Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this.
A/N: Written for the cotton candy bingo square - ecstasy. I decided to be literal with this, and go with the dictionary definitions. A drabble-like chapter for each definition.
ecstasy (ˈɛkstəsɪ)
— n , pl -sies
1. ( often plural ) a state of exalted delight, joy, etc.; rapture
2. intense emotion of any kind: an ecstasy of rage
3. psychol. overpowering emotion characterized by loss of self-control and sometimes atemporary loss of consciousness: often associated with orgasm, religious mysticism, and the use of certain drugs
4. archaic. a state of prophetic inspiration, esp of poetic rapture
5. slang. 3,4-methylenedioxy-methamphetamine; MDMA: a powerful drug that acts as astimulant and can produce hallucinations
I.
"( often plural ) a state of exalted delight, joy, etc.; rapture"
Reid isn't high. He's been high, has reveled in it. It had taken away the pain, made him feel like he was almost human again.
This, though, this is something different. And, as erudite as he is, he can't quite put a label to what it is that he's feeling. It's mind-boggling. And, it's wreaking havoc on his ability to finish the crossword puzzle.
Euphoria?
No . . . too many letters.
Reid taps the corner of his mouth with his pen, and frowns. Deep in thought, he misses Morgan's approach, and nearly jumps out of his skin when the man places a hand on his shoulder.
"Whoa," Morgan's voice is husky in his ear, sending a shiver down Reid's spine.
The man's hand slips from Reid's shoulder to the small of his back. It's a gentle, warm touch which only serves to increase that feeling Reid's having difficulty putting a word to.
Bliss?
No . . . not enough letters.
"What's got you wound up so tight?" Though he's stepped back a little, to look at Reid, Morgan's hand remains on his back, causing that unnamable feeling to upsurge in the pit of Reid's stomach.
"What?" Reid blushes. "It's nothing."
Just the feel of your hands on my back; the memory of your tongue – wet and warm –osculating my bellybutton; and the thought of you, moving deep inside of me, ringing your name from my throat, raw and aching from calling out nonsensical words – moans – of pleasure.
Morgan's smile is too knowing, as is the way that his thumb pushes itself below the waistband of Reid's slacks, and brushes against the bare, heated skin. "Thinking about last night, aren't you?" Morgan whispers against his ear.
Reid chokes on air as he breathes in wrong, sputters, and whirls on his fellow agent. A quick inspection of the room reveals that no one else is there, and he calms himself.
"Relax," Morgan says with an easy smile. "There's no one else here. You really think that I'd jeopardize what we've got going on by outing us in the middle of our offices?"
Reid finds it dizzying how Morgan's voice goes from playful to wounded-sounding in a split-second. It's hard for him to follow, classify.
Morgan shakes his head, and, after a quick glance around the room, he cups Reid's face in his hands and then kisses him. It's short and less passionate than the kiss (kisses) they shared last night, but it still makes Reid's lips tingle, like they've been set fire to. And, when it ends, Morgan puts just the right amount of distance between them to keep up appearances.
Reid can still feel the heat between them, even as the room begins to fill up with other agents. It's a heat which will cling to him for the rest of the day.
Ecstasy?
Reid smiles and nods to himself, Yes, that's the word.
He ignores the questioning look that Morgan shoots him, and fills in the missing letters on his crossword puzzle.
Please review, let me know if you want more. Thanks.
