relief that the tension is completely gone, Morgan now accepting the assistance without a hint of uncertainty. “Now come on, I want you to eat the stupid soup before you pass out.”
nick | morgan/reid, pg-13, ~1400
written for this prompt
Reid says, “You have enough time to shave” because they do before they’re due at the office and Morgan only neglects to shave when they’re rushing out to a case. But Morgan’s already halfway out the door and it’s the first time in two months they’ve left for work together without Morgan mothering his leg until Reid resorts to shoving him away with a crutch.
It’s suspicious enough to warrant a study at any other time but he puts it out of his mind now, a little giddy over not being treated like porcelain.
Three days later, when he’s glaring at Morgan over the conference table because Morgan still hasn’t shaved and only says, “I had a beard before” like this means it’s okay for him to feel like a pincushion in the middle of the night (it isn’t okay), Reid would gladly exchange another two months of overprotective FBI agent as a partner to not have to feel the bristles.
He pointedly packs a disposable razor in Morgan’s bag two days after that.
By the time the case ends, Morgan is no longer even pretending he isn’t going through this idea.
Reid says, “I hate it, get rid of it.”
Morgan says, “Just give it a chance.”
It’s already been a month and, really, a genius knows when he hates something, but Morgan’s mouth is suddenly on him and his leg’s finally healed enough that he can do something other than have sex like it’s going to break him in half (contrary to Morgan’s belief, he will not) and he’ll handle this tomorrow morning.
“Will shaves.”
“Everyday.” JJ flips a folder on top of the pile, quirks her mouth at Reid with something suspiciously close to smugness. “Just tell him you hate it.”
JJ is enjoying this.
Reid doesn’t know why even with the ability to spot a liar or Oedipal complex at fifty feet why but he doesn’t like it.
“It feels horrible.”
“Use some incentive.”
“I’m not using sex against him.” It feels wrong, somehow, to use sex in any way against Morgan (and maybe there’s a small part of him that doesn’t think he’s worth all that much even with how often Morgan insists he is). “I need to think of something else.”
“Good luck with that,” is her only response as she pushes to her feet and ducks around him. “Oh, and by the way?” He looks up to find her stopped at the door, watching him with motherly amusement. “He’d pick you over the beard.”
It’s difficult to say no to Derek Morgan, and there are issues he’d rather not deal with now- but Spencer Reid really hates that thing on his face.
The first time he does it without thinking, jerking his head back half asleep because that feels horrible. But Morgan mumbles adoringly (there’s no other word in the English language to describe the mood Derek Morgan greets him with when he wakes up) and tries to nuzzle again and he ends up smacking Morgan flatly in the side of the neck to get the scouring pad away from him (in his dream, it had been attacking him). The surprised grunt finally wakes him, Morgan staring at him with an almost comically wounded expression, and he feels awful but?
He really hates the thing on Morgan’s face.
And the scouring pad isn't attacking him anymore.
Contrary to what he knows some of the others think, it’s not just the sex or the constant physicality of what Morgan gives him without hesitation.
It’s the fact that Morgan actually cooks for him (even though he hates cooking and isn’t really that good) and that Morgan thinks his usually burned scrambled eggs are just fine. It’s that Morgan always eats the green M&Ms but saves the blue and red because he knows Reid hates the green and is downright insatiable towards the blue and red. It’s that they both have someone to go home with after the worst cases they can’t make sense of (curl together in the dark until images start to face) and it’s the fact that, for all intents and purposes, they share a dog.
So it’s not just physical, what they share, even if he does love the sex.
This is the only thing that allows him to survive the next few days.
Morgan says, a week in: “Baby, please.”
Except for his momentary weakness in the car two days before, Reid is holding out better than he’d expected himself to. He’s reasonably sure the fact that the beard almost scrapes his skin from his bones every time he almost slips is probably doing a lot to help his self-control. “I’m busy.”
Morgan glares at him, something amusingly close to a pout on his face, but Reid flips carefully through the notes scattered around the computer and does not pay attention to the easy fit of the shirt over Morgan’s frame.
“Baby.” He looks up, a little wary, and Morgan stares intently, expression oddly tight. “It’s just a goatee.”
“That’s a beard, I researched it-”
“You’re obsessed-”
“Get it off.”
“Get your ass in bed.”
A frozen moment, the two men silent as they gaze at one another, both too obsessed and too childish for their own good and completely sure they’re right. And Reid really likes having a steady sex life, likes sharing it with Morgan- but he also likes the top three layers of his skin. “There’s a razor in the bathroom.”
Dark eyes narrow before a too-quick “No” is bit back at him, Morgan stepping back pointedly and then heading in the direction of Clooney’s toy crate.
“You won’t get him on your side!” Reid warns a little too loudly but Clooney is already smashing eagerly through the house to play with his rope toy.
Seventeen days in, Clooney takes to hiding under the kitchen table when they’re in the room together and there’s a bruise on Morgan’s thigh where Reid had slammed him back onto the coffee table two days earlier from before he’d managed to reign himself in. Hotch is growing increasingly annoyed by their behavior at the office, and Rossi doesn’t even bother to hide his smirk.
A month after they stop having sex, Reid takes a shot to the vest in a frenzy to get the hostage down and is still breathless when Morgan reaches his side. “Fine,” he says as the girl is lifted into the ambulance and Morgan slides a palm down his front. “Fine, I’m fine…”
He dozes for an hour in the hotel but wakes up at fingers probing the dip of his back, Morgan’s touch nervous and unsure. Unable to enjoy the contact when he can read it so well, Reid catches the hand and plants a kiss at the base of Morgan’s thumb, shifting subtly under the covers until Morgan catches the hint.
It only takes a moment, and a minute later Morgan is sliding into him in the dark, muscles locked tight until they relax under Reid’s palms.
This is how easy it is.
“You’re obsessed.”
“We have to do it correctly.” His hair is sticking to his neck from the steam, mirror behind Morgan fogged over as he focuses on sliding the razor down. “And I know you’re enjoying this so you should simply admit it.”
“I’m not admitting anything.” Reid doesn’t respond and after a moment, Morgan prods not un-gently, “You realize I would pick you over the beard, don’t you?”
His expression suggests he thinks the idea that he wouldn't is so ridiculous that Reid wavers, stares too hard at the bare sweep of Morgan’s jaw. “Of course I do.”
“Of course you do.” Morgan’s expression is torn between amusement and frustration, tightness around his mouth giving him away. “If I’m willing to eat those crappy-ass eggs of yours and listen to you rant at the History Channel all night long, I’m not that easy to drive away, kid.”
“I know.” He does, he does know, and it’s getting easier to actually believe what he knows.
Morgan hums and tilts his head back to expose more of his skin. “I didn’t think it would piss you off that much.” He grins at the scowl Reid can’t help, adds a heartbeat later, “Watch it” in a moment of unease when the razor slides more firmly across his skin.
But Reid doesn’t nick him once and Clooney is hiding under the kitchen table less than an hour later.
impulse control | morgan/reid, ~1500
nc-17 (allusions to past sexual abuse, rimming)
written for this prompt
Morgan never admits how close the close calls are.
It’s just how it is.
Today he barges in first despite the shots being fired at them all, shrugs off the dents left in his vest and the blood on his arm and refuses to stay in the hospital long enough for the doctors and nurses to do much more than admit that it’s only a graze, you’re very lucky.
And Reid is used to it, has accepted it the way Morgan accepts the fact that he’s just as bad, but Morgan is even more resistant than usual and it’s infuriating in a way that Reid works hard to keep stifled at any other time. Because the fear is still a painful pressure in his chest, and the jagged memory of his breath catching in his throat until he’d been able to feel a pulse under his fingers, been sure than Morgan was breathing and alive, refuses to leave him.
Because tonight Morgan refuses to give anything, is even worse than usual.
He actually laughs off the way Reid fumbles with the card key at their room, and pushes Reid towards the bed before the door is completely closed behind them. “Forget about it,” is all he says, refusing to even make eye contact as he jerks the dirtied shirt open and then strips Reid’s slacks down his legs.
Infuriated, still terrified, Reid is too responsive, is shaking as he tilts his head back to stare up at the ceiling and breathes through too much emotion.
“Really, kid,” he hears, the overly relaxed edge in Morgan’s voice giving him away as Reid welcomes the easy burn of his body opening. “Really, it’s nothing.” No, of course it’s nothing. “It’s fine-” Nothing but the too quick thrusts driving him up the bed and the tape that secures the bandage under his fingers, Morgan too frantic to get him off. “Fine, baby-” Fingers slip around his cock, damp with lube and saliva as Morgan strokes and thrusts and doesn’t stop, burns everything away behind Reid’s eyes except for how close it was this time-
He comes with a gasping choked sound he’s only barely aware of but he’s still scared, impossibly tense. “Derek-” A shudder of annoyance when Morgan keeps stroking, keeps thrusting. “Stop-” He shoves in a moment of absolute exasperation, palms flat at Morgan’s shoulders until the rhythm falters and Morgan draws out of him with sudden awareness, until he can get a leg down and twist around clumsily, regain control.
Grabbing the shirt that Morgan’s still wearing (refuses to strip off), he yanks before Morgan can finish asking, “What are you-?” and scrambles to pin down the other man as soon as Morgan is sprawled out on the mattress, wide-eyed and breathless. “Spencer-”
He yanks on the stupid shirt until Morgan lets him strip it off, tugs the already-open jeans fully off his hips and then down his thighs and to the floor. “Trust me,” he bites at Morgan’s left hip, flexing a fist around wet latex only to grow more frustrated when Morgan arches but says nothing, desperately unaffected. “I know-” He bites at the hardened nub of Morgan’s left nipple but it’s not enough, Morgan squirming but still resistant beneath him. “I know, trust me-”
Sudden movement under him as he's knocked away, Morgan rolling away in a last scramble for control, and Reid doesn’t pull him back (he won’t, knows better than that) but he follows. Licks a line up the back of one thigh to mouth the skin that stretches over one hip as Morgan wavers in his escape attempt, hesitates.
“You scared me.” An outright confession into the tight muscles of Morgan’s back as Reid thumbs his tailbone. “You scared me, just let me-“ His mouth trails down as Morgan shifts anxiously but stays where he is, and Reid can’t tear his eyes off the bandage on his arm. Watches it until he ducks his head to trace a line down Morgan’s spine to his entrance, lick once and then twice carefully. The third time there's the almost-painful jerk of Morgan’s body in response, an unmistakable slip of control before he strokes his tongue flat and quick a final time and pulls away. Thumbs at the wet skin until he hears a muffled noise that he knows instinctively is a whimper, almost a whine. “It’s fine, I promise…”
He gives another hard stroke of his tongue, feels a spike of arousal he’s surprised by as Morgan squirms, gasps quietly before he can help himself. Thrilled, Reid nudges at Morgan’s back until he relaxes slightly, tongues the ring of muscles until he hears a low groan and feels Morgan shift back in a silent order for more. He sets his teeth into the now-damp skin just to the side, nips once and then twice, and feels a rush of relief when he hears a needy whimper.
It’s enough, more than enough as he settles for the time being.
Assured, he massages the tight muscles of Morgan’s right thigh soothingly and thrusts, works him open with a quick jerk of his tongue. The answering whimper is silenced badly and he glances to the side in time to see the sheets wrench out of the corner of his eye, twist across the mattress. There’s a cry quickly stifled the second time, muffled into the sheets as Morgan shudders, pulls at the bed.
Checking his balance one last time, Reid presses a single finger at his entrance as he slides his tongue in a third time, doesn’t fight his own excitement at the almost violent shudder as Morgan’s body opens eagerly around him. He’s careful as he keeps up the treatment, feels Morgan shake harder, hears him start to pant and gasp and lose whatever control he’d managed to hold onto.
Morgan isn’t as used to or as comfortable with penetration as Reid. It takes him longer to reach orgasm because he’s still nervous about it even now, because his only experience before Reid had been excruciating each time, because he had been pinned down and prepared only enough for it to be good for the man brutalizing him.
But this is different like everything else Reid has shown him is different, and once he realizes how good it is, he’s almost frantic for it to continue.
Later, he'll work hard not to say, I told you, I promised you could trust me but now he's enjoying it too much, more than the sex minutes before that he's already forgotten because the change in Morgan is unmistakable.
Now Reid gives him what he wants even as he strokes inside him, presses quick and hard over the spot that he had taught Morgan about long months into their relationship and is only dimly aware of his own arousal. Because Morgan is already close, is no longer fighting it as Reid pulls him apart. Too soon there's a strangled cry, body growing tense as the sound comes again, and a heartbeat later he’s gone, shuddering through his orgasm as Reid continues, doesn’t stop.
Not until Morgan makes a final sound of contentment and almost… melts into the bed, pliant and trusting as Reid draws away with a last caress of his palm at his hip and a muttered assurance that Morgan will never admit needing. Without being asked, he helps Morgan strip the condom off, throw it away, and grabs the blanket off the floor from where Morgan had dumped it before.
When Reid finally eases up beside him, he finds Morgan’s cheek pressed into the mattress, finds dark eyes quietly content as they study Reid. After a minute, two, he offers, “Rimming” with a hint of embarrassment, the final spark of unease.
“Anal-oral sex,” Reid agrees and watches Morgan’s last tension melt away at his easy tone, at what he knows would be a surprising lack of shame to anyone else.
A little amused: “I thought we decided to wait on trying that.”
“Spontaneity is good in small doses.” Emily’s going to be glaring at them tomorrow, he knows it, can already see the look she’ll give them. A little intimidated by the image, maybe a little amused at how well it had gone, he offers, “I told you I haven’t shown you everything yet.”
“Yeah.” Morgan snorts, eyes closing as Reid presses a palm to his cheek, his breathing slowing as Reid watches his face. “Yeah…”
He checks and checks again, too afraid, but the bandage looks okay despite the activity (at least until morning) and Morgan is breathing, alive and already asleep at his side. Still, rattled despite the assurance of the pulse ticking under his fingers, Reid doesn’t turn the light off.
Instead he stays focused on counting slow breaths through the night and sleeps only when Morgan rolls to curl around him hours later, quietly protective.
(Emily glares at them the next morning and Rossi squints at them like they’re simultaneously the most adorable and most perverted thing he’s ever seen. Neither of them care.)
fine | morgan/reid, nc-17, ~730
written for this prompt
“I’m fine.”
“Fine.”
“Yeah.” The tone is a little too flat, only Reid’s years of familiarity giving him the ability to detect the pain under the words.
“Fine.” Working hard to stifle his initial annoyance, a little too relieved that it had been a slide instead of something worse, he edges carefully around the spray to bend beside Morgan. “Obviously.” He checks the shoulder Morgan refuses to admit is dislocated, and the multitude of scratches that trace his ribs and stomach. Coasting fingers down, he’s completely sure there are going to be bruises on top of bruises which is wonderful, really. “I told you to wait.”
Morgan says nothing, pointed study of the shower floor a sign of how frustrated he is, and while Reid wants badly to shake him like a child, he isn’t an idiot.
Because, yes, it’s true that he could have dislocated his other arm catching himself or twisted an ankle going down, or he could have cracked his skull open on the porcelain and bled out before Reid had seen through his ‘no, really, I need the soup now, really, Spencer’ lie but all of this will go in one ear and out the other. Because Morgan is self-reliant to an extreme that at times makes him an idiot, and because he is deathly afraid of depending on anyone who could use that against him. Still, powerless to smother his frustration for just a moment, Reid snaps, “You could have fractured something.”
“I’m fine.”
“Which is why you can’t even get to your feet.” He ignores the glare in favor of considering the situation, weighing the fact that he had been planning to get him into the shower later against the reality that Morgan will probably be incapable of even sneaking off like an idiot in a few hours. Decision made, he blows out a breath and starts stripping off his shirt, tossing it into the far corner of the bathroom for the time being. “You’re going to bed after this,” he informs his hostage as he adjusts the showerhead and returns to the figure propped against the back wall of the shower, “and Emily will be staying with you when I go to the store tomorrow because I clearly can’t trust you not to jump off a bridge just to prove you can.”
“Don't you-” The words break off into a whine, head thumping almost comically back to the wall as Reid wraps a palm around his cock and squeezes just this side of rough.
Satisfied by the reaction, he nudges Morgan until the man scoots down for more contact, eyes darkened through as the water hits his stomach and chest. Reid takes another moment to make sure his hair is plastered back from his skull before he fumbles for the washcloth with his free hand, starts to work it behind Morgan’s knees and up his thighs. It’s clumsy at first but after a moment he knows what he’s doing, can slip-slide the pads of his fingers quick and too-light from base to tip as he works the cloth over whatever skin is exposed.
There are moments when he is ridiculously grateful for his ability to multi-task.
“God,” is whimpered once but Reid barely hears it, is focused on swiping the towel as carefully as possible over an injured shoulder and down a bruised arm, grateful that Morgan is so focused on the pleasure he doesn’t seem to feel the touch. “Oh god- fuck-” Job done, he drops the cloth to the side and slips fingers forward, strokes sharply over the perineum until he hears the muffled shout, watches Morgan thrust eagerly into his hand.
When Morgan collapses backward against the wall, he shifts enough to rinse Morgan off, standing after he’s sure the soap’s completely gone to twist the water off. Stepping out of the shower to grab the towel off the hanger, he turns back to find Morgan staring at him, expression a mix of satisfaction and amazement. “What?”
“You-” There’s a glance at the washcloth folded into the corner, a startled blink. “When did that happen?”
“I’m good at multi-tasking.” He drapes the towel over Morgan and helps him shift his weight, noting with some relief that the tension is completely gone, Morgan now accepting the assistance without a hint of uncertainty. “Now come on, I want you to eat the stupid soup before you pass out.”
nick | morgan/reid, pg-13, ~1400
written for this prompt
Reid says, “You have enough time to shave” because they do before they’re due at the office and Morgan only neglects to shave when they’re rushing out to a case. But Morgan’s already halfway out the door and it’s the first time in two months they’ve left for work together without Morgan mothering his leg until Reid resorts to shoving him away with a crutch.
It’s suspicious enough to warrant a study at any other time but he puts it out of his mind now, a little giddy over not being treated like porcelain.
Three days later, when he’s glaring at Morgan over the conference table because Morgan still hasn’t shaved and only says, “I had a beard before” like this means it’s okay for him to feel like a pincushion in the middle of the night (it isn’t okay), Reid would gladly exchange another two months of overprotective FBI agent as a partner to not have to feel the bristles.
He pointedly packs a disposable razor in Morgan’s bag two days after that.
By the time the case ends, Morgan is no longer even pretending he isn’t going through this idea.
Reid says, “I hate it, get rid of it.”
Morgan says, “Just give it a chance.”
It’s already been a month and, really, a genius knows when he hates something, but Morgan’s mouth is suddenly on him and his leg’s finally healed enough that he can do something other than have sex like it’s going to break him in half (contrary to Morgan’s belief, he will not) and he’ll handle this tomorrow morning.
“Will shaves.”
“Everyday.” JJ flips a folder on top of the pile, quirks her mouth at Reid with something suspiciously close to smugness. “Just tell him you hate it.”
JJ is enjoying this.
Reid doesn’t know why even with the ability to spot a liar or Oedipal complex at fifty feet why but he doesn’t like it.
“It feels horrible.”
“Use some incentive.”
“I’m not using sex against him.” It feels wrong, somehow, to use sex in any way against Morgan (and maybe there’s a small part of him that doesn’t think he’s worth all that much even with how often Morgan insists he is). “I need to think of something else.”
“Good luck with that,” is her only response as she pushes to her feet and ducks around him. “Oh, and by the way?” He looks up to find her stopped at the door, watching him with motherly amusement. “He’d pick you over the beard.”
It’s difficult to say no to Derek Morgan, and there are issues he’d rather not deal with now- but Spencer Reid really hates that thing on his face.
The first time he does it without thinking, jerking his head back half asleep because that feels horrible. But Morgan mumbles adoringly (there’s no other word in the English language to describe the mood Derek Morgan greets him with when he wakes up) and tries to nuzzle again and he ends up smacking Morgan flatly in the side of the neck to get the scouring pad away from him (in his dream, it had been attacking him). The surprised grunt finally wakes him, Morgan staring at him with an almost comically wounded expression, and he feels awful but?
He really hates the thing on Morgan’s face.
And the scouring pad isn't attacking him anymore.
Contrary to what he knows some of the others think, it’s not just the sex or the constant physicality of what Morgan gives him without hesitation.
It’s the fact that Morgan actually cooks for him (even though he hates cooking and isn’t really that good) and that Morgan thinks his usually burned scrambled eggs are just fine. It’s that Morgan always eats the green M&Ms but saves the blue and red because he knows Reid hates the green and is downright insatiable towards the blue and red. It’s that they both have someone to go home with after the worst cases they can’t make sense of (curl together in the dark until images start to face) and it’s the fact that, for all intents and purposes, they share a dog.
So it’s not just physical, what they share, even if he does love the sex.
This is the only thing that allows him to survive the next few days.
Morgan says, a week in: “Baby, please.”
Except for his momentary weakness in the car two days before, Reid is holding out better than he’d expected himself to. He’s reasonably sure the fact that the beard almost scrapes his skin from his bones every time he almost slips is probably doing a lot to help his self-control. “I’m busy.”
Morgan glares at him, something amusingly close to a pout on his face, but Reid flips carefully through the notes scattered around the computer and does not pay attention to the easy fit of the shirt over Morgan’s frame.
“Baby.” He looks up, a little wary, and Morgan stares intently, expression oddly tight. “It’s just a goatee.”
“That’s a beard, I researched it-”
“You’re obsessed-”
“Get it off.”
“Get your ass in bed.”
A frozen moment, the two men silent as they gaze at one another, both too obsessed and too childish for their own good and completely sure they’re right. And Reid really likes having a steady sex life, likes sharing it with Morgan- but he also likes the top three layers of his skin. “There’s a razor in the bathroom.”
Dark eyes narrow before a too-quick “No” is bit back at him, Morgan stepping back pointedly and then heading in the direction of Clooney’s toy crate.
“You won’t get him on your side!” Reid warns a little too loudly but Clooney is already smashing eagerly through the house to play with his rope toy.
Seventeen days in, Clooney takes to hiding under the kitchen table when they’re in the room together and there’s a bruise on Morgan’s thigh where Reid had slammed him back onto the coffee table two days earlier from before he’d managed to reign himself in. Hotch is growing increasingly annoyed by their behavior at the office, and Rossi doesn’t even bother to hide his smirk.
A month after they stop having sex, Reid takes a shot to the vest in a frenzy to get the hostage down and is still breathless when Morgan reaches his side. “Fine,” he says as the girl is lifted into the ambulance and Morgan slides a palm down his front. “Fine, I’m fine…”
He dozes for an hour in the hotel but wakes up at fingers probing the dip of his back, Morgan’s touch nervous and unsure. Unable to enjoy the contact when he can read it so well, Reid catches the hand and plants a kiss at the base of Morgan’s thumb, shifting subtly under the covers until Morgan catches the hint.
It only takes a moment, and a minute later Morgan is sliding into him in the dark, muscles locked tight until they relax under Reid’s palms.
This is how easy it is.
“You’re obsessed.”
“We have to do it correctly.” His hair is sticking to his neck from the steam, mirror behind Morgan fogged over as he focuses on sliding the razor down. “And I know you’re enjoying this so you should simply admit it.”
“I’m not admitting anything.” Reid doesn’t respond and after a moment, Morgan prods not un-gently, “You realize I would pick you over the beard, don’t you?”
His expression suggests he thinks the idea that he wouldn't is so ridiculous that Reid wavers, stares too hard at the bare sweep of Morgan’s jaw. “Of course I do.”
“Of course you do.” Morgan’s expression is torn between amusement and frustration, tightness around his mouth giving him away. “If I’m willing to eat those crappy-ass eggs of yours and listen to you rant at the History Channel all night long, I’m not that easy to drive away, kid.”
“I know.” He does, he does know, and it’s getting easier to actually believe what he knows.
Morgan hums and tilts his head back to expose more of his skin. “I didn’t think it would piss you off that much.” He grins at the scowl Reid can’t help, adds a heartbeat later, “Watch it” in a moment of unease when the razor slides more firmly across his skin.
But Reid doesn’t nick him once and Clooney is hiding under the kitchen table less than an hour later.
impulse control | morgan/reid, ~1500
nc-17 (allusions to past sexual abuse, rimming)
written for this prompt
Morgan never admits how close the close calls are.
It’s just how it is.
Today he barges in first despite the shots being fired at them all, shrugs off the dents left in his vest and the blood on his arm and refuses to stay in the hospital long enough for the doctors and nurses to do much more than admit that it’s only a graze, you’re very lucky.
And Reid is used to it, has accepted it the way Morgan accepts the fact that he’s just as bad, but Morgan is even more resistant than usual and it’s infuriating in a way that Reid works hard to keep stifled at any other time. Because the fear is still a painful pressure in his chest, and the jagged memory of his breath catching in his throat until he’d been able to feel a pulse under his fingers, been sure than Morgan was breathing and alive, refuses to leave him.
Because tonight Morgan refuses to give anything, is even worse than usual.
He actually laughs off the way Reid fumbles with the card key at their room, and pushes Reid towards the bed before the door is completely closed behind them. “Forget about it,” is all he says, refusing to even make eye contact as he jerks the dirtied shirt open and then strips Reid’s slacks down his legs.
Infuriated, still terrified, Reid is too responsive, is shaking as he tilts his head back to stare up at the ceiling and breathes through too much emotion.
“Really, kid,” he hears, the overly relaxed edge in Morgan’s voice giving him away as Reid welcomes the easy burn of his body opening. “Really, it’s nothing.” No, of course it’s nothing. “It’s fine-” Nothing but the too quick thrusts driving him up the bed and the tape that secures the bandage under his fingers, Morgan too frantic to get him off. “Fine, baby-” Fingers slip around his cock, damp with lube and saliva as Morgan strokes and thrusts and doesn’t stop, burns everything away behind Reid’s eyes except for how close it was this time-
He comes with a gasping choked sound he’s only barely aware of but he’s still scared, impossibly tense. “Derek-” A shudder of annoyance when Morgan keeps stroking, keeps thrusting. “Stop-” He shoves in a moment of absolute exasperation, palms flat at Morgan’s shoulders until the rhythm falters and Morgan draws out of him with sudden awareness, until he can get a leg down and twist around clumsily, regain control.
Grabbing the shirt that Morgan’s still wearing (refuses to strip off), he yanks before Morgan can finish asking, “What are you-?” and scrambles to pin down the other man as soon as Morgan is sprawled out on the mattress, wide-eyed and breathless. “Spencer-”
He yanks on the stupid shirt until Morgan lets him strip it off, tugs the already-open jeans fully off his hips and then down his thighs and to the floor. “Trust me,” he bites at Morgan’s left hip, flexing a fist around wet latex only to grow more frustrated when Morgan arches but says nothing, desperately unaffected. “I know-” He bites at the hardened nub of Morgan’s left nipple but it’s not enough, Morgan squirming but still resistant beneath him. “I know, trust me-”
Sudden movement under him as he's knocked away, Morgan rolling away in a last scramble for control, and Reid doesn’t pull him back (he won’t, knows better than that) but he follows. Licks a line up the back of one thigh to mouth the skin that stretches over one hip as Morgan wavers in his escape attempt, hesitates.
“You scared me.” An outright confession into the tight muscles of Morgan’s back as Reid thumbs his tailbone. “You scared me, just let me-“ His mouth trails down as Morgan shifts anxiously but stays where he is, and Reid can’t tear his eyes off the bandage on his arm. Watches it until he ducks his head to trace a line down Morgan’s spine to his entrance, lick once and then twice carefully. The third time there's the almost-painful jerk of Morgan’s body in response, an unmistakable slip of control before he strokes his tongue flat and quick a final time and pulls away. Thumbs at the wet skin until he hears a muffled noise that he knows instinctively is a whimper, almost a whine. “It’s fine, I promise…”
He gives another hard stroke of his tongue, feels a spike of arousal he’s surprised by as Morgan squirms, gasps quietly before he can help himself. Thrilled, Reid nudges at Morgan’s back until he relaxes slightly, tongues the ring of muscles until he hears a low groan and feels Morgan shift back in a silent order for more. He sets his teeth into the now-damp skin just to the side, nips once and then twice, and feels a rush of relief when he hears a needy whimper.
It’s enough, more than enough as he settles for the time being.
Assured, he massages the tight muscles of Morgan’s right thigh soothingly and thrusts, works him open with a quick jerk of his tongue. The answering whimper is silenced badly and he glances to the side in time to see the sheets wrench out of the corner of his eye, twist across the mattress. There’s a cry quickly stifled the second time, muffled into the sheets as Morgan shudders, pulls at the bed.
Checking his balance one last time, Reid presses a single finger at his entrance as he slides his tongue in a third time, doesn’t fight his own excitement at the almost violent shudder as Morgan’s body opens eagerly around him. He’s careful as he keeps up the treatment, feels Morgan shake harder, hears him start to pant and gasp and lose whatever control he’d managed to hold onto.
Morgan isn’t as used to or as comfortable with penetration as Reid. It takes him longer to reach orgasm because he’s still nervous about it even now, because his only experience before Reid had been excruciating each time, because he had been pinned down and prepared only enough for it to be good for the man brutalizing him.
But this is different like everything else Reid has shown him is different, and once he realizes how good it is, he’s almost frantic for it to continue.
Later, he'll work hard not to say, I told you, I promised you could trust me but now he's enjoying it too much, more than the sex minutes before that he's already forgotten because the change in Morgan is unmistakable.
Now Reid gives him what he wants even as he strokes inside him, presses quick and hard over the spot that he had taught Morgan about long months into their relationship and is only dimly aware of his own arousal. Because Morgan is already close, is no longer fighting it as Reid pulls him apart. Too soon there's a strangled cry, body growing tense as the sound comes again, and a heartbeat later he’s gone, shuddering through his orgasm as Reid continues, doesn’t stop.
Not until Morgan makes a final sound of contentment and almost… melts into the bed, pliant and trusting as Reid draws away with a last caress of his palm at his hip and a muttered assurance that Morgan will never admit needing. Without being asked, he helps Morgan strip the condom off, throw it away, and grabs the blanket off the floor from where Morgan had dumped it before.
When Reid finally eases up beside him, he finds Morgan’s cheek pressed into the mattress, finds dark eyes quietly content as they study Reid. After a minute, two, he offers, “Rimming” with a hint of embarrassment, the final spark of unease.
“Anal-oral sex,” Reid agrees and watches Morgan’s last tension melt away at his easy tone, at what he knows would be a surprising lack of shame to anyone else.
A little amused: “I thought we decided to wait on trying that.”
“Spontaneity is good in small doses.” Emily’s going to be glaring at them tomorrow, he knows it, can already see the look she’ll give them. A little intimidated by the image, maybe a little amused at how well it had gone, he offers, “I told you I haven’t shown you everything yet.”
“Yeah.” Morgan snorts, eyes closing as Reid presses a palm to his cheek, his breathing slowing as Reid watches his face. “Yeah…”
He checks and checks again, too afraid, but the bandage looks okay despite the activity (at least until morning) and Morgan is breathing, alive and already asleep at his side. Still, rattled despite the assurance of the pulse ticking under his fingers, Reid doesn’t turn the light off.
Instead he stays focused on counting slow breaths through the night and sleeps only when Morgan rolls to curl around him hours later, quietly protective.
(Emily glares at them the next morning and Rossi squints at them like they’re simultaneously the most adorable and most perverted thing he’s ever seen. Neither of them care.)