"I'm not sleeping with Reid!" Agent Morgan said instantly when the team was told there were only four available rooms.
"Wait-wha," Doctor Reid whispered under his breath.
"You're with me hot stuff," Garcia said with a wink while touching Morgan's arm.
Reid looked over to the fireplace and curled his legs up to his chest on the couch.
Why won't he room with me? Reid thought.
All the team, but Garcia went upstairs to their rooms to get some sleep—clear their heads for the next day. Hotch and Roiss were rooming together. Emily and JJ. Morgan and Garcia. Reid was left to a room alone at the end of the hallway.
Reid turned the key in the lock and stepped through the doorway, shutting the door behind himself. The room was everything to be expected: basic and rustic. The headboard looked like a log cabin, the bedding was flannel. I bet that won't be scratchy,Reid thought to himself. There was a small armchair next to the small window looking over the bay. The drapes matched the bedding. There was no technology, but an old, yellowed phone on the nightstand.
He set his go-bag on the foot of the bed before checking out the small bathroom. Sink, toilet, shower, and mirror. Only the bare essentials.
He took out his charger from his bag and plugged it into the only available outlet in the room.
"Guess there's not much to do, but shower," he said to himself.
Reid stripped down and started the water. He left it running for a few minutes to warm up. He looked at himself in the mirror. His long, thin fingers traced his protruding collar bone. He pulled at the skin firmly clinging to his hips. He traced to thin white, raised lines along his abdomen and thighs. The last of his track marks were faint, but still notable to anyone looking hard enough.
The mirror began to fog up from the hot water in the tiny, wood-paneled room. Reid wiped it away so he could see the tears started to spill down his cheeks.
"Why was he so against rooming with me?" He asked himself.
The water burned into his skin, turning it pink within seconds. He flinched but stood in the scolding water, trying to burn away these feelings.
After fifteen minutes of burning, Reid turned the knobs on the wall and stepped out, groping for a towel.
He dried off and dug through his bag for his linen sleep pants. The light blue fabric clung to the damp parts of his skin: knees, calves, and his ass. He set his go-bag in the dated armchair, stuffing the toiletries back inside just in case they needed to leave in a hurry.
Reid laid down on his back and covered his face with his hands.
"Ugh, why do I feel like this? We haven't even seen anything that bad yet!" Reid growled to himself. His hands slid down his face and rested on his chest. He started at the popcorn ceiling.
He sat up with his legs hanging off the foot of the bed, hands in his hair. Reid stood up, turned off the light, and went back to the bed.
His pulled the blankets up around him in a cocoon. He brought his bottom lip between his teeth and kneaded the flesh while biting down.
"At least I'm the only one who gets a room by themselves," he said allowed.
His right hand slid down his stomach and into his linen pants. He palmed his soft penis and searched for a fantasy to focus on.
One of the problems with an eidetic memory is leaving the embarrassing memories behind before it kills his ability to grow a hard-on.
Reid got up from his desk to answer the knocking on his door. He looked through the peephole to see the last person he expected. He flung the door open.
"Derek? What are you doing here? It's late and we probably have a new case tomorrow," He asked. Derek stepped into the cramped apartment and turned around to face Reid.
"This last one was just pretty hard on me, man. Do you mind if we have a drink? I just don't want to be alone," Derek replied.
"Uh, sure," Reid said while closing the door. He crossed the room and joined Derek at the kitchen island. Derek opened the lower cabinet on the left to show his booze stash.
"What was so bad about this one? We haven't had a night like this since Tobias Henkel."
Derek pulled out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. He poured them both two fingers.
"Morgan, you know I don't really drink."
"First off, we're off the clock so it's Derek, remember? And second, I just keep seeing that little girl in the dirt. Blood all over her body. I was hoping you'd be a good distraction." Derek handed him the glass. Reid took it.
"Spencer, I wouldn't come over if I thought I'd be fine by myself."
"I know that, Derek." They clinked glasses. "What are we toasting to?" Reid asked.
"Forgetting."
Reid stopped the memory their and began the fantasy he'd thought up a thousand times:
Getting drunk, a little hands-y, fumbling around in the dark on the couch, heading to his bed.
He pumped his hand up and down slowly at first—paying special attention to his head—but quickly turning up the speed. Reid arched in different ways, played with the angles. He was trying to match the feeling that would come if Derek was really the one helping reduce some of his stress.
His breathing got faster and deeper, the occasional moan coming from behind his bitten lips.
Reid stopped his pumping to catch his cum, preventing a mess to be cleaned up by the woman and her son running the hotel. He grabbed to tissue box next to his phone and cleaned up. His breathing still faster than normal.
"I guess it's a good thing I roomed alone on this one," he set his head back on the pillow and tucked himself back into his sleep pants.