ell

there she was, sitting on her hotel bed with her hand moving under her underwear, a hand clutched to her breast and her breathing ridged as she tried her damnedest to reach an orgasm. he'd never seen someone do this in person before, he never thought She'd be the one doing it in front of Him... he always expected her to walk into the bathroom accidentally or roll over in the middle of the night and catch him wacking one out before bed.

she tosses her head back and sighs, opening her eyes back up with a look of defeat, she turns her head slightly to see spencer, staring at her like a deer in headlights, "i'm sorry!"

she laughs, "i'm the one masturbating in our shared room, and you're sorry?"

"it's, I, um," he pulls on his tie and swallows, returning all the moisture to his mouth, "i didn't see anything."

"well yeah, i have clothes on."

"which is probably why you can't get off," he replies, under his breath but it's still there.

"excuse me?"

"nothing," he shakes his head in fear.

"no, tell me, cause clearly doctor i have no clue what i'm doing over here," she seems both pissed and excited and he doesn't know how to react.

"your posture, you're hunched and it's restricting airflow, mixed with the clothing restriction, if you panic in elevators, i'm sure it's hard to reach your climax when you're body essentially feels trapped," he stares at the floor as he explains it, "you'd be best to lay flat, on your back or stomach."

"how do you prefer to do it?"

"what?" his eyes shoot back to hers.

"how," she says it slower, standing now, she begins to walk closer, "do you prefer, to..." she grabs his tie with the hand that was just touching her most intimate area and he closes his eyes. she leans in and kissing just under his ear, "do it?"

his posture straightens in an attempt to steady his breathing, "in the shower, but i imagine it's hard for you."

she nods, "i've tried the shower head trick."

"was it helpful?"

"no," she shakes her head, disappointed. "it takes a lot of effort for me to finish, I don't want to give this poor town a drought."

"that's a shame," he can't help but see where this will go, "I could show you a thing or two?"

"I didn't know you were a love doctor," she teases, "have you ever even seen a vagina in person?"

he looks so offended, "of course."

she just laughs and backs away, taking her underwear off and laying back on the bed, "knock yourself out. most men I bring home give up after 15 minutes."

spencer simply takes his satchel off and places it on the bed. followed by his suit jacket, he unbuttons his cuffs to roll his sleeves up, he loosens his tie and kneels on the floor at the edge of her bed. he wraps his arms under her thighs and pulls her closer to the edge, she's practically panting with want.

"part of the experience is arousal," he runs his jaw along the inside of her leg, "has anyone ever worked you up beforehand? or is it about their pleasure first?"

"them," she pants, arching into the contact, "always them."

"tsk, shameful," he whispers, kissing his way from one leg to the other, kissing over her lower stomach and around her little tuft of pubic hair, smiling to himself because this is all he's ever wanted to do.

"the clitoral hood is basically like foreskin," he's well aware that his facts aren't sexy, but she asked to learn. "you need to pull it back sometimes to make it feel good."

he spreads her lips with two fingers, kissing just above her clit and she shivers, he keeps kissing and her hands find his hair, she grips it and pulls him back up to her clit, he just laughs. flattening his tongue and letting her put him where she likes it. grinding herself against his tongue with her head tossed back, "fuck."

he takes the opportunity to suck on her clit gently, "oh!" she gasps, covering her mouth right after as she remembers where they are.

he drags his tongue along her again, gathering her wetness and bringing it forward, taking the chance to tease a finger along her hole, he kisses the spot about her clit again, the anticipation is practically killing her.

he pushes his finger in, amazed at how she sucks him inside and moans at the feeling, reaching in as far as possible, past the G spot, wanting to show her just how powerful of an orgasm he can draw forward. he returns his attention to her clit while stimulating a spot inside of her that has her writhing in pleasure, unable to speak, closer than she would have gotten on her own.

he pushes her over the edge and keeps going, adding a second finger and fucking her with them as he uses his other hand to rub her clit. orgasm after orgasm, he suspects 3 in succession, knowing all the little hacks she would have never found on her own to keep it going and going until she taps on his forehead, panting, done.

He didn’t want to read too much into it, in spite of that fact that that’s what his mind was trained to do, but her behavior managed to change ever so slowly. She’d stop by his office hours with a question about an assignment. A question he could tell she didn't really need an answer to. He knew she understood, she always did.

Eventually she started to ask more general questions, about upcoming material, or related books. Until one day she just showed up out of habit, with nothing left to ask but a shy “How are you Professor?”

And that’s when it really started to get bad for him. It was one thing when he was just letting his eyes linger on her bare legs as she sat in the front row of his class. It was an entirely different thing when she was in the chair opposite his in the quiet comfort of his office. There she would sometimes take her shoes off and cross her legs in the chair in a way he found all too endearing.

On the odd occasion that it was warm in the office and he’d have the fan on, the breeze would waft past her, carrying with it the sweet, intoxicating scent of her shampoo, and he’d have to try not to think about it for the rest of the day.

He could never bring himself to touch her though. It started out of his strangeness with germs, turning down her initial handshake, and she mustn’t have forgotten. Greeting and parting each visit with a small wave rather than anything that required her to step closer to him. He often thought about telling her he was okay with it now. That he’d welcome the handshake, or a hug, or any interaction where her skin was against his at all. In spite of the fact that he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he ever actually felt that smooth skin of hers beneath his fingertips.

She was so young, so fresh, so inexperienced. Part of him wished he didn’t know but he’d heard some of the tasteless young men in his class speculating about her after his class one day. He’d guessed as much from her demeanor and her slight shyness around him, but the confirmation was a little too much to bare.

In a way he felt guilty for thinking of her in any way that wasn’t entirely pure and adoring. But he just couldn’t help himself. No matter how hard he tried to stop the thoughts, they lingered, never to far from his mind. The thoughts of how she might react to even a simple touch from him, the longing in her eyes, the shudder in her breath. He often wondered if she had done anything at all, had she even kissed someone yet? Would he want to be the one take that away from her?

As much as he felt guilty, something about being the first person to kiss those lips, to steal that sliver of innocence from her, turned him on like nothing else could. If anything, the very idea made him greedy for more.

Walking into his office late at night she was the last thing he’d expected to see. Perched delicately on the edge of his desk, her legs swinging off the side playfully. Almost as though she was teasing him.

“Professor” she greets him, a coy smile playing on her lips, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to him as he stands in the doorway, startled and urging himself to move.

“W—What are you doing here?” he manages to stutter out as he shuts the door behind him.

“You, hopefully” she smirks, and something about the line feels out of place, she would never be that crass. But he knows this isn’t real, so he plays along.

“Be careful” he warns, walking closer and closer, knowing he’s saying it for his own sake as much as for hers.

“Of what, Professor?” she asks, doe eyes looking to him as she starts to undo her blouse, button by button.

He takes a deep but unsteady breath as her nimble fingers make it past her stomach, revealing white lace and an expanse of soft skin in the window she slowly opened for him. When she shrugged the blouse off her shoulders he felt undeniably perverse, fantasizing like this. Thinking about her like this, perched half naked in the place he saw her most. It was almost enough to shake him awake, but not quite.

“Of me” he finally answers, moving closer and closer despite his best intentions. But his words do nothing to dissuade her as she stands up off the desk, pulling her skirt down along her hips until it settles in a little pile at her feet.

So typical of him, and his image of her, that she’s wearing white. It’s delicate, just like her, covering the parts of her that his hands are drawn to most, including the little lace ribbon that fastened so tight against her throat. It was tied in a little bow and it almost begged for his attention, signaled that this was somewhere that she wanted his hands. Or rather somewhere that he wanted to put them.

He took too long just standing there, idly admiring all of the exposed skin no one else had ever been privy to. The care and consideration taken in matching all of her undergarments so perfectly.

When he reaches out to touch her skin it’s already pebbled with goosebumps before his fingers can make contact. And he’s not reaching for anywhere sinister, just an innocuous brush of his fingertips against her forearm. But he doesn’t even deserve that.

As his fingers are about to know the feeling of her perfect skin against his own he snaps up. His back straightening in his desk chair and his head reeling from the sharp movement. It was already too late to be at the university when he’d fallen asleep at his desk, now it was just reckless. So he gathers his things to leave and tries to keep the vivid images of her alive in his head so that he can recall them once he’s alone in bed at home.

There he can indulge in the fantasy a little more. Snaking his hands beneath the covers to find himself hard and leaking at the very thought of her. His hand gripping his length and closing his eyes in the hope that he could summon her here somehow.

Wondering how her small hand would fit around him, how her body would press up against his as she drew gaps and moans from his chest with her movements. What that power might do to her, would it turn her on to see him come undone so easily at her slightest touch? He cums thinking of how she might feel afterwards, if he slipped this hand between her thighs would he find her wet for him, dripping down the inside of her own thighs at the thought.

He wakes up thinking about something entirely different. About the real her. And how he had to see her today during office hours. He’d thought about her in ways he wasn’t proud of before, but he’d never let himself get quite so carried away as he had last night.

Part of him wanted to call in sick, but he knew that could only stave off that interaction for so long. So he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, and he tried not to think about her while he was in there.

When he finally arrives to work he’s done all he can to focus on anything else. Directing his attention to the lectures he’s got later in the week, and the papers he has to grade. Which gets him part way through the day until there’s a soft knock against his office door and he just blurts out ‘come in!’ without looking up from his desk.

Which he scolds himself for the second he tilts his head up to see her standing opposite his desk wearing a little skirt and a shy smile, and it makes his heart skip a beat.

“Oh, hi, sorry” he rushes out, hurrying to clean up the mess of papers and pens as if a cluttered desk was what was keeping them apart.

“Don’t worry about it Professor” she smiles, warm as always, but she doesn’t take her usual seat. Instead she stands awkwardly on the opposite side of the desk, the strap of her bag grasped tightly in one hand in a tense gesture that he doesn’t miss.

“Are you not staying?” he asks, afraid of the answer already. As much as he worried about his thoughts, the idea of her not wanting to spend time with him hurt more than he wanted to admit.

“Oh no— well yes, I guess? I’ve got a study group that I can’t miss but it’s been moved to this afternoon. So I have to go to that now but I wanted to know if you might be here late this evening by any chance? No problem if you’re not, I just thought I’d check?” she took in a deep, unsteady breath as she finished speaking and he couldn't help but notice it. She was nervous, and he could only hope it was for the same reasons that the idea made his throat tight.

“Yeah, of course. Just pop in whenever you’re done, I’ve got plenty of work to keep me busy here until you get back” he tries to play it off like it’s nothing but his heart is pounding in his chest at the thought.

Obviously they’d been alone together before, they were alone right now. But there was always an imposition. A lecture, a meeting, another student. There was always an ever present time limit, and a distraction of bustling noise outside the office door that let them know that they were never alone, not really.

But when the time finally rolls around all of his colleagues have left for the evening, and it seems like most of the students have too. There’s an eerie quiet that only amplifies the sound of her quiet knock on the door, but at least he’s anticipating it this time.

As he opens it they’re both a little unsure if the footing. There’s a mood that’s undoubtedly different. Or maybe he just wants to believe that there is.

“Evening Professor” she smiles at him as she wanders into the office. He expects her to take her usual seat but she still doesn’t. Instead she perches herself against the edge of his desk, leaning back on her arms and looking straight at him.

He tries desperately not to recall the images that flashed through his mind the night before. The thoughts of her in this exact same position, with a strangely similar look in her eyes.

“Are you still not staying?” he asks, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“I’ll stay if you want me to?”

“I— w-what?” he stutters, crossing the room slow and apprehensive.

“I can go, I know it’s late, but I think you want this too. So if you want me to go, I’ll go, but if you want me to stay, tell me as much” there’s a practiced quality to her words, as though she’d been planning this for a while. And he thinks he understands what she’s saying, but he’s not sure if she does.

“You don’t understand. What you want— I can’t—” he says, finally approaching her, carefully.

“I know what I’m asking of you. And I know that you want it too. We’ve been dancing around each other for a while now.”

“Well, yes but— I— I can’t be the one that— it shouldn’t be with me” he can’t even bring himself to say it out loud. He can’t outright tell her that he doesn’t think he deserves to take her innocence like that. In spite of the fact that it was all he could think of for months now.

“What, my virginity? You don’t think you should be the one to take it from me. I happen to think the opposite” her words have a confidence to them that catches him off guard. She’d thought about this, it wasn’t spur of the moment, this was a decision.

“You do?” is all he says, it’s all his brain can really even string together.

“I don’t like any of the boys my own age. Why should I let them be the one just because of something as arbitrary as a number. I want you to be the one to show me.”

“You want me to show you? Show you what?” he can feel his hands shaking, and he’s not sure if it’s nerves or if it’s his muscles threatening to reach out and touch her.

“Anything... everything. I know you’ve thought about it.”

Something about her words just breaks the dam, he can’t keep himself, or his desires contained for another second, so he makes his decision.

“Alright, if that’s what you want?” he waits for one final confirmation.

It comes in the form of a deep breath and a ‘yes, please Professor’ from his student as she looks up at him with wide eyes.

So he grabs her gently by the wrist and leads her towards the mirror that always stood in the corner of his office. It’s tall and antique, and it’s been more for decoration than anything else, until now. Until he positions her in front of him so that they can both look into it together.

At first he doesn’t place his hands on her at all, he just lets her eyes roam all over the frame, up to him, and down along her own body. He lets the anticipation build before he touches her, and even then it’s just a hand resting softly on her hip.

“You’re right, I have thought about it” he whispers against her ear, “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about it”

As he speaks he lets his other hand come down too, resting it on her other hip before gently ghosting them along her sides. A feather-light touch that would almost tickle if it weren’t for the tension that laced the room.

“I’ve thought about touching you, how you’d feel beneath my fingertips. The way you’d react.” he only breathes the words, fighting to keep his touch restrained as it brushes along the waist band of her skirt, resisting the urge to slip his hand beneath it and feel her undoubtedly soft skin.

As his hands move, touching nowhere in particular, her heart rate picks up and her breathing grows increasingly shaky, and it’s almost exactly what he had in mind. The timid look in her eyes as she tries to process the heat of his breath against her neck makes him both weak and emboldened all at once.

“I tried to picture it…” he says, his hands meeting in the centre of her chest, nimble fingers teasing at the buttons of her blouse, lingering before gently undoing the first one, then the second. Just leaving it at that for a moment so that he can dip his left hand beneath the fabric and rest it against the smooth skin, feeling the way her heart beat fluttered beneath his touch.

When he pulls his hand back reluctantly, it’s only so that he can continue his work on the remaining buttons, trailing them down the length of her blouse until it fell open entirely. The fabric parting to make way for the perfect skin of her stomach and chest, and he couldn’t leave it untouched.

His hands found their way to her sides, brushing gently along the exposed skin, eliciting what was sure to be the first of many shivers from the young woman.

“But it doesn’t compare” he tells himself as much as her. He’d barely touched her at all and this had already eclipsed his fantasies. Though her bra was the softest shade of baby-pink, rather than white, a change he wasn’t sure he minded, and he found himself hoping that he’d find the matching panties when he got to removing her skirt.

“And what was it that you thought about my dear?” he finally asks. Stopping his hands right below the delicate lace of her bra, teasing her with the possibility of his touch somewhere more tantalizing than her stomach.

“M-me?” she looks at his reflection, her eyes half-lidded and dazed with steadily building lust.

“Yes sweetheart, what was it that you thought about?” he teases, his lips so close to her ear that he thought he could almost taste her.

“I— um— Your hands…” she starts, interrupting herself with a sharp gasp as those same hands finally came to rest on her breasts, squeezing gently.

“Hmm, care to elaborate” he asks, tucking his face into the back of her neck, just long enough to inhale her scent because he couldn't tear his eyes from her own in the mirror.

“Mmm, they’re so big— I— uh— I wanted you to touch me” she lets out through a ragged moan. And the very idea that this contact alone has her squirming makes his pulse accelerate.

“I think I’m going to need more specifics?” he chuckles, and she shakes her head with a frustrated exhale, “C’mon, don’t be shy now” he taunts, his grip softening until he starts to pull his hands away entirely.

“W-wait! Please Professor” she says with a pathetic whimper. And just like that his hands are on her again, softly resting against the zipper at the side of her skirt.

“Go ahead” he says with a raise of his eyebrows, toying with the little piece of metal between his fingertips.

“I wanted you to touch me everywhere.” she says, unpracticed and shaky this time, like she didn’t think her little speech from earlier would get her quite this far.

“I thought about your fingers, how they might feel…” she stops herself just shy of admitting the truth when he pulls the zipper down, separating the first few teeth as a reward for her efforts.

“On me… inside me” she forces the words out, “In my mouth, or my…” she can’t force more than a ragged breath when her zipper opens entirely and he doesn’t let go of the fabric.

Instead he grabs it in both hands and pulls it slowly down the length of her legs, kneeling down himself so that he could guide it to the floor, looking up into her eyes the entire time.

“Did you get all dressed up for me?” he asks with a cocky smirk, taking note of the soft-pink panties that hung on her hips.

“Mmhmm” she nods, and he’s flattered even though he knew that answer was coming. She was always so eager to please in the classroom, it stood to reason that she would be elsewhere too.

“Such a good girl” he says as a reward, placing a soft kiss on the side of her hip where he stayed crouched, his hands gripping the skin on the outside of her thighs, allowing himself to dig his nails in just a little.

“Please” she says it in such a low whimper he can barely hear it, but he feels it in the way her body shivers beneath his touch.

“What is it sweetheart?” he asks, standing up so that he was looking down at her once again.

“I need— more” she manages to force out as his hands root themselves on her hips. His grip isn’t as soft as it was before, back when his hands held her through the fabric of her skirt, this time the only thing keeping him from her was a tiny barrier of pink lace.

“You want more?” he asks, blunt nails digging into her delicate skin, drawing fractured whimpers from her throat as she tried to nod.

“Yes, please!”

So he didn’t stop himself then, tucking his fingers beneath the hem of her panties and finding his way between her legs, finding the evidence of her arousal spread around the silken skin.

It helps as he pushes one finger inside of her, pushing past the tight muscles that are strangely resistant to the intrusion in spite of her insistence that she was ready. It was just another reminder of her unpracticed nature, that shouldn’t have made him strain against he fabric of his slacks.

“Relax for me sweetheart” he tries to calm her with his soft tone, but her mouth remains open, desperately seeking oxygen with each deep breath. When he kisses the side of her cheek the distraction is just enough to make way for a second finger. One that barely fits and has her back arching against his, and her head falling back against his shoulder. He’s certain that she must be able to feel the evidence of his own arousal like this. Pressed up against her backside as she writhed against him at the simplest touch.

When he brings his arm around her waist, clutching her tight to support her weight, he realizes that he can’t continue like this. He can’t do everything he wants to do to her, with her, from this position. So he pulls his fingers from her, soft and slow at the risk of hurting her, and leans in to whisper against her ear again.

“Get on the desk” he orders, and her shaky legs are slow but eager to comply, leading her to the hardwood, still cluttered with papers and pens that he spares no thought to as he pushes them off the side. Making way for far more important things.

He helps her trembling body onto the side of the desk, nudging her legs apart and immediately filling the empty space with his body.

It was almost criminal how many times he’d thought about her in this position. On this desk, in his bed, in his lecture hall if he let himself get carried away. But his fantasies hardly came close. They didn’t capture the lustful, eager, look in her perfect eyes at they stared up at him in anticipation.

He gives himself one more moment to admire her before he lets himself touch her again, his hands tugging at the sides of her panties before sliding them down her legs. Tucking the damp fabric into his pocket as he moved in close to her again.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks, his fingers far more nervous now that they toyed with his own belt buckle. But his sweet girl hardly missed a beat when she nodded, an enthusiastic and sincere smile graced all of her features as she spoke the words, “Yes, more than I’ve ever wanted anything”

He could barely move fast enough, tugging off his belt so that he could unzip his pants. Hardly getting them halfway down his legs before his hands were on his briefs, tugging them down so that his cock could finally spring free.

When her eyes land on him they bulge open, her features doing nothing to disguise her shock. Either at his size, or at the clear evidence of how she made him feel, he wasn’t sure. But he savored the look regardless.

“Are you ready sweetheart?” he asks, his hand reaching out to hold the side of her face with the softness she deserved, and she let her eyes shut as she shifted further into his grip.

“For you, of course” she affirms, and it makes his heartbeat flutter.

So he uses one hand to pull her closer to the edge of the desk, and the other to line himself up between her legs. When he runs the head of his cock between her folds she lets out a soft moan, and he tries desperately to keep his eyes open and fixed on her because he doesn’t want to miss a second. Especially when he pushes inside of her and her face screws up into a wince.

“Are you alright? We can stop” he says, halting all of his movements, but she shakes her head.

“No— no I can handle it, keep going” she assures him, but he’s gentle none the less. Pushing himself inside of the tight muscles with even more caution than before, slowly, inch by unbearable inch as she squirms beneath him.

Her hands reach out to grip his shoulders, fingernails digging in through the fabric of his shirt enough that it almost hurt. But he couldn’t feel too bad about the pain when he knew the source of it was ultimately pleasure.

“You're doing so good for me baby” he coos, “such a good girl” the words trigger a moan from the chest of the young girl that makes him throb inside of her as he continues to push further and further into her.

“Fuck, you feel so good” he moans out himself as he continues slowly, until there’s nowhere else to go, until she’s filled with him entirely.

Her chest heaves with heavy breaths, trying to relax enough to accommodate him with comfort. But his reassurance seems to help, with each soft murmur of ‘good girl’, ‘that’s it’, ‘feels perfect’, her muscles grow more pliant. More susceptible to his touch, to his guidance, until he finally feels capable of moving like he wants to, like he needs to.

“Fuck” she mumbles, the crude words tumbling from her sweet lips as he pulls out of her almost entirely, only to push back in until he hit against her cervix and caused another delicious moan to fill the room.

“Does that feel good baby?” he asks as his hips begin to pick up a rhythm, finding less and less resistance with each practiced motion until he was able to move his hips harsh enough that they began to shake the objects from his desk.

“Uh…” she manages to whimper, “Professor I…”

“What’s that?” he coaxes the thought from her, even though he can tell what the answer is by the way her eyes are rolling back in her head, and her lips hang open in a silent scream.

“I—it feels— god, so good— so… full” she manages to string together between gasps and moans, her nails only digging into his skin harsher by the second.

He can barely believe his luck that he gets to see her like this. Dangling dangerously close to the edge, and it’s all his doing. The scene is only made that much more intoxicating by the knowledge that he’s the only one that’s ever been privy to this sight, to these sounds, to the feeling of her so tight and warm and wet around him.

So he brings one hand down between her legs and rubs his thumb in gentle circles around the crest where their two bodies met. Her reaction is instant, her back arching to bring her body closer to his, burying her face in the crook of his neck as her body begins to shudder.

But that just wouldn’t do. He wasn’t going to let himself get this far and not watch as she fell apart at his touch. So reaching up with his other hand he grabs a fistful of her hair, pulling her back roughly so that he could watch her face as he made her cum. So that he could watch each tiny change in her expression as she crumbled apart only to be put back together again beneath his touch.

“Fuck— oh—uh— Professor” she moans and gasps as he works her through the first orgasm anyone else has ever given her.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl” he praises, guiding her down from her high as he rapidly approached his own. The fluttering of her walls doing nothing to slow him down.

“I’m so close” he moans himself, his hips rocking in and out of her with ease now that she’d relaxed into his touch, “Where do—” he couldn’t get the question out before she answered. Her legs wrapping tight around his hips, one ankle locking with the other to keep him right where he was.

“Uh— fuck! Y/N” he moans as he cums, filling her up even more than he thought possible, feeling the excess drip down onto the desk as he continued to fuck into her with increasingly languid movements until he finally slowed to a stop.

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity. He can feel himself clutching her for far too long, as thought she’ll fade away and he’ll wake up alone if he can’t keep his hold on her.

But when his grip finally does relax he’s almost surprised to find her right where he’d left her. Perched on the edge of his desk, looking up at him with those eyes that look just as innocent as they always had.

His hands reach out to hold her face softly in his hands once again.

“Are you alright?” he asks, earnest and soft, and he feels a huge wave of relief when she nods through a lazy smile.

“More than” she replies, “You?”

“So, unbelievably alright” he assures with a light laugh which only causes her smile to grow wider, until it falters just a little, and he can’t help but notice, his heart beat speeding up instantly.

“Um, Professor?” she asks with a suddenly nervous tone, her own hand holding on to his to keep it pressed against her cheek, as though he ever had any intention of letting go of her.

“Yes?” he asks with his own shaky voice.

“Would you— um… could you— kiss me? Please?” she says like it’s the most provocative thing she’d asked for all night. And in a sense he supposed that it was. Now that the heat of the moment had passed, now that the tension had been broken, this meant something more. Something more than pure lust, than desire, and hunger.

But lucky for her he would’ve taken a single kiss over anything else they’d done that evening.

“Of course” he rushes out, before he’s diving in. His lips press against hers soft and gentle, in a sharp contrast to the rest of the night.

He doesn’t rush anything, holding her face softly in his grasp, savoring the feeling of her plush lips against his own before he even thinks about coaxing them apart.

But when he does, and he can finally taste her, finally feel her tongue as it melts against his own. Feeling the vibrations of her soft moans rather than just hearing them sends him over the edge, and he knows he has to pull away or risk never stopping at all.

“Can I take you out for dinner sometime?” he rushes out before he can let himself overthink the question and what it might mean. And thankfully her perfect lips crack into a wide smile.

“God yes!”

— — —

Thank you so much for reading!

Let me know what you thought about this chapter here <3

Permanent Taglist:

Spencer was quiet on the drive back to the hotel, his head resting idly against the window, seemingly so lost in thought he barely noticed the way the rattling was giving him a headache. Anytime he was asked a question, always something along the lines of ‘Are you feeling alright?’ and ‘Are you sure?’. He could only really manage a curt and mumbled ‘Just tired.’ before retreating inside his own head again.

But she could see through that, she knew him well enough by now to know he needed more than just polite a inquiry. So she gave him a few minutes once they all scattered to their respective hotel rooms. She told herself it was for his benefit, to let him get settled before she tried to approach him, but in the back of her mind she knew she needed the time for herself, to force herself to walk the distance to his room. When she knocked on the door she’d barely mustered up the courage, her knuckles rapping against the wood so gently that she was surprised he’d even heard it at all.

“Hi” she says softly, like he should know why she’s here, but he just looks at her confused. His eyebrows drawn together in a little wrinkle on his forehead.

“Um… hi?” he responds, a little awkward, but he still pulls the door open slowly, leaving a large enough gap to let her into the room. Which she felt was a positive sign, until she took the invitation and found herself standing strangely opposite him with nothing to really say. In spite of him letting her in, he didn’t seem inclined to talk, his jaw set in either anger or upset, she couldn’t really tell, but she did know that he wasn’t behaving like himself, and that he hadn’t been all day.

He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped, his posture exhibiting nothing but pure fatigue. She wants to join him, to sit next to him and provide some sort of comfort, but part of her thinks he’s just too polite to tell her to leave.

“If you’re— If you want to be alone, I can go? I don’t know? I should go…” she begins to ramble, turning on her heel. But she barely makes it one step before he finally beings to speak.

“No!” he blurts out, and when she turns to face him again, his expression looks just as shocked as hers must, “Stay. Please?” he mumbles the last part, his eyes failing to meet hers as he asks the question. But she could never refuse any request of his, so she joins him on the edge of the bed, like she’d wanted to all along.

The physical contact is almost accidental. She forgets who she’s sitting next to and does what she would do for anyone else in this situation. She slings her arm around his shoulder and pulls him in against her side. When she realizes what she’s done, her first instinct is to yank her arm back as though he’s scalded her, but she thinks the better of it when she notices the way he seems to relax into her touch. It takes a second but he begins to snuggle closer into her side, slouching a little more so that he can rest his head against hers.

They stay like that for a few minutes, doing nothing but breathe in tandem and stare at the carpet in front of them. Even though she’s happy that he seems comfortable, she can’t help but want more. To hug him properly, and show him the kind of support he needs, so she pulls her arm back. His head snaps up almost instantly, and there’s a look that she might go so far as to call disappointment, plastered all over his face.

She doesn’t provide any explanation, instead she wordlessly climbs onto her knees, scrambling a little further up the bed until she can nestle behind him. Placing a leg on either side of his and tucking herself in against his back, so she can curl her body around his. Her arms wrapping around him as snug as she can, her head resting gently against his shoulder so that he can feel the steady rhythm of her breath against his ear.

“Y’know, a hug can be very grounding in times of intense stress or anxiety?” he says, and she’s struck by how much like himself he sounds already, so she hums happily in response.

“Things don’t have to be bad to need a hug either. Sometimes it’s just nice to be held” she whispers against his ear, soft and sweet.

“I suppose so. All hugs don’t feel like this though.” he says through a sort of sad chuckle, and it makes her heart ache a little.

“You can ask for a hug anytime you want Spence, just so you know.” she explains, and she can see the way his head nods in response before laying back against her shoulder gently, and whispering a barely audible ‘thank you’.

— — —

There’s a strange silliness to it. The two of them, with her red lipstick smudged across their lips, hearts racing for one another as they tried to gather the scattered ice cubes before they melted into the hardwood of the bedroom floor.

“There!” he points to the last one, nestled under the nightstand next to her with a giggle as she fished it out. Together they dumped them in the sink, standing next to one another with a strange awkwardness all of a sudden, knowing what the next step was supposed to be.

Surprising himself yet again, it’s Spencer who leans in first. His hands reaching out to cup each of her cheeks as he tilts her head up to his, pressing their lips together with a strange softness as if they weren’t on the verge of something much less innocent only a few moments ago. When he pulls back to look down at her, her lips are curved up in a soft smile.

“Do you remember earlier on this evening?” she asks, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“There were a lot of memorable moments this evening, you’re going to have to be more specific” he chuckles, his hands roaming along the curves of her body as he spoke, lingering on her waist, his grip tightening just enough to pull her in closer.

“Before we left… when you told me to let you know if I needed a hand getting out of this dress?” he can’t bring himself to respond, he can only force out a ragged nervous breath at the very thought. And she smiles at his awkwardness, pulling herself gently out of his grip to make her way back to their bedroom. “Does that not ring any bells?” she calls back to him.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s almost tripping over his own feet as they carry him after her. His hands reaching out to pull her close the second she’s within reach, pulling a rough gasp from her lungs as her back collides with his chest.

“If I’m remembering right…” he breathes against the shell of her ear, “You said you needed a strong hand?” as he speaks he lets his hands roam over her figure until one lands firmly on the side of her hip, squeezing tight as he pulls his own body back, just enough to allow his other hand into the empty space between them to grab a hold of her zipper. Tugging it down the length of her back painfully slowly, feeling the fabric of the dress go slack in his hold, seeing the way it slouched off her shoulders, exposing a mixture of silk, lace, and delicate skin that he’d only caught a glimpse of earlier in the evening.

Once the zipper is fully undone he uses both hands to push the dress down so that it pools at her feet. It feels a little unceremonious for such a beautiful garment but he can’t really care any less about it when she’s pressed up against him in nothing but her underwear. His hands explore for a moment. Ghosting down her arms before they’re wrapping around her, one splayed out against her stomach, the other holding tight onto her hip, rooting her in place against him as he tucked his face into her shoulder. He stays like that for a minute, breathing in the scent of her, savoring the feeling of her skin, unimpeded beneath his fingertips.

Using the hand on her hip he urges her to turn around, to face him once again so he can take in the full sight of her. And for a moment when their eyes meet she looks nervous, her hands fidgeting at her sides as they try not to shield herself from his gaze.

He notices the unease in her expression so he pulls her in close with his grip on her hip, his other hand tilting up her chin so that she could look nowhere but his eyes.

“You’re so beautiful” he starts, placing a hungry kiss on her lips, using all of his strength to pull back again so he could finish the sentiment, “You have no idea how many times I thought about this— about you. They never came close.” he says with a shake of his head because it’s the truth. Even though his memory was perfect, he could never quite conjure up a scenario that would live up to the real thing.

“You thought about me?” she asks, her nerves already dissipating in favor of a smug grin. A grin that only grows wider when he nods. “Tell me how you thought about me? Please?” she asks as her hands snake up along his sides, finding their way to the lapels of his jacket, trying to push it off his shoulders. He needs to take his hands off of her in order to oblige, but it’s only momentary. Once his jacket hits the floor he pushes her backwards, and she bounces ever so slightly as she hits the mattress.

He undoes her work earlier, pulling off his bow-tie. Once it’s gone he makes quick work of his shirt, tossing it in a heap with the rest of their clothes on the floor. Before he can make it to his trousers she’s already on it. Sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands working at his belt buckle.

“Fuck” he groans before she’s even really touched him, “I thought about you like this” he finally answers her question. “Only in my wildest dreams did I think you’d want me as badly as I wanted you”

Once her fingers are done pulling the belt from the loops they go immediately to his buttons, unfastening each one in her hurry to pull down his trousers so that he was finally as exposed as she was.

“Spencer” she gasps, her eyes landing on the prominent bulge in his boxers, straining and leaking against the fabric, “I’ve wanted you since like, day 1” she rushes out, her hand gripping him gently over the fabric. His eyes close softly at the sensation of her hands on him, finally, but they shoot open again a moment later so that he can look down at her, and watch as she pulled at his waistband.

“Is this okay?” she asks, looking up at him through fluttering eyelashes, and he’s embarrassingly quick to nod. So she tucks her fingers into the elastic and tugs them down the length of his legs until he’s entirely bare in front of her.

“Fuck” she says with a sort of whimper, before she’s taking him in her hand again, but this time he can feel her skin against his, the pads of her fingers as they work against the silky skin, spreading the pre-cum all along his length with each delicate pump of her wrist.

“Oh god, Y/N” he mumbles through a sharp intake of breath, “feels so good”

It’s mostly out of necessity for his trembling legs that he has to pull her off of him. Guiding her hands away just so that he could pin them down to the mattress. One on either side of her head as he laid her down amongst the pillows.

“I thought about you like this too” he admits before placing a heated kiss on her smiling lips, “I pictured you underneath me so many times, that when it finally happened that night, when you were moaning my name—” he can feel his cock twitch against her at the very thought, and she must feel it to because she lets out a perfect little gasp, “I couldn’t fucking take it! I had to leave and get myself off in the shower” he tells her, and for some reason he doesn’t even feel strange about it anymore, “Not for the first, or the last time” he finishes by kissing along the column of her throat, trailing a slew of open mouthed kisses along the bruised skin of her neck like he had done earlier.

When he makes his way past her collar bones, right down to her cleavage, it’s for the second time this evening. But this time it’s only a bra that stands in his way. He has to release his grip on her hands to undo the clasp. She arches her back just enough to help him and he’s sliding the straps off her shoulders a moment later. He can’t even speak when he sees her bare chest, his mouth is preoccupied lavishing the delicate skin with kisses, and small bites in equal measure. Trying to recreate the sounds he’d heard her make for him in that supply closet.

“Shit, Spence…” she moans, her hands flying down to grip at his soft brown curls, “I’ve thought about you like that before too. Touched myself to pictures of you in my head, the noises you make, how you might look when you cum. Wish I could’ve watched you” she says it all through gasps and moans that do little to calm Spencer down, least of all the way she’s so pliable beneath his hands. Her back arching, her head falling back with each soft noise he could draw from her chest. And it reminds him of an earlier conversation.

“Y’know?” he asks, pulling himself up to look down at her as one of his hands trailed further along her body until it was nestled comfortably between her legs, fingertips brushing lightly against the soaked fabric of her panties. “I thought you were supposed to be the one on top?” he teases, “And yet here you are, a desperate little mess underneath me” the way he smirks is devilish, and she can’t really argue with him while his fingers are working against her like that, providing too much and not enough all at once.

So she reaches up and pulls him down for a kiss, her mouth open against his as their lips collide. The vibrations of her moans lingering on his tongue are just enough to distract him from her legs wrapping tight around his hips, using that hold to flip him over so that he landed on his back with a soft thud, and a surprised gasp. “Who said I wasn’t?” she teases right back.

In an effort to have him equally desperate beneath her she grinds down against him. Rubbing her clothed core over his length where it rested along his stomach. The way his eyes shut tight was enough to make her cocky, rocking her hips against his as his hands shot up to hold her waist, either to guide her, or stop her, he wasn’t entirely sure.

“Please” he lets out in a small whimper, “uh, fuck! Need you— need to feel you” he pleads. And she wants to give him what he’s asked for, so she reaches a hand between her legs and pulls her panties to the side, continuing the same motions. This time he lets out a strangled moan.

“Fuck you” he chuckles through a harsh breath, and she feigns ignorance.

“Is this not what you wanted?” she asks, and he’s quick to shake his head, so she rises up on her knees a little more and lines him up between her legs. While his eyes are shut at the feeling of her hands wrapped around him, she takes the opportunity to sink down his length.

“Ah— fuck” he moans out as she lowers herself further and further, until he’s buried to the hilt inside of her. And for all of her teasing, it takes every ounce of her strength not to collapse onto him. The sudden stretch is overwhelming, so she braces herself with two hands flat against his chest, slipping slightly in the light sheen of sweat the coated his bare skin.

“You feel so…” he rasped, his voice raw and desperate, “So good… so fucking wet”. The way he looked up at her with such sincere longing made her heart rate speed up, in a way she wasn’t even sure was possible. So she began to move again, lifting her hips slowly, only to let them fall again in an intoxicating rhythm that had Spencer’s hands holding her waist tight, his nails digging into the soft flesh.

While he wishes he was 100% present in the moment, his mind keeps drifting back to the memory of the first time they ‘had sex’. How he thought that was as close as he may ever get to a moment like this, when in reality, it was so remarkably different. In the warm light of the very same bedroom she looked so different now. For one she was wearing nothing but a pair of panties this time, hastily pulled to the side to accommodate him. But this time he could really let himself linger on every little thing, there was no shame or embarrassment, only a comfort and a safety. So he let his eyes wander, watching her expressions as she moved on top of him, her fluttering lashes, her softly parted lips and the whimpers that escaped between them. His gaze slipped further down, to the marks that littered her neck, down to the slowly appearing ones he’d left on her chest. He watched in awe at the way her breasts bounced with each gentle rock of her hips. And finally he let himself stare at the point where their two bodies met, and the way she enveloped him so perfectly each time, it was as though she was made for him.

He only has one problem with the whole situation, and it feels a little selfish to remedy. But he wants to be the one to make her come undone, to challenge any notion she might have of his position in bed. But more than anything he just wants to watch her as she cums beneath him, fucking her until she can’t make a sound that’s not his name.

So he uses his grip on her waist to change their position. It happens so fast that she needs a moment to process just how she ended up on her back. But she doesn’t get any time before he’s slamming into her in one rough thrust, forcing himself as deep as possible inside of her with a groan.

“Fuck Spencer!” she whimpers, her hands reaching up to pull him closer, releasing some of the tension as her nails dig harshly into his shoulders.

“Tell me how it feels” he demands, his hips pulling out only to snap back with the same force.

“So good” she manages to moan out between shallow broken breaths, “So… full”

It doesn’t take very long before they’re both close, Spencer’s hips losing their rhythm with each thrust. And he doesn’t want to presume anything just because they didn’t use a condom, or because he’s seen her birth control pills on her nightstand, so he asks the question.

“Where do you want it?” and she smiles up at him, her legs wrapping around him in response, pulling him in impossibly close.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, though it’s more of a gesture because he’s so close.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything”

Balancing on one hand and he reaches down between their bodies, circling her clit with one finger as he moves his hips in the now limited space. It doesn’t take long before she’s squirming beneath him, letting out harsh pants in the shape of his name as she cums. It’s the way she tenses and relaxes around him that pushes him over the edge so that he’s spilling inside of her, filling her up more than it felt was possible.

When he collapses on top of her its unceremonious and it makes her laugh. Their sweaty bodies sliding against one another as they came down from their respective highs. His head laying on her chest, her hands raking through his hair as he lay soft inside of her still.

“I can’t believe it took us so long to do that” she sighs, “all the hotel rooms we shared, all the times we stayed at each others places? And we could’ve been doing that?”

He can hear the way her heartbeat begins to steady out in her chest, and he can’t help but still feel grateful.

“Well, now we can” he says, “Now we don’t ever have to stop”

“That’s not entirely true” she pipes up, and for some reason it scares him to his core, until he looks up at her and she’s smiling down at him, “I don’t know about you but I’ll probably need something to eat before we go again”

“What do you feel like, I’ll get you anything if it means I get to do that again”

Once he’s pulled out of her and helped her clean up he orders the food. Part of him never wants to shower again, he wants the smell of sex and Y/N to linger on his skin for as long as possible. But the part of him that doesn’t like germs wins out. It helps that a beautiful woman is in the shower at the same time though, insisting that it will help pass the time before the food arrives.

And she was right. The food arrived only moments after he pulled on his pajamas. So they settled on opposite ends of the couch to eat it, their legs tangled together in the centre of the cushions as the TV played softly in the background.

The main thing that Spencer noticed about the whole thing was how remarkably normal it all felt. He wasn’t a changed man, and she didn’t seem very different either. Their friendship still felt very much intact which had always been his biggest worry when it came to admitting his feelings in the first place. The threat that it might implode entirely if he uttered the wrong words. But here they sat, like they had done on so many nights before, silently enjoying each others company. The thought made his heart swell so completely that he felt like he could barely keep it contained, all while he watched her do something as mundane as eating Chinese food in her pajamas.

— — —

Let me know what you thought about this chapter here <3

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Masterlist

Permanent Taglist:

@neverlandwaitingforme @a-broken-pact @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @spenxerslut @meganskane @blurryreid @princesssmooshie @anaagraceeberr @drayshadow @sapphic-prentiss @r0s3mm @xoxabs88xox @archer561 @dumbpopstarxd @flipperpenguins @peterpanouat @amesandpineapples @scrumptiousroadponymoney @jareauswifey @doc-padfoot @spencerreid-187 @httplayer @magicalgothpandamaker @lonewolf471 @kuolonsyoja @spencers-dria @goodgodimaweirdperson @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @catlynhoss05 @elldell1204 @jared-19-cant-reid @lvndrmenace @n-ecessity @aubreyxanne @spencereidshoe @muffin-cup @myescapefromthislife @ezioauditore8880 @calm-and-doctor @purpleknighthoundtoad @smexyreid @many-fandoms-follower-but-okay

An Inconvenient Affection Taglist - Part 1

He’s barely said two words to you all night, and that in itself tells you that something’s wrong. You always joke that it’s not a true movie night without him explaining all of the behind the scenes trivia or complaining about the scientific inaccuracies of whatever film the two of you end up choosing.

Tonight though? His eyes are fixed on the television, and he’s staring almost blankly at it, a blanket pulled up to his chin. He looks sad, an almost unreachable sort of sadness, but you can’t help but want to reach right in and take it, take it away from him and make it your own.

Anything for him, really.

“Spence?”

It takes another two times calling his name before he registers it. He blinks slowly at you, almost as though he’s just remembered that you’re there on the other end of the couch, before letting out a wordless mumble of acknowledgment.

“Are you okay?” You don’t know why you ask it, honestly, because it’s obvious that he isn’t, but you don’t quite know what else to say.

He looks almost surprised that you asked. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He’s lying.

“Spencer.”

“What?”

You say nothing, just stare at him wordlessly. It lasts only a moment, maybe two, before he shifts uneasily in his seat. It really has always felt like you could see straight through him.

He finally breaks the much too intense eye contact, eyes fixed on his hands instead as he toys with the edge of the blanket in a futile attempt at distraction.

He’s not going to tell you. You resign yourself to that fact. You’ve all been there. Some cases affect you more than others, and sometimes it’s impossible to get the words out.

Sometimes there are no words.

Despite all that, you can’t help but wish that you could help him, wish that there was a way for you to take some of that pain away.

Even still, you don’t really know what to do. Spencer’s become your friend in the short time you’ve known him—probably even your best friend—but you’ve never even so much as hugged him. You’d wanted to, millions of times, but you’ve only known him for six months. You’d seen the way he was with people he’d known for years—if he didn’t want to touch them, he sure as hell didn’t want to touch you. So, you've kept your distance. As much as it’s killed you.

But now, that sad, unreachable look in his eyes makes you regret every time you ever stopped yourself. It makes you want to never stop yourself again.

The movie long forgotten, you tentatively shift towards him. He doesn’t even look up until you are right beside him, close enough to touch if you just reached out.

Spencer opens his mouth, but no words come out. Instead, his eyes search yours, wide and filled with unshed tears.

“Can I touch you?” you ask. It comes out just above a whisper, but he nods so quickly that you almost think he misheard you.

You reach up slowly, almost afraid any sudden movement will scare him off, your hand hovering for just an instant before carding through his hair. He inhales so sharply that you think that maybe you’ve done something wrong, and you go to pull your hand away, but he stops you.

“Don’t,” he says. “Please.”

The ache in his voice threatens to undo you completely, and you just nod before running your fingers through his hair again. He’s almost shaking now, and you only hesitate for a moment before wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close. His head drops to your shoulder, and he practically melts into you.

It’s silent for a moment, the only sound in the room his unsteady breaths. You can almost feel him trying to hold it all in, to keep the emotion in as best he can.

It’s hard, you know. It’s hard to let it out—but it’s even harder to keep it in.

“It’s okay,” you say softly, one hand carding through his curls, the other tracing circles onto his open palm. “It’s okay, I’m right here.”

That simple affirmation breaks the dam, his breath hitching and a quiet sob cutting through the room. You tighten your grip on him, and he grasps your hand as though he’s afraid to let go.

There’s nothing you can say, nothing that will make it all better. You can only hope that you’re doing enough.

The two of you stay just like that, no telling how much time has passed, until: “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Spence.”

He chokes out a broken laugh. “I’m probably getting snot all over your shirt.”

You shake your head. “I don’t care. Anything for you. Anything—even if you ruin my shirt.”

He pulls away then, just enough to look up at you. All of that sadness has finally spilled over, tears still making their way down his cheeks. You wipe them away instinctively.

“Really?”

You nod and pull him back towards you, fighting back tears of your own. “I got you, angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

+++

Tags:

The effect of his words was instantaneous, your mouth snapped shut and heat pooled between your thighs. You let him guide you into one of the SUVs and slam the door shut before getting in the driver’s seat. The waves of anger radiating off of him were palpable and you felt a rush of annoyance flare up. “What the hell, Reid! You can’t just drag me around like that! Are you crazy? You don't get to manhandle me!”

“Do you ever shut up?” He parked in the motel lot and turned to face you. “You talk nonstop, Y/N! I can’t hear myself think around you. All I hear is you”

Maybe it was your earlier anger, maybe it was the pure need hammering away at your chest but instead of storming out of the car, you leaned in closer. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

He was on you in an instant, kissing you harshly. It was teeth and tongue and desperation and despite its animalistic nature, you felt your heart swell. When was the last time someone wanted you this badly?

He pulled away when the breath ran out of his lungs and you let out a soft whimper. He still had your face firmly cupped between his hands. “Are you afraid?”

You were quick to say no but he brought his hand to your neck, nimble fingers settling over your erratic pulse. Spencer raised his eyebrows, clearly pleased with the power he had over you. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “That’s not fear”

His eyes darkened with lust and he was out of the SUV in an instant, once again gripping your arm tightly. You tumbled into his room, already working on his belt as he haphazardly unbuttoned your shirt. He pushed you onto your knees by the shoulders. “You’ve got a big mouth? Use it.”

You swallowed hard at the sight of his cock, flushed and leaking precum, before licking a languid stripe up the underside and fully sinking your mouth down on it. A groan bubbled up from his throat and he fisted a hand in your hair. “Just like that, princess. You look so pretty with my cock down your throat. If I knew this is what it’d take to shut you up I’d have done it sooner.”

You flicked your eyes up to his as you swallowed around his length, moaning deeply at the tell-tale signs of his impending release. But he wasn’t done with you yet. He pulled you up by the hair and walked you back to the bed, snaking a hand up your skirt to feel your soaked core. “What do you want, princess?”

“I-I want -” you faltered, too overwhelmed to choke out a full sentence.

“I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re already a complete mess.” He thumbed at your clit, teasing your entrance with a finger. “Come on, baby. Use your words. Tell me what you want”

“You! I want you, please.” That was all the permission he needed to slam into you, setting a relentless pace from the outset. “Fuck, you feel so perfect. So fucking tight. This pussy’s all you’re good for. Just a tight little cocksleeve for me to use. You were made for me, baby. Made for taking my cock.”

His words sent a jolt up your spine and you clenched around him. You hadn’t expected him to be so vocal and certainly not so crass. He continued as if he could sense the effect he had on you. “You like that? You like hearing what you do to me? Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about this? God, you’re even better than I imagined. You feel like heaven, baby.”

You gasped as he shifted, changing his angle so he hit you even deeper and bringing his lips to your ear. “You belong to me, princess. This pussy belongs to me, you understand? You’re mine.”

It was too much - he was reaching places you didn’t even know existed and his thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit coupled with his voice had you shaking as your release washed over you. He followed right after, giving a few more thrusts before flooding you with warmth.

After a moment spent catching your breath, you propped yourself up on your elbows. “Who’s the loud one now?”

he stares. blinks. moves in closer and narrows his eyes as if he didn’t hear you properly.

“...that’s...that’s it?”

he doesn’t want it to bother him - as much as it pains him, he knows about your ex and knows you no longer have any feelings for him, but...

he forgets about two particular nuisances: derek morgan and emily prentiss.

derek likes having the radio on during drives. spencer doesn’t seek out the song, because why would he, but the voice playing sounds familiar and the lyrics remind him of a certain someone.

the second it registers he’s jerking forward, making the seatbelt lock, and switching the radio station. he does it silently and doesn’t look at derek’s confused face, just sits back in his seat and mumbles: i don’t like that song.

enter: emily prentiss

she smacks a magazine on spencer’s desk and... you’re on the cover. with your ex. there’s a headline about him wanting you back, writing a song about wanting you back, and having that song about wanting you back break records. spencer turns away.

derek notices and reads it and- everything clicks. he lets out a heheheh like some kind of cartoon villain and spencer’s done for. he’s done for because derek and emily share this look and open their mouths at the same time and start saying things like - not the first time you’ve been associated with someone in the tabloids, huh, pretty boy? - well, if my ex wrote me a song... - how does it go again? let me look it up...

and they learn the words quickly, apparently, because every chance they get they sing it and hum it and emily sends him a video of herself playing it on the piano, and spencer grits his teeth and soldiers on. he won’t complain. it’s not your fault and every time it starts playing on the radio, you react before he even thinks about it - when he pouts, you squish his cheeks between your hands and kiss him between words: you kiss mean kiss so kiss much kiss to kiss me

and... how can he be mad at you when you try so hard to make him feel better? any time your ex is mentioned or derek and emily start laughing, you’re doing this thing where you show him you love him, by kissing the back of his hand or wrapping your arms around him or- or simply telling him, and he believes you because you do. and that somehow makes it worse.

then you’re at a bar, looking oh so pretty and spencer can’t stop staring. of course he can’t, because you’re his and he’s yours and every day he feels luckier and luckier. 

until...

“spencer, cover your ears.”

emily prentiss is on the stage, microphone in one hand and wine in the other. she dedicates her performance to you, and begins belting out the lyrics that your ex wrote for you right to your face, in front of your current boyfriend.

the boyfriend that you watch turn into himself like a turtle retreating into it’s shell.

he keeps a straight face, forces a laugh when necessary, but then you’re telling everyone you’re leaving early and pull him outside.

“i love you, spencer reid,” and despite everything, those are the sweetest words and mean the world to him. “a whole lot. a stupid amount. and that song sucks.”

he usually avoids pda, but finds that your body close to his gives him the comfort he needs in that moment. “...the song is pretty good. you don’t need to lie.”

“have i ever lied to you?” you give him this look, with raised brows and a small smile. you know the answer.

“no, you haven’t.”

“do you think i should start now?”

“please don’t.”

“alright,” you wrap an arm around his waist. “the song sucks, and i love you. the song sucks, and i love you. do you hear me? the song sucks, and i-”

his laugh cuts you off. you join him, laughing into the night sky but hoping he understands your sincerity. he does. he’s good like that.

“the song sucks,” he repeats. quietly, timidly.

you hum.

“and i love you.” louder, more sure.

you grin.