rain sounds

Which is why come the day of his 30th birthday, Spencer had expected nothing. He found it easier to keep his expectations low, as to avoid disappointment when it would inevitably come. He hadn’t mentioned the date to coworkers in passing, and never expressed interest in a celebration. When no recognition came, he wasn’t surprised. It didn’t sting. It didn’t bother him. Just another day. 

Was it supposed to be special? Turning thirty? He reasoned that three decades lived on this Earth was probably worth something, considering you’d have something of a life made out by then. Some would be celebrating the families they’d created in that time, the love they’d cultivated by being here. Others would marvel at their success from when they began, at all the differences the time had brought to them. Maybe some would simply revel in the fact that there was a future at all to begin with, ready to live out the rest of it. 

What did Spencer have? There was no family for him to share his joys with. He’d been working the same job since his 20’s, no end in sight. His future seemed bleak. A monotonous repeat of the horrors he’d signed up for. 

Maybe it was good he wasn’t celebrating his birthday. He didn’t really feel like he had cause for celebration. 

That was, until a sound broke him out of his thoughts. 

“Spencer? I was hoping to catch you!” An unfamiliar voice called out to him. 

He turned around, and was met with a girl. A girl holding a .. chocolate donut? A girl whose name he could not recall, for the life of him. 

“It’s your birthday, right?” She asks, holding out the treat on a decorative napkin.

He nods, momentarily stunned into silence. His team members had forgotten. His mother had forgotten. Hell, he might’ve forgotten, but there she was. She remembered. 

She continues, despite his silence.  “You always reach for these ones on donut day. I thought it’d be a safe bet to bring to you.” She hands it out to him, a smile playing on her face.

He almost moves robotically, taking the treat from her hands and holding it, as if it was a precious jewel or maybe a ticking time-bomb. “Thank you.. Uh..” He freezes momentarily, realizing he’d accidentally revealed the nature of his forgetfulness regarding the figure in front of him. 

As she realizes what’s happening, she speaks with a teasing lilt. “You don’t remember my name, do you?” 

He sighs, nodding a bit sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I’m usually a little better with names.” 

She grins. “I’d hope so. Or is that eidetic memory they talk about around here all just a hoax? I never really thought it was possible, anyway.” 

Spencer laughs good-naturedly, his anxiety quelled by the easy-going nature of the woman in front of him. “No, no. It’s all real. I swear. I just.. have we met before? How did you know it was my birthday?” 

“The office calendar.” She replies, pointing to a small, almost forgettable scrap on the wall. It was fashioned with everyone’s birthdays from the start, but rarely anyone ever looked at it. Everyone but her, it seemed.

“And to answer your question- we have met. In passing. I’ve seen you out and about the office.” She informs, smiling softly. 

“And.. you just decided to give a gift? To a stranger?” He asks, continuously intrigued by the nature of events occurring to him at this moment. 

“Why not?” She retorts, shrugging a little. “I like giving gifts. I like birthdays. It seemed a bit like a no-brainer. You’re not really a stranger, anyway.” 

He smiles a bit at her admission. The straightforward nature of her words left him a bit delighted, almost giddy. While he still wasn’t magically convinced his birthday was a good thing because of a donut and a pretty girl, he appreciated her mindset. It was sweet. It made his heart flutter involuntarily as he took it in. 

“Well.. I appreciate it.” He says slowly, holding the donut in its napkin. “I don’t know how to thank you.” 

She seems to be disarmed by his words, understanding that somehow, this gesture means more to him than she anticipated.

“You don’t need to thank me. Enjoy the donut, and your day.” She says, voice sincere.

He nods in gratitude, now eager to dig into the delicacy in front of him. As she sauntered away, though, he realized he hadn’t gotten an answer to his first query. 

“Wait, hold on! I never got your name!” He calls out, walking towards her, trying to stop her from leaving. He had to know, at least. To maybe have a chance at speaking to her again, to understand the sweet demeanor that had been bestowed upon him, and whatever was underneath. 

She smiles, playfully, before shrugging and turning her head towards him. “Check the napkin!” She said nothing further, disappearing behind a corner to God knows where. 

He carefully lifted the donut, and besides a few smudges of chocolate, he noticed a name and a set of digits scrawled in black ink. Another present. He bit his lip, a little gleefully as he carefully folded and tucked the cloth into his pocket. 

It wasn’t as if Spencer’s birthday lost the connotation it had held for him for his whole life. The day still commemorated years of forgetfulness, from his mother, his peers, even himself- at one point. It wasn’t as if that would ever go away. 

Eventually though, the day gained new meaning for him as he ventured more and more into the remainder of his life, as Spencer would eventually remember the date– not for the disappointments and apathy it had brought to him, but rather as a much more meaningful and joyous day. One meant to be celebrated. 

The day he first spoke to his future wife. 

Convenient for everyone apart from Spencer Reid.

The FBI was a boys club, sure, but with all the women on your team, the most ridicule you got after a drunken escapade with a distant coworker was a few teasing remarks. The first few months on the team, you'd been able to date, fuck, and play freely without any judgement. And then Spencer Reid had come back from leave, and you suddenly began to doubt your bachelorette lifestyle.

Because fuck was he frustratingly territorial.

It wasn't as though he was interested in you. He was 13 years your senior, fresh from an FBI mandated leave of absence and false imprisonment, and absolutely used to being coddled by every member of the team. If the BAU was a family, he was absolutely the youngest child who'd returned home to find his parents had adopted a dog while he'd been gone to replace him with.

You were the dog.

Spencer took issue with your attitude, your work ethic, your professionally, and with the sheer amount of times he'd been approached by men asking for your number, home address, or if the rumors were true.

He was used to casual oversharing, of course, he'd worked with Penelope long enough to not be phased by much sexual talk. But everytime he stepped into the office - or specifically the offices male bathrooms - he'd end up stuck in the same conversational loop.

“I heard she can do this thing with her tongue…”

“... definitely likes it rough…”

“I could show her a good time…”

“....I'm definitely hitting that by the end of the year…”

He stewed in it for a few weeks before the cracks fully formed in his exterior professionalism. When he heard about how you'd definitely fucked every male member of your team, though, that's when he lost it.

“You need to be more careful,” he said one day, pulling you aside between cases in a rare private conversation.

“Oh, yeah, in the field I can definitely rush in-”

“No. You need to be more careful with men.”

The look on his face sent a flare of shame through your chest, as you found yourself suddenly out of your depth. You didn't know this man well enough for him to be giving you advice. Your body set to full alert, and your fight or flight was in full go, as he cornered you and continued.

“They talk about you in the bathrooms, and I would not like to repeat what they say, but-”

“I don't care what they say.”

“You should.”

You frowned again, as he continued, completely oblivious to your growing anger.

“You should, because now it's reflecting badly on the team, and-”

“The team? I'm sorry what had the team got to do with this?”

To his credit, Spencer at least managed to look uncomfortable after that. He was set on reprimanding you, fine, but you'd make sure he wouldn't try to get so personal again.

“They're saying that you've slept with a number of coworkers-”

“Why should I care if-”

“Including me.”

You managed a half laugh in his face as his frown deepened.

“Oh so this isn't about my reputation, it's about yours. I should be safer with men because I'm reflecting poorly on our golden boy?”

“That's not what I'm-”

“Don't worry, Spencer. I'm safe enough.”

You made sure to push past him as you walked away, and he'd not been quiet about his dislike of you ever since.

Every man on a case you interacted with got you a disapproving glare, a slight turned down lip, a questioning glance. It was like you were being watched constantly, and it felt horrendous.

It was almost worse when the knowing looks he sent you were spot on in their assumptions. If you spoke to a man you had been with, hooked up with, been on a date with, even simply flirted with for a while, you felt his eyes pricking you.

His gaze knew everything it needed to know, almost as if he'd been in the room watching you submit your body for pleasure.

You thought it would be better on cases, that he'd be focused on other things and not worry as much, but when your first case post-argument landed, it landed you uncomfortably close to your childhood home, and included a face from your past you'd hoped not to see again.

Having an ex boyfriend in the police department in the middle of nowhere Washington was helpful for the case, but on a personal level it sucked.

You managed five minutes of personal conversation before you felt his eyes on you.

“Beautiful, you're not paying attention to me anymore. And here I thought fate had sent you back into my life as a little gift for a job well done,” your ex had said, ducking in close to you at your makeshift desk but locking eyes with an approaching Spencer as he spoke.

“Y/N, can I have a word?” he asked, though his jaw was set, and his tone insistent.

“Professionally or privately?”

“Y/N,” he warned, his tone a bit lower as you rolled your eyes and stood, following him to a quiet interrogation room quickly.

“What's wrong with you this time?” you demand as soon as he has the door closed. “Panties in a twist?”

“We are on a case, Y/N. Please at least pretend to be a professional.”

“What? What am I doing that is so wrong?”

He fisted a hand in his hair quickly, closing his eyes as if it would drown out your arrogant tone.

“You can't be serious, Y/N, he was practically fucking you with his eyes in the middle of the precinct-”

“And that's a behaviour he needs to change, not me. What. Did. I. Do. Wrong?”

“What? What, you expect me to sit around here and wait for him to ask you if you can still do that thing with your tongue that makes him cum instantly? Want me to wait around for him to ask you if you're still as flexible as you were give years ago, while we have work to do?” He demanded, stepping so close you had to back up against the wall to avoid colliding with his incoming body.

“I bet you'd love to hear just about everything I can do Spencer, but if you're going to act like a jealous ass, maybe you should take a breather.”

“Jealous? You think I'm jealous?” he chuckled slightly, raising a hand slowly and pushing against the wall as he stepped, somehow, closet to you again.

“You're so obsessed with my personal life that-”

“Your personal life is not so personal when I have people asking me if I've also fucked you on a weekly basis-”

“You're being cruel. My sex life is none of your business, Spencer.”

“That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you. I'm glad we finally agree.”

He was so close you could practically taste his breath, and while your mind raged at his thoughtless words, your body wanted his to press his against it and say all of that one more time with his hand wrapped around your throat this time.

“Jackass,” you said, pushing against his chest and storming out of the room quickly, before you could make any other mistakes.

Part of you wanted to stick it to Spencer after that. Part of you wanted to do something to start an even bigger rumor, something to piss him off more, something that would get him angry and bring him closer to you somehow.

Another part aggravatingly agreed with him. Your behaviour, while nowhere near as promiscuous as half of the male staff, was judged twice as hard as anyone else's. You enjoyed sex, and you wanted to unashamedly keep enjoying sex, but every man you ran into recently had that look about them. Half judgement, half possession, like they were looking at goods to consume rather than a coworker. You weren't obtuse, but you'd allowed yourself to ignore it until Spencer made you face it, which only made you resent him more.

You stopped going on dates, stopped entertaining the men in the office when they flirted with you. You put your head down, and you worked, and it frustrated you to no end.

You ended up snappy in the office, short with every single coworker and not just Reid, who was also (inexplicably) short with you. You'd done what he'd asked, and he was still not satisfied.

Emily, sensing the tension, tried to ease the situation slightly, with a mandatory team dinner, volunteering Rossi for dinner duty.

“Welcome to Casa Del Rossi, keep your hands off the pasta until I serve it, and please do not ask about the wine unless you want to be talking about it all night.”

You felt slightly uncomfortable being forced to play happy families under the watchful eye of 5 profilers and an incredibly perceptive tech support girl, but you tried to be civil over dinner.

Until you couldn't be.

“So, Y/N, any dates recently?” Emily laughed over a sip of wine, genuinely curious about your sudden lack of suitors.

“No,” you said, locking eyes with Spencer, who rolled his eyes as he looked away.

“What, not even a single hinge match?” JJ added, and you suddenly regretted not telling any of your other coworkers the root of your tension with Reid, because they were happily digging your grave.

“Come on, we all love your stories, Y/N,” Penelope laughed, prodding you with a finger as you smiled feebly.

“No, not all of us do,” Spencer mumbled under his breath, still loud enough that the room fell silent.

“Relax, Doctor Reid, I'm not going to regale you with tales of my conquests.”

“Good, I get enough of that in the male bathrooms,” he said, standing up from the table and excusing himself.

You stared slack jawed at him as he walked away, simmering anger getting ready to explode. You stood as well, and followed him, aware of every set of eyes watching you intently as you searched for Spencer.

You found him in a spare room, following him in and closing the door behind you with a thud so he would know you were there.

“What the fuck is your problem, Spencer?”

“Oh, it was Doctor Reid earlier, but now we're friends, huh?” he said, not bothering to look at you as he picked up a book and sat in a chair at the edge of the room.

“You can't just disrespect me in front of the team like that, and… and what? Slink away to read?”

He looked up at you with an annoyed glance, and you almost lunged at him. You'd probably be able to gouge out an eye before he could react if you wanted.

“You know, when we first talked about this, I was seriously worried for you. The way those men talk about you-”

“How do they talk about me? What do they say about me specifically that's any worse than usual misogynistic bathroom talk, huh?”

You stepped closer, leaning over him and poking his chest. You wanted him to react, wanted him to get angry. You wanted a fight, not for him to walk away shaking his head in resignment.

“You really want to know?”

“Yes. I'm a big girl, tell me what's so bad that has you acting like such a spoiled brat.”

“Okay. Okay, fine.” Putting down the book, he looked up at you, locking eyes with you as he started.

“They talk about how well you take it. How much you love cock, and how if they got the chance they'd fill you up with so much cum you'd be leaking for days. Some of them even talk about using you as a human toilet.”

“They mostly talk about your body, about how flexible you are, about how flexible they'd force you to be, how-” he had to stop to look away, clear his throat and start again.

“Mostly they talk about your lips,” he said, finally risking a look down at them before dragging his eyes back up to your own.

“My lips?” you asked, mentally scolding yourself when you hear the breathy whisper you let out.

“They talk about your lips a lot. I'm sure you can imagine.”

You take a second to think about it, reeling at how close he was, how open he was being, how….

How turned on you were hearing these words fall from his mouth. Every sentence from his mouth felt like a confession.

“I don't believe them though,” he said finally.

“What?”

“I don't believe them. I don't believe you're as good as they say you are, as they're fantasising about you being.

Your mouth opened in shock, and the indignity of the accusation had your heart beating out of your chest.

“Say that again,” you demanded, forcing him to meet your eyes again.

“You're not that good, Y/N. I'm sure of it.”

Quickly, you snaked your arm up and around his neck, grabbing him and pulling him down to meet your lips. You'd hoped to take him by surprise, to enter his mouth as he lost himself in the feel of you pressed against him. You'd hoped for the upper hand, until you realized you'd played right into his.

He kissed back immediately, hotly, insistently. His hands roamed your body for any hold of you they could find, settling on your waist and your ass as he pushed you back into the wall you stood in front of.

Frustrated by his attitude, you pushed back, twisting your bodies around until you'd switched positions, nails digging into the tender skin at his collarbone. You wanted to grab him hard enough to draw blood, you wanted to permanently scar him to remind him how good this felt.

He growled into the kiss, and you momentarily lost focus. He swung you around again, hands pushing your shirt up and roughly grabbing your boobs as he bit down on your lower lip.

With a moan, you hiked a leg up around his hips, rolling into him as he pinned you to the wall.

Your final act of defiance was pushing him away with all your strength.

Taken aback, he stumbled once or twice before hitting a dresser behind him. It shook, and with the tremors, the lamp that had been sat on it fell to the floor with a crash.

You stared at him panting as your coworkers ran to you both, opening the door with a loud bang as they assessed the situation.

You kept your eyes on him as Emily scolded you both, putting the two of you on BAU time out.

You quickly left the party after that, apologising to Rossi and tucking your tail firmly between your legs as you retreated.

Desk duty for the next two weeks was exactly the punishment you were expecting from Emily. Honestly it was what you deserved. If you couldn't play nice together, you weren't allowed to play at all.

You sat at your desk, and Spencer sat at his, and you were happy and content to ignore him for as long as physically possible.

Unfortunately, your sudden voluntary celibacy must have been driving you insane, because you couldn't stop picturing his hands on your waist, his hot lips tracing down your neck, your hips pushed so close you could practically feel his cock begging to be inside you.

Imagining.

You were sure your staring was making the man uncomfortable, or at the very least frustrated. You saw the vein in his neck jump out when he noticed you looking at him, but it didn't help too much to dispel the sudden and aggravating attraction you felt towards him.

You wanted to be angrier. Every interaction you entered needing to be angry.

Instead you found yourself somewhat softening based purely on lust, and it was eating you up.

You were not a pushover, and contrary to popular office belief, neither were you desperate or easy. One kiss with a coworker shouldn't have you trailing after him like a forlorn love struck child.

Spencer was definitely avoiding you though.

At first, he justified it to himself as giving you space, an apology of sorts after you'd been so brash before.

Then he came clean to his own conscious and realized he was afraid of another confrontation. Afraid was perhaps the wrong word, eagerly anticipating might be better, though when he tried to explain it to Penelope it didn't come out right at all.

“It's like- Okay, so we're like water and potassium, right?”

“You've lost me lover boy, I do computers not sciency science.”

“Potassium and water are both stable enough on their own. They do their job well, they work nicely.”

“Potassium is in potatoes, ergo they are in French fries. They work superbly.”

“Yes, but when you put potassium in water it has a tendency to catch on fire and explode.”

Penelope still looked at him confused, unsure what kind of avoidance excuse he was crafting in his mind.

“I'm potassium. She's water,” he said again to no avail.

“I need to avoid her so I don't explode.”

“What makes you think you're going to explode? Just talk to her nicely. Avoid topics you think are going to be more… reactive?”

Spencer just solemnly nodded and went back to avoidance.

He realized quickly that the only thing he'd ever talked to you about outside of working hours was your sex life, and that made him feel like both a creep and a pervert and also like he needed to take a long cold shower before quitting his job and moving into a cabin somewhere in the woods. But he wasn't Gideon, so he just suffered through it, leaving rooms you entered and ending work related conversations as quickly as possible, before his mouth could move quicker than his brain.

After a week of being swiftly dodged, you had the chance finally to corner him and you took it.

Watching as Spencer stood to get himself another coffee from the break room, you stood, grabbed your own mug and quietly followed him. You prayed to God that the room would be empty, but were quickly forsaken by the door when you heard two make voices inside.

“So Y/N, huh?” an unfamiliar voice asked, tone polite but playful.

“I've heard some stories about that one,” he chuckled, and even the sound of it set your hair on edge.

“She's a very hard worker,” Spencer simply answered, as you heard him preparing his own coffee.

“She certainly makes working hard,” the man slapped his back, taking a sip of coffee.

“I heard you two have been going at it in the office. Strange foreplay, but she must be into rough stuff like that, isn't that right?”

You'd heard enough men talking about you in your life to be used to it, but a flush of anger still ran through you at the man's insinuations. You almost walked in to embarrass the man when Spencer spoke up.

“I don't like your tone,” he said calmly, and continued quickly when the man tried to joke again. “I have been to prison, you work in white collar, let's see which of us comes out of the kitchen in better shape when you're done speaking.”

“You're fucking insane.”

“You're what, 35? From the looks of it, your marriage is over because you keep playing with your ring uncomfortably, probably because you're cheating, but you feel just guilty enough about it to worry about your kids. They lied by the way, your not the world's no. 1 dad. Even if such metrics could be determined, you'd rank low on the list. Is it their babysitter or their teacher you're sleeping with? Or your wife's sister, perhaps?”

“You're crossing a line, Dr Reid, I don't know how-”

“Well, I'm glad you seem to understand boundaries well enough. There are lines you cross, and ones you respect, and if I hear anything at all unprofessional from you about my coworker again, I will use the last six months of my experiences to make life difficult for you.”

You walked in quickly, hearing the change in Spencer's tone from casual to something more threatening, more desperate. The other man had two fistfuls of Spencer's shirt, though you didn't doubt Spencer would easily be able to floor the man.

“Good afternoon,” you said quickly, just loud enough to be heard above the thick tension filling the room. “I believe you were just leaving, right?”

You looked to the unfamiliar man, and the shame burned his face as you forced him out of the room. As soon as he was gone, you walked over to Spencer, finished making his coffee as he stood silently next to you, eyes refusing to meet yours.

You put the hot drink in his hand, smoothed his shirt out and whispered a quick thank you before retreating back to your desk.

After that, you didn't get closer.

You thought you would. You tried to follow him to the kitchen to actually have the talk you wanted in the days that followed, but you never quite managed it.

You'd just stand together in equitable silence making your coffees. Sometimes you'd talk about the weather. About the case. About things your coworkers did that you both found funny. About shows and books you both liked. About whatever random fact Spencer became enthusiastic about that day, or whatever noir movie he'd seen the previous day.

You didn't become closer, but you grew used to one another.

When the team finally came back, Emily patted herself on the back for a job well done for keeping the two of you grounded. You begrudgingly admitted to yourself that while Spencer lacked tact, you should've been more patient with him when he was asking you to be careful.

You'd heard him similarly chastising a handful of men since, always careful just to listen until he was done, and then clean up afterwards.

Spencer found his anger closer to the surface after prison than it had been before prison. Instead of sympathy or words, his fists always tightened into balls when anything displeased him. He wanted desperately to hit colleagues sometimes, and kept his breathing steady enough to reply with violent words rather than violent actions.

He couldn't blame his experiences in prison for everything, of course. Part of the blame was yours.

As much as he knew potassium and water weren't a safe combination, he found himself wanting to be dropped back into that pool once again. Looking at you was like setting himself on fire, remembering your bodies twinned together was like a little explosion.

He didn't know what brought him to your door, but he knew it was an inevitable reaction, one in a long chain.

“Spencer?” you asked, meeting him at your door, wrapped only in a loose robe and the too small, too flimsy sleep set you'd taken to sleeping in in the summer months.

“Hi,” he said, a little awkwardly, as if gaining the courage to knock on your door was the end of his plan, and he didn't know what the next steps were.

“Hey. Why are you…?” Here. Standing at your door looking so hot after you'd stayed obsessed with him for the last week.

“Why are you holding a bottle of wine?”

“Oh. Oh this. This is for you. To drink. Its for us to drink together, really, I… I wanted to apologise.”

You welcomed him in silently and quickly. Quickly still, you made your way to the kitchen, grabbed two glasses and a bottle opener and made your way back to your sofa where Spencer was standing awkwardly still.

“Please sit down,” you said, craning your neck to look up at him as he gently handed you the bottle. He nodded and sat down next to you, both too close and too far away at once. You'd thought of Spencer as more of a silent apologiser. You'd expected him to just be happy and friendly with you from here on out instead of directly acknowledging anything had happened. You'd seen him bottle up so many emotions, what was a little more shame and sympathy?

Now that he was in front of you, you didn't know what to do.

“So, um. I'm sorry.”

“Yes. Yes, I know.”

The tension in the air was thick as you turned to pour two glasses of wine, waiting for him to continue.

“Thank you,” he said taking the glass you offered him in two hands before glancing at it quickly and then downing it.

“When I got out of prison, I was in a bad shape, and that isn't an excuse, it's just a fact. My brain was in overdrive, and I was on guard around all… all men specifically. The things I heard in prison weren't good, nothing nice as said about women in prison, and when I got out, and I still heard those things…” He stopped and looked away, taking another deep breath.

“I was overstepping. I was being overprotective, and overfamiliar, and jealous-”

“Spencer, stop,” you said, putting your glass down, and smiling at him reassuringly.

“I appreciate your apology, but really it's fine. I came in while you were gone and getting back to schedule when your entire team dynamic is off is hard, so of course you were going to be on edge around me and a little bit jealous of my bond with the team but-”

“The team?” Spencer stammered quickly, cutting you off as you tried to reassure him.

“You were… jealous of my place in the group. I was an outsider who took your place and then you were just a little shorter with me than you would've been if we were introduced in normal circumstances.”

“No, Y/N… I- Did you think this whole time I was jealous of you?”

He said it in his softest voice which almost hurt a little bit more.

“Yes. That's how you were behaving, you were always annoyed and-”

“Jealous. Yes. Not of you, because of you.”

You felt every single place on your body where the material of your clothes were touching your body. The distance between the two of you, already small, felt smaller still, like you were tipping over an edge towards one another when in reality you were as solid as a statue in your seats.

“Y/N, I want you,” Spencer whispered, almost little bit ashamed, a little bit scared of his confession. It was the kind of voice criminals used when confessing, a voice that seemed ashamed of its own actions. “I listened to every single word men said about you, and I wanted to rip their tongues out and feed them back to them so they wouldn't have the chance to taste you again. So they couldn't torture me with their knowledge of you.”

He stood up abruptly and took a step back, placing his wine glass down on the table and pacing a few more steps away.

“Y/N, why did you have to kiss me?” He said, almost defeated. “Why did you have to kiss me and then push me away?”

You stared at him for a second, unsure whether he wanted a real answer or not, his eyes round with desperation, but face turned away slightly, as if he couldn't bare the answer.

“To shut you up,” you whispered. He nodded at your answer and took a deep breath.

“Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the Buonapartes. But I warn you, if you don’t tell me that this means war, if you still try to defend the infamies and horrors perpetrated by that Antichrist-”

“Spencer? What-”

“I really believe he is Antichrist—I will have nothing more to do with you and you are no longer my friend, no longer my ‘faithful slave,’ as you call yourself! But how do you do?”

“Spencer, what are you doing, why are you- are you quoting something at me.

“If you want me to stop, you know an effective solution,” he said, kneeling to the floor and looking up at you, continuing after a moments pause.

Quickly sinking to your knees as well, you grabbed the man by the collar and brought your lips to his.

As quietly desperate Spencer had been moments before, he took your kiss as an act of submission and countered quickly. You'd come to him, you'd listened to his request, and now he wasn't going to let you get the upper hand anymore.

Pulling you into his lap, his to guess pushed into your mouth as he wrapped your legs around him, guiding your cunt over his bulge as he kept up his attack against your tongue.

You fought back, trying to push him down to no luck. He caught your hands quickly, and standing up on his knees with one hand holding your ass in place, pinned you to the floor, arms held above your head in one large, strong, nearly painful grip.

Your body shook at the sudden motion, robe falling open and satin spilling over your body, revealing a single pink, perked up nipple that he eagerly latched onto.

You moaned at the contact of his hot tongue, the cold air hitting you at the exact moment his tongue dipped, as you held in a moan.

You couldn't hold in the second or third. By four you were practically humping up into the air to chase the sensations of his body pressed against your cunt.

“Spencer-” you moaned, cut off by a choke from your own throat as he roughly ripped down the other side of your shirt, harshly tugging at your other nipple with his fingers.

“If I had more time, I'd make you cum just from this. I'll spend hours edging your sore little nipples, just to make you happy,” he whispered, and you moaned as if it were your job, as if you were some cheap whore he was paying to abuse for the night.

“Good girl,” he said, tugging your underwear to the side and rubbing you slowly, coating his digits with your juices before pushing two fingers fully inside you quickly.

“No complaints. Take everything nicely.” he said, changing the angle of his hand as he began fucking you hard with just his hands.

“Fuck, Spencer, fuck- no, no, no, you have to stop! Fuck, I'll-”

He stopped just as instructed quickly, and you grabbed his hands to still his fingers, still inside of you.

“I need… shit I need hard nos's quickly Y/N. Tell me what I can and can't do.”

You gathered your breath enough to speak, but it was breathy, your breath still uneven, your legs still twitching as you lay on your back, cunt exposed to Spencer's greedy eyes. He drew small, gently circles on your clit with his thumb as you recovered.

“W-Why?” You managed to squeak out, cunt twitching at every accidental contact between you both.

“Because I'm either going to slap you to shut you up, or fuck your face, and I do believe in letting the lady decide.”

You couldn't help the scoff that came from your mouth, even though it was followed by another hitched breath and moan as you melted beneath him.

“You wouldn't do that, you're not the type.”

“What? What type am I not?”

“Slapping, spitting, demeaning. You're too… Spencer to do any of that,” you said, slowly raising your hips to fuck his fingers once again, pracitically begging him to keep us all his hard work.

Until he withdraws his hand and pulls you back into his lap, arms locking you in place on either sides of your waist.

“If I was anyone else,” he said slowly and deliberately, “Or if I was me and I possessed the ability to do any of that, would you consent to it?”

His words were a whisper, his fingers wet and hot on your nipples as he pulled, prodded, and played with them quietly.

“Well… you wouldn't-” you moaned at a sudden hard pinch, your hips jolting as he continued abusing your nipples.

“Everyone else has. Why can't I?”

“Spencer-” Another sharp pinch cut you off, forcing your eyes down to where he had a hand gently brushing against your chest, before sharply pinching it again.

“Hmm? What was that?”

“Spencer, p-please-”

You moan again as his other hand hooks around you to slide into your panties.

Pulls you fully onto his lap as he starts playing with your clit while tugging on your nipples, and he's waiting for you to give him permission to fuck you rougher.

“Can I do those things, Y/N?”

“Spencer….”

“Use your words to answer me, not your cunt. I know you're enjoying this.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Thank you,” he said, letting a hand trail up to your neck before kissing you gently on your lips again. The softness didn't last long as he picked up the pace with his other hand again, looming over you like a monster bent to its prey. His hand moved quickly, pushing in and out of you as you writhed on the floor, breaths shallow as he controlled where you went, where you looked, how you moved, and even how you breathed.

“S-Spencer,” you choked out, hands wrapping around his between your thighs, already twitching as your first orgasm hit you, twitching as he didn't slow down, moaning as you felt wetness seeping out of you in waves.

“Good girl. Good girl, you're doing so good for me. You want me to stop?” He asked.

“Yes, I can't- I can't do it anymore- nghhhh.”

“You can. Yes, you can, baby, you can. My little whore,” his voice was soft where his hands were hot, gripping your neck tighter as you focused only on breathing, legs shaking and twitching, squirming to get away even as you wished yourself to stay put.

“Good girl,” he said again, kissing you once again as his hand on your neck eased up. “One more time? One more right, baby?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself not to scream. With an open hand he slapped your face, just hard enough to draw a moan from your lips.

“Use your words, Y/N.”

“Y-Yes, I can do one more,” Ayou moaned, unsure if the stars you were seeing were from the harshness of the slap or the overstimulation. “Please.”

“Good manners,” he said, fingers slipping out of your cunt as you started to grind into him again, as soon as you said yes to another orgasm. “But I don't think I want you to cum yet.”

Lifting your hips, he urged you to turn over, pulling a pillow under your hips to help you lift them, still trembling as you were. A soft blanket was put under your head as he pushed your hips up, your shorts and panties pulled down and not just to the side now as he took all of you in.

“So drippy and wet, just for me…” he mused, probing a finger at your pussy again, laughing when you twitched at the contact.

“They say it tastes better than it feels you know,” he said pulling his phone out of his pocket before snapping a photo of your pussy, dripping and ready for him. “Look at it, what do you think?”

He thrusts the photo in your face as he pulled his dick out, letting it rub against the folds of your pussy as you moaned into defeat.

“Y/N, come on, what do you think? Do you taste better, or feel better?”

He propped up the phone in front of you and opened the camera, clicking record quickly as he slapped your ass.

“Answer me,” he insisted, cock head rubbing furiously against your clit now, fingers clamped down on a nipple, nails digging into your waist.

“Should I fuck you or eat that little cunt?”

“I- I don't know, Spencer, I don't know please-”

“Yes, you do. What should I do?”

You cried out in pleasure as you came again, the pressure on your clit too much too soon.

“F-fuck me,” you said, exhausted but still excited.

“Good girl,” he said again, withdrawing his touch before laying down under you and bringing your cunt to his mouth.

You tried to hold yourself up, but you couldn't as he licked and sucked and nudged at your clit with his nose. He'd ignored you, prolonged your torture, and decided he needed to decide for himself.

“Spencer…” you moaned, but it was weak. He chuckled into your cunt and you clamped your thighs around his face as far as you could, but he didn't relent.

Running a finger through your pussy to pick up your cum, he pushed a single digit into your asshole as you moaned slowly and weakly, face completely squished into the floor.

He pushed in and out slowly at first stretching your ass as you began riding his face, fucking against his to gue as you got closer and closer to release. The sooner you came now, the sooner he would release you.

But Spencer stilled your hips, and slowed his own movements to a few kisses here and there, letting one finger become two as he fucked your asshole. Eventually, all contact stopped with your cunt as you hungrily fucked his fingers, the stretch uncomfortable but good.

“Good girl, you like that? You like being my little anal slut? Good girl.”

The words hit hard, as you came on his face. He pulled his hands away and pushed you onto your back again, rising up to your fsve again.

“Open,” he said, and you obeyed letting him spit your own cum back into your mouth. His tongue connected with your own as you tasted yourself, hot and heavy on his lips.

As you kissed, he pushed your legs up, knees spread and with a single, hard, rough push, filled you with his cock.

You screamed in pleasure as he cooed into your ear. “I'm sorry baby, I couldn't help it. Your cunt looked too delicious, it was begging for my dick.”

Another slow pull out, and again he pushed in hard, stealing the breath from your lungs without even needing a hand on your neck.

Grabbing his phone, Spencer angled it towards where you were hungrily taking him in.

“This cunt is mine now, okay?”

You nodded, and he slapped you again.

“Words, Y/N, I need words. Tell me whose cunt this is.”

“Its yours, Spencer, all yours,” you moaned as he picked up his pace, lifting to his knees so he could drop it all into you.

“Shit, say more. Tell me what I can do to this pussy?”

“Abuse my pussy, Spencer. Stretch me out, slap me, keep me full, fuck I don't care, breed me,” you moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck as you lifted your chest up to his, thighs wrapped around his waist, ankles locked together behind him.

“You want me to cum in you? Want me to claim you so everyone can see?” He asked, nails digging into your thighs almost hard enough to draw blood.

“Yes!”

“Good…. fucking… slut,” he saif, and with a final thrust, he emptied his balls inside you.

You didn't move for a long time, catching your breath on the floor, a pile of limbs coated in sprsys of wetness and cum.

You started rubbing your cunt again first, as he joined in again with shallow thrusts, wincing and seething as he overstimulated himself.

You came quietly that last time and waited for him to pull out and clean you up.

He didn't. Keeping himself sheathed inside you, he awkwardly lifted the two of you to the couch and pulled your head down into his chest, letting you cockwarm him as your cum soaked into the material of the couch.

“Sleep for an hour or two. You'll wake up when it's time to go again.”

When you woke, it wasn't to Spencer starting again, but instead the ring of your phone. You tried to reach for it, to silence whatever alarm had decided to disturb you at that point, but Spencer was faster.

“Hello?” he said down the line, forgetting where he was for a second before you nestled into the crook of his neck again, fingers gently tracing his collarbone.

“Spencer?” Emily asked, confused and voice tired.

“Emily?” He asked. “We have a case?” He sat you up with him crasling you in his arms as you fully woke, your muscles objecting at this sudden movement. His cock stayed buried within you as you reoriented yourself.

“Uh, yeah. We've got an hour to get to the office and debrief, then were flying out- Spencer. This is Spencer?” she asked again, voice a muddle with confusion, tone rising by the second.

“Yes, Spencer. I'll be there.”

“And Y/N?” Emily asked. “I didn't dial the wrong number, Spencer, I have you all on speed dial. You're with Y/N?”

You sat bolt upright and took the phone from Spencer quickly, the shrill ringing of Emily's voice echoing down the line.

“We’ll be there,” you practically shouted. “We just drank together and-” you pulled the hair out of your face as you felt Spencer go rigid inside you again.

“A-and that's it. See you in an hour.”

“You’re not making this any easier on yourself, you know?” Spencer muttered, sitting across from you in the dim light of the interrogation room. His exhaustion was evident, the prolonged questioning taking a toll on his psyche.

 “You’d save yourself a lot of trouble if you just confessed.” 

His voice was low and tired, the hours wearing him thin. 

“Where’s the fun in that, Agent Reid?” You respond, cocking an eyebrow, your hands crossed over your chest. You pause, before adding: “Besides. Nothing to confess.” 

“Dr Reid.” He firmly corrects.

You’re defiant, consistently repeating the same lines you’d flung at every agent that had approached you for the past sixteen hours, since the moment you’d been torn away from the safety of your apartment. 

It was too bad. Even on what seemed to be a hard day, Spencer Reid was dreadfully handsome. 

Spencer let a deep exhale exit his nose, a testament to his growing frustration, and a half-hearted attempt to ground himself. “Liam Brown, Noah Williams, Theodore Smith.” He says, pushing various crime scene pictures towards you over the table. “All victims of a prolific black widow we’ve been chasing for months.” 

The images are gruesome, meant to provoke you. You give a response, but perhaps not the one they intended. Disgust slips into your expression before you can stop yourself, but you look away in the end, unwilling to yield and give yourself away. Nobody needed to know that you felt no pity for the men on the table. 

“A connection isn’t the same as probable cause, and I know my rights.” You snap, your body language making it clear that you were nowhere near giving them the answers you wanted.  “You can’t hold me any longer than forty-eight hours.” 

Spencer rubs a hand over his face, clearly exasperated. With no further words exchanged between the two of you, he rises from his chair, allowing the metal furniture to scrape softly against the floor, before disappearing to the other side of the one-way mirror that stood in front of you.

 You didn’t need to see him to know that his gaze was trained on you, even then. 

 Waiting for the moment you’d snap. 

Too bad he’d never get what he wanted. 

Several minutes pass by whilst you’re alone in the room. The air wraps around you, tension making a home through every inch of you as your thoughts run wild in the silence. 

What was your endgame here? Could you really outsmart the FBI? They still had about thirty-one hours with you. What would they do? 

Before you can answer any of your own questions, Spencer re-enters, but something’s shifted this time. The previous fatigue that plagued him just minutes ago was no longer there, but rather replaced with a defiance and intensity that mirrored your own. You’re already getting ready to fight, to match the shift in his demeanor, but he doesn’t give you the  chance.  

“Get up,” He barks out, his voice sharp and full of command that wasn’t previously there.

You narrow your eyes, still trying to maintain your resistance in the face of the new persona he seemed to be sporting. “Am I free to go?” 

He laughs, but it’s a sound completely devoid of humor.

 “Did I say that? No.” He answers his own question, sharply. “Get up. I won’t repeat myself.” 

Despite your desire to resist on principle, his tone carries a threat you can’t quite name yet. An involuntary shiver that passes through your body, and suddenly it seems like you’re better off complying, rather than sticking to your old patterns. 

Your body reacts. You’re unsure if you’re being led by fear, instinct, or something darker, but regardless of what it is, you’re compelled to listen to him, slowly rising to your feet. 

He wastes absolutely no time, gripping your arm with a bruising force as he leads you out of the stale room, his movements swift and purposeful. 

The cold metal of the cuffs bite into your wrists, a physical and unignorable manifestation of his regulation over your current predicament.  No matter what kind of show you put on, you weren’t the one in control. 

The halls around you stretch endlessly. Sterile, blank walls stare back at you, as if mocking you for ever entering in the first place. Each corner looks like the last, every turn erasing the one before it. You’re led deeper and deeper within the bones of the building, further and further away from prying eyes and pesky cameras. 

He doesn’t want you found. These hallways would never allow you to leave. He had you trapped.

And then, after what feels like an eternity of movement with no end in sight, you’re met with an elevator. It’s unmarked, and immediately you can tell you’re not supposed to be here. It’s a service elevator, the type meant to carry cargo, not people. 

And yet here you are.

There’s a foreboding silence as Spencer presses the button with a decisive jab to call the machinery. The doors creak open ominously, and he shoves you into the claustrophobic space without ceremony.

He’s so close you can feel his hot breath against the bare skin of your neck, the firm press of his body anchoring you in place, serving as an oppressive weight that reminds you there’s no escape. 

The thick silence between the two of you stretches as the elevator shudders to life. It’s the type of quiet that makes your body buzz with uneasy anticipation for what’s to come.

This isn’t protocol. You knew that, at this point. Whatever he was leading to you, you knew it couldn’t fare well for you. As the doors open to your destination, the ultimate question lingers in your chest. 

What was he going to do to you? 

The elevator doors hiss open, and instead of another line of sterile corridors, you’re met with the warm night air, the type of heat that only summer could provide. You blink, momentarily disoriented by the sudden change in scenery and the darkness, until your eyes adjust and you process where you are. 

The roof? 

You barely have anytime to register what’s occurred before Spencer is pulling you forward. You hear the elevator doors close with a soft, final clink behind you, and know you’re well and truly stuck here now. 

“What are we doing here?” You ask, voice barely audible. 

Spencer doesn’t stop moving, dragging you towards the parapet. “Thought we could use some fresh air. You’ve been inside for a while now.” 

The words are sweet, falling from his mouth easily, but the tone is all wrong. While you might be persuaded to believe in his consideration for your well-being, the sincerity of the statement is voided by the controlled cadence he delivers with it. It almost sounds rehearsed, a calculated and careful manipulation in an attempt to gain your trust. 

You’re absolutely sure he’s not as truthful about his intentions as he’d like you to believe. 

The space he’s leading you on is wide and industrial, filled with empty crates and encircled by dark, thick forestry on all sides. The pale moonlight spills across the rooftop, giving you a clearer view of your surroundings. 

You wouldn’t say it, of course, but it also got you a better look at Spencer’s expression. It doesn’t help, though. His lips are set in a straight line, eyes fixed ahead, face unreadable within the low light. Damn it. 

“I come up here to think.” Spencer says quietly, almost to himself. “The quiet makes everything easier.” He murmurs. 

His grip loosens around you as you reach the guardrail, but you’re much too on guard to make any sudden movements. You don’t slip away, opting to stick right beside him, close enough that you can still feel the body heat emanating from his person. 

“Why am I here?” You ask, voice a bit quiet to match the serenity of your location. 

“I figured you might need to think too.” He says, voice deep, taking in the view.  “You’ve got a tough decision to make, you know.” He says, head turning so his eyes can lock onto yours.

You ignore the implications of his statement, opting to narrow your eyes instead.  “Are we even allowed to be up here?” 

That earns you a quiet laugh under his breath. “Now you care about the rules? You do realize why you’re here in the first place, right?” 

The irony isn’t lost on you, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of playing into his hand. “Not everyone plays by the same rules.” You retort, meeting his gaze with a steady look of your own.  

He pauses, licking his lips, whilst nodding in a noncommittal manner. “I agree to some extent.” 

He gives another long pause, before adding, “And yes, you’re right. We aren’t supposed to be here. But there aren’t any cameras up here, and I doubt anyone’s missing you.” 

His eyes focus on you, then. “I think you and I can agree that not everything worth doing isn’t always.. allowed.” 

That catches your attention. “What do you mean?”

He stalks closer to you, chuckling at your sudden piqued interest. “See.” He begins. “You want something. And I think I can give it to you.” 

The words strike something in you, and suddenly you feel too exposed. You don’t respond for a moment, before finding your voice again, in a mumbled, hoarse noise. 

“I want something?” 

He steps even closer, eyes fixed on you with a focus that borders on intimate. “Don’t play dumb. I saw it the second I walked in. Pupils blown out, your thighs pressing together under the table.” He gives an uncharacteristic smirk, as if he can’t help his pride at this moment.  

“You don’t do a very good job of hiding when you’re attracted to someone.” 

You blink, immediately flustered, feeling much more exposed than you did a moment ago. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me. You’re attracted to me.” He repeats a hint of cockiness in his speech. 

“If you think I’m fucking you in exchange for a confession, you’re wrong.” You snark back, trying to build up some defense against the (very true) accusations he laid at your feet. 

“So you’re not attracted to me?” He replies, same, smug smile still gracing his features. 

“No.” You scoff, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, I’m sure you won’t mind me checking then.” He says, his hubris overwhelmingly obvious. 

Again, as is custom with him, you’re given no time to figure out what he even means before he’s on his knees in record time, nimble fingers hovering over the metal button of your jeans. He looks up at you, and you lick your lips, giving him a small, imperceptible nod on impulse. 

He wastes no time quickly pulling the denim past your hips, before grinning wildly at the sight that faced him. 

“You’re wet.” He murmurs, knuckles trailing over the wet patch that had settled in between your thighs. 

His fingers find your clit through the fabric, and he rubs them against it, the lace of your panties creating the most delicious friction between your folds. You shudder, your cuffed hands darting out to grab the metal railing to steady yourself. 

“Mm. And you say you’re not attracted to me.” He says, arrogance radiating off him in waves, practically singing the words to you.

“Shut up.” You garble out, not wanting to admit just how good this felt, despite the overwhelming evidence against you at that moment. 

“What? Are you always this wet?” He chuckles, pulling his fingers away, depriving you of your growing orgasm. Your eyes snap open at the loss of pleasure. 

“Why…” You whine, looking down at him from where he was currently situated between your thighs. 

“Say you want this.” He says, voice firm.

“I..” You start, voice quiet. 

You don’t want to. You couldn’t fall for him. Couldn’t give up what you’d worked so hard to build. But then your eyes meet his, and you see it. The undeniable hunger. The promise of a pleasure deeper than anything you could ever give yourself. You sigh heavily, before surrendering to it, not wanting to deny yourself of what this man so clearly has to offer. 

“I want this.” 

“Good fucking girl.” He murmurs, voice full of praise. He moves to slide your underwear down your thighs, motioning for you to step out of your jeans and to spread your legs, your thighs and sex completely bared to him. 

And then his tongue is everywhere, lapping over your core, slowly, from your entrance to your clit. He starts gently, allowing the tip of the wet muscle to circle  around the throbbing bud, before sucking it into his mouth, the suction driving you delirious. 

“Ahh.” You moan, your head lolling backwards, your eyes rolling to the back into your head. This man’s mouth was heaven sent. 

He pulls back from you, a lopsided grin on his face. “That’s right. Let me hear you. Let everyone hear you.” 

Exhibitionist.

He guides your thigh to be hiked over his shoulder, and with no further words exchanged between the two of you, starts to eat you out with renewed vigor. He enthusiastically devours you from below, his face buried in your pussy as he drinks your arousal in like a man starved. 

You’re an absolute mess above him. As much as it infuriates you to admit it, he’s undeniably good at this, and your orgasm is fast approaching. Maybe it’s the sight of him, his wavy brown hair between your thighs, and how every so often you catch a glimpse of his expression, eyes closed as if he was experiencing the highest form of heaven simply by eating you out.

The warm, wet muscle thrusts into your entrance, wrapping around you and exploring every inch of you with a heartfelt desire to leave no part of your sex untouched. 

“Oh god. Oh god! Dr Reid. I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come.” You moan out, unashamed. Why would you be? Your words were lost to the night that surrounded you two, swallowed by the darkness that concealed all of his ministries. 

He doesn’t let up, and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer. You’re right there, and just before you find yourself falling into that endless pit of pleasure, he pulls back, leaving you on the precipice of a little death. 

Motherfucker. 

You pant, in shock and still relentlessly needy for your release. “You- you stopped.” You say, voice shaky. 

“I did. Ready to talk?” He asks, a grin on his face. His mouth is glistening with your arousal, and he licks it off his lips. The sight is erotic enough to make your legs shake again, the flame of desire in you rising higher and higher.

But you see through his game, and you feel that familiar pride rise hot within your chest. 

“Go fuck yourself.” Your voice sharp and hiss-like. 

“I’d rather just fuck you.” He says cheekily, and you believe he’s going to go behind you but instead, he hauls you up, and crashes your lips on his. 

You immediately melt into the kiss with no hesitation, the fight draining out of you in favor of your need for this man. You desperately wish your hands were unbound so you could pull him closer, but the cuffs remind you that it’s his mercy you’re at. 

 In the end, it doesn’t matter though, because Spencer is doing all the work for you, pressing his body towards yours, as his tongue manages to invade your mouth. You taste your heady release on him, and moan, your back arching in a desperate attempt for more.

“Sorry.” He mumbles lips brushing against yours as he pulls back, almost sheepishly. “Had to do that at least once.”

 It’s almost endearing, the way he’s acting. Eating you out was no trouble for him at all, but kissing you is what made him shy. The contrast has you giggling despite everything, and he flashes you a crooked smile in return. 

Then, you feel it. The press of his bulge, hard and insistent, straining the fabric of his slacks. His hands slide up your back, gentle and firm all in the same, while he bends you over against the parapet. He steps in close behind you, and the quiet sounds of his belt being undone reach your ears. 

You know exactly where this is leading. 

Your eyes are fixed ahead as you tense in anticipation for him, and then feel his cock, sliding and teasing you, collecting the wetness that had remained between your folds.

He’s big, and just the feeling of it makes you go weak in the knees. 

He slides into you with a smooth, singulair thrust, and immediately sets a steady rhythm, his hips snapping against yours. You can hear the sound of flesh on flesh, the sound creating the perfect background to the debauchery you two were indulging in. You can hear his grunts behind you, the way his breath goes heavy with every hump he deals into you. 

“God, so wet, so-” He moans, unable to form a coherent sentence. A rush of pride runs through you, knowing you’re the one able to make him feel this good, that it was you that was unraveling him and dragging those desperate, pretty sounds from his parted lips. 

You arch your back in an attempt to take him deeper, moans and whimpers escaping you with every drag of his thick cock inside of you. How was someone so hellbent on your downfall so fucking good at making you feel this way? You involuntarily clench around him when the head of his dick nudges against that spot deep inside of you, the action causing a throaty yelp to escape from you. 

“God, you like that? Can feel you getting close.” He says, his voice with a slight edge to it. 

“Yes. Fuck- love this.” You moan, unable to deny the truth of how wonderful he made you feel. 

He hears it. Smirks. “You wanna come?” 

You nod, moaning obscenely. “Yes, please. Let me come.” 

You push your hips back against his, encouraging him to go harder, faster, and to finally take you over that edge, and he obliges, reveling in your greed. 

“Tell me what I want to know.” He breathes, low and deep. “Come on. I know you can.” 

Your mind reels. You’ve managed to hold back for so long, to maintain the facade, and it was never your intention to give it up like this. But with every thrust, your resistance crumbles more and more. He was fucking you dumb.

“I- I arrange the kills.” You moan. “I don’t murder anyone- I just, oh god. I help!” 

You can practically feel his smirk, and his movements faltering as he nears his own release. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

You want to throw back an insult, something clever, but instead, all that comes out of your mouth is a long, wrecked moan, your cunt clenching rhythmically around him as you tremble around him. In a daze, you can feel him reaching his breaking point as well, a loud groan slipping from him as his hips hold you in place, his warmth filling your deepest point. 

His chest presses against your back, his breath ragged. 

“You should get a lawyer.” He mumbles, still trying to catch his breath. 

“Appreciate it.” You say, dazed, and oddly.. content? You should regret this, but the feeling of his cum dripping down your thighs makes you forget that instantly. 

“You should thank me.” He murmurs, lips brushing against your shoulder.

“Why?” You murmur, confused.

He chuckles slowly. "You're in our custody now. Which means I get to keep you close."

You can’t say you’re mad about that. 

“You’ve studied so much already, I swear. Can’t you take a break?”Spencer questions petulantly, sitting on the bed adjacent to your desk, where you were currently hard at work memorizing the thirty-one pairs of nerves that made up the spine. 

You’d been studying intensely for this semester's finals. By making a couple of well-informed choices beforehand, you were actually quite on track when it came to your learning and retention of material.

For the most part, it seemed like you were on track to sail through all your classes without a hitch. That held true, until you brought up Introduction to Anatomy. 

Anatomy was fun, by all means. Interesting labs, interesting people, interesting content. However, what daunted you more than anything in pertinence to the material was the enormity of the terms and vocabulary you were expected to know in time for the exam.

“I haven’t studied enough.” Is your quick response, a small smirk finding its way to your lips. Despite loving your boyfriend, there was a certain pleasure in seeing him so desperate for you, a power-rush that felt unbelievably good.

And to your credit, you really were hard at work memorizing these terms. As much as you enjoyed his company (and the sex he wanted to engage in), it simply could not take precedence over the task at hand. 

“You know, multiple studies recommend at least twenty minutes of a break for every hour you study, for peak brain efficiency, and you-” He checks his watch, mentally calculating how long you’d been at that desk. “You’re due for at least an hour’s worth of break at this point.” 

You finally look up, your finger halting on the paper it’d been tracing over. “Spencer, you know I’d love to take a break but-” 

He sighs heavily. “I’m aware. This is important. I get it.” He grumbles, flopping onto the bed in a slightly dramatic fashion. 

You giggle at the scene. For all his propriety, there was never a more amusing sight than your boyfriend reduced to base desire and instinct. You take pity on him though, and smile gently at him. 

“Look, why don’t you get out? Go have lunch, do whatever, and come back. Hopefully I’ll be closer to finishing then, and we can hang out then?” You offer, hope in your voice. 

He sighs and nods, lifting himself off your bed. “Yeah, sounds good.” He murmurs, coming over to the desk to place an affectionate, chaste kiss upon the top of your head. “Good luck.” He says, cracking a half smile as he leaves, which you return with a smile of your own. 

The door closes, and you’re left with nothing but silence, and the lateral cutaneous branches looking up at you from their place on the page. Time to work at it, you suppose. 

It’s about two hours later, when you hear the tell-tale knock of your boyfriend at your door, presumably back from his excursion away from you. Your place at your desk is momentarily abandoned in favor of letting him in, and there’s instant delight in your eyes, considering the two cups of coffee he presents to you. One is iced, one is not. Without any words exchanged between either party, the iced coffee is grabbed and you grin. 

“Thank you.” You say, taking a sip. Of course he’d remember your order perfectly. 

“You know, that could’ve been my coffee, for all you know.” He teases, striding into the room. 

You roll your eyes fondly whilst you close the door. “Spencer Reid drinking iced coffee? I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“Coffee is supposed to be hot!” He protests, immediately, this being an obvious subject of passion for him. “Hot brewed coffee contains far more antioxidants, and doesn’t risk being watered down by ice- oh, and another thing-” 

You stifle a chuckle whilst watching him. This had been an ongoing debate for you two, essentially since the day you met. Your first date had been at a coffee shop. When he'd asked for your order, he looked almost appalled at the prefix of “iced” you’d tacked onto your statement.

Nevertheless, he still ordered it, and did his best to educate you on why hot coffee was “clearly” superior.

Somewhere between lecturing you on caffeine effectivity and nutritional information, you were head over heels. 

“Anyway.” He says, breaking your thoughts, and seemingly done with his argument. “How far are you into studying?” 

You make your way back to your desk, biting your lip as you stand over the material.  “Pretty far.” You murmur, reluctantly. “I dunno. I know I know this material, but I feel like it hasn’t solidified in my brain, you know? Like I need to keep hammering it in until it’s basically muscle memory for me.” 

He moves slowly to be behind you, his hands coming to rub your shoulders gently, soothing the worn out muscles on your back. His touch is warm and reassuring, a quiet way of saying, “You can rest.”

“You know.” He murmurs, softly. “You’d probably do better with a break. Take a breather, let your brain relax for a second.” 

There’s a pause, before he adds in a quiet voice, “Maybe spend some time with me?” His hand comes to move some hair away from your neck, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the side of it. 

You melt into the movement. He always knew exactly where your weak spots were, where you’d falter and give right into his ministries.

But you know you can’t. You force yourself to breathe and look away, as though that simple act might help you forget how his hands had lingered on you just a moment ago.

“I want to, I swear. But I won’t feel good about taking downtime until I’m absolutely sure I’ve got this.” You say, firmly extricating yourself from his grasp.

He gives another one of his heavy sighs, accepting his fate quietly, knowing he won’t be able to convince you outside of your own accord. 

“Alright then. I’ll just hang out here then.. For however long that might take.” 

You give a small, pained smile. “Thank you. I know I’m being difficult.” 

“You’re not. You could never be difficult.” He responds, immediately, returning your smile with one of his own. “It’s just finals season. I know your  performance will be wonderful, and we’ll have all the time in the world afterwards to spend time together.” 

Your heart melts. You were beyond lucky to have him, and that adoration and knowledge is displayed plainly through your expression. “Thank you.” You repeat, unable to verbalize just how much his support meant to you. “I hate finals.” 

“You and I both.” He shoots back, cracking a grin. “You’re going to do great.” 

There’s no trace of doubt in his tone at all. 

For the next hour or so, you both quietly coexist in the same space, the names of musculature and types of fibers muttered under your breath. After a while, the terms click into place, and with a quiet breath, you let the tension go. The final step in your preparation involved practicing the newly learned terms on a human model. Ideally, it would be one of the fake skeletons in the anatomy lab. Your gaze, however, drifted to your boyfriend on your bed, sprawled out, reading your physics textbook for fun. 

Nerd. 

An almost evil plan enters your brain, and your voice goes sickly sweet as you call out his name. 

“Spence?” “Mm?” He murmurs, looking over the book. 

“Can you strip down to your underwear, please?” A harmless smile plays on your lips as you ask.

Spencer’s all ears as he hears that, and in record time his clothes are shed. “Are you-” “Lie back on the bed.” You order. 

He’s so obedient and eager, immediately complying with what you’ve asked of him without question. You smile, and discreetly grab a washable marker before making your way to where he was laid out. 

“God. I’ve been so insanely needy for you all day. I’m so glad you’re done.” He says, his expression reeking of starvation as you straddle him. You can feel him harden under your touch, and choose to ignore that. 

You lean down, your head at about his chest. His breathing quickens in anticipation, already so turned on from the minimal contact between you two.

Before he can make a move of his own, you pull out your marker and mark the space between his clavicle and shoulder.

“Brachial plexus.” You murmur, much to his utter confusion and dismay. 

“You have to be kidding me.” He says, his look of confusion quickly morphing into one of realization. “I thought you were done-” 

“I’m not.” You say, with a small smirk on your lips. “But I will be, if you’re quiet and let me work on you.” 

He groans. “You’re evil, this is evil. I won’t-” 

“The faster we get through this, the faster I’m all yours.” You interrupt, mostly ignoring him, because you know he’ll do anything if it means touching you by the end of it. 

He takes a pained breath and tries to relax while you work on top of him,  his obvious erection straining against the fabric of his briefs.

The pen drags down his chest, as you move down on him to better position yourself in accordance to the medial pectoral nerve you were marking.

“Baby, please.” He groans out, his hands fisting in the sheets below him in an attempt to not grab you and take you right then and there.

The slightest bit of friction seems to set him off, and you can tell he isn’t playing it up in the slightest. He truly was, well and gone for you within this moment.

“Sorry.” You murmur. “Just marking your.. anterior cutaneous branches.. of the thoracic nerves.” The pen drags against a spot on his chest, and he shudders. 

“Won’t this stain my skin?” He says, a slight whine in his tone, doing absolutely anything to free himself from the absolute torture of this predicament he’d found himself in. 

“Nah. It’s one of those pens they use for surgery.” You respond, dragging it along his sternum to mark a few more necessary terms. “It’ll come right off in the shower.” 

You know exactly how to push his buttons. You lean in closer and whisper against his ear enticingly, “We can get clean together.” 

He squeezes his eyes at that, the feeling of your lips brushing against his earlobe triggering an involuntary response, a low moan escaping him. “This is.. so unfair. I just want to touch you. Please.” 

“Not until I’m done.” You fire back. “C'mon. You can be good and wait, right?” 

“Easy for you to say.” He grits out. “You’re not the one, half naked and hard and having to watch you be..” He trails off.

“Be what?” You ask, a bit distracted as you mark another nerve of importance.

“Be.. sexy.” He mumbles out, clearly embarrassed by his own musings. 

A small, wry smile comes upon your mouth. You lean back, a breath of laughter slipping free. “You think I look sexy?” You say, a teasing lilt in your tone.

He rubs a hand over his face, clearly mortified. “Yes. Yes, okay!” He grumbles out, clearly self-conscious by just how much he’s managed to be affected by you. “You’re on top of me, drawing on me, and I’m aware they’re just anatomical terms, but God the way you say them.” 

His voice devolves into a near whimper, pitiful and aching. “It’s killing me.” 

You hum, pleased with yourself. “Killing you, huh?”

“Yes.” He mewls. “Killing me. I want you so much, please. You’re so smart. Please. I know you’re going to do so good on this final. Just please, please, let me touch you.”

He collapses into his words, into you. No pride left, just need.

“Yeah? You think I’m smart?” You murmur teasingly, tracing the plastic of your marker along the side of his neck. 

“Yes.” He moans, lowly. “So smart. You’re so hot when you’re working so hard. Makes me want you so bad.” 

Your head turns back, and you can see the wetness of precum leaking from his cock on his briefs. He wasn’t faking it to get your attention. He yearned for you, plain and simple.

Your eyes find his, and they’re full of need, his expression absolutely shameless and desperate. “Please.” He repeats. “Please let me touch you. I don’t care how. Just- god. I can't do this. Please.” 

It’s enough to make you yield. You slide off of him, and he lets out a soft, needy sound, already missing the press of you, until his breath catches at the sight of you stripping, your clothes landing somewhere off the edge of the bed without a second thought.

“You wanna touch me?” You murmur, crawling up the bed a little. 

“Yes.” He whispers, nodding.

The way he looks at your naked body, eyes fixed, hungry, reverent.. it’s almost too much. You feel dizzy from the weight of it.

You straddle his face, a thigh on either side of him whilst you hover over his face, and then you look down. “Touch me then.” You murmur.

He practically growls as his hands wrap around your thighs. “With pleasure.” 

He pulls you down entirely, effectively forcing your core against his mouth, his tongue lapping against every inch of your wet folds.

You moan, your hands coming to grasp the headboard in front of you. There’s absolutely nothing he could be thinking about, besides the taste and smell of you flooding and overwhelming his senses. 

He devours you with a single-minded focus, his tongue expertly alternating between flattening  and lapping you in slow, deliberate strokes, and quick flicks against your clit. It’s all done in service to you, Spencer thinking of the fastest way to unravel you, desperate to taste your release against his tongue– to hear you moan his name and shake above him. 

He gets his wish when another stroke of his tongue finally causes you to come, your sweet release flooding his face, and him eagerly drinking it in. He moans as he attempts to pull you even closer to his mouth (if that was even possible). 

You let out a breathy laugh as he seems to slow down, indicating the end of your session. “Spence.. Oh god. That was so good.” You try to get off him, but his grip on your thighs is iron-clad. 

“Again.” He moans. 

“What?” You ask, not sure if you heard him right. 

“Again, please.” He begs, voice broken. “I need you.” 

The absolute depravity and torment in his voice lulls you into complacency, as you assume your previous position above him. 

“Okay. Okay, baby. We can go again.” You murmur, soothingly.

He wastes no time going right back in, his tongue albeit, a little slower now, keeping in mind that you’d just orgasmed, and that you were probably still sensitive. 

He’s right to do so, little high-pitched moans and drawn out of you as you get comfortable again, despite the overstimulation.

His tongue circles your clit slowly, never properly touching it, delaying your next release. After a while of this teasing, you finally moan out his name, your hips shamelessly rocking against him. 

“Spencer, god. Please. Need to come.” You beg, feeling yourself at the edge of a small death. 

Spencer responds in kind, rapidly flicking his tongue against your swollen bud, and in record time, you’re coming again, much to his delight.  He doesn't let up until he's absolutely sure he's lapped up every single drop, not letting any of it go to waste.

“Okay, baby. I gotta get off. Gotta breathe. So do you.” You pant out, as you get off from your seat on his face.

He shakes his head, tugging you closer. 

“Please, wanna keep touching you.” He pleads, eyes teary, your release practically dripping off his chin. His hand digs into your arm with a lustful urgency.  “Please. We can go again. I know we can.” 

You yield to his request, because honestly, who could deny him right now? His hair messy, lips shiny and his voice, fractured and full of ache, barely held together. 

You nod, lying down, on the bed, motioning for him to roll on top of you. 

He rolls over and kisses you, and it’s absolutely sinful. You can taste yourself on him, moaning as your lips easily part and make way for him, the wet warmth of his tongue sliding against yours. There’s nothing held back between the two of you as your lips connect and reconnect, as his hand slowly slides down the expanse of your skin, finding your clit and beginning to rub slow circles against it. 

“Oh god, Spencer.” You moan bonelessly, feeling the effects of your previous two orgasms and the one you were hurtling towards currently taking over you. 

“Yeah?” He mumbles. “That feel good?” 

“God, yes.” You moan. “You always know how to touch me, always know how to make me feel good- oh-” 

He groans in delight as he dives in for another kiss, his fingers sliding across the slick bud even faster now, determined to make you fall off the edge for him one last time. He humps your thigh, practically desperate for some relief for his aching cock as well.

“Say my name.” He murmurs against your lips. 

“Spencer.” You wail out, in response. 

“Louder.” 

“Oh god, Spencer, please!” You groan, your body beginning to tense up with the tell-tale signs of an orgasm, your body taut like a bowstring. 

“That’s right, come for me.” He whispers, placing a sweet kiss against your collarbone, his hips continuing their rut in an attempt to chase his release as well.

And with a shout, you come, your body seizing up and succumbing to his touch, your hands wrapping around his neck in an attempt to ground yourself as you experienced the intense pleasure that could only result from being with him.

He seems to follow shortly after to the sound of your moans, a wet patch appearing on the front of his briefs.

You whimper as you come down for your orgasm, Spencer stroking your skin soothingly, peppering little kisses wherever he could reach. 

“You doing okay?” He pants out.

“Better than okay.” You murmur, folding into his embrace, feeling as if you were floating on clouds, or some other poetic description of just how light you felt in this moment. 

“I pushed you pretty hard, huh?” He mumbles, his voice tinged with a slight bit of concern. 

“Don’t worry. I deserve it for teasing you so hard." You mumble.

"Thanks for helping me study, by the way." You tack on, already feeling yourself drift off into a quiet, peaceful slumber in his arms. 

He chuckles a bit, and places a kiss against your forehead. “Glad I could make the lesson... hands-on.”

With a cock that perfect and neglected right in front of your face, you could hardly resist the temptation to give it a tiny taste.

It wasn't like it was against the rules of your non-hookups with Spencer. He'd ask for explicit pictures twice a week, which you'd happily send for the chance to be sat on his tongue by 10pm that Friday evening, days on which cases landed notwithstanding.

Hotel rooms were very convenient hook up spots, especially the ones with free condoms and tissues on both the nightstand and by the desk chair.

Not that you ever needed condoms, really. You'd never so much as touched Spencer's cock, let alone had it inside you. He was too much of a giver to take something like that from you. His cock was always hard, always visible through his pants, but he was so focused on your pleasure, he didn't care about his own needs being met.

Spencer's tongue was your personal sex toy. You'd fucked his face multiple times, grabbing his hair and forcing his nose into the bristles of hair at the end of your pelvic bone as you ground your cunt into his wet, hot mouth. You'd laid back contentedly and let him peacefully lick and suck slowly for hours on end, cumming multiple times as he explored your sensitive parts.

You'd sat on a chair, legs spread, and let him lap up your cum on his knees, because there was nothing in the world he wanted more.

More than once, you knew, he'd walked away with cum dampening his pants, having enjoyed your moans and taste so much that he'd lost it before really touching you.

But Spencer Reid was being unfair getting you to sit on his face, to look at his big, thick cock atraining through his pants, straight on, and telling you to sit still and enjoy his tongue when all you wanted was to take him as far down your throat as he could get.

“Fuck, Spencer,” you moaned again as he nipped at your clit, tongue flicking it as you felt a familiar burn of stimulation at your core.

You were going to end up roughly fucking his face if you weren't careful. His tongue just felt too good.

You slid your hands down his stomach a bit, landing on his loose pants as you repositioned your knees.

“Spencer, that's it keep going. Good boy, good boy.”

You gripped his pants tightly, using the little bit of tension to help you arch back, pushing more of your ass onto his face than before.

But your arms, already weak from a rough day at work, slipped again pushing his pants down just one more inch until his cock could finally spring loose. You wanted nothing more than to taste it, reaching forward and looking at it intensely as your mouth watered. You didn't get closer than a breath away, as Spencer immediately stopped when your mouth almost achieved its goal.

“Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Spencer mumbled crawling out from underneath you as he scrambled to get his cock back in his pants.

“Spencer-”

“I'm sorry, it won't happen again, I'll-”

“Spencer, slow down. What?”

You'd seen Spencer flushed with desire before, but the redness of his cheeks was different somehow now. More embarrassment than anything else.

Slowly, you crawled towards him again, trying to look as non-threatening as you could, clad only in hastily pushed aside panties and dishevelled dress. Your hand slowly traced up his thigh, and you kept it there, still for a second watching to see what Spencer would do next.

“Spencer. Why can't I see your cock?” You asked, voice low but light, almost surprising yourself with how breathy and needy you sounded.

“I… I thought you wouldn't want to see…” he trailed off, and you pouted up at him, stroking his thigh as he looked down distractedly at you.

“I want to. Can I have it now?” You asked in a sickeningly sweet voice.

“Y/N…. It's… I've had complaints in the past, it's not…” he struggled to find the words as your hand brushed over his crotch now tracing the bulge in his pants as his head dropped backwards.

“It's not what? Big? Don't lie to me.”

“That's not it… I get… I get too overwhelmed if you do that, I get too-”

“Too….” You mimicked, dropping a hand into his underwear as his hand fell over yours, unsure whether it was to stop you or to set the pace of your impromptu hand job.

“Rough,” he said, as you firmly gripped his cock, using your other hand to free him from his pants and underwear, knocking his hand away as you ran your palm along the length of his hard cock.

“Rough?” You said, gripping the tip of his cock, teasing it until it shone with precum.

His hand fell back over yours, more firmly this time, as he met his eyes with yours.

“I didn't want to hurt you, but I get so overwhelmed if I use it that I… I get rough, I don't listen well-”

You were practically dripping listening to his explanations for not fucking you, or even letting you see his cock.

“Overwhelmed?”

“Yes! It's like… Y/N, I'd treat you like a sex toy, not a person, and I want this to be good for you, too, so let's not-”

You cut him off with a rough kiss as you pressed him back into the bed, straddling his thighs as you gently fisted his cock, rubbing up and down slowly.

“I'll make a deal with you, Spencer,” you said, between gasps of air. “I'll sit on your face again, and you let me suck your cock. When you get rough, if you get rough, you'll be able to feel how much I'm enjoying it, okay?”

He nodded between kisses, words forming and melting on his tongue as his hips began thrusting into your hand, his thigh digging into your mound as he thrashed towards a climax.

“Good boy,” you said, kissing him one last time before letting go of his cock and climbing out of his lap.

His body twitched in protest, but his big hands grasped you quickly, pulling you up the bed as you eagerly went with them, losing your panties on the way as you let your dress fall around his face in an all too familiar position.

But this time, you lowered yourself down, too, spitting on his tip quickly as his tongue got to work teasing your clit slowly.

You gave him a few pumps, before lowering yourself more completely on his face, pressing your chest close to his abdomen and taking his cock slowly onto your mouth.

Spencer wasn't small, but you also weren't going to let him be a challenge. You got a few inches down before you decided to come back up again, hands still stroking the base and massaging the rest. You did that a few times before you felt Spencer's body angle up into you again.

Changing his leg position on the bed, Spencer thrust his cock up into your mouth as you forced yourself to breathe. His cock thrust up again, quickly but totally and he left it there for a few seconds before pulling it out again.

The entire time, he hadn't let up his work on your cunt. His to guess flattened out against your clit, roughly stroking that sensitive area with a precision only he knew. A hand clasped around your hips, gripping your ass kept you firmly in place on his face, as his hips bucked into you.

He got faster, wilder, and yes, rougher.

You didn't want to pull off his dick, but moving back was instinctual. He pushed you right back in with a hand on your head, fisted into your hair as he synchronised your movements, pulling your head up as he pulled his cock away from your lips, and pushing it back down when his hips snapped up.

You moaned hysterically when you came apart on his face, feeling your cum trickling down your leg as he continued to use you to get off. His to guess never stopped, even after wave after wave of your juices hit him.

The only sign of his impending orgasm was the tightening of his hands, both of them now coming down on your head, forcing you to the base of his sizable cock as your tongue touched his balls. He came down your throat and immediately releases you, spluttering and coughing as your legs trembled.

Spencer scrambled to get you on your back, pushing you upright and patting your back as you regained your breath.

“I'm sorry, Y/N, I said it wasn't a good ide-”

You pushed your cum stained tongue into his mouth, shutting him up quickly as he tasted himself, and you tasted yourself, and your tastes mingled quickly, as you climbed into his lap again.

“Spencer,” you said, catching your breath once again, collapsing into his arms.

“If I need to beg for your cock, I will. I like it rough. I-” you gasped again, feeling his cock stirring with each word.