Morgan/Reid, pg, ~880 words
not mine, making no profit
"There's a sharp spike of embarrassment when Morgan narrows his eyes suspiciously, a sudden urge to simply disappear that he doesn't experience as often as he used to."
At first he's able to dismiss it.
But three months in, Reid is spending an average of four nights a week in a home not his own and the irritation is building steadily each time the object comes out. And now that he's spending time trying not to express his irritation, it's only a matter of time until Morgan figures it out.
Because Morgan figures out everything.
Still, he lasts for three weeks more, lasts until they spend six days in Texas and then four in Ohio. Until they crawl off the plane and into Morgan's house and into bed stopping only long enough to shuck off dirty clothes and propel Clooney out of the bedroom.
He sleeps fine at first, exhaustion beating even this nuisance, but that doesn't last long. Two hours after he first falls into bed, he jerks awake, immediately realizing what's wrong and just as quickly dismissing any attempt to fix it. Because Morgan's asleep, entire body relaxed, and it doesn't happen often enough. So he closes his eyes and forces himself to go back to sleep— only to wake up repeatedly because he's crawling on top of Morgan, using him as a barrier between himself and the source of his aggravation.
Still, he tries.
At 5:14, the lamp is snapped on and he pauses in the middle of trying to burrow into Morgan's chest to find Morgan staring down at him warily. "What's the matter?"
"It's nothing." Reid blinks, squirms. "Nothing."
"Nothing." His gaze slips, snapping down to the object and then back up. There's a sharp spike of embarrassment when Morgan narrows his eyes suspiciously, a sudden urge to simply disappear that he doesn't experience as often as he used to. "It's nothing— It's not a—" Too quietly: "Nothing."
"I don't like it." Morgan blinks, opens his mouth to speak, and Reid's control slips. "I hate it, it's scratchy—" He shifts again, feels the sheet scrape his knee, a sharp contrast to the easy warmth of the palm laying bare on his back to keep him from rolling off the bed entirely. "It feels like I'm sleeping on a Brillo Pad, and I hate it. I hate it."
Nothing's upset him this much since the first time he was forced to wear mittens.
"Why didn't you—" Morgan stops, closes his eyes and takes three deep breaths. Opens his eyes again to stare at Reid very calmly. "Get out of the bed."
Oversensitive, agitated, he licks his lips, swallows nervously. "What?"
"Out," Morgan exhales, and nudges him off to the side to swing his legs off the bed. Uneasy, he flicks another glance at Morgan, now staring at him sharply in a silent order, and then quickly scuttles. Yelps in surprise when Morgan slaps him on the hip after he apparently doesn't move fast enough.
"You hit me."
"Swatted." Morgan strips the sheets off, balls them up and disappears into the bathroom. "And I missed your ass so be grateful." He walks past Reid into the hall, muttering. A minute later, he strides back into the bedroom with a handful of sheets, drops them on the bed and jerks his chin down at them. "Which one?"
Reid blinks, lost, and Morgan lets out a tired breath. "The heather one," he says when he understands what's going on, when it sinks in that Morgan isn't desperately offended and isn't going to throw him out of the house like a stray cat. "The light blue one with the tan trim is best, but that one's good, too."
As he watches, Morgan stretches the sheet across the mattress, smoothes it down and picks up the pillows in a silent question. Narrows his eyes in a demand when Reid stands silent until Reid nods and then strips the cases off to replace them. "What about the blanket?"
Morgan doesn't sound annoyed. Tired but not annoyed.
Still, he stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed over his chest, floor feeling too firm and too cold under his feet, and waits while Morgan carelessly tosses the other clean sheets onto the dresser. Climbs into bed, flops onto his back and doesn't move. Reid is still standing warily a minute later when Morgan lifts his head to look at him, expression amused and pained all at once. "Get in bed, boy."
Reid obeys, breathing a sigh of relief at the immediate difference, the lack of any irritation against his skin. Just skin now, and fabric that doesn't make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "This is better," he assures quietly, and then mutters an apology when his knee catches Morgan's bruised thigh as Reid burrows into his side, pulls the covers up over both of them. "It upset me."
"Uh huh." Not mocking. Tired.
Impulsive, Reid slides the arch of his foot along Morgan's calf, feels a sigh ruffle his hair in a way that doesn't irritate him. "Sorry." A hum, a palm that skims his back under the blanket and settles at the base of his spine. Morgan's almost asleep again. Before he is— "You're going to throw it away, right?"
"I already did."