🐇bunny🐇

A/N: It’s finally here! The requested part two! Before I get into my spiel, I just wanted to make a little request, if you have anything you want to see from me then please just send me a request! I’ll be participating in kinktober and I’d love to hear what you guys want to see! Anywho, now that that’s out of the way, this one was a doozy to write, but I wanted you guys to be satisfied with it hehe I’m absolutely in love with the idea of soft dom Spencer and I have evidence to back it up (I scream as they drag me into a padded cell) This takes place a few days after the last one ended, but we jump around a bit. I’m pretty happy with how this turned out and I honestly kinda want to continue the story, so I hope you all like it. Love ya baby bats!

Masterlist Part One

You were in a dark, smoky room, laid on an almost cloud-like bed as someone moved over you. When he shifted over to face you his deep honey eyes caught your attention. Like you were hypnotized, you pulled him closer to your face, kissing him deeply. You tugged on his lower lip, earning a groan that went straight to your core. He moved inside you at a very gentle pace, his hands playing with your hair and his lips almost consuming yours in the passionate kiss. “You’re doing so good for me,” he groans in close to a whisper and you almost flinch at who it is here with you. In the dark his face had been obscured, besides his eyes, but this was Spencer Reid. You know you shouldn’t be sleeping around with your coworker, but here you are. Again. You continue to kiss him until he breaks it and leans towards your ear, opening his mouth to whisper something. You feel his breath against your ear, closing your eyes and enjoying the pleasure he’s giving you. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he drags it out, the whisper sending heat through you and a tingle of something else in the back of your brain. He opens his mouth to say something else, and then your phone rings.

You’re ripped out of the dream, realizing it was only a dream, and jolt up in your bed. You reach for your phone and find it isn’t on the nightstand like you expect it to be. Rifling through your blankets, you finally find it tucked under a spare pillow.

Looking at your screen, you see the caller has been sent to voicemail while you struggled to find your phone. And the caller? Spencer Reid. “Oh great. Perfect timing,” you mutter to yourself. You move to call him back when a text pops onto your screen. “We need to talk.” You sigh, looking at the time and thinking out loud, “it’s 3 am, and he finally wants to talk?” You punch the letters t-o-m-o-r-r-o-w into your phone and hit send, turning over and snuggling back into your blankets. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to wipe that dream out of your mind. It’s not enough that you accidentally slept with him, but now you’re having sex dreams where he tells you he’s been wanting you, what the fuck is wrong with you? Actually- you didn’t sleep with him. You fucked him in a bathroom of a club, which is way worse. You fold your pillow around your head as if that’ll help and try to sleep and ignore that you might like your coworker more than originally thought.

————

That morning after ‘The Incident’, as you’d been calling it, and that whole day actually, Spencer basically refused to talk to you. He wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t stand near you, wouldn’t address you when discussing the case, nothing. You caught him staring at your makeup covered marks, but he avoided eye contact. Your team ended up flying to Idaho, in the middle of nowhere, you’re stuck in an inn together for three days and he barely talks to you. On day one you got nothing. On day two he greeted you in the morning, but you got the feeling he only did that so it wouldn’t be noticeable that you were the only person he didn’t greet. He also asked you about the case four times throughout the day, still, he avoided eye contact. On the third day Hotch pulled you aside to ask about it. “Is everything okay between you and Reid,” he kept his voice low and while you think he was trying to sound concerned, it came off as more stern. “Yeah, we’re good,” you lie through your teeth, hoping your profiler skills will help you fake being ‘good’ so he drops it. “There seems to be a lot of tension between you two that the rest of the teams picked up on. I wanted to make sure it was just from this case and not from anything else,” he gave you a clear ‘now’s the chance to come clean if you’re going to’ look that you ignore. “Yeah, I think Spencer’s just tense because of the case and doesn’t know how to act around me since I’m the newest member. Him being tense is just making me nervous, I guess,” you hope that’s believable. Hotch says your name a little exasperated, “you’ve been on the team for almost 2 years, you’re not new.” “But I’m newer than everyone else, is what I mean. I don’t know what’s going on with him. Have you talked to him,” you try to push past your shaky excuse. “Don’t worry about it, just wanted to check in,” Hotch nods a goodbye at you and walks away to continue working on the case. You let out a sigh of relief.

Over the span of the case you go through stages of denial, bargaining, and finally acceptance that you might have liked Reid for a while without noticing. You think to yourself, “I don’t actually like him. I’m just thinking of him in a new way because of what happened. I’d know if I liked him before, but we’re just friends. Every bit of attraction I’ve felt for him was purely coincidental or because of him behaving out of character, like when we’re luring an unsub. It doesn't count.” “Okay so, I guess he is kind of attractive. I also have always found him funny and nice to be around, but that’s because we’re coworkers. Everyone has a work crush at some point because of forced proximity. A-and this isn’t even a crush! He’s just kinda nice to look at and be around and talk to.” “Oh god, how long have I had a crush on him? How am I only just realizing?”

That night you catch the person you’re after and all plan to head home the next morning. You climb into bed, exhausted from the day, and eventually fall asleep. You wake up from your dream to that text and decide you do not want to talk to Spencer about this in some musty inn with walls thin enough for anyone to hear you. So you go back to sleep.

——————

In the next afternoon you head home. On the jet Spencer sits as far away from you as he reasonably can and Hotch notices, shooting you a stern look that says, ‘figure this out.’ You hide your face in a book you’re pretending to read until you’ve overthought enough that you forget to turn a page for ten minutes. Derek finally gets bored enough to start a conversation. “You guys got plans tonight,” he smiles in JJs general direction. “Ha, sleeping,” JJ laughs, “what about you?” “Oh, you know me,” he chuckles, a grin lighting up his face. You tune out the conversation, starting to actually read your book now that you have some background noise to filter the noise in your head. Derek reaches forward and taps your book, “you got plans, or are you just going to hole up with that book somewhere?” Him and JJ smile brightly at you. “Um, I’m probably just going to go home and sleep. Or, yeah, maybe read and then sleep,” you laugh nervously. “Wow,” Derek laughs, “you lead such an exciting life.” “I know right,” you chuckle, forgetting your awkwardness as you ease into the conversation.

Spencer watches from a distance, only when he knows you aren’t paying attention. He knew Hotch had talked to you about him after Spencer had gotten a similar talking to.

“What is going on with you,” Hotch whispered sternly. It had been late in the afternoon after he’d been behaving weird all day. “I’m just stressed,” he replied, glancing over Hotch’s shoulder at you in the other room. The way you effortlessly pretended nothing had happened was driving him crazy. Your hair swept over your back as you pointed at something in a file JJ was holding, not even glancing at him, like he’s the last thing on your mind. “Don’t give me that,” Hotch sighs, clearly disappointed, “did something happen between you two?” Spencer's eyes flicked back to Hotch, unprepared to react to being caught in the act, “um, I- what?” “Well you’re currently either looking at her or JJ right now, but I’m inclined to believe that it’s her because you’ve at least been talking to and making eye contact with JJ lately,” he furrows his brow, his look very serious. Spencer blushes, “nothing happened, I’m just stressed about something,” he says quietly. Hotch sighs and gives him a stern look before turning and leaving.

He watches you chat with Derek and JJ, the way your hands dance in the air, the giggles you let out when you’re about to make a joke, the way you sweep your hair over your shoulder when it falls near your face. He needs to talk to you. He needs to know if you feel the same way, or at least to have you reject him so he can move on. You’d ignored his text last night and he assumed you’d continue to ignore him based on how you were acting. He resigned to practice what he’d say to you when he eventually had to confront you until you all made it to your destination.

Eventually the plane lands and you realize you’d briefly forgotten about all the issues that you have to face with Spencer. Once the teams wrapped up and everyone starts to head home, you decide to make a pitstop. Instead of going straight home, worried about going back for some reason, you decide to pick up food. Normally you’d just order something for delivery, but you were in no rush to get home tonight. Finally, returning with your food, from a little place you loved, but didn’t go to often since it was so far away from your apartment, you open the door to your building and head for the stairs. As you walk down the hallway to your apartment, fiddling with your keys trying to find the right one, something catches your attention. You look up to see Spencer sitting on the floor next to your front door, his head in his hands like he’s been waiting for a while. You almost drop your keys and the sudden inhale gets his attention. His head whips in your direction, a worried look on his face, you freeze. This is why you stalled coming home. “Hey,” he practically whispers, the look on his face softening slightly. “Hey,” you reply, colder than you intend. He almost winces, darting his eyes away and wringing his hands slightly. You sit in silence for a moment, neither of you looking at the other. “Um, do you want to go inside or should we keep standing here,” he worries the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “You’re sitting,” you reply, trying to ease the tension with a little joke, but he doesn’t seem to catch the tone in your voice. “Oh, yeah, uh- I just mean-“ “Reid, I’m joking,” you sigh a little as you watch his face lighten slightly. The concern turns to almost embarrassment as he realizes his mistake, “oh, that makes sense.” You finally continue walking down the hall towards him and he lifts himself from the floor. He takes a step away from you when you reach the door, trying not to loom over you. You unlock and push the door open, trying to remember if you’d cleaned before you left on the last case.

Your apartment is cozy, not too small, not too big either. The warm embrace of your familiar safe space is muted slightly by the anxiety hanging in between you and Spencer. You drop your things on the counter, flicking on lights to dispel the darkness of the late evening, and walk over to your coffee table with your food. “I didn’t know you would be here or I would have gotten you something,” you mutter, lying. You fully expected him to be here or on his way, you just didn’t expect him to wait for the almost hour you were gone getting food. “It’s okay, I’m not really hungry,” he says. You turn to say something but are interrupted by his stomach growling loudly. You giggle a little, forgetting your worries as he flushes and turns his face away slightly, “not hungry, huh?” “Well I-,” he stops himself short, having no way to defend himself. You gesture to the couch, “sit. I’ll be right back.” He shuffles over to your couch, perching on the edge of the cushion as you breeze past him to the kitchen. You come back with two plates and utensils, stopping next to the coffee table to dish out some food for him and yourself. “Oh you don’t have to-,” he starts. “Eat it,” you say, interrupting him and shoving the plate at him. He takes it, your fingers brushing against each other, his ears turning a deep shade of pink as he looks away from you. You take your seat next to him, pretending everything’s normal, and wishing you owned more chairs so you wouldn’t have to sit so close. You both eat in silence for far longer than feels natural. Your skin is almost crawling from the pure awkwardness.

You finally clear your throat, his eyes jump to you before darting away again. “So,” you pause, you hoped you’d think of what to say if you just started talking but nothing else leaves your mouth. He swallows hard, his fork prepped with another bite of food just hovering in his hand. “So, uh,” he turns to face you more but doesn’t actually look at you yet, “what’d you do last weekend?” “You, apparently,” you blurt before you can stop yourself, immediately turning beet red. Spencer chokes on the bite he just put in his mouth, coughing into his hand, you can’t tell if he’s turned so red from the choking or what you said. He finally swallows and looks at you, “oh my god,” it’s a mix between a laugh and a gasp. “Sorry,” you laugh in embarrassment, “I cope with humor sometimes.” “Yeah, I can tell,” his eyebrows are knotted into almost a glare but his mouth is curled into a small smile. “What, uh, what were you doing last weekend,” you hope he’ll continue the thought you derailed with your joke. “Same as you,” he talks fast like he’s nervous to even broach the subject, “well not- not the same, but I was…you know what I was doing.” He deflates a little in defeat, sighing as his eyes finally land on your thighs. “I didn’t know it was you,” you almost whisper, looking down at your hands as you fiddle with your fork. “I, um, didn’t know it was you either,” he mutters, and now you’re back to sitting in silence. “So, how do you suggest we go about this,” you look at the side of his face, some part of you hoping he’ll look at you. “I don’t know, I’ve never been in this situation.” “Do you want to just forget about it,” you murmur. Something in you wants him to say no. Wants him to lean over and grab your face and kiss you like he did the other night, but the scared core of you wants to pretend it never happened and go back to normal. “I don’t,” he pauses for what feels like an eternity, “I don’t know, but I don’t think I do.” You ask a question you’ve been mulling over the past few days, afraid of the answer, “did you like me before we did that?” He shifts in his seat a little, but doesn’t reply. Rejection inches into your mind, the fear of being left rearing its ugly head. To protect yourself, you quickly answer your own question when he avoids it for longer than is comfortable, “yeah, no, me neither,” His head snaps in your direction, finally looking you in the eyes after days. His eyes only leave yours for a second to watch when you bite down on your bottom lip. “I did,” he says quietly enough that you almost think you imagined it. “W-what,” you reply, eyes widening in shock. “I did. I did like you before…all of that. I just figured it wasn’t a good idea to drag you into my life or make work complicated and I didn’t think you’d ever like me and I-“ You cut him off by putting your hand up, his fast rambling making it obvious how much this has weighed on him the past few days. “You’re making a whole lot of assumptions here, Reid. Of course I liked you, have you met yourself,” you laugh a little, gesturing at him with your hands. “I kind of didn’t realize it as much as you seem to have, but I did like you,” you blush again. His eyes break to your lips and back to your eyes again, “why would you like me, I don’t think I’m exactly your type.” “Okay, enough with the assuming things about me,” you laugh, “who doesn’t love a hot nerd,” you shrug your arms at him. “You think I’m hot,” he scoffs. “I mean- I- yeah,” you’re mildly exasperated that he can’t see what you see, “do I need to give you a replay of this weekend or something?” You laugh and then what you just accidentally implied hits you, “uh, I mean like-“ This time he cuts you off, “no, I know what you mean.”

“Why were you so weird with me on this case?” “I didn’t know what to do,” he wrings his hands again, “I thought it would be easier to just avoid you, but then everyone caught on so I tried to backtrack and I think it just made it worse.” “Did Hotch talk to you,” you think you already know the answer but you want to hear what actually happened. “Yeah, that’s why he went to talk to you, I think,” he shoots you a soft smile in apology. You sit in silence again, this time it’s a little more comfortable than before. “What do you want to do,” he finally asks, looking into your eyes, brows knit together like he’s preparing for an impact. “I just want things to be okay between us, whatever that looks like,” you decide that’s the most diplomatic way to answer. “Okay,” he thinks for a second, looking away from you, “what if what I want is…complicated?” He turns to look at you again, eyes heavy with fear and anticipation. “What do you mean,” you whisper. “What if,” his eyes slide down your body to your hands, he shakily places his hand on your thigh next to where yours sit, “what if I want you?” Your eyebrows push together unintentionally and you see him register it as rejection or anger or something else it’s not. His hand starts to lift off your thigh as his eyes fall from your face and you grab his hand with more force than you mean to, forcing it against your thigh again. “Then we’ll talk about that, we’ll figure it out,” you reply softly.

Your eyes find his lips before returning to the heated eye contact, you subconsciously start to lean into his personal space. Before you can react, his other hand cups your cheek and pulls you towards him, launching himself forward at the same time. Your lips connect, he kisses you like he did in the club, but only for a second before he backs up again. “S-sorry,” he gasps a little, “I- um, sorry.” You give him a soft smile, “don’t apologize.” “Okay,” he whispers, “but I don’t want to just do this.” “D-do what,” you’re caught off guard by his serious tone. “Sleeping together and pretending nothing else is happening.” “Oh, okay, yeah me neither,” you smile.

“Are we, uh, do you,” he pauses and takes a deep breath, “can I take you out sometime?” “I’d love that,” your smile grows, butterflies fluttering inside you. “I’m sorry that our first time together was in,” he pauses, eyes flitting around like he’s trying to find the right phrase. “In a probably disgusting bathroom while we were drunk,” you laugh. “Yeah,” he chuckles, blushing slightly. “It’s okay,” you reply, “it’s kinda my fault anyways.” “It’s both our faults, I was honestly drunk and turned on enough that if you didn’t suggest it I might’ve,” he laughs. “I’m sure we can make up for it somehow,” you start subconsciously leaning in again and so does he, your eyes glued to each other's lips. As you inch toward each other, you both suck in a breath and your eyes meet one final time before your lips connect. The kiss is soft at first, not the starving desperation that alcohol brings on in the club, but the gentle slow kind that comes with kissing a friend for the first time. Spencer brings his hand up to cup your cheek, his touch is warm and sends little tingles across your skin. He brushes his thumb against your skin, mumbling against your lips, “you’re so soft.” You laugh into the kiss a little, “thanks.” You grip his hand tighter without realizing, your other hand coming up to rest against the side of his neck, pulling him closer. You inhale the smell of his cologne, slightly stale from the plane ride and long day, and the smell of coffee that clings to his t-shirt. You find yourself getting lost in the kiss, his delicate touch and the sensation of him on you without hiding behind fake identities and alcohol, but you’re determined to keep the kiss light. Spencer's hand slides to the back of your neck, and just when you think he’s going to deepen the kiss, he pulls back. He’s only three inches from your face and staring directly at your lips with half lidded eyes, “sorry, you probably have questions for me.” You blink in confusion, “like what?” He backs up now, and you practically itch to have his lips back on yours. “Well like, do I do that often,” he bounces his eyebrows, almost mocking the idea that he does that often. “Well I assume you don’t,” you reason. “Hey,” he blushes, “don’t underestimate me.” “Well I don’t do that often,” your hand comes up to gesture vaguely at the ‘that’ which you aren’t doing often. “Oh, okay,” Spencer says thoughtfully. “Wha- I- did you think I do that often,” you’re flabbergasted. “You just seemed very confident and experienced,” he puts his hands up in surrender. You swat at his shoulder, a goofy grin on your face, “I can’t believe you assumed I’m getting fucked in bathrooms every weekend!” “Woah! I never said that. Just maybe more than that one time,” he giggles. You mock pout, turning away from him, “for your information, that was my first time doing anything in a bathroom with another person.” “I’m questioning the specific wording of ‘with another person,’ you got something to tell me about,” he laughs, quirking his eyebrows in exaggerated scrutiny.

He’s clearly joking, but you continue anyway. “Well once I was a very stressed twenty-something that got stuck at work for eight days and I was sharing a hotel room with someone,” you laugh, blush creeping over your features again. Spencer thinks for a second, his features lighting up pink when something clicks, “wait, when was this?” You take a long pause, looking away from him, “March…” He gasps, turning almost red, “I was sharing that room with you! You mean to tell me that you were getting off on the other side of a door from me and I had no idea?” He’s laughing, clearly amused by the thought. “Yep, and you were completely clueless. You didn’t even pick up on the guilt I had in the morning, not very professional profiler of you, Reid,” you laugh. He clutches his chest, scandalized, “I can’t believe this!” “You were asleep,” you whine through a laugh. His blush deepens, he looks away from you as he says, “I did the same thing at one point, that time we were in Fayetteville.” Now it’s your turn to act like this is the most horrifying revelation ever. You throw the back of your right hand against your forehead, like you’re swooning, and gasp. “Oh my lord, I can’t believe this,” your act devolves into giggles as you drop your hand, shoulders rolling forward as the goofiness overtakes you. Spencer laughs beside you, your bodies subconsciously leaning towards each other through your fits of laughter. You inhale deeply, trying to stop laughing, “but seriously, I didn’t expect you to be so,” you trail off, unsure of how to refer to him. “Y’know, in bed and stuff, you’re more, um,” you slightly wave your hand, hoping he’ll finish your thought. “Controlling? Dominant? Incredibly talented? What are you going for here,” he giggles. You roll your eyes at the last suggestion, “dominant is what I was going for. I wouldn’t have thought you’d do or say half the things you did.” “Yeah, it’s kind of the one time I can be like that and not have it be for some else’s benefit, I guess,” he looks away for a second while he talks, “the only other times I get to be in control of a situation and have authority is with work or with stressful personal situations so it can be nice to have that outlet where I don’t have to worry about those things.”

You rest one hand on his right thigh, “that makes perfect sense. I guess I just wasn’t really thinking of you like that before,” you worry that that’ll make it sound like you weren’t interested, even though you’ve already told him you were, and you start off on a nervous ramble. “I mean I had thought of you, just not what you’d be like, well I had thought of what you’d be like, but just like, like I had thought you’d be super sweet because that’s how you are at work and now that you’ve said that it doesn’t make as much sense why I thought that because your explanation makes more sense, but like I hadn’t thought about-“ He finally cuts you off with a hand over your lips, putting you out of your misery. “I’m not used to someone else being the one word vomiting," he laughs, “but I understood what you meant.” You smile softly in apology under his palm. He lowers his hand, letting it land on your thigh again, as he stares into your eyes. “What else you got for me,” he asks softly. You can feel the tension building again as his eyes drift to your lips. “How long have you liked me,” you ask, it comes out softer than intended. “Very long. Probably about a month after you started. We were up really late working on a case and it was just you and me in some conference room in Missoula. You got frustrated and took your hair down, then put it up again, but it was messier and that made you more irritated. You were all flushed and kept grumbling to yourself and then you tucked your hair behind your ear and looked up at me as we’re both leaning over this table. It was like all the frustration melted off your face and it just did something to me. I think, since then,” he says the last part embarrassed, looking away from you and blushing, as if he didn’t just admit the sweetest thing in the whole world to you. This man remembered the exact moment he developed a crush on you in crazy detail.

You found yourself blushing like crazy.

“How long have you wanted me,” you slightly flick your head as if to gesture to what happened in that bathroom, “like that?” His eyes rush to his hand on your thigh, “do you remember that case where you had to go into a bar and pretend to be a single woman so we could lure an unsub out? Since then.” Your eyes widen, you had expected him to say he didn’t know or avoid the question but here he was, honest as ever. “Do you think about me when you’re alone,” you drag out the last word, heavy with implication. “I- um,” his eyes find yours again, something you don’t quite recognize burning in his gaze, “yes. A-a lot actually.” Heat crawls up you, consuming everything in a sudden burst of lust and need. “Do you want me, right now,” you breathe out. The burning in his eyes finally clicks for you, it’s the same look he gave you in that club, just without the mask. “Yes,” he says firmly, his hand resting on your thigh turns into a solid grip. “What do you want to do to me, Reid,” you almost whisper, so consumed by the building tension between you. “I want to make you feel so good that you never think about anyone else at night. I want to be the name on your lips every time you cum, the man in every fantasy, the voice that haunts you when you’re lonely,” he whispers, sending a shiver over you.

You feel like you’re on fire, desires rushing through your veins at his words, a prominent throb between your thighs. “What do you think about that,” his thumb starts to drag up and down your thigh. “I- um, I can’t top what you just said,” you laugh nervously, completely flustered. “You don’t have to,” he chuckles darkly, lifting his other hand to cup your cheek, “you’re already all those things for me.” With that he pulls you in for a burning kiss. He kisses you like he’ll never see you again, like you’re the cure for his suffering. His lips press against yours and it sends a strike of desire running through you like lightning. You bring your hand up to wrap around the nape of his neck, pulling him into you. With the shift in position, Spencer slides the hand on your thigh to rest next to you, leaning and partially caging you against your couch. You brush your tongue against his bottom lip and he lets you in immediately. Your tongues dance against each other, the taste of him filling your senses. You pull against his neck again, deepening the kiss and letting yourself get lost in it. The hand against your cheek slides down your neck, getting temporarily caught on the collar of your shirt, moves past your chest and down to your waist. He pulls you towards him, leaning back, and you automatically climb onto his lap without thinking. You swing your right leg over him so you’re straddling him when you land. He groans against your lips, shifting so his hands rest on your hips. You move slightly, the fabric of your skirt stretching uncomfortably over your thighs as you try to scoot closer to him from your seat just above his knees.

Spencer could tell how aroused you were. He’d never admit this in the moment out of fear of it sounding odd to you, but he could smell how turned on you were. A sweet musk that mixed with the smell of your perfume and shampoo made its way to his nose and he knew. He notices you struggling with your skirt, so his hands make their way down your thighs to the hem of your skirt, immediately pulling it up over hips so he can pull you closer to him. He can practically hear your pulse racing when your cunt lands on the bulge that’s beginning to form in his pants. The heat coming off you and the stifled whimper that leaves your mouth when you touch him only confirms what he already knows. He wraps his hands around your hips, giving an experimental tug that makes you rub against him, drawing a high pitched whine from you. The noise is muffled by his mouth on yours but it still sends a shot of lust through him.

Spencer's large hands on you drive you crazy, it’s like a shot of adrenaline straight through you whenever he makes contact. You would be embarrassed at the noise sneaking out of your mouth when he pulls you to grind against him, but then you remember what you’ve already done together. It was different now that you knew it was him, the veil of anonymity being lifted also lifted the false confidence you were able to slip on at a bar. Your hips start to move on their own, dragging a deep groan from down low in Spencer's chest. His hands press into your hips, holding you harder against him. Drawing your core over him slowly, it sparks new passion in the kiss, turning it into a mess of lips and tongues as you whimper into each other's mouths. He bucks his hips up against you, biting your bottom lip as a breathy moan leaves him. You rub yourself downwards, met with a realization that you weren’t expecting, Spencer’s already hard. Like, really hard. A surprised squeak leaves you when he bucks up against you again and kisses you harder. Backing away, you giggle, “hard from just kissing, huh Reid?” “What can I say, you drive me crazy,” Spencer chuckles, his hands moving to grip the globes of your ass, “if I had less self control I might end up like this just from looking at you.” You blush, eyes widening, “you’re not serious,” you laugh nervously, still moving against him. His eyes darken slightly, “I mean maybe I’m exaggerating a little, but I am serious. You’re beautiful,” he says your name so gently it distracts you and your hips stop moving. His hips haven’t stopped moving, slowly pressing up into you as you stare at each other.

He leans forward and presses a kiss against your neck, moving one hand to pull your collar down slightly. He had noticed earlier that most of your makeup had worn off at this point, your hickies and marks peeking through again even in their faded state, and it was driving him wild. The brush of his lithe fingers against your skin thrills you. You bring your left hand up to thread through his hair, tugging slightly, he moans against your collarbone. The hand holding your shirt open moves down to your inner thigh. He snakes up to press against your underwear, just two fingers at first, then fully cupping your warmth. “Oh my god,” he breathes against your neck, a smirk making its way onto his features, “you’re soaked.” “I told you, you’re special,” you laugh through a moan at the pressure against you.

Spencer's heart rate picks up as he brushes his palm against the wet patch, the fire in him burning brighter as he remembers your earlier conversation. ‘I’m sure we can make up for it somehow’ was what you had said, and he intended to do that. He sneaks his hands under your thighs and scoots to the edge of the couch before pressing his lips against yours again. His mind races with all the things he wants to say and do as he stands up off the couch, taking you with him. You squeak when you realize the couch is being pulled out from under you as you rise with Spencer. “W-what are you doing,” you yelp. Spencer’s lips brush against your cheek as he starts carrying you across the room. He gently kicks the door to the bedroom open as he kisses and nips at your neck. When he gets to the bed he gently lets you fall onto it, standing over you, he reaches to pull his shirt off over his head. You look at him with such adoration that it makes him feel like his heart might burst.

You watch and he undoes his belt, slipping it from his pants, and moves to undo the button and zipper. You reach to help him, but he lightly bats your hands away. “Ah ah, patience, Angel,” he chuckles as he slowly slides down his pants. Your face flares with heat at the sudden pet name so you focus on watching him. He leans down and starts to unbutton your top, quickly glancing at you to check that you’re okay with this and only continuing when you give a small nod. His hands work quickly to rid you of your shirt. He pulls it open and audibly gasps when your bra is exposed to him. It’s a deep purple and you’re grateful you wore a matching set today. His fingertips skim down your ribs as he admires you. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself. You sit up so he can slide it down your arms and discard it on the floor somewhere. His hands tug your skirt gently, just enough for him to slip his fingers over the hem and hold it steady while he unzips it. A soft gasp leaves you as the cold air hits your exposed skin. His eyes flit to yours, a deep hunger in them at even just the littlest sounds you make. He slides your skirt down, using one hand to usher your hips up slightly so he can fully remove it, drinking in every inch of skin that’s exposed as he does. Your skirt finds its way to the floor as Spencer drags his hands up your legs to your hips. You squirm slightly under his attention, not used to the ravenous way he looks at you. “You nervous,” the question comes in a whisper, eyes not leaving the path his hands are on. “I’m just not used to this,” you laugh anxiously, looking down to watch his hands. “We can stop whenever you want,” his fingertips catch on the lace of your underwear and a barely perceptible breath leaves his lips. “N-no,” you almost gasp out, “no, I don’t want to stop,” you say firmly. He chuckles under his breath as his hands continue their climb up your body. When he gets to where your bra hugs your skin he gently slides his palms to cup your breasts, giving them a light experimental squeeze. You jolt slightly and he chuckles again, “I didn’t get to do this last time, since you were wearing that beautiful dress.” “Well, you can do whatever you want now that we’re really alone,” you reply, trying to sound more seductive than flustered. Spencer laughs darkly under his breath, “don’t tell me that, I might just take you seriously.” “W-what if I mean it,” you glance at him, eyes wide when his finally rise to meet you.

You stare at each other in a silent standoff as he waits for you to backtrack what you’ve just said. Except you don’t. You hold his eye contact until you start to worry that you’ve said something wrong. That’s when he moves again, launching himself forward to kiss you. The kiss is fiery, but brief, a quick attack of lips and tongue before he’s kissing down your cheek and jaw and neck. His hands tighten around your chest before moving to slide his thumbs under the lace cups of your bra. His lips find the curve of your breast, immediately kissing your skin. “So soft,” he murmurs against you, pressing his face into the space between your tits. Just as you start to giggle at him, he turns slightly and bites you, the laugh turning into a moan. He licks the bitemark he’s left on you and presses a kiss to it before biting a new spot. He litters your exposed skin with kisses and bites as you squirm and gasp under him. You sneak your hands around to Spencer's hair, letting your fingers be consumed by the soft curls. You gently tug at his spice brown hair, remembering how much he liked that in the club. As if to confirm your thoughts, he whimpers softly against your skin. Spencer sits back slightly, finding the clasp at the front of your bra, and starts to undo it. The lace cups are removed, exposing you further, and you hear his breath catch in his throat.

“Wow, you’re amazing,” he sighs. His fingers tease your nipples, delighting in the soft inhale that passes your lips. He watches as your nipples harden into firm peaks between his fingertips, the way your skin pebbles under his soft breath, the mild furrow in your brow as you watch him work. It’s intoxicating, driving the need to feel and taste you however he can. He can smell the lingering lotion on your skin, the kind he’s watched you apply in hotel rooms on long cases, and he inhales it deeply. He drags his lips on the plush skin until he lands at his mark, sucking your left nipple between his lips. The whine that leaves you is music to his ears and he lets it drive him forward, biting you lightly. Another noise leaves you so he continues, licking, sucking, and biting you until he feels that he’s neglected the other side. He kisses his way over to your other bud, enchanted by the way your chest rises and falls under him. When he wraps his lips around your right nipple, you let out a soft moan that sends blood rushing straight to his cock. It was already straining hard against his briefs, but he wasn’t ready to stop with working you up yet. He bites down hard, distracting himself with your beautiful noises.

You tense under the hold of his teeth on you, a high-pitched moan ripping its way out of your chest. You feel him smile against you as his tongue teases you with lazy circles against your rosy peak. Your fingers tighten around his hair, drawing a deep groan out of him. He pulls off of you with a muted pop. “Can I taste you,” his voice is deep and raspy, sending a wave of desire through you. You nod your head, a small movement as you’re taken aback by his request, even though it’s one you’ve already granted him before. He inches his way down your body, planting firm kisses to your skin as he goes. Each touch from him sends little bursts tingling through your skin, his lips feel like fire against your already too-warm body. When he finally gets to the lacy border of your underwear, he stops. His breath moves across your skin, warm and inviting. You glance at him and see he’s just looking at you. He stares at you for a long moment, eyes boring into you, before looking back down. Without raising his eyes he mutters, “do you know what my favorite color is?” Your brain glitches for a second, “I- uh, um, n-no.” “It’s alright, I didn’t think you did,” he presses a kiss to your hip, just above the lacy hem. His long fingers slide under it, slowly pulling it down as his eyes finally find yours again. You flush from his gaze, lust blown pupils watching you intently. He slides the material down your legs, moving to stare at the evidence of your arousal strung between you and the fabric. “H-holy,” he groans so lowly you almost can’t tell what he’s saying. You blush, turning your head away slightly in embarrassment. He’s barely touched you and you’re already dripping. Spencer's hands press into your thighs, pulling them apart so he can get a better look at you. You whine and turn your head further from him. “Hey,” he says, soft, but stern, “look at me. Don’t shy away from this, let me see how I make you feel.” You turn back to him and blush at the near sinister grin that spreads across his lips. “Good,” he mutters. While you’re caught up watching his face, he’s busy with his next move. Two rough fingers press between your folds, immediately tearing a whimper out of you. “So perfect,” he groans, watching his work as you squirm under him. His fingers work deftly, immediately finding your clit A keening sound leaves you as he presses on it fiercely, his eyes glued to your face. You squeeze your eyes shut and fight the urge to turn your head away. You can already feel your core tighten, pressure building and the urge to chase your high overwhelming.

Spencer moves his face to hover just above your warmth, his cool breath sending shocks up your body as it hits your soaked flesh. He sits there, just waiting, as you squirm before him. You keep your eyes closed as the pressure he’s applying to you shifts with the near imperceptible movements of his fingertips. You keep expecting him to do something, move his fingers, lick you, blow air against you purposefully, anything, but he stays still. You shift your hips slightly, hoping he won’t notice your attempt at getting friction on your needy clit. Spencer hums softly in response, like he’s studying your behavior and deep in thought. Finally, the lack of stimulation becomes unbearable and you open your eyes to glance down at Spencer, hoping to see what the goal is. “There we go,” his voice is almost a growl, “I just wanted to see your eyes when I do this.” Before you can respond he delves his tongue inside you, only for a second before he’s dragging it up over you and straight to your clit. You let out a yelp that quickly devolves into a wrecked moan. He sucks your clit between his lips, immediately circling his tongue around it. His hand, which you were so distracted from that you completely forgot had been on you a second earlier, moves under him. He presses his fingers against your entrance before slipping one in. You tighten around him, thighs tensing and head pressing back into the mattress, a strangled whine leaving you.

Spencer intends to take his time, to make up for what he couldn’t give you the first time around, so he drags out his actions. Not sucking too hard, not pressing into you too fast, making you wait for what’s to come. He feels high off the taste, he knows it’ll be the focus of many late night thoughts from here on out. Spencer flicks his tongue against the sensitive bud between his lips, once, twice, three times, until you’re whining and near shaking below him. His finger curls ever so slightly inside your walls, the wet velvety feeling driving him closer to the edge of his patience with every second. With his stomach resting on the mattress below him, he starts to gently grind his hips downward, hoping to get a little relief from the situation currently trying to break out of his briefs. A strangled gasp tries to make it out of his lips as he presses down against the bed.

Spencer’s lips twitch around you, watching him, you realize he’s pressing his hips down into the bed. “Who’s the one that needs patience now,” you laugh slightly, immediately regretting it when you see the look in his eyes. He glances up at you, eyebrows pressed together in a look that could be mistaken for anger or offense. His lips lift off you slightly and as you start to whine at, what you’re sure is about to be loss of contact, you feel his teeth press against you. Ever so lightly, almost like just a particularly harsh pinch, he bites your clit. Your legs immediately start shaking as you hang on the precipice of overstimulation. “Oh my god,” you almost shriek, legs kicking as you try to scoot from under him. His hand finds your thigh, holding you in place as he lets go of your clit, dragging his tongue over it again. “Don’t run from me,” he chuckles, “maybe you’ll keep the teasing to yourself now.” “Y-yes,” you pant, halting your movements, “yes, I will.” “Good,” he purrs before returning back to his new favorite spot against your skin. He laps at you delicately, seemingly aware of how close you are to being out of commission until your body calms down. You mewl out his name quietly, pressing your hips up against his tongue. Your hand finds his hair again, pushing him down against you as you prepare to ride your high. Spencer lifts his tongue from you again, gently blowing cool air against your inflamed clit. You gasp and writhe under him, arching your back off the bed and subconsciously trying to move away from the new feeling. His grip on you tightens and he shoots a warning glance your way. “S-Spence, please, please,” you pant, trying to hold your eyes open to look at him while you beg, “please, I wanna cum, please.” Spencer looks below him at your cunt and absentmindedly replies, “hmm? You do?” He says it’s like it’s the last thing on his mind, not even important enough to make eye contact with you. He pauses for a second, “I guess I can give you what you want,” and quickly licks down your folds, sliding his tongue into you and removing his finger at the same time, without allowing you time to process what’s happening. “Oh my god,” you throw your head back, body shaking as his thumb finds your clit.

After a second he drags his tongue back up to your clit, simultaneously he slips two fingers back into you, curling and scissoring them immediately. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to your precipice, the pressure building and building, but it remains just out of reach. His tongue swirls around you, his eyes focused on your strained expression, as his fingers work you to your breaking point. “Come on baby, you can do it, give it to me,” he presses a kiss directly to your clit and you go careening off the edge. Your pleasure crashes over you, your whole body tingles and vibrates with the force shooting through you. Your thighs shake and press together around his head, you don’t have the control to stop the vice grip you have on him or the pornographic moan leaving your body. You don’t even realize you’re the one crying out until the feeling starts to soften. You feel a buzzing behind your eyes as your senses return to you. Your body pulses and throbs as he watches you come down. You don’t see him as you’re staring at the ceiling but you can feel his eyes on you. Your breath heaves out of you, your chest rising and falling as you try to recover. “H-holy shit,” you pant, finally looking down to see Spencer grinning up at you. He slowly removes his fingers and your body jolts with another loud whine as the overstimulation jabs your core. “Yeah? How was that,” Spencer smiles as he sits up, leaning over you, “make up for last time?” You laugh lightly, “kinda, yeah.” “Well I’m not done, so don’t be too disappointed,” he chuckles. Your body vibrates with anticipation for what else he has planned. You start to try and sit up, but he gently pushes on your shoulder. “Woah, hold on. You don’t need to get up. I want you to actually enjoy what I’m going to do to you, so let's just take a second,” he reassuringly brushes your hair out of your face. “B-but I want to make you feel good too,” you try to not whine, but it’s hard when you’re still so overstimulated and not quite satisfied. “You can make me feel good from down there, Angel,” he smiles, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

You quirk your eyebrows in a silent question. He starts to move, finally coming to rest, kneeling next to your shoulders. He tucks his fingers under the waistband of his briefs, slowly sliding them down, as if giving you time to protest or deny him. You watch with rapt anticipation, not looking away and not hiding from what he’s about to do. He finally frees his cock, holding it in one hand while the other moves the band of his underwear to a comfortable resting position around his hips. He looks down at you, his expression soft while his gaze is still filled with lust and need. “Do you trust me,” his voice sounds almost delicate as his eyes burn into you. “Yes,” you reply, tone serious to ensure he believes you. He exhales quietly, “okay then.” He shifts up onto his knees, looking at you one last time before continuing his plan. He moves one leg over your chest so he’s straddling you. He hovers over your throat, not actually sitting on you, but just looming above you. “Are you alright,” he asks softly. You’re briefly distracted by his length directly in your line of sight as he holds it near the side of your face, clearly waiting for permission, but you nod your head anyway. “Y-yes,” your eyes dart between him and the cause of your distraction. “You look a little nervous,” he chuckles, but his expression is deadly serious. “I’ve just never- I- um I’ve never had a guy do this before,” you avoid eye contact as your face flushes, “and this is just really hot. I’m flustered.” Spencer’s face breaks into a smile, “that’s adorable.” You pout slightly, but it’s immediately wiped off your face as he releases his cock and lets it rest against your cheek and the side of your mouth. His hand comes to hold your chin, pressing softly on your bottom lip until your mouth opens slightly. He shifts so the head of him is resting lightly against your lip. You immediately open wider to let him in, swirling your tongue around the tip as you do. Spencer’s head falls back as a groan rumbles from his chest. He was so much more pent up than he was letting on and you revel in it. The way his hair falls across his forehead, how his chest heaves, how his breath comes heavy and loud, it is all so mesmerizing. You wrap your lips around him, tilting your head forward slightly to continue taking him into your mouth. In response, Spencer’s hips gently push forward, helping you move down his length.

“O-oh ffuu,” the second half of the word is silent, lost to the pleasure hitting his body. The warmth of your mouth sliding across his skin is almost too much, to ground himself, he glances down to watch your motions and immediately regrets the decision. You’re looking up at him, your big warm eyes mixed with the sinful view of your mouth full of his cock is even worse than just feeling what you’re doing. In an immediate reaction to the sight, a deep moan makes its way past his lips. His face and ears flush at his lack of control, embarrassment and arousal mixing to create an intoxicating buzz through his body. He watches you work, you tease him with your tongue as you slide down his length until you reach the base. Your nose presses against his pelvis as you look up at him, cheeks hollowed as you apply even pressure around him. He reaches down with one hand and cards his fingers through your hair. “I-I’m gonna move, okay? Just he-lp you out,” he whines slightly, trying to sound like he’s not being affected and failing miserably. You nod ever so slightly, relaxing your jaw and lips a bit to allow him the leeway to do so. Spencer drags his hips back slowly, watching himself pull out of your mouth, enraptured by the view and watching for any signs of issue. When he reaches the final inch he begins to slide back in, locking eyes with you and waiting for any sign of discomfort. You welcome him, pressing your tongue against the underside of him to add pressure. “Oh god,” Spencer whimpers, his grip on your hair tightening.

He reaches the back of your throat and you gag slightly, the intrusion reaching a point you’re struggling to handle. There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes and you feel his hips falter, but you move your head forward to push him further and confirm that you’re okay. It almost looks like he puffs a relieved breath before beginning to move again. He moves slowly, but continues to pull and push himself in and out of your mouth, biting his bottom lip to silence his moans. You run your tongue over his skin, applying suction at the same time to get his attention. He glances down at you, inhaling sharply at the new sensation. You pull your head back marginally, continuing to apply pressure and use your tongue, hoping to draw sounds out of him. He whines, letting a moan slip past his lips. You nod as much as you can and relax your mouth again so he can continue leading. “Ooohh, you just want me to make noise, huh,” he asks, a smug smile on his face. He moves slightly faster, letting moans and gasps fall from his lips, as you watch his face. His arms flex as he holds your hair and the bedframe, his chest rising and falling as he pants, and he groans deeply.

“Y-you’re doing so good, baby,” his voice raspy, straining to stay clear through the sensations controlling his body. “You feel so perfect around me, you look so perfect.” He feels heavy in your mouth. You can feel him twitch as he moves against you, all your senses are delighted in him. Your brain feels almost fuzzy with everything going on, blissfully overwhelmed. Your body feels warmer, your need growing and pooling in your core. Without even thinking, you begin to move your hips slightly, desperately seeking any friction. Spencer's pace picks up and you know he’s getting close. A deep moan leaves his mouth and he stops moving. “Ah- angel, I gotta stop,” he pants, “I don’t want to cum yet.” You whine a little, not wanting to stop, but don’t try to keep him there. He begins to pull out and as he does you swirl your tongue around him once last time, pulling a soft gasp from him. He lifts off of you, plopping his body on the bed next to your head, and sighs quietly.

“How are you feeling, pretty girl,” his eyes rake down your body as he stirs to fully remove his underwear. “Like I need you,” you reach over to rest a hand on his thigh, trying to remain in control enough to not beg. “Oh yeah," he chuckles, eyes finding yours and looking at you smugly. “Yeah,” you reply, sounding more assertive than you actually intended. “How do you want me then,” he asks, eyebrows quirking like he’s challenging you. You feel the prickle of realization that you’ve started something you might not be able to finish. “I…uh,” you try to look away, but find yourself caught in his gaze. He tilts his head, as if asking a silent question, but you know he’s only doing it to tease you. “I want you to fuck me,” you say, trying to force the confidence into your voice. He chuckles, the sounds vaguely condescending, but it’s followed by an even more patronizing tone, “what do you want me to do?” Your eyes flick to his cock and ache pangs in your core, you just need him so bad.

“I want you to do whatever you want to me. I want you to make me forget about everything else, show me how much you’ve wanted this, how much you’ve wanted me.” The look he gives you is intense, his eyes darken and he grins like an animal after prey, and it sends a shiver through you. “I knew you could do it,” he moves suddenly, grabbing your ankles and pulling you sideways towards him. You squeak in surprise at the suddenness, but you let yourself be dragged across the bed without complaint. He presses your hips against his, his cock resting against your pelvis and stomach, and grabs your arms. Holding them up, he holds both wrists in one hand, he presses them into the mattress above your head. His other hand comes up to grasp your throat, sliding up to your jaw and turning your head away to expose your throat to him. His lips find your skin, at first just kissing up and down the side of your neck. He bites down on your warm skin, not enough to hurt, but enough to shock you.

You arch your back, trying to press yourself against him to get any relief, but he just tightens his grip on you. “Don’t struggle,” he growls, teeth still pressed against you. The gravel of his voice, the embrace of his teeth, and the vice of his hands on you sends warmth straight to your cunt. You clench and throb around nothing as you fight to keep your hips still. He continues attacking your neck, pressing kisses and bites to your skin until you’re sure you must be covered in marks. You delight at the thought. Your other bruises haven’t even fully faded yet and here he is, marking you as his again. He bites down directly on the column of your throat before quickly pressing a messy kiss to the resulting indentations. You pant and whine under him, focusing solely on not moving and not moaning like you want to. As if he read your mind, he suddenly pipes up, “ya know,” he kisses another section he previously bit, “since we’re not in a club bathroom,” another kiss, “you can make as much noise as you want.” You don’t dare say it aloud, but you think to yourself, ‘I want you to earn it, pull it out of me.” After you don’t respond he moves up to your ear.

He pulls your earlobe between his teeth for a few seconds before leaning forward to whisper, “I can just make you cum again before I fuck you if you’re not going to let me hear your beautiful voice. Make you wait for it even longer.” His smirk is basically audible at this point as you quickly reply, “no, no, I’ll let you hear it!” “Good,” his fingers walk down your throat to the soft skin of your breast. He squeezes you gently at first as he kisses back down your neck to your shoulder. He’s still holding your hands as you push your chest out, chasing his touch. His lips make their way down your body, only stopping to occasionally bite or lick, his hands still occupied. Your breathing gets louder until it finally turns into quiet moans. You let out soft mewls of his name and quiet prayers for him to just touch you more already. Your words devolve into whining and moaning as he gets closer to your cunt, the ache becoming almost too much. He presses a final kiss next to your hipbone before moving his hands from their previous spots, skimming down your body to rest on the outsides of your thighs.

“Do you have condoms, baby,” his voice is husky and quiet. “Yeah, give me a sec,” you look down at him, caught off guard by the harshness in his honey eyes, you pause for a second before adjusting to reach your nightstand. Once you have the foil wrapped item in hand you sit up, making a show of your movements as you hand it to him. You watch him sit up and carefully open the wrapper. You reach to take it from him and help, but he grabs your wrists again. Your mind wanders as he rolls the latex over his skin, thinking of how he’ll feel and how much you’ve wanted this and how he makes you feel. You’re snapped out of it when you hear him speak again. “Are you ready,” his voice is gentle, sincere, and so sweet it almost feels unreal. “Yes,” your voice comes out more needy than you intend, but he just smiles at the obvious want in your voice. With that, he lets go of your wrists for a second and pulls your legs apart, hoisting them around his hips and gently pulling you towards him until you can feel him brush against your folds. In your periphery you can see him study your face one last time, but you’re too busy watching his cock bob just above your warmth to return the look. One hand holds your hip, pressing you into the bed, the other reaches to grip himself. “Speak up if it’s too much,” his voice is stern, but his eyes are soft, “you’re so pretty when you use your words.”

Your face burns at his remark, despite being completely naked and about to have sex with this man, that somehow flusters you so completely. “O-okay,” you reply, your face completely flushed. He smiles at you, loving how cute you look so bashful, before returning his focus back to the scene in front of him. He presses himself down, rubbing the head of himself through your folds, drawing a moan out of both of you. He continues, collecting your arousal to prepare himself. He pumps his hand up and down himself, spreading it across his length as you watch. He lets out a shaky exhale as he finally notches the crown of his cock at your entrance. He glances at you one last time and when your eyes find his you give a small nod, ready to take the leap with him. Looking back down, you both watch as he finally pushes forward. You both gasp slightly at the sensation. A bolt of pleasure electrifies both your bodies, the thrill of giving into your desires and toppling the boundaries of your previous work-friend relationship fills your abdomen with butterflies.

Spencer moves slowly, letting the warmth and softness engulf him, focusing on savoring the feeling and not hurting you. He wants to take his time, make this special for you. He still feels somehow guilty for how your first time went and he plans to make up for it. The whole scene in front of him is almost too much. The way you’re watching him slide into you, your pupils blown wide and a soft flush across your face, the way you seem to be holding your breath as you take in the moment. The view is absolutely intoxicating and he almost worries about how long he can make this last.

As he continues moving, the stretch starts to feel more intense than last time. You hold your breath, not exactly consciously, and try to not whimper at the intrusion. Spencer must have noticed because he speaks up. “Almost there, you can do it baby,” his voice is slightly strained, like he’s holding himself back, and his brows are knit together in a sympathetic expression. The praise goes straight to your pussy, you twitch around him and he visibly reacts, glancing down to where your bodies are connected before meeting your eyes again. You hold eye contact as he finally reaches his end, your faces contort slightly in pleasure as he fills you to the hilt, finally letting an almost pornographic moan slip past your lips. “Oh my god,” he exhales, head tipping forward slightly as he shuts his eyes, savoring the feeling. You both pause for a second, taking each other in, feeling everything. After a moment, he looks up at you, “are you alright? We can take it slow, I don’t want t-” “Move please,” you whine, louder than intended, squeezing your eyes shut. You reach to grab his hand, looking for some stability or grounding, he takes the hint and presses your hands above your head again, holding you in place.

“Oh yeah,” he pants something close to a laugh, “I don’t know. I don’t think you’re ready.” “What? I-,” you open your eyes again to see him looking at you, that sinister glint has returned to his expression and you know the game is back on. “I am ready, please, please, please Spencer,” you hold eye contact and try to pout in a convincing way, “please just fuck me, I’ll do whatever you wan-“ Before you can finish your sentence, he’s pulling back out of you, only for a second before he pushes back in. “Oohhh fuck,” he groans deeply, head dropping so low that his curls fall over his face. “Oh my god,” you moan, struggling against his hands. He drags his hips back again, thrusting into you slightly faster as you both get used to the feeling.

Your pleasure is heavy in your core, a pool of heat and want that threatens to spill out of you at any moment. Your struggling gets Spencer’s attention and he shoots you a warning glance. “Please? Please, I just wanna touch you,” you whine. He lets go of your hands and you immediately reach up to wrap around his neck. You pull him down to you, kissing him so quickly he whimpers in surprise.

This kiss is messy, you’re both so worked up that you can’t help it. Your tongue on his, his teeth on your bottom lip, your breath mingling until you don’t know where one of you ends and the other begins. The kiss is only interrupted by the occasional moan or whimper from one of you as Spencer continues moving. As the heat between you rises you stretch your hands out, digging your nails into Spencer’s skin and dragging downward, leaving behind little red trails. He gasps against your lips, “oh fuck,” its more of a whine than anything else. You bring one hand up to the back of his head as you kiss down his jaw to his neck. One hand digs into the skin of his back while the other tugs gently on his hair, turning him into a whimpering mess on top of you. It was interesting, and weirdly exciting, how he could be so dominant and so pathetic at the same time. “I love how you touch me,” his voice is raspy and strained, flaring the butterflies in your stomach again. He picks up the pace as you toy with his hair, soft curls wrapping around your fingers and sinful moans falling from your lips. You start to move your hips to meet him, desperate for anything he’ll give you. “There’s that greediness again,” Spencer chuckles, his hands grip your hips, pressing you into place on the bed. You hook your ankles, pressing your legs around his waist, drawing him into you further. “Ho-holy,” whatever he’s trying to say is cut off by you moaning in unison.

You press your lips to his skin again, leaving little nips and messy kisses in your wake. He holds your hips tighter, fucks you harder, and presses his lips next to your ear. “You’re doing so good for me, baby, taking me so well,” his voice is low, distractingly so. “Spence,” you whimper, trying to focus on forming words instead of just moans. “Mmh,” he half asks and half whimpers. “I- I need more,” you whine, biting his shoulder softly. He groans loudly in response, the sound rumbles through you. “Yeah,” he asks, tone slightly condescending. “P-please, Spencer,” you wiggle your hips, trying to escape his hold and meet his thrusts, but he just growls in response. “Fine.”

With that, he shifts his hands to your waist and pulls you flush against his chest. He lifts you with him as he sits up, setting you in his lap. You hold on to him tighter, letting him lead. His hands find the backs of your thighs, he lifts you, effortlessly thrusting into you in this new position. “Oh my god,” you throw your head back, arching your chest against his. “Yeah? Is this what you wanted,” his tone is demeaning, but all it does is urge you on. Allowing yourself to let go, you nod, “mhm, just what I needed.” “Aww you just needed me to fuck you harder? Deeper? See how much I can make you lose control,” his voice is deliciously low, tugging at that pool in your core the more he speaks. “Mhm,” a high pitched whine leaves your lips as you let yourself get louder. There’s no potential onlookers to worry about here so you let him hear exactly how good he’s making you feel. Moans and whimpers and gasps tumble past your lips and you notice you’re being watched. Spencer's eyes drink in your form, watching you enjoy yourself and absolutely reveling in it. “Do I make you feel good, baby?” You nod fervently, “so, so good,” your voice is breathier than you intend, but you notice his reaction to your lewd tone.

The pleasure builds in your body, Spencer fills every sense and you can't escape the searing pleasure that’s raking over your flesh. “You like being fucked like this? Like when I take control,” he growls, eyes burning into your skin as he keeps thrusting. The drag of his cock in and out of you is hypnotizing, stealing your words and numbing your mind. You try to respond, but your words fizzle out as they reach your lips and the only answer you give is desperate whimpering. “Aw poor baby, too fucked out already? Look how cock drunk you are for me, so pathetic. So pretty,” he presses a sweet kiss to the column of your throat in contrast to the condescension. Your walls flutter at his words, the degrading words and sarcastically sweet tone drawing unholy sounds from your throat. “You’re so cute like this, so good for me. Fucking perfect,” he groans, biting your neck lightly. You squeal in response, tugging his hair and returning to scratching down his back. “Mmf, fuck baby,” he moans, teeth still against your skin, “what will every-everyone think of this? You being all mine? You think they’ll be able to guess how pitiful you get f-for me behind closed doors?” You keen, holding him tighter as you clench around him again, rapidly approaching your next climax. His hips stutter slightly and he gasps as you tighten around him, also nearing his end. “Y-you like it when I talk to you like that?”

“Y-yes, yes, yes, spence,” you wail, feeling seconds from the edge. “You like being good for me, being so loud? I bet the nei-neighbors will know who owns your pretty little cunt before t-the night's over,” his voice is tight as he fights off his own orgasm, a low rumble to it that bewitches you. You whine loud enough that a part of you worries he’s right, “y-yours, yours, yours, spencer its yours!” You’re just rambling at this point, barely even aware of what you’re saying, but you know it’s true. “Mine,” he laughs darkly, “and I didn’t even have to ask. So good, pretty girl.”

As you tighten around him one last time, a symphony of moans and cries leave you. Noticing you reaching your peak, Spencer bites down on your shoulder, remembering how you reacted last time and wanting to see you lose yourself again. You scream his name, the dam in you finally breaking as you constrict around him so hard that you’d be worried about hurting him if you weren’t so drunk on how you feel. Your orgasm washes over you, leaving you shaking and raw. Your body tenses and practically buzzes as blinding pleasure roars through your body. Spencer falls forward, caging you under his body as he keeps moving inside you. You writhe under him, still coming down from your high as he reaches his. Your name leaves his lips as he lets go inside of you, “fu-fuck,” is the most you can make out of the sound he makes, somewhere between a whine and a growl. He continues moving slowly as you both whimper slightly, coming down together. You let your eyes shut as you ride out the feelings. You’re jolted out of your trance by his voice, soft in contrast to the lust filled growling that’s permeated your ears most of the night, “are you alright pretty girl?” “Mhm,” you nod, still not opening your eyes. He kisses your skin, anywhere he can reach, before gently pulling away from you and allowing himself to slide out of your warmth. “H-holy, I- wow,” he mutters quietly. You finally open your eyes to see what he’s reacting to. Letting your eyes fall on his face, you follow his gaze to where you were just connected and notice that everything is wet. Not even just wet, soaked.

You jolt up slightly, “w-wait, did I-” “Squirt? I believe so,” his voice is quiet and you immediately worry it’s from disgust. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even know I could do that, that’s never happened before I almost thought it was, like a myth or something or that I-” He cuts off your panicked rambling with a passionate kiss, shocking a squeak out of you. “No, no, no, don’t apologize. That’s amazing,” his face is lit up with a wide smile. A look of realization flashes across him, “did you say you’ve never done that before?” “Uh I- yeah, that’s never happened,” your face is a deep crimson, completely embarrassed and bordering on mortification. “Oh my god, that’s so amazing,” he kisses your face gently, laughing as he does, “I can’t believe it.”

He catches the look on your face, recognizing how self-conscious you are, “if it makes you feel any better, I came so hard I think I lost vision and hearing for a minute there. That’s never happened before,” he laughs almost nervously. You finally crack at his adorable attempts to calm you down, laughing heartily with him. You let your head loll back slightly as you laugh harder than you have in a while. He laughs with you, an adorable lilting sound that fills you with butterflies again. When you catch your breath, you open your eyes to watch him. The way his eyes and nose scrunch and his ever so slightly asymmetrical grin paired with the pink blush on his cheeks. You wrap your arms around his neck again, trying to pull him down onto the bed with you. “Baby, we need to get cleaned up,” he chuckles, half heartedly trying to wiggle from your arms. “Ugh I know, but I’m tired and you’re cute,” you whine, a smile still playing on your lips. “Oh yeah? I’m cute? I’m honored,” he laughs, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he pulls you back up to a sitting position. “Go do what you need to do and when you get back we can do whatever you want,” he smiles reassuringly at you. You groan, but let him pull you out of bed anyway and make your way to the bathroom. You clean up, use the restroom, and take a moment to collect yourself before returning to your bedroom.

When you get there, you find Spencer splayed out on the bed. He’s cleaned up and put his briefs back on and laid out a set of your pjs on the bed. You think he must have dug through the drawers of your dresser while you were in the bathroom and are equal parts impressed and amused. When he sees you, he jumps up from his spot on the bed and comes over to you. Feather light hands touch your hips, sliding up to your waist as he pulls you in for a delicate kiss.

“I grabbed something that looked comfortable, I figured you’d want to relax now,” he sounds bashful about his thoughtfulness and you can’t help but giggle in response. “That’s so sweet of you.” “Well I- yeah, I feel like I owe you,” he chuckles softly. You laugh, “you don’t owe me, but it is very cute that you’re trying to take care of me.” “Oh I’m not trying,” he laughs, sounding confident again, “I’m taking care of you whether you like it or not. I would have changed the sheets, but I couldn’t find where you keep your sheets.” You laugh, leading him to your linen closet, before returning to change the sheets and clean up your mess together. A mess which he apologizes for at least three times, every time you reply that it’s actually your fault, but he refuses to accept this. Once everything's cleaned up, you settle into bed, your head on his chest as he mindlessly strokes your hair. “So, still want to take me out,” you look up at him, half joking. “Definitely,” he smiles at you, “I want to be able to kiss you in the daylight, not just in the dark where no one can find us.” You sit in silence for a second before he pipes up again. “You’re amazing, you know that,” he says your name like it’s something delicate that he’s afraid to break, “As out of the norm as it was, I don’t regret that night in the club.” You didn’t realize how much you needed that sentence until you heard it. You rest your hand on his opposite shoulder, nuzzling against his chest and letting yourself relax fully. “Yeah, me neither.”

You knocked on his door, shifting between your feet as you waited for him to open it. The door swung open almost instantly, as if he were standing right there waiting for your arrival. He was still dressed, but his tie and cardigan have both been discarded on a chair in the room; his hair a mess.  You could practically feel the desire behind his eyes.

“You made it impossible for me to get work done today,” you say as you walk past him into the room.

“My bad?” he responds, unsure if he should apologize.

"I mean it, Spencer. You've taken over my thoughts. I stared at that stupid map for hours, but couldn't think of anything but you," you say as you turn to face him, watching as he shuts the door and moves closer to you.

"And what do you suggest we do about that?" he teases, leaning in towards you.

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth- for your love is more delightful than wine. Song of Songs 1:2” you whisper before brushing your lips against his. 

Spencer doesn’t hesitate, kissing you greedily.

You wanted to take your time, finding the act of kissing him much more enjoyable than you anticipated, but you were still a little pent up from earlier and needed to hurry things along; judging by the tent in his pants, Spencer was feeling the same way. Without breaking the kiss, you nimbly unbutton his shirt; pushing it off his shoulders as he shrugs out of it. You run your hands down his bare torso, sending a shiver down his spine and a shaky breath slips from his mouth. His hands slide under your shirt, his fingers trailing up your sides. You pull back for a moment- just long enough to take off your shirt before capturing his lips with yours again in a needy kiss. You can feel him fumble with the hook of your bra, struggling to undo the clasp as you unbuckled his belt with ease, the proximity of your hands to his hard cock making it difficult for him to focus. 

His lips move from yours to your jawline, trailing kisses from the spot where your jawline meets your neck just below your ear down to your collarbone. He finally manages to unhook your bra, pushing the straps off your shoulder until the garment slips off, landing on the growing pile of discarded clothing.

“How beautiful you are, my darling. Oh how beautiful. Song of Songs 1:15,” he mumbles, admiring the sight of your bare chest.

“I thought quoting scripture was my thing,” you tease

“You aren’t the only one who knows the Bible, sweet girl," he murmurs as he presses open-mouth kisses to your breasts.

He wraps his mouth around one of your nipples, tongue flicking against the sensitive peak. You moan and arch into him, one of your hands tangling in his hair as a whimper escapes your lips. He smirks against your skin as he unzips your skirt, letting it slide down your legs. You step out of it as he continues kissing down your torso. He trails one of his hands between your thighs until his fingers brush against the soaked fabric of your panties.

He groans, "you're already so wet for me, baby."

"I told you- mmm- been thinking about you all day," you mumble, bucking your hips against his hand.

He hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties, pulling them down your legs and exposing your soaked core. He gently pushes you onto the bed, making quick work of removing his pants and boxers before climbing over you. You buck your hips when you feel his cock between your legs, whining for him to give you what you've been craving. He lines himself up with your entrance, teasing just the tip inside. He moans as you grind against him in need of friction. He makes eye contact with you as he finally starts to move his hips.

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp when he pushes inside, his big cock stretching you out

He laughs breathlessly “Nope, still me”

You open your mouth to reply but your response is cut off with a moan as he bottoms out. 

“Fuck, angel, you feel so good,” he groans as he tries to give you time to adjust. 

After a moment of getting used to the stretch, you mumble, “Need you to move, Spence.”

He groans and slowly rocks his hips against yours, his cock slowly going in and out of your tight cunt. You can see in his face that he’s struggling to pace himself- desperate to lose himself in you. With every little whimper and moan that comes from you, his confidence seems to grow. His thrusts come faster and harder. You move your hands to his back, digging your nails into the skin as he slammed into you.

He slides one of his hands down to your thigh, moving your leg from its position around his waist and lifting it so it rests on his shoulder. The new angle allows him to hit your g-spot with every thrust, causing you to let out a string of curses under your breath. He smirks and kisses along your jawline, stopping by your ear to whisper, “Right there, huh?” 

“Uh-huh,” you answer, unable to form a proper sentence- too lost in pleasure to think of anything other than the way his cock is pounding into you. 

He groans when he feels your walls clench around his length. He slides his hand down to rub figure-8s on your clit, “Cum for me, angel. I want to feel you cum around me."

You arch up into him, crying out his name as your orgasm hits you,, wave after wave of pleasure wracking your body as he keeps moving his hips. You can feel his cock stiffen as he gets close, his thrusts increasing in speed and force. He gripped your leg tightly as he pressed himself into you and filled your sinful cunt with his cum as he chanted your name- unable to think of anything other than the pleasantly overwhelming sensation of his cock buried in your pussy. 

You both lie there panting heavily as you try to come down. Spencer lazily kisses along your shoulder as he catches his breath. He carefully pulls out of you, causing a whine to slip from your mouth at the loss.

He kisses his way down your body, mumbling between kisses, "Gonna clean you up, sweet girl.

“Let my beloved come into his garden and taste its choice fruits Song of Songs 4:16,” you mumble, the verse falling from your lips without a second thought. You see Spencer smirk as he spreads your legs further and settles between them, his face level with your sensitive cunt.

You can hear the sharp intake of his breath as he catches sight of his cum leaking from you.

You shiver in anticipation when you feel his breath on your core. He chuckles and looks up at you, making eye contact before his tongue darts out and he tentatively licks a stripe up your folds causing you to gasp. Your hands instinctively reach for him, tangling your fingers in his curls. He moans against your core when you tug on his hair, eliciting a whimper from you. He gently sucks on your sensitive clit, savoring the needy sounds you were making. Spencer gathers some of the combination of your wetness and his cum on his fingers. He shifts and holds his glistening fingers up to your lips, "Have a taste."

You lick his fingers clean, maintaining eye contact, moaning as the taste hits your tongue. His mouth was instantly back on you, his eyes fluttering shut as he started to devour you. He hummed against you as you whined and moaned with each movement of his tongue. He pushed his fingers into your wet cunt, pumping them in and out to bring you closer to release. Your thighs clamped around him and you held him in place by his hair, desperate for more.

“That's it. Let me take care of you, angel,” he mumbled, feeling your walls flutter around his fingers

He continues his ministrations, pumping his fingers into your wet cunt as he teases your clit with his tongue. He hooks his fingers just right and it's enough to send you over the edge. You arch into him, tugging on his hair as he works you through your orgasm, not stopping until you're writhing from the overstimulation. He slips his fingers from you, looking up at you as he sucks them clean with a satisfied moan. He smirks at the small noise you make in response before kissing his way up your torso until he's eye level with you.

“I might be your Jesus, but you’re my personal Aphrodite,” he murmurs as he brushes a stray hair out of your face.

“Wrong pantheon, Spence," you retort with a breathless laugh

“Actually, there's a lot of parallels between Greek myths and biblical stories, likely because of the shared culture of those creating each mythos. For example, the miracles performed by Jesus are similar to those said to have been performed by Asclepius, the Greek god of medicine," he explains, wrapping an arm around you to pull you close.

You settle against him, resting your head on his chest. He presses a light kiss to your forehead, mumbling "you did so good, angel. Get some rest now."

You hum in acknowledgment as you close your eyes, drifting off in his arms.

The light in the room is purely from the sun shining through, the first thing you see is the TV still playing. Your apartment feels empty, but you know Spencer is still here, thats when he emerges from the bathroom. Still in his pajamas, making his way over with a smile on his face.

"Angel! You're up!" he cheers, you just groan in response. Not in annoyance, just too tired for cheery. When he reaches the side of the bed, he tugs gently at where you pulled the pillow over your tired face. You give in, he grins wildly down at your sleepy expression, messy hair and half open eyes. Absolutely stunning. To him, you're nothing less than perfection.

"So pretty, baby. There she is.." a whisper, his thumb brushing under your jaw before his lips meet yous. Immediately, your hand finds his chest and pushes. No, no no.

"Is something wrong?" his concern is adorable, looking terrified, wondering if he pushed you too far. Yes, you've kissed before.. done more than that. But your reaction scared him, until you chuckle at his expression.

"No.. No just morning breath" your voice is croaky, and he furrows his brows. He just brushed his teeth?! You must be insane.

"But i just-" before he can question himself anymore, you explain.

"Not you, me. I'm not letting you kiss me when it smells like something died in my mouth." you put it straight, he stares down at you as if you're crazy.

"Oh.. wellll-" he rounds the bed and puts himself back into his spot right next to you. Smiling cheekily down at you, like he has something planned, he speaks again.

"Why don't I do something better with my mouth then?" his eyes trail down your body, covered by the sheets. He knows your thin, practically useless pajamas are under the duvet.. He's been thinking about them since last night.

You see his eyes wandering, but you don't get it at first. He realises you must be clouded by sleep, you weren't jumping for joy like usual. Your brows furrow, his raise as he stares back at you, grin lingering behind.

"Can I.. touch you?" he's pleading, already. He sees the confusion turn to understanding, then need. You nod, body shifting to push the covers down. Just as you're about to move, he pushes himself to stop you, either hand by the sides of your head.

"Don't move, angel. Let me do the work, okay?" he waits for your approval and then let's his lips melt into yours. They work together, instead of against eachother. Usually it'd be a fight to see who'll win (usually Spencer) and take the lead. Yes, Spencer is still in charge of this one, but he's not overpowering. He settles up on his knees between your legs, outline of him pushing through his plaid pajama pants. He's ignoring it.

"Sit up against the headboard for me..? Oh, and could you take that off?" he motions to your shirt. You don't wear your bra to sleep anymore, so when the fabric is lifted his jaw basically drops. Barely giving you time to sit up as he asked, he lunges forward, hands now either side of your hips. His mouth latches onto your left nipple, tongue swirling the bud before flicking it gently and sucking hard. His left hand moves to your right, tweaking and pulling gently, cupping the breast and massaging it in his palm.

"Fuck- feels good.." you whine, he looks up at you through his lashes. Your clit pulses, you almost press your thighs together but his knee planted to the mattress stops you. He realises what he's done, smiles, but gives into your needy demeanor. Shuffling forward slightly, switching his mouth to the other nipple, he pushes his knee up to your barely covered core. You're so warm, and he mentally laughs at how the measly fabric can be considered actual pajamas. Your hips make the move, bucking up to find pressure against his knee. It works, and once you find the right movement, it's repeated. Gasping, grinding, whining and all while Spencer is nursing on your breasts so lovingly. Just the sight of him at this point could send you over the edge, and he can sense it in you.

"Spencer- Oh my- Fuck!" he pulls back in an instant, shifting to straddle one of your thighs. Tongue pushing against yours roughly, he dominates this kiss, unlike the last. His hand slides down the front of your underwear, finding your swollen clit in under a few seconds. He tugs your lower lip with his teeth, its a sharp kind of pleasurable pain. With a few gentle rubs of your clit, your hips fighting against his hand, you finally fall through your first orgasm. He pulls back to let you breathe through it, his motions slow but not stopping immediately so you can ride out the feeling.

"Good, good girl.. See? So perfect for me." he kisses your forehead, lips lingering by your hairline. Your head tips back against the wall, eyes shut, body loose and relaxed. You feel his warm lips on the side of your neck, then his hot breath by your jaw.

"Are you ready..?" forever the gentleman he is. You almost forgot his original plan was to eat you out, his mouth on your tits removed any coherent thought or memory except for him. He's proved to you yet again how amazing his mouth can be, and he's willing to take it further.

You can only muster a nod, his lips path down the gap between your breasts, stomach, to the edge of your sleep shorts. Spencers fingers loop under the waistband and tug, down, down.. until the fabric hangs loosely around your knees. The light shade of your underwear has now turned darker around the middle with slick, when Spencer pulls it back? A line of slick connecting the fabric to your wet, warm skin. You hear a sigh, unsure if it came from you or him. You were both so needy by that point, neither of you can tell who let out the first moan. His tongue, flat and insistent draws a thick stripe from your entrance to your clit. His hands grab at your thighs, fighting to make sure they don't close around his head.

"Please- Spencer, you're so good at this.." you whine. He hums in response, sucking and lapping at your pretty pussy. His tongue sticks out, flat, bringing his mouth down to you again. He moves his head in circles, a few times as your thighs tense up and begin to shake, latching his lips down and sucking hard. The sounds are like something from a dirty porn video, loud and exaggerated.. but the pleasure is far from fake. A cry rips from your throat as he hums around your clit, tongue moving to push at your hole. His hand is quick, following that movement, thumb circling the puffy bud. It all happens before you can warn him, release already gushing up onto his face when you choke out the words.

"I'm- Spence-!" it's all you can muster, communication soon becoming babbles and mindless whines. Well for you it is. Spencer emerges from the space between your legs, chin covered in slick. You hadn't expected it to be that intense, neither had he. Now the sheets are soaked through and you're barely present. One glance at him, you realise his arousal had turned to a simple wet patch growing on the front of his plaid pants. You would huff a laugh.. if you could take in enough air to do that. You want to tease him, but you can't. No doubt he wants to tease you too, but he knows the second he dares to, you'd be back to normal. "Normal" meaning, coherent enough you can laugh at him for ruining his pajamas and boxers so early in the morning.

"Let's get you up, shower.." he hums, smiling down at you.

"Only if you share with me." you finally look at him properly, glint in your eyes.

spencers knife and fork clatter to the table as he chokes hearing your words. "Sorry?" He asks as if he could've somehow misheard you. "all I said was you can eat me for dessert!" you answer back as innocently as you can, as if you didn't just offer the poor man his hopes and dreams. "I'm finished" he declares getting up from the table, chair screeching against the hard wood floor but neither of you seem to notice as his large hand engulfs yours and pulls you upstairs.

As your lips meet, Spencer's self restraint crumbles completely, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moves hungrily against yours. His hands roam your body, exploring every curve and contour possessively. The rational part of his brain has officially taken a backseat, and now there's only the fiery desire that clouds his mind. He guides you towards the bed, his lips never leaving yours. you fall back onto the bed, bodies tangled together as Spencer pins you down beneath him. He breaks the kiss briefly to take a moment to look at you - your flushed skin, heavy-lidded eyes, and swollen lips. You're irresistible right now, and he can't hold back anymore. He kisses your neck, trailing a path of soft, wet kisses down to your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. His hands slip under your shirt, pushing it up slightly as his fingers graze over your bare skin.

"God, baby... you have no idea what you do to me..." he murmurs between kisses, his voice low and gravelly. His fingers trace the outlines of your ribs, his touch both rough and tender at the same time.The heat between you is almost palpable, the room growing warmer with each passing moment. Spencer's hand finds the hem of your shirt again, a silent question in his eyes: "Can I take this off?" And a breathy plea falls from your lips in return.

Spencer doesn't need to be asked twice. He swiftly lifts your shirt over your head, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of you lying beneath him, half-naked. His gaze roams over your exposed flesh, his eyes wide with desire. He leans down again, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss before trailing his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking gently at the sensitive skin. His hands roam your body, touching and exploring every inch of you as if memorising your shape, the soft curves of your waist, the smoothness of your stomach. His fingers slide down to the waistband of your pants, toying with the edge, as if begging for permission to go further. He breaks the kiss, panting slightly, his eyes locking onto yours."Princess... is it alright if I...?" he asks, the question hanging in the air, the tension thick between you. He wants you, more than he ever thought possible, but he won't proceed without your consent. you nod but it isn't enough "words baby" he commands, voice soft as silk and your reply is instant; "Yes"

Spencer lets out a shaky breath, relief and desire written all over his face. He tugs gently at the waistband of your pants, slowly pulling them down your legs and discarding them on the floor. His hands slide back up your thighs, his touch feather-light, teasing at the edge of your underwear. He glances up at your face, searching for any sign of hesitation, but all he sees is unabashed desire."Are you sure about this, Baby?" he asks again, his voice barely above a whisper. He needs absolute confirmation that you want this just as much as he does.

"please... need you"

Those three words are all the confirmation Spencer needs. They ignite something primal within him, a burning desire that he can no longer hold back. He hooks a finger under the edge of your underwear, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly starts to slide them down your legs. The air in the room seems to crackle with tension, the anticipation almost unbearable. He tosses your underwear aside, moving over you once more, his body pressing against yours. His hands continue to roam over your exposed skin, touching and caressing every inch until he finally whispers, "I want you..."

"you have me" you affirm and the words send a shiver down Spencer's spine, igniting a fire within him that's too strong to ignore. He crashes his lips against yours, the kiss hungry and desperate, a manifestation of all the pent-up desire between you. His hands find their way to your hips, gripping them almost possessively as he grinds against you, his body moving in a rhythmic, almost primal way. He breaks the kiss just long enough to whisper against your ear, "Mine." as you break away just long enough to pull the shirt over his head and toss is haphazardly across the floor.

Spencer's lips tug into a slight smirk his muscles flexing in the process. He helps you discard the offending fabric, his gaze darkening as he looks at you, drinking in the sight of you lying there beneath him, wearing nothing but a bra .His fingers trace the lace strap, his touch both gentle and possessive. He leans in, his lips finding your neck again, kissing and biting the sensitive skin there. "You're gorgeous, baby," he murmurs against your throat, his voice hoarse with desire. Your body melts into his touch, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he worships your skin with his lips and hands. The feel of his bare skin against yours is intoxicating, a heady combination of heat and electricity.His mouth moves downwards, his kisses growing more urgent, more insistent, as he nipped at the strap of your bra, teasing at its edge, silently asking for permission once more.

"Go on" you gently urge and he doesn't need any further coaxing. He reaches behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with deft hands, discarding it on the floor to join the growing pile of clothes scattered on the ground. His eyes darken as they rake over your bare chest, his breathing ragged as he takes in the sight before him, committing every detail to memory. "God, you're beautiful..." he whispers, his voice ragged with awe. He leans down, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your chest, trailing soft kisses across your collarbone before finally taking one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, sucking and teasing gently with his tongue. His free hand caresses the other side, mimicking the same tender treatment. Each movement is both careful and hungry — like he's savoring every second but can't get enough.

Your moans send a surge of power through Spencer, his ego swelling at the sound. He groans against your skin, loving the way your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling slightly. He switches sides, giving the other peak equal attention — nipping gently before soothing it with soft licks. His hand slides down your stomach, fingers teasing along the edge of your underwear once more."Still okay?" he murmurs between kisses, voice thick with desire but still checking in — because even now, half-consumed by passion and lust, you matter more than anything else.

"yes- yes!" You manage to get out in-between gasps and the urgency in your voice sends Spencer over the edge. He slides his tongue down your body, his hands spreading your thighs gently as he takes a moment to admire you—completely exposed, completely his. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss just above where you want him most. "Tell me if it's too much," he murmurs, though his own breath is already unsteady. Then, slowly—he traces the wet heat with his tongue, teasing at first before finally giving you what you’ve been craving.

His touch is gentle but insistent, his tongue exploring every inch of you with a precision that's almost scientific—but the way he groans against you, like he can't get enough, proves this is anything but clinical. Your hips arch off the bed at the first real contact, a sharp moan tearing from your throat. Spencer grips your thighs to steady you, his fingers digging in slightly as if afraid you might slip away. He doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. Each flick of his tongue pulls another gasp from your lips—and every sound drives him wilder than before.

"God, princess," he groans, pulling back just long enough to look up at you. His lips are damp, his eyes dark with desire, his hair unruly from where your fingers have tangled into it. "You taste…." He doesn't finish the thought, instead diving back in like a man possessed, like he's afraid he'll forget this moment if he stops for even a second.

His name spills from your lips in broken gasps, a plea and a prayer all at once. Each time you arch higher, he answers with deeper strokes, his tongue relentless in its pursuit of your pleasure. And then—just when you're teetering on the edge—he shifts slightly, adding pressure exactly where you need it most. A sharp cry tears from your throat as the wave crashes over you, violent and sweet. Your body trembles beneath him, fingers tightening in his hair like an anchor. Only when you start to come down does he finally ease up—pressing soft kisses along your inner thigh before crawling back up to meet your eyes. His voice is rough with emotion: "Still with me?"

"don't stop" your voice rings clear between pants and the desperate note in your voice sends a shiver down Spencer's spine, and he smirks against your skin as he feels you arch against him, begging for more. "You're greedy." he chides gently, but the low growl in his voice betrays his own hunger. "You think you can handle more?"He leans up, positioning himself above you once more, his eyes never leaving yours as he waits for your answer.

"need it" you pant, not quite having caught your breath just yet. Spencer lets out a ragged breath, his resolve crumbling completely. The way you look at him—flushed, trembling, needing is more than he can resist. He reaches down to the edge of his jeans, swiftly kicking them off along with his boxers. For a heartbeat, he hovers over you—bare and trembling—not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of this moment.

"Look at me," he murmurs, voice rough with want.When your eyes lock onto his—glassy with desire—he slowly presses inside you. A choked moan escapes both of you as he sinks deeper, until there's no space left between their bodies.He stills for a moment, forehead resting against yours. "Still okay?" His voice is barely there—a whisper tangled in heat and need—but it’s so him.

You nod, words failing you. There is only the feel of him, the overwhelming pressure building deep within—and the look in his eyes. It's intense, focused—but also so open. Vulnerable in a way you've never seen him before. You reach up, tangling your fingers into his hair once again, and pull him down for a kiss. The angle changes slightly, and a shiver ripples through you as you both gasp against each other's lips.

Spencer breaks the kiss, breathing hard as he begins to move—slow at first, testing your rhythm. Each thrust is measured but full of pent-up longing, like every inch of him wants to memorize this moment.“baby… God, you feel…” He can’t even finish the thought—just groans against your neck as his hips roll deeper. His fingers lace with yours and pin them above your head, his body now moving with a quiet urgency.He’s losing control—and for once in his life… he doesn’t care.

Your breath comes in short, desperate gasps, matching his rhythm. With every thrust, you feel yourself being pulled closer to the edge again—faster this time. His name spills from your lips like a mantra—pleading, worshipful—and it drives him wild. He shifts slightly, changing the angle until you cry out louder than before. “That’s it,” he growls into your ear between ragged breaths. “You take me so perfectly… God, I’ve wanted this all day... you have no idea what you do to me”

His words send a sharp pang of longing through you, and you tighten your legs around him, pulling him even closer. You can feel him everywhere—the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart, the taste of sweat at the hollow of his throat—and you want it all. His hand leaves yours, slipping between your legs instead, fingers finding your clit and circling with familiar, steady pressure. His mouth finds yours, tongue licking deep into your mouth. It's almost like he's trying to devour you. He swallows your gasps, his tongue tangling fiercely with yours. Just when you think you can’t take it anymore—his fingers twist, and the pressure builds to almost dizzying heights. Your nails score down his back, and he groans into your mouth."I need you to come for me," he pants, teeth nipping sharply at your bottom lip. "Can you be good for me, princess? Just one more time?"His words are both a request and a demand. You can practically hear the please in his breathless tone.

You’re trembling beneath him, already so close from everything he’s doing. The way he's touching you, talking to you—that rough edge in his voice, the desperation like he needs this as much as you do—sends a firestorm through your veins. You can’t speak. Just nod fast and bite down on your lip. Spencer grins darkly, "Yeah? Then take it," he whispers before grinding against you harder, faster—his thumb pressing in tight circles while his hips snap forward with new urgency. And just like that—you break apart again. A cry tears from your throat as the orgasm rips through you violently, leaving your body quivering and spent beneath him. He doesn't let up—not yet. He rides out every spasm around him until only soft whimpers remain in your throat... then finally slows… breathless… overwhelmed... With a shuddering groan, Spencer buries his face against your neck and comes undone right after.

For a long moment, neither of you can move. You're both trembling from the aftershocks, hearts racing, skin sticky with the evidence of what you just did. Spencer slowly loosens his grip on your hands and pulls back to look down at you, panting hard. His hair is messy, his eyes darker than before. In the dim light, the lines of his lean body gleam with sweat.He presses clumsy, lingering kisses to your forehead, cheeks, and jaw, and finally the corner of your mouth.

You hold out a hand to shake, he does. His thick fingers are slightly rough, some of the dry skin clashing with yours. Your fingers slide apart, and your hand falls limp at your side.

“She’s top of my class right now, just like you were!” He beams, “All due to my teaching of course.”

The three of you share a laugh and the deep rumble that erupts from the man surprises you. Looking at him, from the tips of his dark brown hair, through his finely pressed suit. His navy tie matching the shade of your dress.

“Well that is impressive.” He nodded.

“Are the skills transferable, from prosecution to FBI, I mean.” You asked, his eyes are a deep brown.

“Somewhat, mainly in interrogations.” He commented. “What do you want to do?”

“Just be a plain old lawyer, boring I know.” You smiled, “I need to get my arguments together but apart from that I think i’m on a good path.”

“That you are.” Your professor commented, leaning back on his ankles, his neck whips around to someone calling his name from across the room. “I’ll be back! Ask him questions.” He nodded towards you pointedly before scurrying off, towards some more old friends.

There’s a beat of awkward silence between the two of you. Looking down at your shoes pointing out the edge of the dress. “To the bar?” You asked. “My feet kinda hurt.”

He nods and leads the way, walking two steps ahead of you. You notice how tall he is, even though you have heels on. His black patent shoes softly clack as you get to the bar. Hopping up onto the bar stood you feel the pressure immediately release from the balls of your feet.

“I’ll buy you a drink, what do you want?” He asked, flagging down the bartender.

“Whatever you’re getting.”

“Two whiskies please. Neat.” He handed the bartender the money.

“Could I have mine on the rocks please!” You called as he turned to pour the drinks.

“Of course you can, darling.” He said, his fingers brushing yours as he passes the small crystal glass to you. You give a small smile, looking down to the ice of your drink, sloshing around.

“That happen to you often.” Aaron raised an eyebrow.

“Uhh, no.” You look at him like that’s obvious. “So FBI huh, what do you do.”

“I’m unit chief of the BAU.”

You can’t hide the shock on your face, the prestigious position taking you aback. You sip from your drink.

“Oh wow, a profiler.” You smiled. “Does that mean that you can read my mind.” A giggle escaped your lips. “What am I thinking right now?”

Over his shoulder, you see the person you last wanted to see at an already teeth pulling event. Your ex, swaggering in. A suit far too expensive for the money he makes, and the girl he cheated on you with hanging off his arm giggling in his ear.

“You just saw somebody you didn’t want to see.” He said, glancing over his shoulder quickly and turning back to you. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok, he was a dick anyway.” However, you down the rest of your drink in one big mouthful, adverting your eyes.

“Are you even old enough to drink that.” He said at your deep grimace.

“21.”

He had known you were young, but not that young. “Top of the class at 21 is very impressive. Took me till 23.”

“Are you old enough for a senior discount?” You shot back, a smirk pulling to your face.

“Careful, I’ll get you arrested.”

You roll your eyes playfully with a shake of your head. Your eyes glance over to him, his new girl slobbering into his ear. He catches your glance, before pulling himself and her towards you.

Your heart jumped out of your chest, and you tried to advert your eyes. Suddenly, the hem of your dress had become very interesting, same with the pattern of the wood on the floor.

“Hey.” He sleazed. “How are you?” He asked, looking you up and down. His girl gripping onto his arm as if he was about to run away.

“I’m fine.” You uncross your legs, as you bring it down to rest on the bar beneath you, the tip of your shoe hits the inner of one of Aaron’s calves. It glides down, and he moves his hand to pull up the hem of your dress, and smoothes a hand against your shin.

Your ex’s eyes drift down to his fingers dancing along the bone. He scoffs and bares his teeth. “God, you don’t quite move on quick.”

He turns on his heel aggressively, and you hear his bag charm whisper, “Whore.” She flicks brown hair over her shoulder and storms off with him.

“And to think I caught them in bed together.” You laughed, shaking your head. “He was so angry.” The pair were now glaring at you from across the room.

“What an idiot.” He said and placed another glass of whiskey infront of you. “You look like you need it.”

“Thank you.” You smile and sip on your drink, going down easier than the first, the deep taste becoming familiar. “So, what is it like going face to face with serial killers?”

“It doesn’t faze me anymore, at the start it was intimidating but now it’s just another day at work.” He sighed.

Nodding along, you marvelled. “I don’t think I could do that, I’m built for the courtroom, not the field.”

He’s the one nodding now, his dark eyes never leaving yours, and your breath hitches. The butterflies fly around your stomach, jumping out to the tips of your fingers like lightening. You zero back in on your shin, Aaron’s fingers still dragging up and down lightly.

You let out a soft gasp, and swallow another sip, hoping to God that he didn’t hear.

“How do you even profile someone, you can’t just rely on body language. It’s a pseudo science.” You cleared your throat. “Physical evidence is far more reliable.”

“Body language can tell a lot.” He started. “From the way people breathe, to the way they sit and flit their eyes.” His voice dipped lower and grabbed the bottom of your bar stool, pulling it towards his.

You gasp again, louder now and his hand now wraps fully around your ankle.

“I can tell when people are lying, if they did it. If they know more than they’re telling us, whether they have a crush or if they want me to, never mind.” The low whisper vibrated in your ears. The smirk on his face made the heat climb up to the tips of your ears. His low chuckle bounced around your head.

“W-want to, what.” You asked meekly, refusing to meet his eyes in fear of turning into a puddle, squeezing your thighs together tightly, trying not to squeak.

He leans in and the smell of his expensive cologne flooded your senses. His breath fanned over your ear and creeped down your neck. “Fuck. Them.”

Finally, you cave and reach out to the hand on your leg that had slowly crept up to your knee. “Do you have a room here?” You asked, a fire of desire burning brightly in your eyes.

“No.” His voice turns gravely, “Do you?”

“No.” You pull him up from the barstool anyway, his large fingers intertwined with yours. Pulling him through a large corridor full of classrooms and the large library.

“Do you not room here?” He asked, when you paused and leant down leaving a light trail of kisses down your neck and onto your shoulder.

“I live off campus, too far, can’t wait.” You panted, then go back to dragging him through the building.

“Where are we going?” He asked.

“I know a place.”

A large door slams behind the two of you, it echoes up the stairwell as-well as the footsteps of you speeding down the stairs. Yanking him into a small office, the door shuts and you pull down the window cover. Surrounded by pots of pens and piles of paper, a large printer in the corner and many, many filing cabinets. Pulling the string light a dim, warm light filled the room.

“A stationery room?” Aaron deadpanned, before shrugging and finally leaning down pressing his lips to yours.

It was rough and hot, your teeth knock onto each others and you feel his hot breath enter your mouth. He tasted of whiskey and mistakes. Your hands snake up his chest, nails gripping onto his chest, sliding down the cotton of his shirt. Fingers wrap around his tie, fiddling with the knot and pulling it apart, you whip it off and throw it to the side, now undoing the many buttons on his dress shirt.

Aaron’s hand started to wander, pulling down the straps of your dress, it falling loosely, exposing your chest. Pulling away, he groaned at the sight. “God.”

His attention moves from your lips to your chest, gripping your tits in his hands and squeezing gently, leaving a light lick over your nipple. Inciting a gasp, from you and yet another smirk from him.

His hands now pull the bottom of your dress up, it bunches around your hips. The silk shining in the light. You felt the air hit your bare pussy, the chill sending a shiver up your spine.

“No underwear?” He tuts through his teeth, and clambered down to his knees, pulling one of your legs up onto your shoulder, diving in mouth first.

His tongue prodded at you, circling your clit and sucking lightly. He groaned into you, his thick arms pulling up around your hips, holding you flush to his mouth as he ate like a man starved. The pads of his fingers pushed into the fleshy part of your hips, definitely leaving circle bruises in their wake.

“Oh my God.” You moan, your head pushing back into the door. One hand curled into his hair, the soft strands enveloping your fingers. The other clawing at the door, scratching into the wood, light shavings collecting under your nails.

Your breathing quickened, chest heaving up and down and your lip caught roughly in between your teeth. He sped up, pulling your clit into his mouth, sucking on it slightly, his teeth grazing it. The edge came closer and closer, when suddenly as you were about to cross the line he pulled away with a pop.

“No, no. Why’d you stop?” You whined, trying to pull him back.

He rose, now towering above you. The dress falling at your ankles, now completely bare in front of him. Pulling off his shirt and throwing it on the growing pile of the floor. His belt comes next and he leans to your ear again. “I want you to cum around me.” He basically growled.

Your body shuddered, and a soft moan leaves your mouth as he pulls down his slacks. His cock springs up and you are left with your jaw loose. “Condom?” You muttered.

“Right yeah.” He quickly rummaged through his wallet and pulls one out, ripping it open and sliding it over. Pouncing back onto you, he pulls you off the ground, your heels digging into the top of his back.

Lining up with one hand he pushes in, the stretch makes your eyes roll back into your head and your head roll forward onto his broad shoulder.

“Big.” You whined, grabbing onto his back desperately. “Move, please.”

“Oh, so polite.” He said in a teasing tone, before starting to thrust gently.

You gripped onto his back and the door started to rattle on its hinges, the handle jiggling and bouncing around. The thickness filled you to the brim, and he held a rough handful of your ass. He grunted into your ear, sucking into the crook of your neck. Leaving deep crimson marks that would be impossible to cover the next day.

“Aaron!” You cry out, spreading an arm out to grab onto a filing cabinet, knocking down a pit of pens and pencils onto the floor. They crash and scatter everywhere.

That makes him pound into you faster, panting into your ear. Groaning into your ear as your tits bounce in his face. “Mmm good girl.”

By this point, you’re a mess, hair flung every which way, mascara streaked down your cheeks, lipstick covering the pair of you.

You’re sure that if anyone came with fifty feet of the room, they would hear you screaming Aaron’s name over and over like a prayer.

“Are you close baby?” He asked, becoming more frantic, his thrusts faltering.

You nod. “Yes, God, yes.”

He’s deep and rough, pushing directly on the spot that made your legs give out, luckily you were already lifted in the air.

Legs shaking, you cum around him. Biting into his shoulder leaving a row of even teeth. You scream out his name and he groans yours.

He gently pulled out, and placed you on the floor, wobbly on your heels. Kissing your lips, then your cheek, then head.

“That was nice.” You giggled. Leaving against the door and pulling up your dress. Smoothing out your hair and raking fingers through it and the knots.

“Yeah.” He chuckled, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close. “Can I grab your number?”

“Of course.” You winked. “Let me know the next time you’re in town.”

The two of you part ways, him driving away and you wandering back to your house share.

-

The next morning, you awoke to everything hurting. Stumbling toward the mirror, you gasped at the sight of yourself. About 6 hickeys on your neck, bruises on the hips and on your right ass cheek.

Pulling out your phone and snapping a photo of the side of your neck and turning in the mirror your ass. Clicking send with the caption. “Ouch.”

Getting ready for class, sat at your vanity, your phone screen lights up on your bed.

You scurried over, hoping to get a matching photo back.

‘He has a wife.’

You drop your phone back onto the bed and grip the roots of your hair.

“Fuuuuuck.”

A/N: Hey let me know if you want a part two!!! or send me an ask in my inbox!

You’d been in Iowa the past few days, trying to hunt down that motherfucker who kidnapped little kids.

And that’s how boy genius Spencer Reid dragged you into the nearest park from the precinct - determined you’d definitely see something suspicious.

Boy, you did.

It wasn’t hard spotting him, but dealing with him was. As it always was.

But when that bastard mocked you - saying, “To hell with you” while shoving you…

Spencer couldn’t hold back. He pushed him down, twisting his arms behind his back.

It made you definitely feel some type of way…

“Earth to Y/N! Isn’t that right? He shoved you and Spencer went full on protective mode”

Emily’s voice brought you back, mentally cursing yourself for literally swooning over Spencer and his post-prison hotness.

“Oh? Yeah- Yeah, he did that” You nodded, straightening your shirt before stepping closer to her.

Emily tilted her head, studying you with that gaze that made you feel a little exposed.

“You okay?”

Shit. You couldn’t be horny during work. This wasn’t the place. Nor the time.

Heat crept up the back of your neck. You shifted on your feet, but you knew you couldn’t hide in a room with two profilers.

Two really, really good profilers.

“I’m fine” You reassured Emily, wishing this conversation wouldn’t continue.

You stepped out of the interrogation room, fussing while Emily followed you.

“Sure you’re fine? Did something happen in the park?”

You were about to protest again when Spencer came towards the both of you. You could barely focus on what he was saying. His curls were messy- he was definitely tired but god… he was a sight for sore eyes.

“I hope he didn’t hurt you, Y/N” He told you, placing his hand on your shoulder.

Your stomach did a flip. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because how exactly were you supposed to explain that watching Spencer slam that bastard to the ground hadn’t just made you feel safe. It had left your pulse racing in a way that had nothing to do with fear?

The unsub’s shove felt nothing compared to the nerves you were experiencing now.

“I- No- No he didn’t hurt me” You blinked, looking at him and then back at Emily.

She was smirking. Emily Prentiss was smirking at you.

Her smug expression only deepened, like she had caught you red-handed. “Good” she said. “Cause you looked really rattled back there”

Your lips parted, ready to protest, but Spencer’s hand squeezed your shoulder gently, grounding you in a way that made your knees threaten to buckle. “If you’re sure you’re alright,” he murmured, his eyes soft but lingering in a way that made your chest tighten.

“I’m alright” You croaked out. Fuck me, you thought.

Spencer nodded, giving you a small smile before going inside the interrogation room.

Emily chuckled, and you just knew that she was filing this moment away for later. She leaned in closer, close enough so only you could hear her - voice low and teasing.

“Careful, agent. You’re not as hard to read as you think”

“Emily, come on” You said, heat flooding your face. You could only gape at her as she walked off, leaving you standing in the empty hallway.

Next to the room Spencer was in.

The rest of the day blurred out - filled with lots of paperwork and forming geographical profiles. You tried to avoid Spencer, talking to him only when needed.

He’d noticed you being a little withdrawn, to the point where you couldn’t look at him in the eye when you were alone with him.

Honestly? He found it cute. He caught you staring at his hands - or literally anywhere else but his eyes. He made you flustered, and that was a win for Spencer.

By the time the team wrapped up for the night, your shoulders were stiff from hunching over files and maps - and your mind kept replaying the park scene. The throbbing between your legs hadn’t stopped once, distracting you and making you feel funny.

You’re halfway out the precinct’s door, ready to catch up on some well deserved sleep - when Spencer approaches you.

You tried to avoid him - almost jogging towards the exit. You just needed to go to your hotel room. Have a nice shower. Maybe make a nice use of your vibrator.

What the fuck were you thinking?

To your horror, Spencer got to you before you could even reach your car.

“You know, you can’t ignore me forever”

You froze, keys clutched in your hand, the cool night air biting against your flushed skin. Slowly, you turned, heart pounding so loud you swore you could hear it.

“I’m not ignoring you, Spencer” You said.

“Yes you are. You’ve barely looked me in the eye since the unsub pushed you” He snapped, wishing he didn’t raise his voice.

You knew where he was coming from, you really did. But it wasn’t so simple to say what was going on.

Your throat went dry. He wasn’t wrong, but you couldn’t exactly blurt out Sorry, watching you take him down made me so wet I can’t think straight.

“I just don’t want to talk about it, okay? Everything is fine. I’m fine. That asshole didn’t hurt me. Go to your hotel room, Spencer” You waved him off, deciding to storm off and go to your car.

Spencer stopped closer, pulling you by your elbow. His touch wasn’t hard - just firm. Firm enough to pin you in place with the intensity of his gaze.

“You think I didn’t notice, don’t you?” His voice softened, but the words still made the heat pooling in your belly worse.

“You looked at me like-” Spencer cut himself off, jaw flexing - as though admitting it would be dangerous.

Looked at you like what? Like I wanted you to pin me down and leave bruises that won’t go away? Yeah, sure.

Your pulse was hammering. You were pretty sure that he could feel it.

“Looked at you like… Like what?”

His eyes searched yours, dark and unyielding. For a second, you thought he wouldn’t answer.

“You were turned on, sweetheart”

Fuck.

Big fuck.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The word sweetheart rattled through you like a bullet. Nobody called you that. Not him. Not Spencer Reid.

Spencer leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed your cheek. “You think I don’t know what that look means? I’ve read people my entire life. But you…” His voice dropped, rougher now, almost a growl. “You made it impossible to focus on anything else.”

Your knees nearly buckled. “Spence…” you whispered, torn between bolting and pressing yourself against him.

He didn’t let go of your arm. His thumb brushed slowly over the inside of your elbow, gentle in a way that contrasted the storm in his eyes. “Say it. If I’m wrong, tell me. Right now.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Your silence said everything.

And that silence made Spencer’s lips twitch into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “That’s what I thought.”

“Oh, for fucks sake” You said, before locking your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

He didn’t even pull away. He kissed you back with the same force, making you gasp in his mouth. He took it as a permission to slip his tongue inside your mouth - holding your face in his hands.

The sound that escaped him was half groan half sigh, like he’d been holding himself back for years and finally let go. His fingers threaded into your hair, tugging just enough to make you whimper against his lips.

“Jesus, Y/N” he rasped, breaking the kiss only long enough to drag in a breath before claiming your mouth again. It wasn’t the shy, awkward Spencer everyone knew. This was darker, hungrier.

“If we…” You spoke between kisses, “If we- If we stay here for long, I’ll quite literally tell you to take me right over here”

Spencer let out a low sound - a soft laugh against your lips. His forehead pressed against yours, curls brushing your skin as his chest heaved.

“You have no idea how dangerous it is when you say things like that, sweetheart” he murmured, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. You could feel how hard he was, straining against his pants, and it made your head spin.

“Then don’t make me say it twice” You whispered, dragging him by his tie.

Your fingers were still fisted in his tie when you broke the kiss, your chest heaving. The night air felt too sharp, too public. Spencer’s eyes burned into yours, darker than you’d ever seen them.

“Not here, Spence- For the love of god” You sighed, but your body wasn’t protesting.

His jaw flexed, and for a moment you thought he might ignore you entirely, might just give in and take you against the wall like you’d teased. But instead, he dragged in a shaky breath and nodded. “Hotel. Now.”

The ride there was torture. His knuckles white on the steering wheel, your thighs pressed tight together in the passenger seat, both of you vibrating with want. He didn’t say much—just kept glancing at you, his jaw tight, his breathing uneven.

By the time you reached your room, your hands were already on each other. The door barely shut before he had you against it, his mouth hot and desperate on yours.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this” he murmured against your neck, hands skimming down your sides, tugging at clothes.

His hands were everywhere. On your waist, your face, sliding down your ass and squeezing you like he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck, sweetheart” He rasped, breaking the kiss just enough so he could kiss your jaw, biting slightly at your neck.

“Do you know what you’ve done to me? All day? Seeing you flustered and shy because of me?”

You moaned when his hands tugged at your shirt, yanking it over your head. He didn’t even give you time to catch your breath before he bent, sucking a bruise against your collarbone, groaning when your fingers tangled in his curls.

Your bra was gone in seconds, tossed somewhere on the floor, his mouth already closing over your breast like he was starved. You gasped, back arching into him, nails dragging down his shoulders.

“Spence- Bed” you croaked out, voice wrecked already.

He didn’t need to be told twice. Spencer half carried you, half stumbled over the not so soft mattress of your hotel bed - both of you losing more clothes along the way. He crawled over you, lips swollen, eyes blown with hunger.

“Condoms” You breathed, pointing toward the nightstand.

“They’re in the top drawer”

Spencer leaned over, yanking open the drawer—then froze. His gaze lingered not on the foil packet but on the slim pink vibrator nestled beside it. Slowly, his lips curved into something dangerous.

“Well, well” He smirked, holding it up. He pressed the button, the soft hum of its vibrations echoing through the room.

“That’s how you would’ve spent your night?”

Your face burned. “Spencer, come on”

He silenced you with a kiss, slow and deep, before pulling back just enough to murmur against your lips, “Tonight… you’re gonna show me exactly how you use this. And then…” his voice dropped to a growl, his cock brushing your thigh, “…I’ll fuck you so good you won’t even think about reaching for it again.”

“When did you get so mouthy?” You spoke in between kisses, back arching as he cupped you through your panties.

He laughed against your skin, dragging the toy down the curve of your stomach, letting it buzz over your skin but nowhere near where you needed it.

“When I realised how madly I want you” he rasped, slipping his fingers beneath your panties just enough to tug them down your thighs. He kissed you again, deep and filthy before pulling back to watch your face.

The vibrator hovered at your inner thigh, the vibrations tingling through the sensitive skin. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, eyes burning into yours, “tell me how you use it. Tell me where you put it.”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. “Spence—please—”

But his smirk only widened as he nudged it closer to your clit, pressing just enough to make you jolt. “Mmh. That’s what I thought.”

The vibrator against your clit wasn’t nearly enough. You needed more. Needed him inside you, desperately.

The frustration of him teasing you with the toy was so evident, you think Spencer would’ve let go. Give you what you wanted.

Your hips bucked, chasing the vibrations, but his hand on your thigh kept you pinned.

“Look at you” Spencer muttered, almost in awe. “So desperate for me” He dipped the toy lower now, near your entrance - before pulling it away. The whimper that tore out of you made his jaw clench.

“Spence” you begged, nails digging into his bicep, “I need you, Spencer”

Before you knew it, the vibrator had clattered onto the mattress - forgotten. He pressed one wet kiss on your mouth again, before he frantically shoved his pants and your underwear down.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped, sliding the condom on, his cock thick and aching against your thigh, “you’re about to feel exactly how much I’ve wanted you.”

Spencer lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance. He paused just long enough to meet your eyes, to make sure you still wanted this.

And then—he drove into you in one deep, hungry stroke.

You cried out, clutching at his shoulders, nails scraping down his back as he filled you so completely you swore you couldn’t breathe.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, locking him in place. “Move, Spence- Please”

He pulled out just enough to slam back inside you, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the hotel room. His control was gone, completely shredded, each thrust fuelled by weeks, years even of pent up hunger and emotion.

Spencer’s thrusts are wild. No thought. No patience, pure need. You sob his name, hips bucking as he hits your walls just right.

The coil in your stomach snaps, and your body shudders violently around him. He follows immediately, teeth gritted, hands gripping your waist, claiming you with every moan until you both collapse, gasping and shaking, utterly wrecked.

“That was…” You gasp, almost breaking into laughter.

Spencer turns to look at you, lips coming to press a kiss on your forehead. “So good. You’re such a good girl”

You’re both panting, chest to chest, limbs tangled in the messy hotel sheets. Spencer’s curls are plastered to his forehead, lips still swollen from the kisses, and his hands keep roaming over you, as if he can’t stop himself from checking you’re still real.

You press into him, still trembling, and he hums low, brushing your hair from your face. “You okay, sweetheart?” His voice is softer now, almost hesitant, but there’s still that rough edge of need.

“More than okay” You reassure him, burying yourself in his arms.

Somewhere in between Spencer’s whispered praise and caresses you fall asleep. You don’t even register the fact that he cleaned you up, tucked you under the covers and gave you another kiss on your forehead.

By the time you wake up, it’s already time to head to the precinct.

You blink groggily, realizing your body is still tangled in the warm sheets, the lingering scent of Spencer on the pillows. Your mind slowly catches up—last night, him, everything—and a faint smile tugs at your lips despite the early hour.

Spencer is already up, dressed in a simple button-down and slacks, hair still tousled, moving quietly around the room. He pauses when he sees you stirring, and that soft, older-bf energy radiates from him even in the light of morning.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and gentle. He comes to the bed, leaning down to press a quick, lingering kiss to your forehead. “You slept okay?”

You nod, still half-lost in the haze of sleep and last night’s intensity. “Yeah… better than okay,” you whisper, curling a little closer as he brushes a hand over your arm.

Spencer studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before giving a small, satisfied nod.

“We should get going. They’re probably waiting for us”

You sigh, content but slightly anxious.

The precinct was quiet, the usual buzz of activity long gone. The team had dispersed hours ago, leaving you and Spencer alone in the dimly lit break room, papers and laptops scattered across the table. You were both exhausted, eyes strained from hours of piecing together the unsub’s movements.

Spencer ran a hand through his messy curls, jaw tight, leaning back in his chair. “I… I don’t think this should happen again,” he muttered, voice low but carrying that edge of irritation.

“What the fuck Spencer?”

You, meanwhile, revel in his confusion. Sending such a brilliant man into spirals is an achievement you wear with pride, and a challenge you consistently tackle head on. 

So when you drape your arms over his shoulders, the soft furrow of his brows makes something in your chest curl. Love. A sense of power. The heady, addictive combination of both. 

Droplets from his wet hair scatter all over your wrist and upper arms, still warm from his shower. The heat from your skin keeps them from cooling. Spencer huffs, a nervous smile on his face as his hands land on your hips. Warm, pruned fingers flexing and squeezing into your body, testing out the authenticity of your existence. An overactive imagination came with his genius, and he wants to make sure you aren't something conjured from his fantasies. 

You aren't. You're solid, and he isn't in the mood to test any more hypotheses as to why you're currently in his arms. 

“Hey, angel,” he whispers the nickname like he's holding the very thing, his unworthy palms making contact with something heavenly. 

“Hi baby,” You coo, light and pretty as birdsong, “Did you have a nice shower?” 

He chuckles, unsure of what you want but enjoying the guessing game all the same. He loves games. He loves them even more when it involves you, and your affection. “I did. I used the conditioner you got for me.” 

Your hands tangle into his hair when he mentions that, humming as you squeeze out the strands, “You didn't do the routine though.”

“I know, I didn't want to stay in there too long,” He says sheepishly. You'd lovingly pointed out a curly hair routine for him before, and on days where he has the time, he tries to do them. Often than not, he's a bit too busy with work. Right now though, there’s other reasons for his rush. “I wanted to spend as much time as I could with you.”

“Is that so?” you giggle, and he swears he's about to tip over. 

“Yeah. I missed you all week.”

“Really?”

“Really. In fact, I missed you while I was showering.” He smiles all dopey and soft, body flushed with his love for you. His breath becomes a prisoner lodged somewhere between his chest and throat when your lips widen into a bright smile as a result of his words.

“Did you?” your body presses into his nearly naked one, hips flush. 

He gulps, knowing you could feel his body reacting to your proximity. The slightest bit of affection from you and he’s already aching, fingers digging into your hips as he closes the distance between your mouths in place of a proper answer. The kiss muffles your giggles, a sound so precious he’s uncertain if he’d like to record it and play it for the rest of the world, or keep, selfishly, to himself.

You press into him further, and he’s following your lead, feet padding backwards. Stumbling. Slightly unsure, but he trusts your judgement, trusts wherever it is you’re planning to take him.

The couch, it turns out, so overstuffed it swallows his form when he sinks onto it. Somewhere along the way, his towel had slipped on the floor, no doubt by the insistence of your frisky, demanding hands. You break apart from him, lips kiss swollen and pulled into that familiar, cheshire cat smile as you sink to your knees between his spread legs.

Gently, he keeps you back, brows knit as he surveys your position. With worry dancing in his eyes, he cups your cheek and whispers, “You don’t have to do that, angel.”

“I wanna,” you insist, palms wrapping around the base of his already half-hard cock. 

The feeling chokes the breath from him, but he forces himself to focus. “But it hurt you the last time.”

“No, baby, it didn’t. I just gagged a little, that’s all.” You reply with a soft giggle. Your breath washes over the sensitive skin of his length as you do so. It’s dumbfounding that such a tiny shift of air could send shivers prickling down his spine, but perhaps it’s more because of the very existence of you (here, in his apartment, and against all odds, his) than the action itself. 

“Yeah, you did. It was honestly a little surprising."

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t catch the edge in your voice, hurtling forward with a hasty reply, “Well you just seem so experienced.”

“Are you saying I got around?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant at all!” His eyes widen comically, large hands framing your face and gripping with a desperation that makes you laugh. “Please, that’s not—why are you laughing?”

“Relax, Spence, I know what you mean. I think.”

He burns, from the tops of his cheeks and crawling everywhere like spilled water. Fighting through the ache in his chest—you’re so, so bad for his breathing—he manages to croak, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything mean, just… surprised, is all.”

“That I had a problem last time?” another stroke, and another, slowly both hands in tandem. He can feel himself throbbing, and it’s a little embarrassing how little it takes for you to coax him into an aching erection.

His voice breaks as he responds, “Yeah. You don’t have to do it, if it’s an issue.”

“It’s no big deal, baby. You just triggered my gag reflex, it wasn’t life or death,” you pump his length gently as you explain, twisting your fists every time you move down. The twitch of his thighs tells you you’re having the exact effect you want from him. “I’ve never had anyone as big as you before.”

“You called me a choking hazard.”

As you laugh, your breath wafts over his heated length, and nearly undoes him.

“What? You did!”

“I know,” your tongue skims over the slit of his tip, before gently circling its circumference, collecting as much of his precum as possible, before your soft lips part wider, stretching wide to take the broad head. Carefully, your tongue caresses the underside, spreading sticky, warm wetness as far as it can go.

Spencer wonders if it’s socially acceptable to pass out in the middle of getting a blow job. If he did, it wouldn’t be his first social faux pas, but the thought of being unconscious while you wrap those sinfully plush lips around him feels like a waste. How dare he lose consciousness while he has you on your knees for him? No, the only way to get through this is by being completely wide awake, and focused on you.

So he distracts himself, if only to keep from fainting, the best way he knows how.

“You know, the biggest trigger for your gag reflex is usually psychological.” he feels your laughter vibrating from his length, up his spine. An endearing crack in his voice comes as a result as he continues, “It’s true—this is your brain protecting you because it thinks the matter is life or death.”

You pull off, pressing your sticky, curling lips against the side of his shaft. Spencer whines at the loss, large eyes already glassy as they plead with you wordlessly. Come back, he seems to beg, why did you stop? But he’s perfect and patient, and never demands, so he shuts his mouth.

Smirking, you mumble, “But I know I’m not in danger. You’re just huge.”

“Well, uh, yes admittedly, that’s a factor too. Somatogenic stimulus.” at your raised brow, he hastens to explain, “T-that means it hits trigger points inside your mouth that sends signals to your brain. In response, your pharynx contracts to prevent you from choking.”

“What if I want to choke?” your pout glistens with his slick and your own saliva. 

Spencer wants to weep.

“There’s certainly ways to, um, train your gag reflex.” 

“Yeah?” you brighten, tongue flicking out and tracing the vein on the underside of his length. 

He feels himself twitching in your hands, voice breathless and strangled as he responds. 

“Yeah. A lot of it involves simply relaxing,” slowly, his hand comes to your hair, pushing back the strands from your temple, “Breathe through your nose before going deeper. If it hits the back of your throat, don’t panic and make sudden movements.”

“Seems like you know a lot about giving head, baby.”

Spencer can’t help but laugh at your jest, thumbs caressing the softness of your cheeks. “Maybe I do. Maybe I did my research after the first time you tried it.”

“Mhm, nerd. That’s why I love you.” you giggle, lashes fluttering and skimming over the tops of your cheeks as you close your eyes and lean into his warm, steady palm. “Good thing you told me. Now we can test it out.”

Without warning, you take him into your mouth again, pretty lips stretching wide to accommodate his girth. A soft, tortured gasp tears past his mouth when your cheeks hollow in, sucking eagerly at the tip before your mouth relaxes. 

He manages to take a breath, labored and panicked despite his earlier advice for you to stay at a relaxed state. In contrast, you’re completely at ease, eyes sparkling mischievously and peeking up at him from beneath your lashes. He swears you’re smirking. Your mouth is wrapped around him but he just knows, okay, you’re smirking one of those sweetly mocking smirks you like to flash his way just because you know he’s utterly yours.

“Angel,” he exhales, and your head surges forward, jaw relaxing further, and he feels the slight drag of teeth against the oversensitive skin of his cock. It’s warm and wet, and his fingers reflexively tighten in your hair, curling around the strands for something to ground him. 

It stings, this new grip, but deliciously so, a pain that heightens your senses and makes your own thighs clench together. But this is about him, and you’re enjoying the view in front of you. Spencer Reid, reduced to the most pathetic whimpers. Spencer Reid who doesn’t know his own strength and is all but pulling you by the hair with how rigidly he’s wound your hair around his fingers.

God, you feel drunk.

Filled with more confidence, you breathe slowly as he’d instructed, before taking him deeper, watching as almost half of his length disappears into your mouth. Now faced with some confirmation that you can, indeed, take more, you push further until he hits the back of your throat and that treacherous reflex triggers.

The sound you make seems to shake Spencer from his trance, hazel eyes blinking rapidly as he shuffles his hips away. 

“Are you okay?” he blusters, all clear eyed focus now. He tries to pull you off of him, hands migrating to your shoulders.

You nod, brows furrowing into a stubborn, warning look. He immediately backs off, protests dying on his lips as you remain on your knees. Fisting over the rest of his cock that you couldn’t fit into your mouth while simultaneously bobbing your head up and down what you could take.

“O-oh my god,” Spencer’s hands return into your hair, pushing back the strands that have fallen over your forehead. 

Knowing that he’s overly sensitive, you moan around his length. His body tenses, shivers, filling you with enough confidence to bob your head up again, deeper this time, and more prepared. When his tip reaches the back of your throat, it feels more like a kiss than a nudge. 

“Fuck!” 

You moan in response, eyes flashing up to meet his awestruck gaze, before pulling away. Twin gasps for air; you from an exhilarating sense of accomplishment, Spencer from a flushed, dizzy haze.

“That was so good,” he slurs, body bending down to catch your lips. Your giggles are swallowed by his insistent kisses, tongue pushing into past your lips as though he wants to taste himself through your mouth. “So good, honey, you did it deeper than the last time.” he’s babbling into the kiss, hands cradling your head back.

You moan, shift to a more comfortable angle on the floor, before breaking the kiss, your lips connected by a glossy string of saliva. 

“I wanna try again,” you whisper, pushing him back, “Just sit back and enjoy, Spence.”

Without waiting for his response, you take him into your mouth again, relaxing and breathing as steadily as you can, before you begin the rhythm. He’s groaning above you, one hand fisted on his cushions, the other at the crown of your head, holding back your hair.

Again, spurred by his reactions and a sense of boldness, you pull back until only his tip remains in your mouth. Your cheeks hollow as you suck, preparing yourself mentally for another attempt. Holding his cock steady at the base, you lower your mouth slowly, slowly, over his length, blinking through the tears that prickle at the corners of your eyes when you feel him sliding past your tonsils and down your throat. 

“Fuck!” Spencer cries out. His whole body is tense, every single muscle flexing as he holds back the desire to thrust into the wet warmth of your mouth. He can’t tell which of you is more affected, more defiled. You or him? He thought you’d be in a position of power, as you usually are, as he usually surrendered to you, but right now it seems you’re both equally ruined.

The mere sight of you tearing up and gagging gently around him, struggling to keep him inside your tight throat nearly undoes him. When he feels your nose nestling over the skin of his lower abdomen, he can’t help it. A sob escapes. Big fat tears chase each other down his cheeks as he feels your throat contracting around him. 

He can’t lift his teary-eyed gaze from your prone figure. Somehow, despite it all, you’re still looking up at him, the tears down your cheeks mirroring his. Before he knows it, his cock twitches, and then he’s bursting thick, hot ropes of his spend directly down your throat.

It takes you completely by surprise. You were only trying to see if you could take him all the way; triumph had curled in your chest when you did, but only for a moment as you felt him swell impossibly bigger, and then he’s cumming. 

Down your throat.

You’re choking on both his cock and his cum.

It’s difficult not to panic, and once you start, your brain fires off at every self-preservatory neuron. Gagging around him, your own tears burn hot streaks down your cheeks, until he pulls you off his shaft and onto his lap.

“Oh, angel,” he sniffles, arms encircling your waist tightly, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, oh my god.”

He’s sobbing into your shoulder, one hand tucking your head against the crook of his neck. As you cough and regain your breath, his scent fills your senses, the familiar evergreen of his soap and the spicy aftershave, and for a moment, all you can think of is how you’re drooling all over his freshly washed skin.

“I’m fine, Spencer, really.” You hug him back tight, heart drumming in your ears as you calm back down, “I made a mess.”

He angles his head to take a look, eyes skimming over the mixture of saliva and cum dripping from your lips, down your chin and neck, and shakes his head. “No, you–I think you’re beautiful.”

“You’re just saying that cause I gave you great head.”

He laughs through his tears, hands moving to frame your face. His thumbs drag over your cheeks, brushing away your tears. “No, that’s not true. You know that.”

“I do.” You smile, leaning in tentatively, unsure if he’d want to kiss you with such messy lips. Spencer has no such qualms, meeting you halfway and groaning as he tastes himself on your tongue. 

“I think you’re divine.” he murmurs as he begins kissing along the corners of your mouth, cleaning off his spend by his own lips. You weren’t expecting him to do something so filthy, and every lick of his tongue gives you a delicious shiver. “The prettiest. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Stop apologizing,” you admonish, shifting on his lap to wrap your legs around his waist, “I told you, I wanted it. Seems like you enjoyed it too.”

“Immensely,” he admits, lips now at your jaw, nipping playfully at the sensitive skin, “But now, I think it’s time I take care of you.”

You press your hips against his with a giggle, "Yeah? You want to make a mess elsewhere?"

He groans, embarrassed, but doesn't deny it.

You keep your expression light, biting the inside of your cheek so you don’t give anything away. “Maybe I’m just actually smart,” you tease back, voice full of faux innocence. “Ever think of that?”

They share a look, eyes glinting, and the one on your left smirks. “Uh-huh. Or maybe,” she drawls, leaning closer, “you’re Dr. Reid’s little teacher’s pet.”

The words land like a spark, and you just barely keep yourself from stiffening. Your laugh comes out airy, practiced. “Oh my god, shut up,” you murmur, rolling your eyes like it’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard, while heat creeps up your neck that has nothing to do with embarrassment.

“Hey, no judgment,” your other friend cuts in with a dreamy sigh, chin propped in her hand as she stares at the front of the room. “I just wish he wasn’t our professor because I would one hundred percent jump his bones.”

That one makes you want to choke on air. You don’t dare follow her gaze, but you feel it—that almost imperceptible shift. The weight of his eyes finding you. Not enough for anyone else to notice, just enough for you to know.

He doesn’t hold it for long. He never does. A single flicker in your direction before he looks back down at the papers he’s stacking on the desk. But you catch it, and it burns straight through you.

You try to tune out the chorus of comments behind you—

“He’s so handsome.”

“You know what they say about tall guys…what i’m just saying…”

But they keep coming, breathless little whispers that mean nothing to you because none of them know. None of them have ever felt his hands around their wrists as he kissed them breathless in the backseat of his car after lecture. None of them have been spread out across his desk while he murmured things that would make them blush just to hear.

You keep your face neutral, though your pulse is thrumming. Because he only looks at you like that.

“God, he’s so… smart,” one of them sighs again, spinning her pen lazily. “Like, he opens his mouth and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

You risk a glance toward the front this time. He’s packing up slowly, deliberate as always, knuckles flexing where he grips the edge of the table. The rolled sleeves of his dress shirt expose his forearms, veins standing out just enough to catch your eye. He looks… composed. Professional.

But you know better.

Because you can feel it. The air stretching tight between you both, humming with things no one else in the room can hear. The promise of what’s coming the second you’re alone.

The room emptied in bursts of chatter and shuffling bags. Your friends packed up beside you, already halfway to the door. “Coming?” one of them asked, swinging her backpack over her shoulder.

You gave what you hoped was a convincing shrug. “I’ll catch up. I just… wanna double-check something on my last assignment with him.”

They traded a look you ignored, smirking like they always did, before wandering out in a tide of students. Thank god.

You lingered just long enough that it didn’t look obvious, then slid your laptop into your bag and crossed the lecture hall toward the front.

He was all business when you stopped beside his desk, papers stacked neatly, pen in his hand. “Did you need something?” he asked, voice perfectly neutral.

“Yeah,” you said lightly, leaning against the edge of the desk. “Just wanted to make sure you got my last assignment? Everything was… okay?” The last guy drifted out behind you, the door swinging shut with a soft click.

And then it changed.

Like a switch flipped, the mask of professionalism slipped away, and suddenly there was that smile—soft but edged with something only you got to see.

He set the pen down and stepped closer. “Very good work on your last assignment,” he murmured, voice dropping low, his hand sliding to your waist before you could react. “You’re a good student.”

The warmth of his palm through your shirt made your breath catch. You tilted your head, teasing because it felt dangerous to do so. “Is this what you do with all your good students?”

His eyes darkened just slightly as he reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with his knuckles brushing your cheek. “No,” he said, and there was weight to it this time. “Only you.”

It hung there between you, heavy and thick with meaning neither of you voiced. Your chest felt too tight, heat pooling low in your stomach because you knew exactly what he wasn’t saying.

And then, just as quickly, he stepped back, grabbed his satchel, like he hadn’t just touched you at all. “Let’s get out of here.”

Of course you followed.

Out in the hallway, students still milled about, voices echoing off the walls. He didn’t reach for you—he never did here—but he didn’t have to. Walking beside him like this, anyone watching would think you were just another student trailing behind a professor.

Innocent. Respectable.

If only they knew.

You kept your gaze forward, heart pounding too fast. It felt illicit, like every step was a secret no one could see.

He led you through the doors, down the steps to the parking lot where cars gleamed in the fading sunlight. He scanned the area like he always did, sharp eyes sweeping until he seemed satisfied the coast was clear.

“Go on,” he said under his breath, barely moving his lips, unlocking the car with a soft click. You slipped inside, pulse skittering as the door shut behind you.

For a moment, it was quiet. Just the sound of your breathing, the muted roar of traffic beyond the campus gates.

Maybe you’d actually make it to his apartment this time. Maybe you wouldn’t have to pull off on some side road because he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Because the truth was, you didn’t think you could keep yours off him either.

The drive off campus was quick, almost too quick, his knuckles pale on the wheel while the other hand rested heavy and warm on your thigh. It always felt dangerous like this—windows down, sun low on the horizon, that warm orange glow slanting through the windshield. Anyone could see you. Anyone could notice.

But there were innocent ways to explain it if they did.

Professor giving a student a ride.

Professor helping with a project.

Professor keeping things professional.

They’d never know about the way his fingers flexed against your bare skin, climbing higher each time he wasn’t shifting gears.

You were rambling about something—the weekend, your classes, a book you’d been reading—and he let you, listening with that faint smile that tugged at his mouth whenever you went off like this. Usually, he did most of the talking, spilling facts like you might disappear if he didn’t fill the silence. But today? Today he seemed content just to drive and touch and let you talk.

His thumb brushed slow circles up your thigh, inching closer, deliberate.

You shot him a look from the passenger seat, heat coiling in your gut. “We’re not making it to your apartment, are we?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, eyes on the road. “No,” he said simply, voice low like he didn’t want to waste words. “I believe we won’t be.”

The car turned sharply, the tires crunching as he veered off toward the wooded area you both knew too well. A place no one went at this hour, where the world shrank down to just you and him and the press of your heartbeat in your ears.

When he parked, there was a moment of stillness, air thick between you. Then he jerked his chin toward the backseat.

“Back there,” he said.

You climbed over the console, heart thudding, while he got out and opened the rear door. Too tall, too put-together to scramble the way you had. He slid in beside you, the door clicking shut like the world had locked you in together.

The leather seats creaked as he pulled you into his side, his arm coming around you automatically. Your head hit his chest, his dress shirt warm under your cheek, and for a second it felt almost soft.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured into your hair, voice rough now, a kiss pressing against the crown of your head. “Thought I’d make it obvious today. Couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

You tipped your face up to look at him, lips curling. “You weren’t very subtle.”

He smirked faintly. “Didn’t want to be.” His fingers tipped your chin up before his mouth finally found yours.

It wasn’t sweet. It was slow and deep, his tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to taste every sound you hadn’t made yet. His other hand trailed over your thigh again, pushing your skirt higher, knuckles brushing skin until you gasped against his lips.

He pulled back just enough to speak, breath warm on your mouth. “You feel what you do to me?”

You shifted in his lap when you felt it—hard and heavy against your hip, straining under his slacks. “Fuck,” you whispered, the word catching.

“Yeah,” he muttered, kissing you again, harder this time. “Been like that since class. You were sitting there looking at me like you knew exactly what I was thinking.”

“I did,” you breathed.

He groaned low in his throat when your fingers slid over his belt, fumbling to get it undone. He caught your hand, kissed your knuckles like he had all the time in the world even though you both knew you didn’t.

“Condom’s in my wallet,” he said roughly, already shoving his slacks down enough to free himself, thick and flushed and aching when you wrapped your hand around him.

“Jesus, you’re—”

“Yeah,” he cut in with a sharp exhale, eyes dark. “I know.”

Your skirt was bunched around your hips before you could blink, his hands pushing your panties aside, fingers dragging through the heat there like he needed to feel how wet you were before he lost his mind completely.

“Always so ready for me,” he muttered, voice dropping to something filthy, reverent. “Fuck, I can’t wait—”

His finger dipped into you slowly, testing, curling just enough to make you gasp against his mouth. The backseat smelled like his cologne and the leather and the faint scent of fall air drifting in from the cracked windows.

He groaned softly when he felt how wet you were for him, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Can I—” his voice was rough, like it scraped the edges of him just to get it out. “Can I skip the condom? I’ll be careful. I’m clean. I know you are too.”

You nodded before he even finished, breathless, clutching his shirt in your fist. “Yes,” you whispered. “Please.”

That was all he needed.

He pulled his finger free and groaned under his breath, spreading what he’d gathered along his cock with quick, messy strokes like he couldn’t get inside you fast enough.

“Fuck, you feel… unreal,” he muttered, lining himself up as his hands slid around your hips, thumbs digging into the soft skin there.

You sank down onto him slowly, your nails digging into his shoulders as the stretch made you shudder.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed through his teeth, head falling back for a second as you took him all the way. His fingers flexed hard on your waist, keeping you there, buried in his lap, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to breathe through it.

You could feel his heart hammering under your palms.

“You okay?” he asked, voice tight, like he was barely holding it together.

“Yeah,” you panted. “Fuck, yeah.”

He kissed you hard then, his mouth hot and insistent, the kind of kiss that left your lips slick when he pulled back to watch your face as you started to move.

“Good girl,” he whispered before catching himself, shaking his head like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “Shit—just—like that, keep going.”

Your thighs burned as you rocked against him, his cock hitting deep with every roll of your hips. “Spence—” you gasped, voice cracking a little when his hands slid under your shirt, finding bare skin, palms greedy and warm as they dragged up your sides.

“God, you’re tight,” he grunted, hips starting to thrust up into you now, meeting your movements. “You’re gonna kill me.”

The car rocked faintly with the rhythm, his grip on you firmer now as he fucked up into you, jaw tight, curls sticking to his forehead.

“Look at me,” he murmured, catching your chin so your eyes locked. “Want to see you when you come.”

His grip slid from your chin back to your hips, anchoring you as you moved on him, each roll of your body meeting the sharp upward thrusts of his.

“Yeah—just like that,” he breathed, voice cracking as your pace picked up. “God, you feel so good. Been thinking about this all day.”

You held onto his shoulders, the thin fabric of his dress shirt sticking faintly to his skin. He was warm everywhere, heat rolling off him in waves, his chest rising hard against yours each time you came down on him.

“Spencer—”

“I’ve got you,” he cut in softly, steadying you when your thighs trembled. He shifted his grip to your ass, guiding you through the movements when you faltered. “I’ve got you, baby, it’s okay. Just keep moving—fuck—you’re perfect.”

Your forehead fell against his when the angle changed, the thick length of him hitting so deep you made a sound you didn’t even recognize.

“Right there?” he asked, breathless, already adjusting his hips to hit it again.

“Yes,” you gasped, fingers clutching his hair now, pulling when he thrust up sharp and quick.

“Hold onto me,” he murmured, kissing you messy, like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch you most. His hands roamed everywhere your thighs, your hips, your back, sliding under your shirt again like he needed to feel your skin while he was inside you.

He broke the kiss long enough to get words out. “I love you,” he said, rough and low, like it punched its way out of his chest before he could stop it. “I fucking love you.”

You froze for half a second, lips parting, then kissed him harder, faster, like the words lit something in you that burned straight down to where you were wrapped around him.

“Spencer—”

“Yeah, baby, I know,” he whispered against your mouth, fucking up into you now, guiding you faster. “Come for me. Right here. Just like that—”

The car rocked harder as your rhythm faltered, his cock hitting that spot again and again until you broke apart against him, nails biting into his shoulders as you came with his name slipping out broken and breathless.

He followed fast, groaning into your neck, pulling you down hard onto him as he spilled inside you, his whole body tight and shuddering like he was trying to bury himself as deep as he could go.

You stay curled in his lap for a long moment, both of you catching your breath, the car still and heavy with heat. His arms stay locked around you like he can’t bring himself to let go yet. One hand smooths slow circles into your lower back, the other holding the back of your head as he presses soft kisses into your hairline.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice still rough, quieter now like the world outside doesn’t need to hear.

“Yeah,” you whisper, heart still hammering. “You?”

He lets out a low laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest under your cheek. “I think that might’ve ruined me in the best way.”

You smile faintly against his shirt, the words falling warm into the space between you both. He tips your chin up gently, his thumb brushing along your jaw before kissing you slow, lingering, nothing like the frantic mess from before.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs into your mouth, like he can’t help himself. “Every single time.”

Heat flutters low in your stomach, but you can feel it too—the shift in him. That restless energy from before is gone, replaced by something steadier, heavier. He leans back just enough to look at you properly, eyes soft now even in the dark.

“I love you,” he says finally, simple and certain, his hand still cradling your cheek.

Your chest tightens, and you kiss him once before whispering it back. “I love you too.”

His fingers stroke through your hair before resting on the back of your neck, holding you there close. “I want to take you home,” he says softly, almost like he’s asking. “No more cars. No more rushing. Just… us.”

You nod, and something in his shoulders eases.

“Let’s fix you up first,” he murmurs, smoothing your shirt down for you, tugging your skirt gently back into place. He brushes his fingers along your thighs one more time before pulling back to fasten his slacks again, his movements slower now, calmer.

For a moment, neither of you moves. He cups your face in his palm, thumb stroking your cheekbone like he wants to remember this exact second. Then he kisses you once more—soft, steady, nothing frantic this time—before you finally climb off his lap and into the passenger seat.

He starts the car, the engine low and steady under your feet. His hand finds yours across the console before the wheels even turn.

“I’ll get you home,” he says, glancing over with the faintest smile. “Tonight’s not over yet.”

And you know he means it.

Masterlist Request Rules Taglist

Spencer likes to say you’re a contrarian, that you like to argue just because you can. He says that, even if someone made a statement so obviously true, you’d still say they’re wrong.

That’s often your downfall.

You’re too stubborn, too argumentative. It leads you to places and situations like this. It makes Spencer take matters into his own hands. He doesn’t usually do things this extreme, however.

He suggested punishment, you had no room to fight.

He put you behind the closed door of your bedroom in some form of a timeout. But timeouts are easy to slip out of. You simply turned the knob and, only a sliver away from freedom, you were rudely blocked by Spencer.

He knows you, knows you don’t take his forged consequences seriously. Instead of letting you step out of the punishment again, he took his cuffs and attached your foot to the leg of your bed. 

And then he left you there.

Your foot lifts from the floor, pulling on the chain. Your eyes watch the clock on the wall. Tick, tick, tick, every second feeling slower than the last. 

“Spencer, I’m sorry!” you call into the empty room. It’s not that you care or feel remorse, you’re just bored. “I’ll be good!” Except he knows you can’t promise that. Every time you do, you break it within twenty minutes. The steel rubs against your ankle when you attempt to take a footstep toward the door holding you hostage. It clanks harshly, bouncing off the walls. Your heart jumps when you hear Spencer approaching.

The door creaks open to reveal him entering with a plate. He looks down at you, eyes then lowering to your foot. He pictures the indent from the cuffs he’s sure is hiding under your white socks.

“What’s that?” you ask in a mutter, gesturing with your eyes to the food in his hand.

“I brought you some dinner,” he lowers closer to your height, “do you have anything you want to say?”

You pause, his amber eyes boring into you. “No,” you deny plainly.

“No?”

“Nope.”

“Nothing you want to say?”

His brows raise.

“I have to pee,” you respond.

“Too bad.”

His back is turned to you in an instant. He takes the food and heads to leave you again.

“Spencer,” you whine.

“Hold it.”

You hate how that makes your thighs clench.

“I’ll do anything,” your voice escapes strained, “please…”

He takes a step toward you and cups your cheek with his hand. His thumb pulls your bottom lip down, the plush skin compressing under his touch.

“Give me one reason why I should let you.”

Your mind betrays you rudely, fogging up the moment you try to fight for a single argument. “I…”

His eyebrows lift in a sign that he’s listening, waiting for your response. Except he’s smug. Because he knows you don’t have one.

“I don’t know,” you mumble.

Spencer nods, slipping his thumb past your lips to keep you quiet. “I see.”

“Please?” Your plea vibrates around his finger.

Almost sympathetic, he shakes his head. His digit leaves your mouth.

“I know you can hold it.”

You whine, “I can’t!”

“I know you can… I thought you said you’d be good?”

“I never—”

“You don’t think I heard you through the door?”

You pout. “I can’t.”

The big hand that was just on your face drags down your body. His fingers find your belly, right over your bladder. “You can. I promise.”

“What are you doing?” you shake nervously as he softly toys with the waistband of your skirt.

Again, smug, fake oblivion when he says, “what do you mean?”

And then he kisses you as a manipulation. He knows you can’t form thoughts like this. It’s intentional the way he slides his tongue against yours. It’s all a tactic to get you to turn dumb.

You hate how you do.

“Spencer…”

He sits you on the bed, spreading your legs apart. “You heard my answer.”

Between your thighs aches. “Please,” you pathetically whimper.

As cute as he finds it when you beg, he doesn’t fold, keeping his stern rule. Spencer kneels and looks up at you, eyes shiny. You frown, “it hurts.”

“Where does it hurt, angel?”

You’d melt if he meant it.

“You know where…”

A fake grin spreads across his face. “You give me too much credit.” His hands smoothly slide up the bare of your legs, under your plaid skirt. “Here?” his fingers brush against your panties.

You squirm, thighs squeezing shut, “Spencer!”

He gives you an opening, looking up at you expectantly.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Good.”

His digits drag up your slit with purpose and you gasp. Your cunt throbs as he gives your clit attention with his thumb. You struggle to not close your legs.

Warm pressure builds in your lower tummy. You wonder whether you should fight or not. Fighting never bodes well for you but you do it anyway. You don’t want to give in immediately, you want him to work for your submission. He might call you a brat, but you prefer strong-willed. It would also be easier to push back if you weren’t about to piss yourself.

“No, please… Spencer, stop.”

He doesn’t. His efforts are simply moved to taking off your panties.

He slides them down your legs easily and without a reservation. You shudder when he brushes your clit again. Like it’s the first thing he’s ever seen, he takes in your wetness with eagerly wide eyes.

Shakily, your breath comes. “Please—” you try once more.

With only a look, he warns you. You don’t want him to punish you further so you obey.

His fingers stuff you full and you stifle a gasp. Two of his digits curl upwards, making your cunt tighten forcefully. You bite down on your lip to stop yourself from begging further.

Tiny and weak, your bladder fights for some—any—release. You attempt to push away the unwanted feeling.

Spencer grins, “better?”

Wildly, you shake your head. “It hurts,” you whimper.

His fingers only drive harder into your g-spot. A long whine leaves you, a whine that's intention was to be a complaint. It ended up sounding closer to a cry for more.

More, more, more, you try not to let slip. You could never tell Spencer how good this feels. What you do tell him, though, is that you really need to pee.

“I can’t—” you gasp out.

“Can’t what?”

“Spencer.”

“Come on, use your words.” His pace slows.

“I’m gonna—”

He nods. “It’s okay.”

Fluttering intensely, your pussy gushes without your permission. You feel a wave of relief and guilt simultaneously. You look down to see your skirt, sheets, and his hand covered in your urine. Cheeks, hot to the touch, turn visibly red.

You squeeze your legs together around his hand, the handcuffs scratching your ankle. Your tummy still burns.

Your boyfriend’s palm presses against your lower stomach. “Still full?” he asks complacently. You nod sheepishly.

With barely any thought, (although, you doubt that) he stands and his hands reach for his belt. His fingers move unrushed but swiftly.

Practically licking your lips, you fail to hide your eagerness. The minute his pants are down, you lean down to lick the precum already threatening to leak over his tip. A surprised mix of a whimper and a moan leaves him before he tilts your head to look up at him from your seat on the bed. You swallow roughly.

“You know that’s not what I want.” His thumb finds your mouth and you swirl your tongue around it. He forces you to nod.

The sound like a pop, his thumb slips out from your lips. He lays you on your back and, while he aligns himself with your entrance, you pull your skirt further up your hips. The pressure of his cock stretching you wide makes your eyes roll back, far into your head. The tip bumps your cervix.

With barely any time to adjust, he sets a quick pace that he’d say turns you dumb.

Your full cunt throbs around him, struggling to withhold another accident.

You make incoherent noises that you’re unsure are even coming from you. Maybe they’re fragments of his name or a plea. The only word that falls from your mouth that’s decipherable is the word sir.

He grunts as he continuously fucks into your sensitive cunt. “Say that… again.”

Brain foggy and stupid, you obey blindly. “Sir,” you mumble.

The chain connected to your ankle clanks against the bed with every one of his thrusts. Soft moans fall in sync with his rhythm.

You watch his face, unkissed lips parted and eyes closed. His cheeks are flushed from exertion. The sight makes your heart race, the pressure from your full bladder pushing your orgasm closer and closer.

Spencer’s hands grip the bottom of your thighs, pressing your knees against your chest—and your bladder. Sharply, your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“I don’t wan- make mess,” you cry.

He meets your gaze and utters, strained, “I know, I know…” He lays a gentle peck to your cheek. “It’s okay, just let go.”

As if your body heard him, your cunt flutters while releasing the entirety of what you’ve been trying to hold in. You feel yourself throb from the intense relief. It’s so good that with the relief comes extreme pleasure. It hits you all at once, building to a high peak before plummeting. You figure your dignity went with it.

Shudders shake your body as you come down from your high. With horror, you take in the mess you’ve created. Spencer stills, then pulls out of your soaked cunt. Silently, you look at him in question.

Your question is answered when he sits you up and says an uncomplicated, “open.”

Your tongue falls out of your mouth to immediately serve his cock. He rests it there so you close your lips around it. His hands tangling in your hair is used for Spencer to gently bob your head to his liking. Taking into account what you know he likes, you hum against him.

He lets out an indistinct curse under his breath. You can feel him throbbing.

A few quicker thrusts and the sound of you gagging ultimately throws him over the edge. Greedily, you swallow all that he gives you.

His eyes are full of adoration as he proudly watches you.

You let his cock fall out of your mouth as you grin up at him. “Told you I could be good,” you mutter smugly.

Once he’s tucked back into his pants, he leans down, whispering, “you obviously didn’t learn your lesson.”

You’re about to be your contrarian self and do what you do best, argue, but your plans are ruined when he turns around to leave.

“Wait—”

The sound of a key turning in the lock drifts into your room just as you’re finishing up at your vanity. You smooth the last of your night cream into your skin, tug the sash of your satin robe tighter, and glance at your reflection. Beneath, your nightgown glimmers—a slip of lace and silk that’s far too pretty to waste on sleep alone.

Spencer’s voice calls your name low, careful, as he steps inside. A moment later, he’s in the doorway, jacket already shrugged off, tie loosened from a long day. His hair is mussed, his shoulders sag with fatigue, but when his gaze lands on you, something sharpens.

“I didn’t expect you to still be awake,” he admits, dropping his satchel by the door.

You rise from your seat slowly, letting the robe swish around your thighs. “Was about to head to bed,” you murmur, walking toward him barefoot. The silk clings to your legs as you move, the robe catching the light with each sway. Then you smile, sly. “But since you’re home… maybe I’ll stay up a little longer.”

He blinks, weary curiosity flickering in his brown eyes. “Why?”

You stop in the middle of the room, tilting your head. “Because I’ve been practicing something new. And now I have the perfect audience.”

Spencer’s brow furrows. “Practicing?”

“Mhm. Routine for main stage. I need to make sure it works.”

His lips part, like he's not sure if he should argue or beg. “You—you mean here?”

“Unless you think you can’t handle it.”

His spine straightens, pride bristling even through his fatigue. “I can handle it.”

You flash him a smile, catching his wrist before he can think too hard about what he’s agreed to. “Good.”

The word purrs off your tongue as you tug him gently down the hall, the satin of your robe whispering with every step. He follows without protest, long strides keeping pace, like his feet have a mind of their own.

When you reach the living room, you guide him to the couch and give a little push at his chest. He sits obediently, eyes wide and watchful, a little dazed as he watches you.

You thumb through your phone, pick a song with a low, pulsing bass, and set it playing. The sound fills the apartment, lazy and sultry, and you step into the rhythm easily.

“This,” you murmur as your hips begin to sway, “is where I have to get people’s attention.”

Spencer’s lips part, his hands curling on his knees. His voice comes out rough, certain. “You already have mine.”

The corner of your mouth curves, heat sparking in your belly. “Good.”

You glide a few steps closer, rolling your shoulders with the music, letting the satin robe ripple around your frame like smoke. Every movement is deliberate, languid, drawn out for the single set of eyes fixed on you.

Spencer’s gaze clings like gravity. His tie hanging slack at his chest and his mussed hair don't quite match how he sits too straight on the couch—as if posture will disguise the fact that his breath is already uneven. His fingers tap against his knee, restless, betraying nerves he doesn’t even realize he’s showing.

“See,” you murmur, circling slowly, “I can’t let them look away. Not even for a second.”

You drag your fingertips down the edge of your robe, over your waist, hips swaying to the bass. You twirl once, letting the fabric flare before catching it against your thighs again.

You catch his eyes flickering down, then back up like he’s punishing himself for looking.

You laugh under your breath. “Caught you.”

He shifts, long legs spreading a little wider, palms pressing hard to his knees like anchors. “I wasn’t—” He cuts himself off, cheeks warm, eyes glassy.

“Mmhmm.” You trail closer, tugging at the sash of your robe, teasing it loose an inch at a time. His focus narrows, his chest rising faster, pupils blown.

The knot falls slack, but you don’t shed the robe yet. Instead you let it slip open just a little, enough for a glint of lace and silk to peek through before you pull it closed again, smirking when his throat works on a dry swallow.

“Patience,” you chide softly. “That’s the trick.”

Spencer’s jaw flexes. He shifts again, fidgeting, his hands curling tight. The need in his eyes is raw, unguarded, and you feel it pulse between you like a current.

You step between his knees, lean down just enough that the robe gapes at your chest, your perfume mingling with the warm scent of him—soap, coffee, work lingering on his skin.

Then, deliberately, you slip the robe from one shoulder. The fabric slides down your arm in slow motion, catching in the crook of your elbow.

Spencer makes a low sound in his throat—something between a sigh and a groan—and his hands twitch off his knees, like he has to physically fight himself not to reach.

You let the other shoulder of your robe slip free next, the satin sliding down to catch at your elbows. For a moment, you hold it there—half-wrapped, half-bared—each roll of your hips making the silk tremble and sway like it has its own rhythm.

Spencer’s breathing hitches audibly, his eyes flicking from your chest to your legs and back again, like he doesn’t know where to land without drowning.

You sway closer, hips rolling to the bassline, bending just enough to let the robe brush against his knees, the faintest whisper of fabric against his trousers. “Have to build it slow,” you murmur, words molten. “Let them ache for it.”

He looks like he is aching. His knuckles blanch where his hands dig into the couch, fingers twitching like they’re bound.

You straighten, turning in a slow, deliberate circle, letting the silk drag around your thighs before you finally give it up. With a flick of your wrists, you shrug it off, letting the robe tumble down your arms and pool at your feet in a decadent heap.

The nightgown clings, lace catching the dim light. You run your hands down your sides, smoothing the fabric as though displaying yourself, and Spencer’s chest rises like he’s been punched.

“Now,” you whisper, swaying back toward him, “they’re watching only me.”

You cross the last inch of space between you, sliding a knee over his thigh, then the other, settling into his lap slow enough to make it sting, silk whispering against his trousers as your nightgown rides higher with every shift of your hips. His eyes dart down, catching where the hem flutters up your thighs before he jerks them back up like he’s scolding himself.

You smile, wicked. Caught again.

Settling against him, you let your fingers trail to his loosened tie, winding the silk around your hand. You tug it lightly, just enough to pull him closer without breaking your rhythm.

His breath hitches, his hands twitch up on instinct—fingers brushing your waist.

You catch them before they land, a sharp little swat against the back of his knuckles. “Uh-uh. No one touches me while I’m dancing.”

His eyes snap up to yours, wide and wrecked. “Not even me?”

You lean in close, lips grazing his ear as you murmur, “Not even you.” Then you smirk, grinding down just enough to make him groan.

His chest rises hard against yours, breath hot and uneven. His eyes flick down again, betraying him, catching on the way your nightgown slides higher and higher up your thighs. The lace is barely covering anything now, and his gaze sticks there like he’s helpless to look away.

You laugh softly, rolling your hips slower, tighter, as you drape your arms around his shoulders. “They love this part,” you whisper. “When I climb into someone’s lap. Makes the rest of the crowd ache, wishing it was them.”

Spencer groans low, the sound rumbling from his chest. He shifts beneath you, thighs tensing, his body hard and desperate under your teasing sway.

You trail your lips along his jaw, not quite kissing, just close enough that he feels the ghost of your breath. “The trick,” you murmur, grinding slower, “is to never give them what they want right away. You make them wait. Draw it out. Keep them hungry.”

His fingers flex against the couch cushions, the veins in his hands standing out. “Y-you’re…” His voice is raw, frayed at the edges. “You’re killing me.”

“Good.” You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, smirking when you see how blown his pupils are, how ragged his restraint has become. “Means I’m doing it right.”

You roll your hips again, harder this time, dragging a broken sound from him. He tips his head back against the couch, throat bared, eyes fluttering shut.

You reach for his tie again, looping the silk tighter around your fingers. With a sharp little tug, you yank just enough to pull his head back up, forcing his eyes open.

“Don’t look away,” you order, voice low and molten. Your thighs squeeze around his, rocking against the hard line of him beneath the silk of your nightgown. “This is all for you.”

His gaze locks on yours, pupils blown wide, breath shuddering through parted lips. He looks like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing keeping him afloat.

“That’s it,” you purr, giving another slow roll of your hips. “Keep your eyes on me. Watch how I move for you.”

His throat works on a swallow, his hands flexing helplessly at his sides, knuckles white from holding on to his own restraint. But his gaze doesn’t falter—it drinks you in, devours every sway of your hips, every inch of lace flashing higher up your thighs.

You smirk, releasing his tie only to trail your fingers down the silk, then down the buttons of his shirt until your hand rests flat against his chest. His heart is pounding, wild beneath your palm.

“Feel that?” you whisper, leaning close enough that your lips almost graze his. “That’s what I do to you.”

Spencer groans, raw and desperate, his head tipping forward until his forehead brushes yours. “You have no idea—” His voice cracks, choked off when you grind down harder, stealing the rest of his breath.

“Oh, I think I do,” you murmur, dragging your nails lightly across his chest as you rock your hips again, silk whispering, lace riding up high enough to make his eyes flicker downward in helpless betrayal.

You catch it instantly, smirking as you tug on his tie again, forcing his gaze back up to yours. “Eyes here, Doctor. Don’t you dare miss a second.”

He groans, teeth sinking into his lower lip, body trembling with restraint.

And when you roll your hips again, slow and deliberate, you lean to his ear, voice a sultry whisper: “Tell me how long you can last like this before you break my rule.”

As you rock your hips, the strap of your nightgown slips from your shoulder, sliding down the curve of your arm in a slow, sinful drop.

Spencer’s breath stutters. His eyes catch on the bare skin revealed, lingering there for a heartbeat too long before snapping back up like he’s trying to discipline himself.

You smirk, savoring his struggle, and let the strap dangle loosely against your arm. “See?” you whisper, leaning close enough that your lips graze his jaw. “Sometimes the smallest slip drives them the craziest.”

His throat works on a hard swallow, his voice wrecked when he finally speaks. “It’s—working.”

Your fingers toy with the strap at your shoulder, drawing it down inch by inch until silk slithers across your skin, baring more with every roll of your hips. Spencer’s gaze catches helplessly, his breath stuttering as if the sound itself could betray him.

Your fingers trail to the hem of the nightgown, gathering the silk between them. Slowly, deliberately, you start to tug it upward. The fabric slides along your skin, whispering higher and higher until it skims over your ribs, baring the soft curves beneath.

Spencer’s breath catches, his hands tightening on the cushions like he’s bracing for impact.

“Normally,” you murmur, pausing with the gown just under your chest, “there’s always one last layer. A bra, matching lace. Something to keep the fantasy just out of reach.”

Then, locking your gaze with his, you tug the silk the rest of the way over your head and let it fall to the floor in a pool of red and lace.

Spencer makes a strangled sound, pupils blown, his gaze dragging over every inch of bare skin like he’s burning the sight into memory. His restraint frays with every second, his knuckles whitening against the couch.

You roll your hips once more, slow and deliberate, whispering in his ear, “You get what no one else ever will.”

That’s when his control shatters. With a desperate groan, his hands clamp onto your hips, grip fierce, and you let out a squeak as he hauls you off his lap, flipping you onto the couch beneath him in one fluid, hungry motion.

The cushions dip, your hair spilling across them, Spencer braced over you, his tie dangling, chest heaving.

You’re still catching your breath from the sudden flip when you manage a shaky laugh. “What happened to no touching? Thought you agreed to the rules.”

Spencer looms above you, tie dangling against your chest, pupils wide and dark. His voice comes rough, torn from somewhere deep. “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what you were doing.”

Heat licks up your spine at the way he says it—accusation tangled with adoration.

Your smirk wavers when he drags his hands up your sides, palms reverent despite their roughness. He cups your ribs like you’re fragile, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts, and the shift in his expression makes your breath catch.

Because for a second, he doesn’t look wrecked. He looks in awe.

He bows his head, mouth finding the curve of your collarbone, and then he’s kissing lower, dragging his mouth down the slope of your sternum, over the rise of your ribs. You shiver when his stubble scrapes lightly, leaving heat in its wake.

By the time he reaches your stomach, your breath is coming uneven. He kneels between your thighs, big hands sliding them apart, spreading you wide. His gaze flicks down, pupils dark and glassy, lingering on the damp lace clinging to your center.

“Spencer—” you start, a quiver in your voice.

He shushes you, pressing a kiss just above your navel, then another lower. “You let them look.” His voice is rough silk as he hooks his fingers in your panties and tugs them slowly down your legs. The fabric peels from your slick skin, and his eyes are locked on the way you glisten for him in the dim light. “But only I get to taste.”

The last word breaks into a growl as he dives in.

His mouth seals over you, tongue dragging through your folds in one long, reverent lick that makes your hips jerk off the couch. He moans at the taste, a guttural sound vibrating against you, and the vibration makes your thighs shake.

He kisses your clit first, slow and wet, then latches on and sucks, gentle at first, like he’s savoring. Your back arches, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard when he flicks his tongue quick over the swollen bud.

It’s worship, but it’s also hunger—he devours you with both. His tongue dips lower, circling your entrance, pushing inside with slow, filthy precision before gliding back up to tease your clit again. He murmurs against you, the words lost but the vibrations sinful, and then he’s fucking you with his tongue like he can’t get deep enough, his nose pressed firm against your clit until you’re gasping, your thighs trembling against his ears.

“Spence—oh, fuck—” Your voice breaks on a moan as his hands pin you down, broad palms locking your hips against the couch so you can’t escape the relentless rhythm of his tongue. You’re wet, messy, spreading over his mouth, and he drinks it down like it’s his only sustenance.

You’re still gasping when he crawls back up your body, his tie dragging across your bare skin, his mouth crushing to yours. His hands cradle your face like you’re fragile even as his body crushes you into the cushions, his weight hot and heavy over you.

Spencer kisses you like he’s trying to crawl inside your lungs, like your breath is the only air he wants. His hips grind down into yours with punishing force, hard length pressing against your soaked folds, only the thin barrier of his trousers separating you.

“Spence,” you gasp against his mouth, clutching at his shirt, yanking it half free of his waistband. He doesn’t bother with patience—buttons pop, some missing entirely as he tears it open, baring the smooth lines of his chest. He leaves his tie loosened around his neck, like he couldn't be bothered to yank it off as well. You drag your nails over his skin, sharp enough to make him shudder.

When he finally drags his mouth from yours, his lips are wet, swollen, his breath breaking ragged against your cheek. “God, you’re—” He swallows, voice trembling. “You’re unreal.”

You open your mouth to tease, but the words die as his hips grind down hard, the thick press of him straining against his trousers. He curses under his breath, teeth gritted, like he can barely control himself. His hands drag down your ribs, your waist, your thighs—like he needs to map every inch of bare skin, commit it to memory before he loses the last threads of restraint.

“Spencer—” you breathe, arching beneath him.

That’s all it takes. With a guttural groan, he’s yanking his belt open, fumbling at the button and zipper with shaking hands. You reach down to help, but he growls low, catching your wrist and pinning it above your head. “No—let me. Let me take care of you.”

The words make your pulse stutter.

His trousers are shoved down just far enough, his cock freed and flushed, leaking against his stomach. He groans when your thighs part wider for him, his gaze locking on the slick glisten between your legs, pupils blown black.

“You’re soaked,” he rasps, stroking himself once, hard, like it takes everything not to bury himself inside you in one motion. His thumb drags over the head, smearing precum, and his jaw clenches. “All this for me?”

You nod, breathless. “Always for you.”

That undoes him. With a shuddering exhale, he lines himself up, pressing the blunt head against your entrance. He sinks in slow, agonizingly slow, stretching you inch by inch until your back arches and your nails dig into the cushions.

“Oh, fuck—” His voice breaks, head tipping back, throat bared. “You feel… god, you feel so good.”

He bottoms out with a desperate groan, staying there for a moment, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed to yours. His breath trembles, his hands gripping your hips like he’ll shatter if he lets go. “I don’t—don’t think I can be gentle.”

“Then don’t,” you gasp, rolling your hips up into his.

The sound he makes is primal. His restraint snaps.

He pulls out almost all the way, then slams back in, hard enough to make the couch jolt beneath you. You cry out, clinging to his shoulders, and he does it again, and again, each thrust rougher, deeper, his breath ragged in your ear.

But even as he pounds into you, there’s worship in every touch—his hands sliding reverently over your sides, cupping your breasts, brushing his thumbs over your nipples with aching tenderness before gripping your hips to hold you open for him. He presses his mouth to your throat, your shoulder, your chest, kissing, mouthing, marking as though he can’t decide whether to devour you or worship you.

“You’re perfect,” he gasps against your skin. “So perfect. Mine.”

“Yours.”

His tie dangles against your chest, brushing with every thrust. You grab it, wrap it around your fist, and yank him down for another kiss. It’s messy, teeth and tongue, both of you gasping into each other’s mouths as he fucks you harder, deeper, like he’s trying to carve himself into your bones.

You’re spiraling, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His name spills from your lips like a mantra, and he groans each time, like hearing it feeds his hunger.

One hand slips down between you, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing harsh, perfect circles in time with his thrusts. The roughness makes you cry out, arching up into him, body seizing with the pressure building inside you.

“That’s it,” he pants, voice ragged. “Come for me. Let me feel you.”

His lips crash to yours again, swallowing your cries as the orgasm tears through you—white-hot, blinding, your body clenching around him in waves. Spencer groans, the sound guttural, broken, and his rhythm unravels.

He slams into you once, twice more, then spills inside with a shuddering gasp, hips grinding deep as he empties into you. His whole body trembles, collapsing over yours, forehead buried in your neck, breath hot and frantic against your skin.

Even as the aftershocks ripple through you both, his hands roam your body—gentle now, loving. He presses soft kisses against your damp skin, across your collarbone, up your throat, finally to your mouth, where he lingers in a kiss so tender it makes your chest ache.

“You’re…” His voice is ruined, breathless. “You’re everything.”

spencer liked to well… watch you.

he swore it wasn’t creepy. he told himself over and over that his intentions were pure, that it was harmless, innocent curiosity—at first.

but deep down, he knew there was nothing innocent about the way his eyes seemed to find you every time you stepped into the bullpen.

he’d seen you a few times before, drifting around the office in your quiet little routines, filing, organizing, doing the kind of mundane tasks no one else really noticed.

and maybe that was what first caught his attention: the way you moved with such effortless focus, a subtle kind of grace in the things everyone else took for granted. but then you wore that.

that skirt. the one that clung to your hips, skimming along the curve of your thighs, making spencer’s mouth go dry before he even realized he was staring. the way it outlined your softness, traced every line of you, it made his brain feel like static.

he froze the moment you passed his desk, his wide eyes dragging helplessly after the sway of your hips, and the way the fabric defined the roundness of your ass.

it was hypnotic, the rhythm of it, of you. the delicate yet deliberate movement that left him feeling like some awkward horny teenager again.

his heart jumped into his throat, embarrassment already burning through him. you affected him so much, without even trying. he had actually tracked the difference, in that precise way only spencer could, an exact 35% increase in his so-called “bathroom breaks” since the day he really noticed you. the numbers didn’t lie.

it maddened him, realizing how long it had taken to finally see you. you’d been there for god knows how long, and he had been too wrapped up in files, in cases, the team, in the endless pull of the workload to ever notice the other agents that filled his everyday life.

that was his flaw: tunnel vision. he gave so much of himself to his job, that he rarely let his eyes, or his heart, wander anywhere else. but the second he did, the second his gaze fell on you, really fell on you—it was over.

he regretted every day he’d wasted not memorizing the lines of your face, the sound of your laugh, the way your presence seemed to soften the sharp edges, warming up every room.

and then… it happened.

you spoke to him.

you, the goddess who had unknowingly unraveled him, the secret obsession of his sleepless nights, the only image burned into his thoughts when he woke in a sweat, restless and aching.

he tried—really tried, to focus on your question. on the actual words leaving your lips, on the tone of your voice, light and curious, directed at him for the very first time.

but his mind… it betrayed him. it slid somewhere darker, somewhere far less appropriate.

he honed in on the flutter of your lashes, the way they dipped and lifted with each blink. he imagined them slowed, heavy and dazed, batting up at him in the haze of something far more intimate than office chatter.

he noticed the way your chest pressed together as you leaned closer over his desk, the subtle brush of fabric tightening across your curves. his gaze fell to your mouth, soft, warm, impossibly inviting.

he wondered how it would feel to close the tiny gap between you. to tilt his head and capture your lips in a kiss that was far from gentle.

would it be messy? heated? the kind of kiss that left both of you breathless and aching, lips slick, noses bumping because neither of you could pull away long enough to breathe?

or worse… he thought about your lips stretched around him, swollen and glossy, wrapped in a fantasy so vivid it made his chest ache.

he swallowed, hard. his skin felt hot, tight, his collar and slacks suddenly too constricting. and then, like crashing back into reality, he realized just how long he’d been staring. just how blank his expression must have looked as you patiently waited for an answer.

“sorry—uh, what was that?”

he blurted, voice cracking slightly.

mortification hit instantly, crawling up spencer’s neck in a red flush. of course.

of course he’d manage to completely humiliate himself in his very first real conversation with you. the first time you’d ever willingly directed your voice, your attention toward him, and he was already fumbling, already proving just how much you affected him, disastrously unhinging him at every corner.

“sorry for bothering you, dr. reid—it’s just… okay, this is going to sound pretty stupid, but—”

dr. reid.

the way you said it sent a shiver straight through him. spencer’s lips parted slightly, the corner twitching as though he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite let himself. hearing you address him with such formality gave him something—a sense of identity, of being seen.

though, it also wasn’t enough. the honorifics added too much distance, a wall he desperately wanted to break. he needed to hear his name on your tongue, softly, familiarly. spencer.

“—well, they got a new photocopier down in the file room, and i can’t for the life of me, figure out how it works.”

spencer blinked, dragging himself back to reality. his eyes met yours with an unreadable sharpness, though not unkind. warm flecks of hazel caught in the deep brown of his irises, warm even under the harsh fluorescent glow of the office.

still, he just stared. blank. silent. the same fixed expression he’d had since you approached him.

panic curled in your stomach. was this stupid? probably. maybe the copier wasn’t that complicated and you were just overthinking it.

maybe this was just an excuse—a flimsy little reason to finally, finally talk to the smartest (and, annoyingly, cutest) guy you’d ever seen

but still, you weren’t faking the problem. you needed to get those those copies done like, yesterday.

“i understand if you’re busy, though! really, it’s fine—”

your words were frantic and rushed, already wanting to sink into the floor.

“no! It’s alright! i’m sure i can figure it out!”

spencer interrupted far too quickly. the words came out too loud, too confident.

jesus, cocky much? his stomach sank as soon as he heard himself. because in reality, when it came to technology, he was a lost cause.

but there was no way he could admit that now, not with you standing there, looking at him like that.

“thank you so much!”

you spoke with genuine relief, and then,

you smiled.

god. his entire chest seized at the sight of it, so close, directed at him. his pulse tripped over itself, heart pounding erratically.

he’d seen you smile before, short, soft, but never like this. never with him as the cause.

it was beautiful, almost blinding in its warmth. his face heated instantly, blood rushing to his ears, and yet he so foolishly basked in it, soaking it up greedily.

he was obsessed with you. that much was obvious now.

as you turned and began leading him toward the file room, spencer followed, his stride stiff, hands fidgeting with the hem of his sweater as he tried to keep his focus somewhere appropriate. but inevitably, his gaze slipped.

downward.

it wasn’t is fault—he told himself that over and over. not when you wore things like that. his mind travelled to the same place it always did when you wore those skirts.

stupidly perfect, form-fitting pencil skirts that hugged you in ways that made his mouth dry and his thoughts unspeakably indecent. the fabric clung to your body like it was made for you. it highlighted everything soft, everything he wanted to touch, and left little to the imagination. too little.

his mind filled in the blanks instead, running wild at a pace so obscene it made him dizzy. by the time you pushed open the door to the file room, he’d already undressed you a hundred times in his head, his mind looping through scenario after scenario, none of them remotely professional.

and the worst part? he couldn’t stop.

he couldn’t stop his thoughts from slipping into dangerous places as he fumbled uselessly with the photocopier.

his long fingers moved across the unfamiliar panel, pressing buttons with little confidence, cursing quietly at the modern “updates” that only seemed to make the machine more complicated. each beep, each error message, only added to the coil of stress tightening in his chest.

he was trying so hard. trying not to embarrass himself in front of you, and more than anything, he was trying not to get distracted by you.

because he knew the second he allowed his eyes to wander, even for a fraction of a moment, he’d be gone. one glance, and his mind would spiral into the same dangerous depths it always did when you were near, places that left him restless, aching, and guilty.

finally, after far too long, the machine whirred to life, spitting out your neatly collated copies. a victory, and as a reward, spencer allowed himself the smallest indulgence: to look at you.

even in the dim, yellowed lighting of the file room—lighting that made everyone else look washed out and dull, you looked… ethereal. absolutely unreal.

his gaze drank you in: the slight furrow of your brows as you leaned in to check the stack of papers, the faint pink blush across your cheeks that somehow looked permanent on you, perfectly complimenting your natural features.

your lashes caught in the light, thick and glossy, framing eyes that made him feel like he was unraveling every time they landed on him.

and then, because his mind was cruel, because he couldn’t help himself, he pictured you differently.

not soft, but wrecked. your perfect lashes clumped with tears, mascara smudged in black streaks across flushed cheeks. he imagined the delicate tremble of your lips when they were swollen, ruined from kissing, from crying, from him.

the image made his stomach flip, a rush of heat flooding through him so sharp it made him swallow hard. he forced himself to look back down at the machine.

then your voice cut through the fog of his thoughts. gentle, warm, paired with another smile so radiant it almost hurt to look at.

“thank you so much—you really helped me out!”

spencer nearly forgot how to breathe. praise. from you. directed entirely at him. he felt his chest swell with something dangerous, addictive.

he could get used to this. too easily.

and he did. after his heroic little performance with the temperamental photocopier, you and spencer began to fall into a casual, coworker type rhythm.

just little moments. passing words exchanged in the bullpen, conversations that stretched a second too long, the way you lingered by his desk when you had a spare moment. for spencer, each encounter etched itself into his mind with photographic clarity. he silently thanked his eidetic memory each time he mentally replayed every single conversation the two of you shared.

then came the milestone.

it was ordinary to you, perfectly reasonable, barely worth a second thought. but to spencer, it short-circuited his brain, fried every coherent thought into static.

he’d made a joke. a stupid one—silly, awkward, something so bad it wouldn’t even qualify as a proper dad joke. he cringed the second it left his mouth, already preparing to retreat into himself. but then… then you laughed.

and not the polite kind, either. you really laughed, your smile wide and genuine, your voice spilling out in a sound that was pure melodic perfection. it filled his senses like music, like warmth. he wished he could play it over and over, every night when he couldn’t sleep.

but the real breaking point was what followed.

you patted him on the shoulder.

just that. a regular, friendly gesture. your hand brushing his arm through the fabric of his shirt, barely a second of contact.

but for spencer? he didn’t know what to do with himself. his skin burned beneath your touch, tingling hot as though the heat had soaked straight through the barrier of his button-up. you’d never touched him before.

for someone who typically shied away from physical contact, who would normally stammer about germ transfer and pathogens, the last thing he expected was to want more.

and yet, the moment your hand left him, he found himself almost chasing after it—yearning for the touch to return, to linger, to press closer. not through fabric, but bare. intimate. skin against skin.

the thought sent his mind clouding, hazy, incoherent. blood rushed from his head at a startling pace, flooding downward until his body betrayed him completely.

he swallowed hard, desperate to regain composure, but it was useless. one laugh, one touch, and he was undone.

it was pathetic, really. at least, that’s what spencer told himself as he stumbled through some flimsy excuse, cutting your conversation short with a tight, awkward smile before retreating.

his heart pounded, his skin hot, and he didn’t dare let his eyes linger on you for another second.

he made a beeline for the bathroom—the only place where he could breathe, where he could shut a door between himself and the unbearable temptation of you. his hands shook as he locked himself inside, bracing against the sink as though it could anchor him.

it was humiliating, how little control he had. how quickly his body betrayed him, how hopelessly you unraveled him with the smallest things: a smile, a laugh, a fleeting touch. he should have been stronger than this. smarter. he knew better. and yet…

with you in his mind, with the echo of your voice and the ghost of your hand still burning on his shoulder, resistance was laughable. he closed his eyes and conjured you instantly—your lips, your warmth, the way your skirt hugged every perfect line of your body.

the fantasy sharpened so quickly it left him dizzy, and before he even realized it, his restraint had completely shattered. brown curls clad to his forehead with a thick sweat, hands slithering down his body to where the ache screamed for friction.

it didn’t take long at all.

hot sticky release pooled in his palm, and he scrambled to clean himself before the evidence of his crime stained his sweat soaked clothing.

he felt the rush of shame press down on him just as heavily as the afterglow. he leaned over the sink, palms pressed flat, chest heaving, hands shaking. his reflection in the mirror looked wrecked—pathetic, guilty, needy.

and still, even in the mess of it, his mind betrayed him one last time.

he wished it had been you.

as the weeks slipped by, you and spencer only grew closer. it wasn’t dramatic, not some grand shift—just small moments, steady, subtle.

and slowly, painfully, spencer realized you had begun to think of him as something more than a coworker. a friend.

he wished he was more than that, he longed to be more.

so when you asked him, so casually, so sweetly, if he could help you move some furniture into your new apartment, how could he possibly say no? you could’ve asked anyone else, someone stronger, more capable, someone who wouldn’t need to stop and catch their breath every few steps.

but you asked him. you wanted him. and spencer would never deny you anything.

in truth, you were doing most of the heavy lifting. he wasn’t built for this, not really. his arms ached, his palms stung, but he would have carried the world on his back if you’d only asked.

to him, it didn’t matter. being there with you, in your space, was more than he ever thought he’d have.

by the time you lugged the final chair into the kitchen, your phone rang—sudden, interrupting. you frowned, answering quickly, your voice low as you tried to calm your frantic friend on the other end. she was panicking about a date, clothes scattered everywhere, makeup smudged, disaster in progress.

spencer lingered nearby, chest still heaving from the last trip up the stairs, trying not to look like he was eavesdropping.

when you hung up, your face did nothing to hide your irritation. why now? why tonight? your first one-on-one time with him, ruined by your best friend’s meltdown.

you wanted to ignore her, to stay here basking in spencer’s shy smiles and careful words. but you couldn’t—too good of a friend to abandon her. still, you didn’t want to send spencer home.

“she only lives a few blocks away, i can be there and back in under an hour.”

you reasoned to yourself aloud, whispering under your breath to attempt to hide your annoyance.

turning to face him, you smiled apologetically.

“hey, spencer, sorry this is so sudden but… i have to help my friend with something really quickly! i’ll pick up a pizza or something on my way back? is that okay?”

spencer froze. the words barely processed. you wanted to leave him here? alone? in your apartment? his mind scrambled, torn between panic and desire.

being here with you was overwhelming enough, but being surrounded by everything that made this place yours, without you here to anchor him? he wasn’t sure he could trust himself.

still, he nodded, lips quirking in what he hoped was a casual smile.

“yeah, of course. that sounds… great.”

it wasn’t the pizza that distracted him. it wasn’t even your absence. it was the way you’d said his name. his first name. for the thirteenth time since you’d let him into your orbit.

and every single time, it carved a new space inside him, filled him with warmth and longing. butterflies churned in his stomach, so potent he almost didn’t notice you slipping on your shoes, grabbing your keys, disappearing out the door.

and then you were gone.

the silence was deafening.

he was alone. alone in your apartment. in your space. surrounded by your things.

spencer tried to restrain himself. he really did. he perched on the edge of your couch, hands clasped tightly, staring at the stack of boxes still waiting to be unpacked. he told himself to sit still, to wait, to be good. but the itch beneath his skin grew unbearable, and eventually, inevitably—he caved.

he snooped. just a little at first. he wandered.

your apartment was still half-finished, but the personal touches already bled through the clutter. framed photographs tucked on shelves, magnets in bright mismatched colours clinging to the fridge, the faint perfume that clung to the air.

the bathroom shelf that held your shampoo, your lotions, hair products, things he’d never admit to noticing, to memorizing.

and then—your bedroom.

the door was half open, the shadow of boxes spilling into the hall, but beyond that, it was undeniably yours. your bed, rumpled from mornings and nights he could only imagine. the faintest hint of who you were when no one else was watching.

spencer stood frozen at the doorway, pulse pounding, shame and desire colliding violently in his chest.

he shouldn’t. he knew all too well that he shouldn’t.

but he wanted to.

and spencer reid was a man who, despite all his brilliance, seriously lacked self-control.

he pushed the door open with the smallest creak, sucking air sharply through his teeth as he crossed into your most intimate space. it felt like trespassing. like sin. and yet, he stepped inside anyway.

his eyes roamed greedily, cataloging everything the way he would a crime scene, his fingers brushed across the shelves, ghosting over cracked spines of books you’d read and loved, tracing the edges of notebooks stacked haphazardly.

on your desk, he flipped through a few scattered papers, fingertips lingering over scribbled handwriting before drifting to your necklace stand. he let the chains slip through his fingers, delicate and glimmering, imagining how they would glint against the base of your throat.

then his gaze caught the mirror.

a polaroid was tucked into the corner of the frame—an unposed moment captured between you and the friend you were currently rushing off to help.

spencer barely glanced at her. his eyes locked only on you. your smile. the crinkles at the corners of your eyes. the way happiness radiated from you so effortlessly, so luminously, it felt like it could blind him if he stared too long.

“she’s so beautiful when she’s happy,”

he whispered under his breath, the words trembling, meant for no one but himself.

unable to resist, he perched on the edge of your bed. the mattress dipped beneath his weight, the springs sighing softly as though welcoming him.

slowly, cautiously, he lowered himself back until he was lying flat against your sheets.

your scent hit him instantly—sweet, warm, distinctly you. he clung to the smell, allowing it to fill his lungs until he thought he might suffocate on it. his eyes fluttered shut for a moment, guilt bubbling in his stomach, but even that guilt twisted into something darker, something that only made the sheets feel softer beneath him.

he had no plans to stop.

when his eyes opened again, they landed on your dresser.

his heart hammered. he knew better.

and yet, his body had a mind of its own, his feet carried him forward before his brain could protest. he hovered over the dresser, fingertips skimming the edge like he was afraid to touch it directly, afraid it might burn him if he pressed too hard. then, slowly, carefully, he reached.

a drawer cracked open just enough to reveal a glimpse of lace. spencer froze, heart pounding so violently he could hear it in his ears. he shouldn’t. he knew he shouldn’t. this was too far, it was perverted, filthy, disgusting.

but his hand was already reaching. already curling around the handle, tugging the drawer open an inch, then two. just enough to see the delicate fabrics inside, folded, intimate in a way that made his throat tighten.

his fingers brushed around the lace trim of a baby blue pair of panties. they were soft, impossibly soft—his breath stuttering out in a shaky exhale. the thought of you wearing them, pressed against your skin, the most intimate part of you covered by the thin fabric.

his chest ached with a want so sharp it bordered on pain, like a stabbing sensation in his ribs with every breath.

“fuck…”

he whispered, so quietly it battled the squeak of a church mouse, voice breaking, shame already thick in his mouth.

he bit his lip, lifting the fabric up to his face until—

“spencer?”

the sound cut through him like ice. he hadn’t heard you come in; he hadn’t registered the tiny clink of ceramic as you set two plates on the counter, the soft thump of your footsteps as you crossed the living room. he’d been a universe away, wrapped in the scent and the lace and the impossible idea that any of this could be real.

now, you were only a few feet away, standing in the doorway, and he felt as though everything he had built collapsed.

“i—i swear! i can explain!”

he stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush. his face must have been red enough to heat the room.

his life was over. he could see it now—your disgust, your fury, he pictured himself humiliated in front of the team, in front of you, reduced to some grotesque cautionary tale. that one creep. disgusting scum.

your eyes flicked from his face, eyes wide like a deer in headlights, to the trembling hand clutching the fabric, back to his face. those eyes.

for a second there was only silence, the kind that hums in the ears. sweat prickled along his hairline.

you always knew he stared at you sometimes, sure, it was just spencer being spencer: awkward, brilliant, occasionally oblivious. you had fantasized about the fact that maybe, just maybe, it was because he reciprocated your feelings, that they were mutual.

you had never, not even in the back of your mind, thought it extended to this. not to rummaging through your personal things, not to clutching lace like a confession.

you should scream, you thought. anyone with common sense would. you should tell him to get out, to never come back.

but as your gaze traveled over him, on how vulnerable he looked, how raw and humiliated, how pathetic. the image of him there, exposed and shame-faced, pressed a small, electric thrill to the base of your throat.

and then something unexpected unfurled across your features: not outrage. not anger. instead a hot, undeniable flare of something else—curiosity, surprise, and then, impossibly, a slow smile that made the air between you hum.

you surprised yourself by leaning forward a fraction, closing the distance not to punish but to inspect. up close, the embarrassment on his face was painfully real. his lips trembled.

“you shouldn’t be in my things,”

you said, voice low, trying on a tone that might have been reproach. It sounded softer than you intended.

“but….here you are. and you look ridiculous.”

he let out a strangled sound that resembled the whine of a naughty puppy.

“i’m sorry. i—god, i’m sorry. i don’t know what came over me. i didn’t mean to—i just—when you left—”

his hands flailed helplessly. clinging onto the last grasp of dignity he held, trying to defend himself.

“what? i left you alone for forty-five minutes and you couldn’t help but… snoop through my underwear drawer? naughty boy.”

you leaned closer, close enough to make him uncomfortable, to make him squirm. your breath fanned across his neck as you drilled into him, mockingly.

you giggled as you curled a finger in his hair, watching as he trembled in place, as if his feet were glued to the ground. stuck.

“hmm? you want me, but you’re too useless to do anything about it… so you decided to sniff my panties like a perv?”

heat hummed through him at the bluntness of your words. he had never expected that edge from you, you were usually gentle, soft, the kind of quiet that soothed him. though, this new firmness made something low and eager coil inside him.

you slipped your fingers through his hair, thumb brushing his scalp, then trailed a nail lightly along his cheek before giving him two deliberate, open-palmed taps that left a warmth spreading under his skin. you were dangerously close; he could feel the heat of your body, smell the faint scent of your soap, the quickening of your breath against his face.

“answer me.”

he didn’t know whether to be mortified or ecstatic. his mouth felt dry and large at once.

“i—”

he started, and then, when language failed him, he let his eyes do the speaking: wide, raw, utterly honest.

“yes.”

“you fantasized about me, about this. all the time.”

you said it with a soft amusement that sharpened the air between you. it should have been an accusation; instead it sounded like a confession you’d coaxed out of him.

“i—only sometimes.”

his voice came out small, ridiculous, threaded with shame. the sight of him like that, exposed, wanting… it filled you with more need than ever before.

“okay, then. tell me what you were thinking about.”

your voice dropped to a low, intimate whisper that scraped along his ear and made his pulse stutter.

he hesitated, colour rushing and flushing in his cheeks, burning his skin.

“come on, spencer,”

you teased, close enough that the heat of your breath ghosted his lips,

“you never had a problem letting your mouth run before.”

his throat bobbed as he swallowed, mind racing, every coherent thought scattering under the weight of your gaze. every syllable felt dangerous, like handing you the sharpest parts of him.

“i…”

his voice broke, thin and shaky.

“i thought about your lips. the way they’d feel… against mine. how soft. how warm.”

your brows arched, the ghost of a smirk tugging at your mouth.

“just kissing?”

his head jerked in a frantic shake, hair falling into his eyes.

“no. not just—not just kissing.”

you leaned in closer, nails grazing along his jaw, making him shiver.

“then what, spencer? tell me.”

his chest rose and fell too quickly, breath shallow, uneven.

“i thought about you in those skirts. the way they… hug you. i couldn’t stop imagining…”

his words faltered, shame blooming hot in his cheeks. he dragged in a shaky breath, forced himself to continue.

“…imagining pushing them up. seeing what’s underneath. touching you.”

your pulse skipped, heat sparking low in your belly at the broken, almost reverent way he said it.

“keep going,”

you whispered, the command laced with a sweetness that was almost dark, lustful.

his eyes squeezed shut, like he couldn’t bear to see your face as he unraveled.

“sometimes i pictured you—on my desk. leaning over me. or in my lap. your thighs around me. the sounds you’d make. i wanted to see your face after we were done—how your cheeks would be flushed and your makeup ruined.”

your breath caught at his honesty, at the trembling need spilling raw from him.

“god, spencer,”

you murmured, brushing your lips just short of his,

“you really are obsessed with me, aren’t you?”

he let out a shaky, desperate laugh, the truth too heavy to deny.

“completely.”

your breath mingled with his, so close it made him dizzy. his whole body trembled, waiting, straining.

hearing the way he said it, helpless, completely at your disposal. it was all you needed to hear, a final push over the edge.

you closed the distance, pressing your lips to his. soft at first—testing, tasting. his breath hitched, a strangled sound caught in his throat before he melted into you, kissing back with a hunger that betrayed how long he’d been holding himself back.

his hands hovered uncertainly at your sides, fingers twitching like he was afraid to touch, to take.

you grabbed his wrists and guided them to your waist, grounding him. his palms splayed wide, tentative at first, then tightening as he realized you weren’t going to pull away.

the kiss deepened. it turned heated, wet, his lips parting beneath yours like he’d been made for this, like he’d been starving.

you tugged lightly on his curls, pulling a groan from his chest. the sound vibrated against your mouth, low and desperate, and it made your thighs clench instinctively.

he broke away for half a second, gasping, forehead pressed to yours.

“i—i want to…”

he whispered, voice hoarse with need, eyes blown wide and dark.

you smiled, dragging your thumb across his flushed cheek.

“i know, baby.”

he surged forward, kissing you harder this time, sloppy, hungry, messy with weeks—months of repression spilling out all at once. his hands roamed, mapping the curves of your body through the fabric, like he couldn’t decide where to worship first.

you pushed him across the room until the back of his knees caught the edge of your bed—the same bed he had shamelessly sunk into minutes before, breathing you in.

he stumbled down onto it with a soft thud, and you were on him in a heartbeat, straddling his lap. your oversized t-shirt slid up and over your head, falling carelessly to the floor. his jaw dropped, eyes darting helplessly over the sudden, bareness of you.

“god—you’re so…i can’t even…”

his voice cracked, breath shuddering out of him.

you didn’t give him time to fumble. you pushed him flat onto the mattress, his body bouncing lightly against the springs before you claimed his mouth once more.

you were greedy, unrestrained. the kiss was all teeth, tongue, and want. you swallowed his gasp as though it belonged to you, devouring the sound until he melted beneath you.

“please…”

the word tore out of him, broken and needy. his chest heaved, eyes glassy and wide, pupils devouring the warm hazel.

you pulled back just enough to let your lips brush his, a teasing hum vibrating in your throat.

“hmm?”

he swallowed, trying to steady his voice, but it still trembled.

“i want you to—uhm…”

your nails dragged lightly down his sides, you felt so close through the thin fabric of his shirt, making him shiver.

“spit it out, you can do it.”

you murmured, egging him on, hot against his ear.

“can you… please… sitonmyface?”

the words tumbled out in one rushed, strangled plea, so fast you almost thought you imagined them.

for a heartbeat you froze, wondering if your ears had betrayed you. but then you saw it… the wild, desperate flicker in his eyes, the way his lips trembled like he’d just confessed something dangerous.

a sharp gasp clawed its way from your throat, echoing in your bones. heat licked at your skin, your pulse thundering in your ears. spencer reid, the man who could rattle off entire encyclopedias without breaking a sweat, was unraveling beneath you, begging.

you shifted deliberately, rolling your hips over his, slow and torturous. the friction dragged a broken moan from deep in his chest, his head tilting back against the pillow, curls damp at his temples.

“i didn’t quite catch that, what did you say?”

your voice lifted with a wicked sweetness as you ground down on him, just enough to make him squirm.

his eyes snapped open, glassy and pleading, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly the fabric strained.

you leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, your breath hot against his skin.

“say it again, spencer.”

he swallowed hard, chest heaving, words stuttering on his tongue.

“i… i want you to sit on my face,”

he managed, louder this time, though his voice cracked with raw need.

“please. i need it. need you.”

the confession hit you like a spark, heat pooling low in your stomach. still, even as your own resolve chipped away faster than you cared to admit, you couldn’t resist teasing him a bit more, not ready to give in just yet.

you smiled against his jaw, pressing an open-mouthed kiss there, dragging your teeth lightly along the edge.

“good boy,”

you whispered, your hand sliding up his chest, nails teasing his throat before curling under his chin, tilting his face up to yours.

“beg a little more for me.”

his lips parted as if to argue, but all that came out was a choked whimper when you rolled your hips again, slower this time, deliberate enough to make him feel every shift of pressure.

“please…”

he gasped, voice already breaking.

you tilted your head, studying him with mock innocence.

“please what, spencer? you’re going to have to be a lot clearer than that.”

his throat worked as he swallowed, his eyes flicking to your mouth, your body, then back to your eyes, utterly undone.

“please… sit on my face,”

he repeated, breathless.

“mmm, better,”

you purred, dragging your nails lightly down his arms, watching goosebumps ripple in their wake.

“but i don’t know, spencer… i still don’t think you sound convincing enough.”

a whimper tore from him—humiliating, desperate, beautiful.

“say it again.”

“sit on my face, please. want it so bad”

he blurted, louder this time, his voice hoarse.

you rewarded him with another slow grind of your hips, his eyes fluttering shut, a strangled groan escaping him.

“one more time, please. like you mean it. show me how much you want me.”

he broke then, utterly, shamelessly.

“please, please let me taste you,”

he begged, voice trembling as his chest rose and fell like he’d just run miles.

“i need to feel you on me, above me—please, i’ll do anything, i’ll be so good for you, just—just let me have you.”

“okay.”

the single word fell from your lips like a verdict, whispered, almost inaudible. though the sound of it tore a guttural groan from his chest—raw, unrestrained, like he couldn’t believe this was finally happening to him.

his eyes tracked your every move, wide and glassy, as you hooked your fingers into the drawstring of your joggers. his breath stuttered, chest rising in quick, shallow bursts as you tugged, the knot slipping loose with infuriating slowness.

you lifted your hips, dragging the fabric down inch by inch. his gaze followed helplessly, hungry, starved, as though every new sliver was a gift from the heavens.

his breath hitched sharply as your thighs came into full view. his hands twitched against the mattress, curling into the sheets so tightly his knuckles whitened.

“god…”

he whispered, voice cracking, eyes raking over you like he was memorizing every dip, every curve, every bump. because he was.

you paused, just long enough to torment him, your joggers hanging loose around the base of your thighs, meeting your knees.

“don’t pass out on me now, spencer.”

he gasped, eyes never leaving you.

“i won’t, i couldn’t—i need to see all of you.”

you finally peeled the thick gray fabric all the way down your smooth legs, lifting your body in order to do so. toes flexing as you tugged them free and flung them carelessly across the room.

it didn’t phase spencer in the slightest—in fact, he didn’t even register where they landed. his eyes were locked too tightly on you, moving upward in a desperate, reverent climb until they stopped at the last barrier between him and everything he wanted.

plain, deep maroon. nothing lacy, nothing extravagant. just simple cotton stretched across your hips. but to him, they may as well have been made of gold. his breath caught in his throat, chest shuddering with every inhale, the sight alone had sent him reeling.

you smirked, slipping a finger under the elastic and tugging it back just enough to let it snap lightly against your skin. the sound made him groan, low and broken, his head tipping back against the mattress as if even that tiny bit of teasing was too much.

“like what you see?”

you asked softly, voice dripping with taunt.

“yes, i like—love it—yes…”

he gasped, frantic, stuttering over his words, nodding before they even fully left his mouth.

you let the silence hang for one delicious second longer before hooking your thumbs into the waistband. his eyes went impossibly wider, lips parting as he watched you drag the fabric down, inch by torturous inch, until finally, finally you rid yourself of them, the last flimsy piece of modesty hanging on your finger tip.

spencer’s entire body went taut, like he’d been struck by lightning.

“right, you have a thing for these, don’t you?”

you giggled and tossed your now soaked panties to him, watching him blush and fumble with the fabric before gripping them with one hand, eyes landing on you.

“oh my god,”

he whispered, desperation tangled in each breath.

you lurched forward, pulling your body over his, until you were situated just over where he needed you, hovering so close he could almost taste you already.

his hand finally left the comfort of your sheets, releasing itself from the fabric and onto you, the curve of your hips, the swell of your ass. his hand studied you like you were an undiscovered specimen, like a god, he was worshipping you above him.

“you’ll tell me if im hurting you, okay?”

it was less a question and more a demand, still he obliged, nodding as he tried to pull your weight on top of him. your hands dashed for the headboard, steadying yourself—pulling all of your mass into your legs as your swollen core finally made contact with spencer’s immensely eager lips.

he moaned at the taste of you. he was loud. he sent vibrations straight through your body, up your spine and to your brain, shocking you with pleasure.

he caught you by surprise, forcing you down, making your knees buckle, pulling you flat on top of him.

“spencer! spence—gah!”

he didn’t waste a second before diving back in, placing hot, open mouthed kisses around your cunt, swirling his tongue around your clit. he was eating you out like a mad man.

spencers mind was mainly filled with static, his brain completely buzzed, high on you, your taste, your sounds. but that small part of him that remained coherent was only thinking about how less than half an hour earlier, he thought his life was over… yet, now, he’d be more than willing to meet his fate right here beneath you.

dying between your thighs would be an honourable way to go.

apparent pro-multitasker, his hand sprawled out on your sheets, loosening his iron tight grip on your soiled panties. he groaned as he felt the slick between his fingers, mirroring that of which was currently dripping down his chin.

for a brief fraction of a second, he allowed the hand gripping the flesh of your thigh like a lifeline to travel towards his trousers, skillfully un zipping them with one hand.

the man couldn’t handle a pair of chopsticks to save his life, but of course he could whip his dick out while you were grinding on his face. of course he could.

his hand travelled back to your skin, palming the soft flesh with a gentleness that starkly contrasted the way he was making your thighs shake, devouring you.

“you’re doing—mmm..s—so good for me.”

your praise fell on grateful ears, following a satisfied hum that had you quivering forward, finding purchase on your headboard.

spencers hips bucked into nothing at the sound of your voice, reminding him that he currently had a sacred item at his disposal, that he had another fantasy to fulfill.

even when you humiliated him for his infatuation before, he couldn’t help the way blood rushed into his cock at the speed of light, forcing him to admit all the nasty things he’d dreamt up about you.

and now, he still felt infinitely ashamed. he had you exactly where he’d yearned to feel you for so long. still, he wrapped his panty clad palm around his length, whining into your heat at the contact.

you were too jacked up on pleasure to notice that he was fucking his hand, and your underwear. or maybe you just didn’t really care. you had decided to take the satisfaction you deserved as you grinded down on spencer’s face. fervently.

obscene wet slaps filled your apartment, through the echos of skin on skin and the squeaks of your mattress, you could make out a faint buzzing, no doubt your best friend. she was probably calling to complain about her date, maybe he didn’t complement her shoes or was shorter than what his profile had stated.

you’d call her back. tomorrow.

now, you were teetering so close on the edge you thought you might faint.

“jesus fucking christ! hah—spencer!..gah!”

spencer only groaned in acknowledgment, swirling his tongue around your swollen bundle of nerves in perfect figure eights, making your eyes roll back.

“so good… so so good f’me. fuck—you gonna make me cum? y—yeah?”

he nodded his head frantically, your words only egging him on to move faster, sucking up your slick like it was the last thing he would do.

“fuckkk fuckfuckfuckfuckkk”

your head whipped backwards as spencer scent you hurling towards your climax, his tongue collecting every last bit of your release as he let you ride out your high, revelling in the convulsions around his mouth.

you saw white, shaking on top of him. your mind blanked.

you fell back onto your mattress with a soft plop, the springs squeaking beneath the sudden weight.

“spencer. reid. hah… what the actual fuck.”

you panted, voice broken with laughter and exhaustion all at once. your chest rose and fell erratically, every inhale shaky as you tried, and failed, to catch your breath after literally seeing stars.

you finally turned your head, eyes finding spencer for the first time in what felt like hours. your gaze lingered on his face: damp lips, chin shining with evidence, cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink. he looked wrecked, undone, you loved it.

then, your eyes dropped lower. and there it was—unmistakable proof of what he’d been up to while you were on top of him.

you exhaled, a crooked grin curling at your lips,

“you really are a pervert, huh? you’re lucky i like you way too much to care.”

you let out a breathless chuckle, leaning over to press your lips to his—gentler now, softer, slow enough to make him sigh. the taste of yourself on his tongue only made you smile into the kiss.

“you can keep those, by the way.”

his eyes flicked up shyly, lips twitching against yours in a smirk he couldn’t hide. he avoided your gaze like he was afraid he’d combust if he held it too long.

one clean hand slid instinctively around your waist, pulling you close as both your chests rose and fell in a messy, uneven rhythm. You felt sticky, utterly ruined. the two of you were in a hot, tangled disaster on sheets you’d literally just washed two days ago.

still, when you looked at him, your sharp edges dulled, your warmth flooding back in. the part of you that had just spent an hour taunting him now softened, tender.

“you’re so beautiful.”

spencer whispered, the words so quiet you almost missed them under the pounding of your own heartbeat.

but you heard. and it melted you.

your mascara was smudged into streaks, your hair knotted into a sweaty clump, your skin burning like you’d been trapped in a summer heatwave with no ac. and still, he looked at you like you were something out of reach, something celestial.

you couldn’t help but smile, pressing a kiss to his jaw before burying your face into the crook of his neck, clinging to his warmth.

“sooo… did you ever pick up that pizza?”

you pulled back just in time to catch the laugh sputtering from his throat, giggling yourself as you smacked his chest lightly in mock scolding.

“yeah… it’s been on the counter for a while, though. definitely cold.”

spencer stretched, half ignoring the comment, already fumbling his way out of bed and toward your kitchen.

“good. I’m starving.”

you bolted upright, catching his wrist and redirecting him down the hall instead.

“uh-uh,”

you corrected, tugging him toward the bathroom with a pointed look.

“we’re taking a shower first.”

“we?”

he teased, arching a brow, his smirk returning.

“hm?”

you hummed as if you didn’t hear the inflection in his tone.

he didn’t answer with words. instead, he smirked wider, finally giving into the urge that boiled in his stomach every time he trailed behind you. gripping the curve of your ass as he unfastened the buttons of his now-ruined shirt.

it was a like a lifelong goal had finally been reached. past spencer would never believe that present spencer actually got to touch you as he watched the way your ass jiggled from behind.

you rolled your eyes, though the grin tugging at your lips betrayed you, and reached to twist the faucet, letting the water heat up. testing it with your fingers, you stepped over the edge of the tub, letting the steam engulf you.

you heard spencer’s footsteps pad up behind you.

the curtain rattled softly as he tugged it open, enough to step into the space between you and the wall, his bare feet prickling against the cold tile.

his chest pressed flush to your back, his lips brushing over your damp shoulder, his breath hot and teasing.

he had a lot more fantasies to confess to you.

Spencer tells Hotch

You were barely holding yourself together when the briefing ended, thighs pressed tight under the table, nails digging into your palms. Spencer noticed. Of course he noticed.

As the team started to disperse, he stepped toward Hotch.

“Y/N isn’t feeling well,” he said calmly, hand resting on the small of your back. “I think I should take her home, make sure she gets some rest.”

Hotch looked at you, saw the flush in your cheeks, and nodded once.

“Take the afternoon,” he said.

Spencer led you out before you could say a word, his palm warm against your spine.

You didn’t breathe until you were in the car.

He glanced at you over the console, eyes dark with quiet amusement.

“You’re lucky I am a very patient man,” he said.

You swallowed hard.

Hour One

He got you into his apartment and set your bag on the counter. You expected him to drag you straight to his bedroom. He didn’t.

“You’re going to metabolize this slowly,” he explained, loosening his tie as he looked you over like you were some fascinating case study. “For the first hour, you’re going to feel flushed, restless, like you cannot sit still. Your blood pressure is already slightly elevated.”

You shivered.

“And you are soaked,” he added clinically, stepping closer until you were backed against the counter.

“Spencer—”

“Tell me where you need me.”

You grabbed his wrist and pressed his hand between your thighs.

“Here,” you breathed.

He smiled, soft and infuriating. “Good girl.”

He slid your skirt up and sank to his knees, pulling your panties aside. The first slow lick made you cry out.

“Shh,” he murmured against you. “Hour one is all about observation.”

You didn’t make it ten minutes before you came on his tongue, clutching the counter so hard your knuckles turned white.

He kissed your thigh and stood, licking his lips like he could taste your desperation.

“Hour two will be worse,” he said.

Hour Two

He sat you on the couch, made you drink water, and then climbed over you until you were caged beneath him.

“This is where the aphrodisiacs really take hold,” he murmured, brushing his lips along your jaw. “Your dopamine is spiking. Your clitoris is probably twice as sensitive as normal. Every nerve ending is firing.”

You whimpered when his fingers slid under your panties again.

“See? You’re already wet again.”

He played with you lazily, two fingers stroking just enough to keep you trembling but never enough to push you over.

“Spencer, please,” you begged, arching into his hand.

“Not yet,” he said softly. “You need to learn to hold it.”

He pulled away right as you were about to come, leaving you shaking.

“You’re cruel,” you whispered.

He smiled. “Hour three will be even better.”

Hour Three

You didn’t even make it to the next hour before you were begging him.

Your shirt was gone, your bra discarded somewhere on the floor, and you were straddling his lap on the couch, rocking against him.

“This is where the half-life starts to plateau,” he murmured against your throat. “You’re in a state of heightened arousal now. Even if I did nothing, you would stay like this.”

“Then don’t do nothing,” you gasped, grinding down until you felt him hard beneath you.

He groaned. “Say what you want.”

“I want your cock,” you said, desperate. “Please, Spencer, I need you inside me.”

He gave you what you wanted, guiding you down slowly until you were full. You both moaned at the stretch.

He let you ride him, slow at first, then faster as the pleasure built until you were clenching around him, crying out as your orgasm tore through you.

“Perfect,” he whispered, kissing you as you came down.

Hour Four

Spencer didn’t let you rest.

“You’re still under the influence,” he said, laying you back on the couch. “Your body is producing more oxytocin now, which means you’ll crave more intimacy. More closeness.”

You didn’t care about the science. You just spread your legs for him and begged.

He fucked you slow, deliberately, until you were clawing at the cushions and pleading for more.

When you came, it was so intense you almost sobbed.

“That’s two,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your knee.

Hour Five

By now you were limp and sweaty, your hair sticking to your forehead, but he wasn’t done.

“Your serotonin is still low,” he said, trailing his fingers down your stomach. “That means you’re still highly sensitive. We should test your threshold.”

“Spencer,” you groaned.

He slid three fingers inside you without warning, thumb circling your clit.

You came in seconds.

“Fascinating,” he said, watching your body shudder. “Your refractory period is almost nonexistent now.”

He kept going until you were crying, shaking, begging him to stop.

“You said you needed help,” he reminded you, kissing away your tears. “I’m just helping.”

Hour Six

You were exhausted, boneless, completely wrecked.

He carried you to his bed and lay beside you, brushing damp hair from your face.

“The compounds should be wearing off soon,” he said softly. “But your dopamine is still high. You might want one more to help you relax.”

You nodded weakly.

He rolled you onto your back and slid inside you one last time, slow and deep, kissing you through every thrust until you came undone around him, pulling him with you.

When it was over, he held you close, rubbing your back gently.

“Better?” he murmured.

You nodded, half-asleep already.

“Good,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “Next time we test this in a lab setting.”

“We have to be extra quiet,” he whispers. “This hotel has particularly thin walls.”

“Then don’t make me laugh,” you respond, immediately giggling again when he starts dotting your face all over with kisses — the tip of your nose, your cheekbone, your hairline, the corner of your mouth.

It’s a practiced routine by now: Spencer’s tie loosens, your shirt buttons surrender, and he lifts you into his arms before laying you down on the crisp hotel sheets that suddenly feel way too formal for the way he’s looking at you.

Kisses trail down your throat, careful where he knows you’re ticklish. When you gasp his name, it’s too loud and you slap a hand over your mouth, scandalized by yourself. He makes a dying-man noise, eyes bright with something fond and feral. “I said to stay quiet,” he teases, then presses two fingers to your lips. “I can help with that, you know.”

You go lightheaded at the implication and take them in, a slow, ridiculous suck that frays his composure. “You’re impossible,” he whispers adoringly. “Perfect, but impossible.”

He withdraws his fingers and continues his descent down your body, his mouth finding you quickly, almost too gently at first. You fist the sheets, then his hair, then the headboard behind you when it’s too much and not enough all at once, and he just… stays. Keeps going. Lifts his head only to breathe out praise before dipping back between your thighs, intent and unhurried.

When you start to pull away from how good it is, he keeps you steady, soft grip at your hip, humming like a promise against you. The sound vibrates straight through your bones. He slides two fingers inside, careful, and you come apart against him within moments. It’s not loud — you swear it isn’t — but you feel him chuckle against you when you clamp a hand over your mouth again, just in case.

“Hi,” you breathe when the room finally puts itself back together.

He kisses your knee, your thigh, the edge of your stomach. “Hi.” He’s flushed and undone and, quite possibly, the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

You pull him up your body and kiss him with what’s left of your composure, feel the hard line of him against your hip. You thumb his belt open and he goes very still, checking your eyes the way he always does. You nod. Yes. Always yes.

“Look at me,” he whispers, fitting between your thighs. One hand cradles your jaw; the other laces your fingers above the pillow. The first push steals your breath and he hushes you with a kiss you feel all the way down your spine.

“God,” he mouths against your cheek, and you hook your leg over his hip in answer. He shifts an inch, angling your knee exactly where he wants it with his palm and groans into your throat. You both shush each other, laughing helplessly into a kiss like teenagers.

It crests fast because it’s him and because the night is short and because the way you feel about each other has never been a subtle thing. You fall apart around him with his name in your mouth and his hand tight around your fingers. Spencer follows a heartbeat later, lips and teeth against the curve of your neck to keep from waking the whole floor. He stays inside you for a long second that feels like forever, then eases out and gathers you close, leaving an open-mouthed kiss at your jaw.

“So stealthy,” you whisper with a giggle.

—

Morning puts both of you back in suits at the local precinct. In the conference room, you and Spencer review the crime scene map with straight faces like you weren’t just memorizing every inch of each other’s skin in a hotel bed six hours ago.

The team watches from across the room, smirks barely contained.

JJ sips her coffee. “They really think they’re subtle, don’t they?”

Emily doesn’t look up from her tablet. “I spotted Reid sneaking back into his room at 5am.”

Morgan shakes his head, grinning. “She was wearing a cardigan that looked suspiciously like one from Pretty Boy’s collection when I saw her in the lobby this morning. And he keeps tugging his collar up to hide whatever the hell she left on his neck last night.”

Hotch caps his pen, the corner of his mouth almost curling. “As long as it doesn’t affect their work,” he says mildly, “we can be happy for them.”

“Happy for who?” you ask, appearing with a stack of witness forms, all wide-eyed innocence.

“For the local PD,” Emily covers smoothly. “They finally fixed their copy machine.” You shrug and get back to work.

JJ leans in. “Do we tell them we know?” she whispers.

“Absolutely not,” Emily says. “The illusion is half the fun.”

Morgan grins. “Ten bucks says they get married and still try to cover it up.”

Hotch cuts in: “Stop gambling on your coworkers.”

Spencer re-appears with two coffees, setting one down in front of you, and you thank him without looking. He reaches to untwist your lanyard, and both of you freeze for a half-second — muscle memory betraying you — then step apart in perfect sync.

Across the room, JJ and Emily trade a look, and Morgan’s grin widens.

Profilers know a tell when they see one — and they also know when to leave it be. Not secret so much as quiet, and for now, that’s enough.

ᝰ.ᐟ

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