It's all a matter of careful angles; the map is spread out huge on the hardwood floor, and he's naked propped on an elbow and forearm, his fingertips crunching the lines of marked mountains. His knees are on the edge of the paper, the smooth texture soothing to the pressure even his lithe body puts of the joints. His rear is up, presented to the air, a finger pushed deep inside himself and his face low, his lips brushing minutely on the map as he moans. It's all he can do not to collapse and rut against the thick paper, feel the slightly raised texture of road and the glossy river, sensations he's sure are there, but even imaging them with plain paper maps is oh so good.

"Fuck." He whispers, so close as he presses his lips to a particularly wonderful interstate, finger working furiously to tap and rub against his prostate with each finger of his bracing hand curls against the warm paper.

He whines as he moves his lips, the minute bumps of trees countering the smooth line of road against Reid's seeking lips and he cums with a shout, spilling onto the paper straining between his wide-set knees. The wet slap of semen on paper isn't as loud as his heartbeat in his ears but it makes him groan and shudder, body thrumming with feeling.

He collapses in the wet patch, fluid and paper sticking to his belly as he pants and caresses the map below him. He's so enthralled by the way the paper sticks to his damp skin he doesn't hear the door or even the soft footfalls.

"Reid?"