I own nada...

Looking at the past seven seasons, I can't help but think that they were seriously just a big flirt-fest between Morgan and Reid.

A "newer" writer for the show dismissed the subtext as nothing more than actors enjoying each others company.*sigh*

But it was kinda cool that it was discussed in a chat.{voices are being heard somewhere}

Anywho...

As usual, reid/review/enjoy

Reid reaches around Morgan, closing the door behind him; the click of the deadbolt resounding in the haphazard clutter in Reid's foyer...books and scarves and shoes neatly messy. A small shadow of a smile plays at the corner of Morgan's mouth because Reid's apartment looks like what he imagines his head to look like on the inside...cluttered and worn- warm and comfy with surprises in every corner.

Like the stuffed, blue crushed velvet elephant Morgan won Reid at the carnival last summer sits atop the likes of Frost and Plato, Atwood, Sedaris, Craddock, Plath, Emerson, Orwell, Shakespeare, Sartre, Trollope, Hemingway and the likes. Or the picture Em and Jayje took of Garci and the Cadet, Morgan and Reid- the amber light cast on their smiling faces- Morgan can remember the warmth of Reid's body as he leans into him- is perched on his mantel.

Morgan turns his attention to a trembling Reid, who looks past Morgan's head as he shifts- bare toes curling into the forest green carpet at his feet. He wraps his lanky arms around himself, nails digging into the soft fabric of his tired sweater.

Tears grip his hazel eyes as he furtively tries to blink them away- but they stubbornly persist until they spill, unbidden from the corners, trailing to meet their untimely doom at the point of his chin.

Morgan's breath hitches as he takes certain steps,curling his arms around Reid's lithe frame. Reid melts into the touch, the wet chin nestled in the crook of Morgan's shoulder. Morgan's feather touch on the small of Reid's back, his hip, his waist, his arm...reassuring and firm...warm.

Prentiss sighs out as Reid lets out a noise- growing deep in his chest, making his throat burn in the strain of holding everything back.

He cries and Morgan stands in the middle of Reid's foyer, doing all that he can to keep his own shit together as Reid's cries tug at his heart strings.

Reid's body shakes as the words come...the broken, half bitten words spit out. And Morgan listens.

Because that's what friends do- and he can't imagine doing anything less for Reid.

He wants to set Reid on a shelf until he can fix every single thing that's wrong. He wants to see the light shine from behind those shiny eyes, lit with understanding and knowledge so vast, it'd make Morgan's head spin.

Reid curls himself to fit into Morgan's arms and Morgan takes all that he can of Reid, grief rolling like watersheds off oiled feathers.
"I-I can't..." Reid hiccups as he pulls back.

Morgan grips Reid's sides, wishing he would stay put.

"I-couldn't... I just wanted to forget." His voice is nothing but a whisper as he pulls the vial from out of his pocket, the large air bubble shifting as the shaky hand presses it into Morgan's. Morgan's body stretched tight with tension as he takes the drug from him

He tries to meet Reid's eyes but Reid shuts them tight, head tilting towards the floor. Morgan slips the vial in his pocket, a calloused finger touching the tip of Reid's chin, he tilted Reid's head until he open his eyes to look at him

"Spencer?" His voice ghosts past his lips as Reid's mouth quivers with heated shame.

"It's okay." Morgan voice heavy as Reid shivers presses himself into Morgan's warmth again.

Reid feels scrubbed raw, exposed as Morgan holds him...but that's not necessarily a bad thing. It means he can finally give himself permission to heal.

Reid murmurs something, words smothered by the fabric of Morgan's shirt.

Morgan pulls Reid back a little, steering him towards the couch; sitting down and pulling Reid with him.

"What's bothering you Pretty Boy?" Morgan whispers, Reid nervously picks at the cuticle of his thumb.

Reid's chest rises and falls in a deceivingly steady cadence, but Morgan picks up on the small hitches.

Reid stares at his hands as he begins to speak.

"Emily-she's fuckin'..."Reid seethes, clenching his fists against his thighs. Morgan reaches out, placing a hand on Reid's pale, trembling hand. His shoulders slump.

"I just..." Reid looks up at Morgan, tears fresh. "I just wanted to forget...just for a little bit, you know?" Reid studies the contours of Morgan's face, lips set in a quivering line.

Morgan sighs, nodding slightly. He gets it.

But Emily won't let them forget.

Morgan closes his hand, running his thumb along the silky smoothness of Reid's skin.

"I-know Pretty Boy." Morgan's voice is soft. "I should have...I should have been here. I-"

"You were on assignment. That's no one's fault but my own; I should have been taking better care of myself." Reid interjects.

"No." Morgan says forcefully. "I should have called, just to check up on you. There's no excuse for me neglecting you." Morgan's voice bitter as wormwood as he opens his hands, letting them rest in his own lap.

Reid licks his lips, scooting until he's pressed against Morgan. Reid remembers the last time...

Morgan didn't mind the physical contact.

Nothing's changed as Morgan wraps his arms around Reid's middle, reclining; Reid's back pressed against Morgan's front.

Something pricks Reid in the back of his mind...that this is not a social norm for heterosexual male "friends." But at this moment, Reid doesn't care.

The words come easy as he tells Morgan about the nightmares...about the scary Prentiss that accuses...that blames him with her dead, hollow eyes. He tells him about the inherent need to forget, and the ill thoughts that plague him,the darkness that sits on his chest and refuse to move. Tells how this...talk to him helps and how he's thankful for him. For having an actual friend who he can trust...who cares for him.

Morgan sits and listens...his barrel of a chest rising and falling in time with Reid's. He can tell that Reid is holding something back- but he doesn't push...knowing that eventually, it to will come.

Reid talks until his eyes are weighted with sleep, throat scratchy with dribbling words and his breath finally evens and slows...snuggling close to Morgan as his calloused fingertips light against his boney hip. A reassuring touch- he's here.

Morgan wraps his arms tighter around his friend, promising him that he'll be there in the morning. That he's happy that he's safe if only for the night. And as Reid finally drops off to sleep, Morgan presses his lips to the curly mop of hair- taking a breath.

Eventually, the words will come.

A/N: So...does Morgan or Reid have the gonads to take the next step?

Wishing this wasn't as cliché as it seems in my head.

da-sm +humor =EPIC FAIL!

I am so stuck on the Waging Wars story...I have an idea, but that does mean it wants to be a chapter. *Sigh *

and as the insecurities mount...

I'm in the here and now...

Reviews would be lovely. :]