illdiealonelyguy

Your voice was disgustingly velvety and it was one of the many things that infuriated Spencer because every single thing that came out of your mouth made him itch to argue. He never had a real reason to hate you, not technically. Maybe it was the way you never seemed amused by what he says. Or the fact that you were — in his words — “childish” and “immature”. You never missed a chance to tease him and challenge his thoughts to watch him unravel. 

“No, I'm just saying that the game needs focus and Emily is kinda tired right now. I do also think it requires cognitive maturity, but you wouldn’t know much about that.” he shrugged. 

A small smirk crept up on your lips, he’s so predictable. You huffed, shoving your earbuds in the small pocket of your jeans, “Oh I’ll show you cognitive maturity, Reid.” 

He wanted nothing more than to ignore you, but he couldn’t help but glance up at you. You slid into the chair next to Emily, your movements graceful and unbothered by the tension radiating off him.

“Do you even know how to play chess?” Spencer asked as he laid the two-toned brown chess board flat on the table in front of him. 

“I’ve never lost a single game.” you shrugged. That was a lie. You were a good chess player, but you’ve definitely lost some games in your day. It’s hard to keep a “forever” winning streak in a household full of chess freaks. 

A wide grin formed on Morgan’s face, and he whistled to ruffle Spencer’s feathers, “Oh she’s coming for your throat, Reid.” 

“You just wait and watch me ruin him.” you picked the black side, cupping your hands against the table to pull all your pieces to your side. 

Spencer let out a short, dry laugh, “Hm, you wish.” 

At this point of the flight, everyone was bored out of their minds, so they were getting to that stage of stirring anything up for a bit of amusement. 

JJ was snacking on some salted chips in her seat that was close to yours, with only the narrow aisle between the two of you. She was watching you two as if you were a show on TV, “What do you get if you win?” she asked you with a subtle smile.

You gave her a small laugh and looked up in thought. 

Spencer scoffed, “She’s not going to win.” he looked at you, his index finger pointing at you, “You don’t have to think of a reward. We won’t be in need of that, don’t worry.” 

If you wanted to beat him a few moments ago, now you needed to. You had no other choice. 

“If I win you have to make my coffee exactly how I like it every morning and get me a glazed donut with that.” your smile widened, “I don’t wanna burden you, but you’ll have to warm up the donut before I come to work.” 

“What- No!” Spencer’s voice shot up as his face scrunched in disgust. The way he was so dramatic always fucking annoyed you. 

“Why not?”

Morgan let out a laugh and raised a brow, “What, are you scared, Reid?”

“I’m not scared. I don’t wanna humiliate you in front of everyone.”

“If you’re so sure you’re gonna win, why be worried?” you tilted your head, “Unless you know I’m gonna drag you to filth.” 

He placed his elbows on the table between you two. Glared at you, in the lovely, endearing you he always did. Then leaned back, “Fine but when I win, you’re gonna be delivering my paperwork to and from Hotch’s office.” 

When. 

The arrogance in that single word made you want to beat him even more. And it’s exactly why you never missed an opportunity of twisting his mind and nerves and pinning him down —figuratively— to show him just how pathetic he truly was. But when you think about it, pinning a completely dazed, breathless Spencer beneath you —literally— would taste even sweeter. 

“Deal.” you smiled sweetly. 

And now the game shall begin. 

You crossed your arms on the table and straightened your back while he moved his first pawn. You made your opening move the second his fingers left the piece.

Quick. 

Spencer’s eyes flicked up briefly before returning to the board. 

You hid your smile. 

 You knew the classic traps and techniques wouldn’t work on Spencer, so you tried to be creative. As creative as you can get in chess without being too reckless. 

Spencer’s brows never relaxed once, and he was biting his lip with so much force as if it would ignite new ideas. He usually didn’t need much effort to find a way around people’s moves.

But you played unpredictably enough for his brows to slightly twitch every few moves. Changing the rhythm, and ending every pattern before it was recognized was key to confusing him. 

His moves finally became slightly slower. 

You leaned forward, eyes locked on his hands that hesitated between two pieces, “You’re stalling.” 

“I’m not.” he finally settled on a piece to move, “I barely took eleven seconds. I played six moves in under 49 seconds and you took 55.” 

“You’re keeping track?” you looked up at him,watching his eyes lock onto yours in an instant.

That was the perfect time to make things go a bit faster.

Your fingers brushed the board lightly, nudging the knight one square to the left, a square it shouldn’t be able to reach.  

 You were just giving the game a push. Trying to be more efficient wasn’t a crime. Not if your intentions are pure. 

His eyes flicked back down to the board, “Of course I’m keeping track.” he muttered,”We don’t have a clock.”

You bit back a smile.

You could feel the moment he was finally trapped. His posture shifted and his teeth switched to his top lip. 

You clicked your fingers close to his face that was practically moving into the board with every move. 

“The clock is ticking Reid!” 

He slightly swatted your hand away from his face and made a move he wasn’t too sure of, “Your knight couldn’t have gotten there.” 

You lazily pointed at the knight, “It literally did. Look at it.” 

“No, because your rook-” his brows drew together. 

“Sounds like someone’s losing.” you murmured, leaning back in your chair like you hadn’t just shifted the entire balance of the game. 

Suddenly, playing chess was a million times more fun. 

“I’m not losing.” he immediately bit back. 

He slowly moved his rook, his fingers lingering on it for a moment too long. 

You made your move confidently without a second thought.

“..that knight shouldn’t be there,” he said again, his chin now resting on his palm. More like digging into it.

“It was there for a while.” 

“That’s impossible,” he shook his head, replaying the game in his head.

“It is possible,” you said simply.

“You couldn’t have gotten it into that spot with that little amount of moves.”

“Well, I did,” you gave him a shit-eating grin and leaned closer across the table, “you just weren’t paying attention when I made that move.” 

“I was paying attention.” 

You faintly smiled, “Not enough.” 

“Oh my god,” his eyes widened and he pressed his palms on the table on either side of the board. “You fucking cheated.”

“I did not.”

His hands moved above the board, “You absolutely did.” 

Your final move landed and his eyes zeroed on your bishop. 

“Oh.” he quietly said. 

You tilted your head slightly, “Oh?” 

“That’s checkmate.” he simply stated, trying to convince himself of this unexplainable mistake. He knew you cheated. 

“I told you I’ve never lost a game, Reid.” you smiled, “Maybe you’re a bit tired. The game requires deep concentration." you mocked, quoting him back to himself.  

“This doesn’t add up,” his fingers twitching over his captured queen, “The probability of your knight ending up in that spot without at least three intermediate moves is zero. It’s literally zero!”

“Just take the L, kid,” Morgan chuckled and patted Spencer’s shoulder, “she dragged you. Accept it.”

“I didn’t get dragged,” Spencer snapped, his face flushed in frustration. He looked up at you, eyes burning with sheer vexation, “You did something. I don’t know what, but you did something.” 

You slipped your earbuds back into your ears, relaxing your head on the headrest behind you, “Don’t forget Spencer. Two sugars and no creamer. Oh and microwave the donut for exactly fifteen seconds. I'll send it back if it’s cold.” you closed your eyes with a triumphant smirk plastered on your face. 

You could feel his eyes burning into your skull and you loved it. 

An hour later, you finally touched ground. JJ nudged you awake and you rubbed your eyes in exhaustion, your headache thumping behind your eyes harder than it was before napping. 

Spencer had already gotten up from his seat, grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder stiffly before getting off the plane with only a few long strides.  

“Jeez, is he still pissed?” you yawned and slowly got up, your muscles gradually defrosting.

Emily chuckled, holding out your black leather bag, “He barely read twenty pages this past hour.”

You took your go bag, the weight of it on your shoulder easing some tension, “Thanks.”

“Have a good night everyone. Paperwork can wait till tomorrow morning.” Hotch announced when everyone got off the jet. 

“Ugh. You’re an angel.” you clasped your hands together, still half asleep, thanking Hotch. 

Hotch paused, glancing at you as you fell into step next to him, “You did a good job. Not that I approve of your illegal knight movements.” 

Your heart skipped a tiny beat, a small guilty smile forming on your face, “You saw that?”

Hotch didn’t break his stride, and his lips slightly turned up, “I did. Go home and get some sleep.” 

He probably didn’t say anything in the moment because you were Spencer’s karma to the time he cheated on cards while playing with Hotch and JJ on the jet a few weeks ago. 

The sleep fully faded as soon as you got to the door of your apartment. 

You were physically exhausted but your head was never more awake. 

You took an hour long hot shower as a form of meditation. You didn’t bother turning on the main lights or changing into your clothes. You held the towel around your body and collapsed face-first into the mattress. The sheets were cool against your skin, a welcome relief from the long two busy days you spent in Los Angeles. 

When you finally decided to stand and properly get ready for bed, your phone started ringing, pulling you out of the static ease you finally forced your head to fall into. 

You turned your phone over. 

Spencer. 

“Tell me how the knight got to b5.” he blurted out.

You sighed, rubbing your eyes and moving toward your closet in the corner of the room, “Are you seriously still crying over this?”

“I’m not crying. And I didn’t lose. The game doesn’t count because you cheated.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I did not cheat? Maybe I’m just a prodigy and you don’t know it.”

“Oh please,” he scoffed, “You are not a prodigy.” 

Spencer sounded deeply irritated and sleep-deprived. 

“You’re adorable when you're spiraling.” you teased with a coy smile.

You knew your words would only stimulate a reaction. Anger. 

“You disrupted the entire structure of the game-” 

“Reid, if you’re so sure I cheated, come over and prove it.” you interrupted him, your voice dropping to a lazy tone, “I have a board. Come beat me if you can, Spencer.” 

The silence on the other end stretched for a few seconds. 

Spencer huffed, “Fine but if I-”

You hung up before he could continue. What’s better than irking him even more.

You decided to get comfortable and change into a graphic tee and cotton shorts. You needed a clear mind, a good plan, and all the luck in the world to “recreate” the game.

As expected, he was at the door in under twenty minutes. Three firm knocks pulled you out of your peace, just like every other thing he ever did. 

You were met with a polite looking Spencer. He changed out of his work clothes into another one of his work outfits. He was overly prepared for this and it was starting to worry you. He is not letting you win again—not when he has his suspicions now. 

“You hung up on me.” he accused, stepping past you into the warm, dimly lit apartment.

“Your voice was annoying me,” you shrugged, locking the door behind him, “and I told you—if you want to prove I’m a fraud, do it on the board.” 

The black and white wooden chess set was already laid out in the middle of your green couch.

You sat sideways, cross-legged on one side of the couch, facing the board. Spencer gently lowered his bag onto the floor next to the couch and sat across from you, his long legs bent awkwardly to fit his tall frame into the limited space. 

“White or black?” he asked, his eyes settling on the board. 

“Take white. Give yourself the advantage,” you teased, resting your palms on your knees as you gave him a calm, challenging look, “you’re going to need it.”

“I don’t need an advantage to beat someone who can’t stick to basic rules of the game.” he muttered, moving the white pawn regardless. 

The game progressed quickly, both of you taking only a few seconds per turn. 

Unlike the jet, there were no distractions. The rhythmic, aggressive snapping of pieces cut through the silence of your apartment. 

You quickly realized that even if you wanted to play clean, you were getting further away from winning with every turn. But you kept your confidence strong, making every move with undeniable certainty. 

You pulled your eyes off the board, keeping them on him. 

He glanced up for a second, “What are you doing?”

“I’m playing the game.” you kept your eyes fixated on the curls that fell over his face, “Your moves are very predictable and it’s getting boring.”

He looked up at you, “I know, playing by the rules must be very boring for you.” 

The subtle dig hung in the air. You chose to not say anything back and give him a lazy smile, refusing to break eye contact. 

You slowly uncurled your leg from your crisscrossed position, draping it over the open edge of the couch—letting your bare thigh rest only a few inches away from Spencer’s knee, close to the board separating the two of you.

Spencer’s eyes flicked to your leg for a fraction of a second. It was agonizingly obvious that the sight had thrown him off his axis.  

You bit back a smirk. “You seem kinda tense, Reid.” you whispered, cocking your head to the side. 

“I’m fine.” the words were sharp. 

You decided to press your advantage. Your finger slowly grazed the right edge of the board, reaching the corner close to him, then bringing it back to your side.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain his focus. His focus was fracturing under the weight of the room that only kept getting heavier.

“Are you losing your focus, Spencer?” you whispered, a barely-there smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. 

“No.” His eyes were completely pinned to yours now, dark and dilated. A faint shade of pink was trailing up his neck, finally settling on his ears, giving him away. Poor Spencer was nervous. 

Every time he looked down at the board, all he could see was your bare thigh invading his peripheral vision. All he could hear was the soft rhythm of your breathing as you kept getting closer above the board. 

He had to stare at your face whenever looking at the board wasn’t an absolute must. So when it was your turn his eyes were wide and fixated on your face as if it took monumental physical effort to keep them there. 

Luckily for you, you’ve been running different possibilities of how the game could go every few moves. 

You looked down, crunching two moves into a single turn—which completely altered the route of the game. 

He hesitated for a moment, but didn’t want his distraction to be too obvious, so he made the impulsive choice of moving the piece that his slender fingers were hovering over. 

“Ha! Checkmate!” a wide smile took over your face.

“What- no this isn’t possible-” he was stuttering with so much frustration, only making your smile widen. 

You teasingly leaned forward, right on the boundary line of his space, “You just can’t handle losing to me.” 

At this point, the normal thing to do was to start packing the pieces back into their place silently, but where’s the fun in “normal”? 

So you didn’t move. You were still leaning over the board. Waiting for something you couldn’t figure out. 

Who would’ve known that making him lose focus would be this easy. 

“You did something, I just know it.” his voice lost its sharp edge, now sounding heavier, “You were distracting me on purpose.” 

“What? Having normal conversation is illegal during a fun, friendly game?” you tipped your head a tad bit closer. 

“It’s not my fault you couldn’t handle the heat.” your heart was hammering against your ribs at the intensity of his eyes glaring at you. 

You always teased Spencer, but you always took a step back just before it got too much. And now, it was getting too much. 

Spencer’s gaze dropped to your lips for a moment, his throat bobbing. “You’re so insufferable.” he rasped. 

The underlying tension that had been building between you over the months of constant psychological warfare finally snapped. Spencer reached across the short distance, crashing his lips onto yours clumsily. 

It wasn’t smooth at all. His teeth bumped against yours— a physical manifestation of his lack of composure. He froze and his hands awkwardly hovered in the air between you two, having no clue where to rest them. 

You didn’t pull away. Your hand cradled his jaw and you leaned into the kiss, parting your lips slightly. A low, desperate sound caught in the back of his throat, making the corners of your mouth twitch. 

Your fingers tipped his head and he immediately obliged, letting his head tilt backwards. You slightly tugged on his bottom lip before pulling back slightly. His eyes were frantically scanning every feature of your face as if you were an odd, foreign object in a dream. 

His breath was heavy, and weirdly enough—you didn’t mind breathing it in with your own mingling breath. Your hands moved down to his chest, gently pushing him back to rest on the back of the couch—his shaky legs uncrossing and slipping down on the floor to sit properly.

He didn’t know what you were doing, but he was so dazed and weak that he’d do whatever you told him to. You crawled over the chess board, knocking off some pieces that Spencer tried catching so they wouldn't fall on the floor, “Don’t,” your voice made him stop and lean backwards immediately. 

You slid your right leg over his lap to sit properly. Your mind was fuzzy and you weren’t thinking straight. The way his body was leaning into yours hypnotized you in a way that made it impossible to stop now.

His brows drew together once your weight settled on his lap as he let out a small grunt. His hands immediately, gently gripped your hips without much thought.

You connected your lips again, but this time the clumsiness was gone. The initial shock was now replaced with mutual desperation. He opened his mouth further, giving you permission for more. Your hand moved to his soft curls, tugging on them as you slid your tongue into his open mouth. 

You shifted your weight slightly, grinding your core against him, and Spencer let out a small whimper. Your body was desperate for friction, just like him, but you couldn’t let yourself get too carried away just yet. 

“What was that Spencer? Already a whimpering mess?” you struggled to keep calm. 

His eyes flew open, completely blown out, his brown irises completely swallowed by his pupils. 

“No.” 

You rolled your hips with more force, pulling another whimper from his wet, parted lips, “please.” he whispered.

His hips bucked as you deliberately shifted again, a slow torturous grind that had his fingers gripping the fabric of your shorts. 

You lowered your voice to a honey-sweet tone, “Did I say you could move, Spencer?” 

“No,” 

You could feel his bulge straining his pants between your thighs. “So needy.” you shook your head with a smug smirk. 

“Already so hard, Spencer?” you looked at his face with fake sympathy, keeping the slow rhythm of your hips. 

He couldn’t bring himself to speak, but his shaky hands trailed up your back reverently, trying to hold onto every bit. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, making you gasp softly. 

You leaned in to kiss his slightly open mouth, then kissed your way to his jaw. You nipped at the sensitive spot behind his ear, “oh my god,” he murmured, trying to keep his voice to himself so you’d stop teasing him. 

You couldn’t help but smile, “I didn’t know you were this weak, Spencer.”

“I’m not,” he whined, his eyes squeezing shut. 

He looked so beautifully, entirely at your mercy. 

He slid his cold hands underneath your tee, his thumbs pressing right under your breasts, his long fingers splaying across your ribs. The coolness of his hands against your skin spread goosebumps all over your torso and made your hips stutter for a moment. 

“So handsy for someone who hasn’t been given permission,” you teased, leaning down so your lips hover closely over his. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling. 

He picked his head up, trying to reach his lips to yours. 

You pulled your head back just an inch, denying him the contact. 

He let out a defeated whimper, his head falling back against the couch. 

“You can touch,” you whispered, as much as you wanted to keep him restrained and away from feeling you; his touch had this hypnotic pull that you couldn’t resist. 

He placed his hands higher on your chest, cupping your breasts in his hands, letting his thumbs brush over your nipples that were already hard and sensitive. The contrast of his cool palms against your feverish skin dragged a gasp from your throat. 

You pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it on the chess board next to the two of you. 

Spencer’s face warmed fast and he went completely still. This was the first time he’d gotten so intimate with a woman-- not because he was entirely inexperienced, but because no one ever had this much control over his mind. 

“Spencer,” you murmured, “You have permission. Don’t freeze up on me now.” your words vibrated against his soft lips. 

Your words broke the spell. His trembling hands returned to your boobs, kneading them slowly, testing the soft fullness. He leaned up, peppering kisses on your chest, getting closer and closer to your sensitive spot.

He looked up at you once he reached one of your nipples, he tenderly pecked the peak before swirling his warm tongue over it and taking it between his lips. Your hands carded through his locks, letting the string of whiny, desperate sounds leave your agape mouth. 

You slid one of your hands down his shaky chest and to his covered crotch. 

The sudden sensation of your palm resting directly over his throbbing covered cock sent a shockwave through his body, making his movements immediately falter, his teeth slightly biting your nipple. 

Your finger traced the strained line of his erection. 

“You’re not gonna come now, are you?” you whispered, your voice dropping to a cruel purr. 

He quickly shook his head, clearly struggling, “I’m not,” 

“Yeah, cuz that would be really embarrassing, right?” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his, your hand moving with more precision now. 

Spencer didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“Admit that I won, Reid.” 

His brows furrowed, “What?” he panted.

“You heard me, Spencer. Admit that I played better than you.” 

“No- but you cheated- I know you did.” 

Your hand stopped, stalling your movements entirely right when he needed you most, “I won’t let you come if you don’t admit that I rightfully won.” 

“Please.” the desperation sounded like music to your ears. 

“Just say it, Reid.”

“This is so unfair.” he looked up at you with a silent desperate plea.

You punished his stubbornness by rolling your hips forward, a slow friction-loaded press against his aching length. The burning friction made your core pulse, the tight knot in the pit of your stomach tightening. 

“Don’t be so stubborn, Reid. Come on, just tell the truth.”

“But it’s not the truth,” he stammered. 

You raised your hips, denying him the release he was so desperately chasing. His hands lingered on your skin, not wanting to let go as you stood up. 

“Take your clothes off.” you pushed the chess set further away from where he was sitting.

He blinked up at you before quickly standing and working to unbutton his shirt. 

You calmly walked over to the wooden coffee table, pouring yourself a glass of water, needing something to cool some tension and heat out of your body. 

You sipped the chilling water as you looked back at Spencer who was fumbling with his belt buckle, “Want some water?” you asked.

He nodded, “please,” you poured some more in your glass before handing it to him. Spencer took the glass from your hand, his fingers trembling as he brought it up to his lips. 

The sight of him trying to hold onto a shred of his dignity, shirtless, belt unbuckled, exposing the strain of his erection against his boxers more clearly now was intoxicating, 

“So what’s the limit? How far are you willing to go?” you tilted your head to the side. 

“I don’t.. I don’t want to stop.” he whispered, the words tearing out of him as if physically pained him to admit it. “You completely turn off my head and I don’t want this to stop. I want to go as far as you’re willing to go.” 

The raw intensity made your head spin and your stomach turn. Were you nervous? 

You took the glass from his hand, nodding your head once toward the couch, gesturing for him to sit back in his place after he’d stripped out of his clothes—minus his boxers. 

“I really.. really need this. Any of it.” he sounded like he was about to cry.

You took slow, delicate steps until you were standing in front of him, “God, you’re so pathetic.” you shook your head, looking down at him—completely undone. 

Spencer didn’t even try to defend himself. He just stared up at you as he tried to even out his breaths. 

You felt a little nice, so you didn’t keep him waiting much longer. You climbed back onto his lap, straddling his hips and resting your hands between the side of his jaw and neck. He immediately held onto your thighs and surged forward to kiss you like a man gasping for air. 

You glanced down to where your hips met, seeing a small dark, wet stain on his navy boxers. It wasn’t big enough to prove that he came without your permission, so you smirked, “You want it that bad?”

“Yes,” he choked out. 

Your hand slid down between your bodies, your fingers trailing down his burning chest, finally reaching his waistband. Your index finger hooked the elastic of his boxers before pulling the fabric, letting his cock spring against his stomach. 

Your body shuddered, suddenly needing some sort of warmth to soothe your frayed nerves. 

“God..” he dropped his head back against the couch, taking a deep breath to steady his violent heartbeat that filled his ears. 

His thumbs brushed over the goosebumps on your thighs on instinct. 

You wrapped your fingers around his painfully throbbing cock, bringing your thumb to the slit of his tip, swirling the precum around the crown with minimal pressure, making him drop his head on your shoulder with a stifled moan. 

You leaned your flushed cheek against his curls, letting your fingers tighten lightly around his cock.

“Look at you, Spencer,” you whispered against his ear, your voice a soft, teasing hum, “you can’t even hold your own head up. Where did all the smart words go, huh?”

You gave his shaft a few slow, tight pumps, looking down at the new forming precum. You hadn’t expected him to be this big, pulsing against your hand in a way that sent a sudden thrill straight to your core. 

It only took two minutes for him to lose control over his hips, which were now helplessly, involuntarily twitching against your hand, letting you know that he was close to the edge. You pressed a short soft kiss on his temple, abruptly releasing your hand, completely cutting off the friction just as you felt his veins hammering against your palm.

“Please don’t do this to me..” he picked his head up to shake it, giving you those devastating puppy eyes that made your heart ache just a little. 

You tapped your ear, “ I didn’t hear you say the magic words yet, Spencer,” you stood up, walking to your brown coat that was hung by the door. 

“But you didn’t win fairly,” he whined, following your movement with his eyes.

“And you’re not gonna come.” you shrugged, walking back to the couch with a condom in your hand, “are you sure this is okay?” your voice was a bit softer now, the teasing toning dropping for a second to make sure he’s fully onboard.

He shook his head frantically, “Yes. One hundred percent.” 

You gave him a small smirk, tossing the condom to him. He quickly tore open the wrapper before rolling the condom down his length, giving himself some friction to ease the aching.

You took off your cotton shorts before returning to your comfortable spot on his lap, immediately being held by his trembling, reverent hands. 

You slid your hand down to your folds, swirling your thumb on the tight bundle of nerves before slowly pushing two fingers into your entrance to warm yourself up before doing anything with Spencer. 

After pumping your fingers into your dripping heat a few times to slick yourself up, you were ready to take him in. You slowly pulled your wet fingers out, trailing them up his chest before bringing them to his lips.

Without waiting for a command, Spencer wrapped his lips around your fingers without a second thought, sucking them clean with needy, heavy hunger that pulled a soft moan out of your pretty lips. The knot in your core only tightened further, a throbbing ache settling between your thighs. You slowly withdrew finger fingers from his wet mouth, leaving his lips glistening and parted. 

You raised your hips, using your hand to line him up with your aching entrance. You took a deep shaky breath that made Spencer press a tender kiss to your collarbone, his hands trailing up and down your sides in an attempt to soothe you. 

You slowly lowered yourself down, letting his tip stretch your tight entrance. A shaky gasp caught in your throat as you moved your hips down an extra inch. He didn’t move his hips, he looked up at you with quiet patience, waiting for you to move, “We don’t have to-” he whispered.

You cut him off by sinking down with a broken moan, your hands clawing his shoulders. 

“Spencer,” you breathed out, feeling him fill you up completely before lifting your hips slowly, dragging the friction against your walls.

You pressed back down, burying him deep inside you again, feeling him throb against your pulsing pussy. He murmured incoherent words that sounded a lot like your name in a loop against the crook of your neck. 

You found the perfect pace after a minute of fractured rhythm while you were adjusting to his size. You adjusted your position, making his tip hit just the right spot, a sharp gasp tearing from your lips as a wave of blinding pleasure rippled straight through you. 

Spencer’s grip tightened on your hips, holding you with more confidence now that he felt your inner walls clench around him.

“Right there,” you panted, shutting your eyes as you lifted your hips and rolled them back down to hit that same spot again. 

“Oh god,” his words vibrated against your skin, filling all your senses. 

“Say it, Spencer. Tell me I beat you.” you whispered, shifting your hips in an agonizingly slow circle, making him cry out as his eyes rolled back into his head. 

“You won..” he whined into your neck, “you beat me.”

“And was it- fuck- was it fair?” you choked out, struggling to keep up the teasing because you were just as needy as him right now. 

“So fair. So fair, and I know I had no chance of winning,” he lied, his voice breaking entirely.  

You smirked, a deep wave of satisfaction washing over you at the sound of his absolute surrender. 

“Spencer,” you took a shaky deep breath in, “fuck, I’m so close..” your words were cut off by your own overwhelming noises. 

“Let me come with you,” he pleaded, his voice breathless, “please,” 

You nodded, pressing your forehead against his, for some reason trying to hold back the unraveling knot that was taking over your senses. 

His glassy eyes locked onto yours as his hips bucked upwards one last time, hitting that perfect, sweet spot, shattering whatever was left of your control. 

A high, strangled gasp tore from your throat as your walls convulsed around him, your back arching into him, pressing you to his chest as your muscles went weak. The intensity of your release triggered his own; Spencer’s head nuzzled further into your neck, biting down before kissing the spot in apology, his arms wrapping around your back tightly as his hips continued moving to draw out both of your staggering orgasms. 

It took a few moments to come down and melt onto one another. You both panted with closed, heavy eyelids. 

You pulled your head back to look at his hot, damp face, “See what happens when you admit the truth?” 

Spencer was still heaving with closed eyes, a faint shade of crimson still painting his neck and chest. Your brows slightly knitted, “Are you okay?” you murmured softly. 

“Yes. You’ve proven how truly evil you are.” he admired your flushed face, focusing on your swollen pink lips. 

You let out a soft chuckle, “Good.” 

You slid off of him, the emptiness immediately hitting you at the loss of contact. “I’ll go shower. I won’t take long, you can go in after me.” you kept your eyes on the floor as you picked up your clothes to head to your room. 

Disappointment settled in Spencer’s chest. He knew that this was nothing more than releasing some built up tension between them, but he hadn’t wished for the aftermath to last only a few seconds. Barely any words were exchanged, and he didn’t know what she thought. 

Did she regret this? 

Was he bad at it? 

For the first time, he didn’t really know what he was expecting, but his chest was completely hollowed out by your subtly shielded mind. Even after such an intense experience, you didn’t attempt to connect—to let him take a quick peak into your head. 

He slowly stood up, taking quiet quick steps to the tissue box that was neatly placed on the coffee table. He cleaned himself up before disposing of the condom and putting his stained boxers and wrinkled shirt back on. He contemplated putting his slacks back on but decided against it. 

“Just things I kept from my childhood, and school and stuff.” 

Humming in reply, Spencer carefully made his way towards the sofa, plodding himself down above where you sat; back leaning against the sofa, on the carpet.

The box itself was worn - cardboard gone soft at the edges and ripped where the volume of memories you seemed to keep inside became too heavy to support. In a past attempt you must have made to salvage the box, black and white checkered duct tape had been applied to the larger cardboard wounds.

Peering down at your face again, Spencer asked “what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Sighing, you said “Nothing. I just suppose it’s a bit funny not being friends with, well, any of my childhood friends anymore. I wish I had someone I managed to keep around all this time.” As you said this, you sorted through and picked up old birthday cards and drawings scrawled on scrap paper. Spencer assumed these were from some of your old friends.

“Thats…common,” spencer started, as he slid off of the sofa to sit beside you, “more often than not people don’t get along well with those they met during childhood. Some people change and grow up. Some people don't change. And some people were always too mature for their age. It's how it goes.”

“I know. It just would have been nice”. Changing the subject, you asked him: “did you ever have a memory box?”

“I…no. I can't say I did. Although, I suppose I compiled something alike for my mom. So she, y’know, could try and remember. Try to remind herself of things”. His previously relaxed face pooled with tension.

“Sorry, Spencer. I didn't mean for you to-”

“No, I know angel. You don't need to be sorry. Are you okay?” he asked, dark eyes glaring at you.

“I’m okay. Just miss the past sometimes.”

“I know. Me too…sometimes. But right now, I'm a big fan of the present”. He took your hand, thumb painting soothing circles over your knuckles.

“Yeah. I wouldn't change a thing” you remarked, mouth turning much more steadily upwards. 

—---

“Do you want one?” you inquired into the dark hush of your shared bed, sighing in relief that could only come with the comfort of lying in Spencer's arms.

“Want what?” he whispered croakily.

“A memory box. We could…compile it together.” you felt shy, offering him something that felt so juvenile.

But his breath hitched slightly, you might not have caught it if your head weren't tucked under his chin. Spencer shifted, pulling you away slightly so he could look you in the eye, which you noticed were quite glassy, shimmering with emotion.

“I would love that. So much.” he marveled, leaning in to kiss you gently.

When he sees a thick white coating over the earth, time becomes irrelevant. It doesn't matter that bending down to scoop snow doesn't sit well with his knees anymore, or that you don't giggle the same way. You won't beg to go outside and shake with excitement while he adds layer after layer of warm clothing on you. He's learning make peace with that.

He knocks twice before he goes into your room, with a soft verbal warning. Your room is filled with a hue as blue as your mood. It's so sickeningly quiet that Spencer gets self conscious of his breathing. Contrary to how it seems, you're awake. If Spencer squints, he can see you blink.

"Hey, honey." There's a sweetness in his voice that's enough to make your heart feel like yours for a moment. A timeless sound.

He pulls the covers further away from your head. Not that it changes anything, you still don't move beyond necessity.

"There's nearly nine inches of snow outside," he says, sitting down by your side. "I was hoping maybe we could go build a snowman? Or just take a walk if you don't feel up for that."

No answer from you doesn't mean no. It also doesn't mean yes.

"We can start a fire after, drink something warm, maybe order food." The breath he inhales is held longer than usual, his cardigan's folds straighten out and revert when he finally lets it go. "I think it would be good for us to get some fresh air."

He sits there in the silence with you, accepting.

The dark coldness around you is so prominent it might as well be sentient. It's reached every corner of your room, consuming you in the process. It hasn't reached him yet. The very home-like warmth he's infused with doesn't cease. The darkness tries to get him, pours all of its energy into it. He doesn't lift a finger but you see it fall back in defeat. He's come too far in his life to let the darkness win now.

Spencer stands up. First, he opens a slit of your curtain so your eyes can wake up. Next, he walks over to your wardrobe, knowing exactly what he wants: The warmest jacket you have, a scarf that has seen better days, your most comfortable pants, and warm socks. All of it is set down on your bed.

Your dad catches you curiously watching him before you pretend not to.

"Where are your boots?" he asks, not expecting an answer, just wanting you to feel acknowledged.

"By the front door."

It takes him a second to absorb your words, pleasantly stumped by the sound of his favorite voice.

He nods with a pout. "Okay, I will go grab them. Be right back."

He fights to not smile too much when he returns and finds you sitting up, subtly stretching out your muscles. He loses. Even after pulling his lips into a line, their edges give him away. He feigns a cough to pull himself together.

"I'll leave you to get ready. Just shout if you need me." He taps his hands against his knees and strides to his own room.

Time has changed many things, but not his go-to jacket. Green corduroy with brown shoulders — his companion for over two decades of winters and this year is no different. Not the best one to protect him against the cold per se, he's going to wear it regardless.

A scarf and gloves — which he pockets until he has to touch snow — is his limit of protection. Hats aren't worth the irritation or messy hair to him, and he no longer has to model the utmost good behavior when it comes to dressing warmly.

In his peripheral vision, he spots you in his doorway. Only then does he realize how long it's been since the last time you were there. You hesitate to step farther inside, like you haven't spent countless hours in his room.

"Is it okay if we just walk?" you ask, guilt wallowing in your mouth. You feel like a thief, taking away traditions and habits that high-light his year.

"Yeah, of course it is," he says softly, adjusting his scarf. He's never felt robbed by you.

As soon as he takes a step closer to you, you flee to wait by the front door.

He catches up to you, grabbing his keys on the way out. You go down the stairs of the apartment building as fast as you can so Spencer won't be forced to go slowly.

The cold outside overwhelms you for only second before it becomes your comfort. Your teeth might begin to clatter soon but your brain can't reach the same level of overwhelm anymore.

Snow falls by your eyes, you get lost in every flake of it. It surrounds you — you let it.

While you take it in, Spencer slips on his gloves and starts walking, making sure you follow.

Walking next to him is such an instinctual process it needs no active thought.

Snow crunching as you walk never allows for complete silence. Your dad doesn't talk, he just watches you. The tip of his nose is already turning pink, he sniffles intermittently. He'll walk until you express exhaustion.

You don't realize you're reaching for his hand until his thumb is stroking the back of yours and the world gets warmer. You don't know where he's leading you, you follow him anyway.

An open field, strangely untouched, catches your attention. He doesn't specifically direct you there, there's no way of knowing if it was intentional for you to pass by it.

Spread over the grass are piles of snow that you can't deny would look really good shaped into spheres. Quiet, lonely, isolated. Like looking in a mirror.

"It's not too late to change your mind," Spencer notes, hoping he sounds persuasive rather than pressuring, he's unsure if he got it right.

"We didn't bring anything to make one with," you say, looking for an excuse for a reason you don't understand.

"We can improvise."

Spencer slowly moves closer to the field, his pace increasing until he's jogging lightly.

You lose sight of him in favor of the pale sky. Clouds block the blue, parts you can see are on the brink of being gray.

Bending down to collect snow, Spencer molds it into a ball. He checks the snow for rocks or otherwise harmful debris to the best of his ability before he throws it at you.

Imperfect aim and fear of hurting you means you barely feel its impact, physically. But it's a silly reminder that you're not as fragile to him as you tend to worry you've gotten.

He stands in wait for you to make your own snowball. You throw it with a little more force. It makes him stumble by a step or two. He hardly notices over the sound you let out — a laugh void of restriction. A sound he wants to hear it on repeat until his ear drums burst.

"If I compile our snow, will you get us six worthy rocks?" he asks after having enough air back to talk.

"What are worthy rocks?" You frown at him.

"The ones you like."

He starts rolling snow into three parts, talking the whole way through, only pausing to catch his breath. You pick out rocks as he asked. The darkest ones are for the snowman's chest. The roundest for eyes. And a smaller one to serve as a nose.

"Hey, did you hear that the record for the largest snowperson ever built was broken a few years ago for the first time since 2008? The old one was 122 feet and one inch tall and it was built by a group of residents in Bethel, Maine. The new one is located in Austria, standing at just under 126 feet." He lets out a longer puff of air after having the snowman's head complete.

"We could build a taller one."

Spencer chuckles. "Maybe next year."

You put your rocks down where you won't lose them, then you help to stack the snowman's body. Years of practice have made Spencer overly skillful at structuring them.

You recollect your rocks and get down to press some into the snowman's abdomen.

"Why don't we each pick out a stick for their arms?" Spencer dusts off snow from his gloves. He's starting to sniffle more frequently.

"Sounds like a plan." You secure the last rock, snow residue staying on your glove.

The sticks you two pick out are different shades of brown, different lengths.

"These are perfect," Spencer declares as he sticks them into the snowman's sides.

"He doesn't have a mouth," you point out, squinting your eyes because of the wind.

Spencer leans down and, removing one of his gloves, draws a line under the snowman's nose with his finger. The ends of the line don't curve up or down, it remains straight from beginning to end.

"Isn't he kinda sad looking?"

Pursing his lips, Spencer puts his glove back on. "I wouldn't say he's sad, he's, uh… neutral. Maybe he's a little lonely, there are no other snow people around."

You look at the figure from top to bottom. It doesn't have a hat, or colorful scarf like most did a couple years ago. There's no carrot for a nose.

But you built it, with Spencer, and it hasn't crumbled or fallen into pieces. It stays in place.

"Making him wasn't that hard." You glance up at your dad.

"No, it wasn't." Spencer's teeth peek out behind his lips. His smile retracts right after it forms, unsure of itself.

"If we make one more, can we go home right after and drink a shit ton of hot chocolate?"

A little cloud of air forms when he exhales with a hint of laughter. "I thought you'd never ask."