Criminal Minds fic: Heat
Title: Heat
Fandom(s): Criminal Minds
Rating: PG
Word Count: 256
Summary: It’s the kind of heat where you can’t remember your own name. Where you can’t remember how you got here. Where you only know one thing for certain: you sure as hell ain’t getting out.
Heat“I’m sorry I got you into this,” says Morgan in a breathy voice, sweat streaming down his forehead, dripping onto sticky skin and the cement floor with horrifying frequency.
Prentiss manages to glare, even though her eyes are nearly shut in fatigue and heaviness, her own hair slicked to her face. “Stop it,” she says, in the same kind of whisper. She flicks her eyes over to Reid, who had long since passed out, his frailer physique atrophying quicker than theirs. “We chose to go with you.”
“S-Still…” Morgan trails. His bare chest is heaving in the effort to breathe anything that’s not pure, liquid fire; the heat had forced the three to strip to all but the necessary, and though Morgan had initially grinned insinuatingly when Prentiss deigned to take off her shirt that left her in only her bra, now it seems like such a frivolous thing to have done. Morgan no longer sees an almost bare colleague, but a dying woman whom he’d helped get to this inescapable end-all.
Prentiss reaches over and grabs one of her forgotten shoes, chucks it at Morgan’s head. It doesn’t quite make it over, but he smiles anyway. “Jus’-jus’ get us outta here, Morgan,” she murmurs, her words so full of trust slurred over damp air. “Please…”
Morgan watches as her body gives up, and she slumps sideways, the heat deoxygenating her brain. “I will,” he promises, even as he himself feels pinpricks of black fade inwards from his peripheral. “I will…”
He doesn’t keep the promise.
Fandom(s): Criminal Minds
Rating: PG
Word Count: 256
Summary: It’s the kind of heat where you can’t remember your own name. Where you can’t remember how you got here. Where you only know one thing for certain: you sure as hell ain’t getting out.
Heat“I’m sorry I got you into this,” says Morgan in a breathy voice, sweat streaming down his forehead, dripping onto sticky skin and the cement floor with horrifying frequency.
Prentiss manages to glare, even though her eyes are nearly shut in fatigue and heaviness, her own hair slicked to her face. “Stop it,” she says, in the same kind of whisper. She flicks her eyes over to Reid, who had long since passed out, his frailer physique atrophying quicker than theirs. “We chose to go with you.”
“S-Still…” Morgan trails. His bare chest is heaving in the effort to breathe anything that’s not pure, liquid fire; the heat had forced the three to strip to all but the necessary, and though Morgan had initially grinned insinuatingly when Prentiss deigned to take off her shirt that left her in only her bra, now it seems like such a frivolous thing to have done. Morgan no longer sees an almost bare colleague, but a dying woman whom he’d helped get to this inescapable end-all.
Prentiss reaches over and grabs one of her forgotten shoes, chucks it at Morgan’s head. It doesn’t quite make it over, but he smiles anyway. “Jus’-jus’ get us outta here, Morgan,” she murmurs, her words so full of trust slurred over damp air. “Please…”
Morgan watches as her body gives up, and she slumps sideways, the heat deoxygenating her brain. “I will,” he promises, even as he himself feels pinpricks of black fade inwards from his peripheral. “I will…”
He doesn’t keep the promise.