Title: Flesh
Author: wildwordwomyn
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Morgan/Reid
Word Count: 706
Rating: hard R for a non-graphic m/m dream sex
Author’s Notes: For round 17 of the Rounds of Kink community. It's pretty much PWP:)
Disclaimers/Warnings: No spoilers. No own. No harm intended. But there is a hand job in this ficlet so if you don't like, please don't read.
Summary: Morgan has a naughty dream.

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A slight brush against his neck. That's all. Fingertips barely grazing that spot right between his hairline and his collar. And yet that touch sizzles his flesh. He sits up straight at the unfamiliar sensation, paralyzed, eager for more. It doesn't come again though. Not there. The next touch is to his chest, at his clavicle where his black dress shirt gapes open. Feathery light and soft. Sweet. It's nice, this gentleness. It reminds him of how he touches his women, the ones he beds and bids adieu. Even the ones he dates two or three times never get more than what he has to offer.

But now? When he's sitting at some desk and he's all alone and he can finally admit to what he wants? The hand at his throat is caressing his skin as if it's delicate. Precious. And he finds himself swaying into the touch without conscious thought, offering up everything he can and more. When the fingers move downward, leaving a trail of flames in their wake, he groans quietly, his bottom jaw dropping with abandon. They're unbuttoning his shirt slowly, building his desire like gathering kindling for a bonfire. When his shirt finally falls off his shoulders his eyelids close. The hand swirls tenderly down his chest to his stomach to lie against his abdomen for a second. The touch feels protective, reminding him that he's safe, that he's being cared for and he doesn't have to be on guard anymore. His head drops in response to the stimulation. Another hand immediately cups his nape, squeezing once before running up over his head, causing him to shudder and tingle pleasantly.

Something abruptly slides inside his slacks and boxer briefs, teasing, then gripping, almost as if testing the strength, the need, in him. His body fills with a fierce heat as a wet tongue licks his mouth open at the same time that a hand wraps around his obvious excitement. A hoarse growl erupts from deep within and spills out as the fingers begin to stroke. His hips rock forward and back into solidity. He can only tell now that someone is holding him, not who, but it doesn't matter. He grinds against them while the tongue and hand pull louder and louder sounds from him.

He's on the edge, about to tip completely into oblivion, when he notices what he's saying is an actual word repeated over and over again. He's yelling, screaming, "Reid" as he climaxes long and hard. He's still kissing that faceless person, still grinding his backside into their undefined body, but he's imagining that it's Reid pressing into him, pleasuring him. Once he's satisfied the hand removes itself from the picture. The tongue does the same. The mouth stays on his, though, calming him. He wonders how he ended up in the smaller man's lap. No, he wonders how he ended up the passive one. Not that he cares really. He's never had an orgasm that rose from such a deep place inside in his entire life. He laughs and stretches languidly, shaking his head...

...The alarm goes off unexpectedly, taking Derek Morgan from asleep to awake in three seconds. Once his eyes have popped open he finds that his heart is hammering in his chest like he's scared. Like he had a nightmare. Only he didn't, did he? The sheets are sticking to him and he feels relaxed and sluggish as he usually does after sex. However, it is the first time he's dreamed about having sex with a man. A person he considers a friend, and someone so contradictory to himself at that. Then he remembers how the hands felt, how he trembled, how he growled and, in his own way, asked for more. The kid's touches had knocked him off his feet and his mouth had tasted so damn sweet. Morgan blinks and grows hot from remembering how real the sensations seemed and says to himself, "Where the hell did THAT come from?!"

But he knows. God, does he know. And if his own hand happens to creep down to touch himself the way dream-Reid did, to feel again the passion dream-Reid generated in him, well, he's certainly not about to deny himself.

The End

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