Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this.

A/N: Written for the Gift-Giving Extravaganza 2014, for MissingMommy who asked for Reid/Morgan. I'm hoping that this won't disappoint. The use of present tense is a stylistic choice, as is the use of repetition. My other works reflect these choices.

Warning: Pure smut, not much plot. First time, UST resolved.

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.

He swallows, bites his lip, and presses a hand to his throbbing groin, digs the fingers of his other hand into the bedspread, is reminded, obscenely of, Brokeback Mountain, wonders what it would be like to be with a genuine cowboy, and thinks that maybe he's finally gone off of the deep end.

He pictures Morgan in a pair of chaps and a cowboy hat, and opens his eyes, blinks up at the man in question.

It's not fantasy Morgan standing over him, peering down at him with concern in his dark eyes. It's Morgan, Morgan. The man that Reid works with. The man who teases him and calls him, kid.

The man Reid has an insane (not in the clinical sense of the word) urge to make a blanket, or a pillow fort with, so that they can hide beneath the layers of fabric and fuck like Reid imagines that horny teenagers would. He'd never really gone through the horny teenager stage, because at the time, he'd been attaining his second or third doctorate. At the time, he'd had other, more pressing concerns on his mind than his libido.

"You okay, Reid?" Morgan asks, brows furrowing.

Reid wonders how the man can be so oblivious to what's going on, how Morgan can fail to notice the rather impressive erection that's he's sporting right now. He wonders what it will take to get Morgan to notice him as something more than just a kid, as more than someone for him to tease at work, and what it will take to get Morgan to see the blatant hunger and longing that Reid's certain are written on the planes of his face.

Reid doesn't want to be the first to make a move, because it doesn't feel right, and yet he can't lie there, smoldering, body aching to touch and be touched without doing something.

He wants Morgan to see his very pressing need, and come to his aid, like a doctor, or a military man sent to rescue a hostage, or like a member of the bomb squad defusing a bomb. His mind's wandering all over the place, and Reid blames it on his headache. Blames it on his lack of rest. Blames it on the fact that he's rooming with Morgan, and the man is gorgeous.

Reid bites his lip, and lowers his eyelids, can feel his eyelashes tickle his cheeks. He sighs, and blinks and bites back a moan when Morgan leans closer to him. He can feel Morgan's eyes on him. Can sense Morgan watching him, and he's frustrated because Morgan's still just standing there, like he's rooted to the spot, or trying to figure out what to do with Reid. Like Reid's something he's got to fix.

Reid's never thought of himself as a tease, but right now that's exactly what he is. Or, what he's trying to be to entice Morgan to make a move so that he doesn't have to be the first to act, because, really, he's too tired, and Morgan shouldn't be so damn oblivious to what's been going on in front of him for the past several months since Reid's come to the realization that he's attracted to the other man.

Reid can hear Garcia's encouragement for him to, Go for it, at the back of his mind, and he wishes that he possessed a modicum of the courage that Garcia has, so that he could tackle his emotions and the demons lurking beneath the surface of his mind, and make a move. He's afraid of rejection, afraid that Morgan will be disgusted with him, that he'll never see Reid as anything more than a de facto kid brother.

Garcia had given Reid pointers, when she'd learned that he had a thing for Morgan. She'd squealed, and hugged him, and then had come to her senses and given him what she'd called, 'insider information' on Morgan. Reid had followed her instructions, almost to the letter, and still Morgan seemed to be unaware of his attraction to him.

Now that he thinks about it, though, head pounding with a headache that just seems to be getting worse the longer that Morgan stares at him, Garcia had booked their hotel rooms. Garcia had sent him off with a kiss to the cheek, a pinch to his side, and a wink that Reid hadn't really given much thought to at the time.

Maybe there wasn't a convention in town, maybe there had been a room with two double beds and Garcia had lied about it. Maybe this was a set up, designed to give Reid the perfect opportunity for him to make a move, and he was screwing it up, all because he wanted Morgan to see something in him that the man might never see.

Maybe he should be taking the bull by the horns; he knows that's what Garcia would tell him to do, though the thought of moving right now almost makes him want to cry. He's never been a bull-by-the-horns kind of guy though, and he has no idea how to be that way.

Morgan draws in a sharp breath, and Reid opens his eyes, regards the man standing over him through half-lidded eyes. The man that he's been secretly in lust with for months now looks different, somehow, though Reid can't quite put words to exactly how Morgan is different.

He's loved Morgan for years, a love that's taken a sharp turn from brotherly love to something deeper and stronger in recent months.

Morgan's pupils are pencil thin, his lips are slightly parted. Reid thinks that he can see a blush creeping up the man's neck when Reid rolls his hips and bites his bottom lip, because if he doesn't, he's going to say something indecent, or embarrassing.

The blush gives Morgan an almost flushed look, and it's a turn-on for Reid, who's never seen the man blush before. Morgan swallows, and the way that his Adam's apple bobs makes Reid dig his nails deep into his thigh to keep from coming.

Reid isn't sure, because he's not had much experience with this sort of thing, but the way that Morgan's looking at him just now makes him think that maybe something better is about to happen than what he's been fantasizing about for the past several months. He doesn't want the night to end prematurely by coming in his pants, no matter how exhausted he is, or how badly his head is pounding, or how much he's aching to come undone.

"Reid?" Morgan's voice is husky, is almost enough to push Reid over that precipice that he's been standing on for a good fifteen, maybe twenty minutes now.

Morgan crawls onto the bed beside Reid and kneels next to him, touches the outer edge of Reid's thigh with the palm of his hand, and jerks it back when Reid moans, and rolls his hips toward him.

"Fuck," Morgan breathes the epithet out, and scrubs at his face, gives Reid an almost shy look. "Reid, look, I don't think -"

Reid doesn't get to hear whatever it is that Morgan doesn't think, because he surges up and kisses Morgan before the man can finish his sentence. He's done with waiting, and too tired to listen to Morgan tell him why things won't work between them, or that Reid isn't ready for something like this, or that, he's just a kid, and he doesn't know what he wants, or whatever it is that Morgan had been about to say which would have shut him down worse than having a bucket of cold ice water poured on him.

The kiss is everything that Reid had imagined that it would be, and more. Morgan tastes like sunshine peeking through the clouds on a gloomy day, stale apple pie, and day-old coffee. He tastes tangy, like the salsa they had with their taco salads earlier that day.

A hand's pressed to his chest, but it isn't pushing him away, rather bracing him, and another hand is at the small of Reid's back, working small circles in it. Reid continues to kiss and taste, and lets his hands wander over taut muscle. He's a little less greedy, now that he knows Morgan isn't going to shove him away, or run from the room screaming.

It isn't long before Morgan's taking charge of the kiss, though, pulling Reid up into an awkward kneel with him. Reid lets Morgan take over, gasps at air like he's a fish out of water when their lips finally part. Morgan's regarding him with hunger, and it thrills Reid, pushes the headache to the background.

Reid stares into Morgan's heavy-lidded eyes and shivers in anticipation of what's about to come when the man makes a throaty noise, pushes Reid back down on the bed and straddles his hips. They're both still fully clothed, though Morgan pulls at Reid's shirt, works it up and over his head and casts it aside. It lands on the lamp that Morgan had been working by, effectively dimming the light.

Reid hopes to god that he's not dreaming this, because if he is, he's probably delusional, and more tired than he thought he was, and there's no coming back from this. No more pretending that he can work alongside Morgan without acting on his feelings.

Morgan's hands are warm, his fingers thick and calloused, and Reid's head clears, the headache all but disappearing, along with his exhaustion, when Morgan tugs his own shirt off and tosses it aside. They stare at each other, breathing heavily, for several heartbeats.

"Reid, I -" Morgan licks his lips, rocks back, accidentally rubbing against Reid's erection.

"Morgan," Reid feels like he's begging, the man's name falling from his lips in an almost whine. "Please."

"I'm sorry," Morgan says, and he shifts, tries roll off of Reid, but Reid catches him by the wrists, pulls him down so that they're chest to chest. "I -"

"Stop talking," Reid says, body trembling. He sneaks a hand between them, wrestles with Morgan's belt, making his intention very clear.

"Reid?" Morgan's voice is filled with concern, his eyes are darker than usual, and Reid wonders if the man's warring with lust the way that he's been warring with it for the past couple of days.

Close proximity, first in the SUV, then in the hotel room, had made it difficult for Reid to keep his burgeoning feelings for his partner under wraps, for the sake of his career. It's probably what had made him so exhausted and had contributed to his headache in the first place, because now that Morgan's touching him, kissing him, the headache is all but gone and he's no longer exhausted.

"Please, Morgan, I..." Reid takes a deep breath, struggles to get Morgan's zipper to cooperate. His fingers suddenly seem thick and uncoordinated and he's starting to feel stupid and embarrassed and way out of his element.

"Relax, kid," Morgan says, and for some reason the word sounds like a term of endearment rather than a dig the way he's saying it now, especially when coupled with Morgan's hands at his waistband, removing Reid's belt, and dealing with the stubborn zippers.

"You're sure you want this?" Morgan asks, pausing after he's tugged the zippers down. He's still flushed, dark eyes questioning, yet filled with desire.

Reid nods, finds his voice and says, "Yeah." It's more like taking a breath than speaking, but it's enough to spur Morgan into action, and to goad Reid's body into motion.

Reid's fingers, once more deft and able, help Morgan remove the remainder of their clothing, and for a couple of breaths, all they do is look at each other. Reid's mind, always working, suddenly comes to a screeching halt, and his fingers and lips move of their own accord, touching what he's only dreamed of touching. It's almost too much, and he moans, hips rocking forward.

"Morgan." Reid bites back another moan when the man rubs his erection against Reid's, wraps his hand around the both of them, and starts to pull and stroke, and knead Reid's ass with his other hand.

He's on fire, electricity pulsing through every last nerve, and Reid needs more, but he's not sure he can handle more without coming completely unglued. His toes curl into the bedspread, and Reid bucks up, moving along with Morgan, letting the other man guide them to completion, their erections sliding together within Morgan's large, skilled hand.

Their mouths find each other, tongues and teeth and lips working in harmony, to make the other come undone. Reid's hands fly to Morgan's hips, fingers digging in hard enough to mark and bruise, when he's close to coming.

"Morgan," Reid breathes the name out into the other man's mouth, nips at the man's chin when Morgan arches his back. He follows Morgan upward, clinging to his hips, keeping them as close as he can, needing the friction, the skin-on-skin contact.

"Reid," Morgan says, breathless.

His eyes are shining with love and lust and Reid's breath hitches, gets stuck in his throat. Reid bucks and moans and stutters out words of encouragement in several different languages, knowing that they sound like nonsense.

Morgan kisses Reid, mashing their mouths together, moving the hand that he'd been massaging Reid's ass with up to cup the back of Reid's head, fingers tangling in the sweaty hair at the base of Reid's neck, tugging lightly, adding even more sensation to their act of lovemaking.

Reid's body is no longer his own. It's a thing possessed, and his nerves are tingling, each one separate and making itself known. Morgan's hand alternates between squeezing, and sliding along their shafts, rubbing them together, creating friction that's almost painful as it builds toward a release. If they don't come soon, Reid's half afraid that they'll set the bed on fire.

There is barely any warning when it finally happens and an orgasm, the likes of which he's never experienced before, rips through him, making him judder and quake, back arching and hips pitching upward, slip-sliding in Morgan's hand, alongside his thick erection.

Reid's toes dig into the mattress, fingers into Morgan's hips. He sees stars in a dizzying array of whites and reds that momentarily steal his vision. Morgan comes, almost simultaneously, and they ride out their orgasm together, Morgan collapsing on top of Reid when the spasms cease, the cum sticky and hot between them.

Morgan moves, to give him some space, or to clean up, but Reid holds him in place, because now that he's experienced Morgan like that, he never wants to let him go, even though, logically, he knows they will eventually have to move. Eventually, but not right now.

"Sleep," Morgan says, and Reid closes his eyes, because, though the exhaustion that had been clawing at him earlier is gone, he is tired, but it's a different kind of tired. A satisfied, wholly sated kind of tired, and his headache is completely gone.