"Any alliance whose purpose is not the intention to wage war is senseless and useless." –Adolf Hitler
The soft nudging against Reid's right thigh slowly awakened him, coaxing him out of sleep with each gentle thrust.
"Mmph," he grunted, shifting his weight and pulling the covers tighter around him.
It continued—a bit harder, more direct.
"Derek, it's four-thirty in the morning."
A rough patch of cheek stubble grazed the back of Reid's neck. "Mmm, baby," a deep voice growled, "you know this is the last time we'll get to do this 'till Sunday night."
"The flight leaves at nine-thirteen," Reid grumbled, adjusting his pillow and shrugging off Morgan's advances. "Judging approximately thirty-eight minutes to get through the airport, forty-two minutes to get there, accounting for traffic and parking—"
"—which we won't have to, 'cause of the bike—"
"—and an hour and twelve minutes to get ready, we don't have to get up until precisely 6:17."
"Which gives us precisely an hour and forty-seven minutes to tide me over 'till we get back," Morgan reasoned, massaging his partner's bony hip through the comforter.
"Derek," Reid looked over, scowling slightly, "your average time between ministration and orgasm is around two hours and twenty-two minutes."
"My what?" Morgan sat up on his elbows. "You been timing me?"
"Not on purpose," Reid answered, looking up innocently.
"What's my best time, then?"
Reid blinked, accessing his mental Rolodex. "Fifty-eight minutes, on March twenty-first," he nodded.
Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. "Pretty Boy, what am I going to do with you?"
"I don't know," Reid said, rolling onto his back toward Morgan, "but you've only got an hour and forty-five minutes to do it."
"Challenge accepted," Morgan smirked, pulling Reid into a deep kiss.