Land of the Stars

One month, 4 days, 7 hours, and 23 minutes had passed since you told Spencer about your history regarding sex, your aversions, and why you wouldn’t let him touch you. In the infinite moments between now and then, he still hadn’t tried to initiate anything with you. If anything, the frequent (and somewhat juvenile) hasty makeout sessions had all but ceased in the weeks following. Not that Spencer was outright turning you down, but he seemed more preoccupied. Always reading or tacking away at a laptop, too busy to pursue getting into your pants. Whenever you came onto him, however, in the small way you did, he never denied you. If you were able to pry his eyes away from whatever it was he was working on, get your hands in his hair and bring his lips to yours, it would be as if his laptop never existed. Like the printing press was never made— everything else but you melted away. Despite the progress you had made in your healing, you hadn’t gotten to the point of anything, “real”.

However, with every passing day, your wants began to overtake your worries. You knew Spencer loved you, and honestly, you were getting needy. Spencer had always been the most attractive man you’d ever met, but it seemed like every time he did something kind, it made your mouth water. He’d hold the door for you, smile at you and tell you you were pretty mid brushing your teeth. Every normal action elicited something absolutely primal to stir inside of you. It was only a matter of time, and you confided in Penelope as much.

…

“Pen, it’s bad. Like really bad. He looks at me with this sweetheart puppy dog look and I absolutely unravel.”

Penelope smiled deviously and twirled her hair with a fuzzy pen. “All those brains and he still can’t see you basically panting for him? You practically jump out of your seat whenever he mentions sexual sadism just because he’s saying the word ‘sex’.”

Your face burned. Of course, only you and Penelope really noticed, but when he was describing the habits of one of the usual monsters you dealt with, lord forgive you, you were imagining all of the other ways he could bring up that word. You groaned and put your face in your hands.

“Oh, god, I’m SICK, Garcia! I don’t know what to do.”

She smirked devilishly.

“Yes, you do.”

You cocked your head and removed your hands to look at her. “What?”

She smiled.

“Him. Do him!” She threw her head back and laughed as you rolled your eyes.

“It’s not that simple, Pen, and you know it.” You sat down in the chair next to her, and she gave you a sympathetic look.

“Look, angelface, I know — it is hard to move on. But you want him. It might be worth it to give him the chance to prove to you how different he is. More importantly, shouldn’t you help yourself heal? If this is what you want, don’t let those villains from your past rob you of this.”

You were quiet for a moment, then slumped into your seat a little further. “You’re right,” you said. “You are… and honestly, Pen, I don’t think I can wait any longer anyways.” You gave her a small smile, and she grinned back at you.

“I know I am! Now go get him, Tiger! Your resident gossip goddess wants to know how boy wonder treats my girl!”

..

When you entered your shared apartment that night, the room had a different air to it. The atmosphere was heavier, your heart was racing. And there was Spencer, sitting on the couch, reading like nothing was different. But right now, everything was different.

“Hi, hunny!” You said, trying to keep your voice even. He perked up instantly, his eyes filling with a light when they met yours.

“Hi! How was your day? You went to see Garcia, right?” He asked, always the caring lover. He never asked out of principal, only ever because he genuinely wanted to know. You felt the familiar heat pool in your core. You smiled and tried not to let it show, not yet.

“Yeah, I did. My day was good, we talked about… we- yeah. Just chatted. Gabbed..” You winced and let yourself smile, hearing how ridiculous you sounded. ‘Couldn’t just be normal, could you?’ you thought to yourself.

Spencer smiled and cocked his head, amused by your ridiculously obvious coverup. “Gabbed, huh?” He laughed and waved you over. You moved to him and sat on his lap. He wrapped his arms around you – he smelt like cologne and book ink. It was intoxicating. A blush, ever so slight, crept up your face as you tried not to focus on the fact you were just a couple layers of fabric from your fantasies coming true. You looked at him with a self-pitying, half-wince, half-smile. “Are you okay?” He asked, still smiling, only a hint of worry gracing his features.

You felt your stomach drop, and your palms grow sweaty. You closed your eyes and let out a sigh before facing him. You looked at him, his deep hazel puppy eyes making you squirm.

“Spence.” you said, putting your hands on his shoulders, the blush on your face deepening.

“Baby?” He said, utterly confused by your strange behavior. He knew there had been a lot on your mind recently, but this was extra out of the ordinary.

You considered what to say. ‘I want to have sex with you now please,’ seemed immature and very cold. ‘I’ve decided to take destiny into my hands, let’s fuck’ also seemed.. not right. You bit your lip, your eyes tracing the outline of his own. You could see his expression grow more worried, and you knew you were kind of freaking him out. Not the mood you want your partner to be in when you’re trying to do him for the first time. You decided to ditch words completely. In a last ditch effort to get your point across, you shifted so you were straddling his lap. You grabbed his face in your hands, tangling your fingers in his soft curls. You smiled– a real, steadying smile, and leaned in to kiss him.

Kissing Spencer always felt like the world’s problems were melting away. You kissed him softly, unhurried. Light brushes of your lips to his, then pulling him closer for more contact. He was warm- so, so warm. Your grip tightened in his hair, ever so slightly, and he whined softly. The noise reminded you of your intentions tonight. But unlike so much of the buildup so far, the reminder didn’t stress you. It brought you closer to him, and you ground your hips down onto his lap.

He shuddered, passing over your lips softly with his tongue, asking for polite entry. Polite– that was so much of Spencer’s behavior. He held the door, bought you flowers, massaged your aching body at the end of a long day. He read to you when he couldn’t sleep, asked “please” every time he wanted you to play in his hair, in the gentle way only you could. He was a kind, responsible man, and that did things to you.

You welcomed his tongue into your mouth, brushing yours against his, the kiss now becoming more feverish. His hands gripped your waist, grounding him. You were so beautiful, and he was in awe at his luck. The most beautiful woman in the world was on top of him, kissing him, pulling his hair and grinding on him. He felt his cock stir in his pants, and gently thrust up into your grinding. The pressure coaxed a soft gasp from you, and you moved your hands to his face and neck. You grabbed his chin to face you, and looked deeply into his eyes. “Spencer,” you panted, “I want you.”

Spencer’s eyes went wide as saucers, and his mouth fell open just so. “Baby…” he hesitated. Ever since you had told him about your past, he had held off from pressuring you in a way that might make you concede to an act you didn’t fully consent to. Your eyebrows furrowed, and you brushed your thumb over his lip, barely resisting the urge to slip it past and have him suck on it. “Don’t you want me, Spence?” You leaned in, whispering into his ear.

Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut and he swallowed hard. “I.. you have no idea… But, are you… sure? I’ve been..” he blushed, harder than he was before. You pulled back to look at him when he spoke.

“I’ve been, uh, reading? Researching, on- on how to aid recovery for those with negative sexual experiences?” He said it like it was a question. He was terrified– terrified that he might make you feel like a case study, but he wanted to show you how he cared. And statistics, experiment reports, that was how he cared. You nodded slightly, letting him know he was okay, that you were okay. He looked at you, then looked away. You brought your hand to the side of his face so he’d face you again.

“I found that, in numerous studies that regarding sexual experiences and, uh, there was a study that found the more space that the partner of the person who had a negative sexual partner, the easier the survivor found ways to enjoy sex– in this particular study, all but one survivor/couple group was able to make sex enjoyable for their partner after their negative encounter, and all of them in some way credit the enjoyment to the creation of a space where consent can be expressed and explored frequently. A-all this is to say, I want you. Badly- I want you badly. But I was trying to implement a space where you could explore your own wants without feeling entrapped into a false consent. Basically, I wanted to give you your own time.” He nervously smiled, sheepish at his admittance of his secret project.

You felt your eyes fill with the familiar sting of tears. Spencer wasn’t avoiding you, he was building you your own comfort zone. Letting you come to him, taking the pressure off. You hadn’t realized it fully, but before your first conversation, you always felt this kind of.. Clock ticking. Something inside you telling you that if you didn’t give it up, and soon, Spencer would move on. He’d leave for someone easier, though he never gave you the indication that was true. But ever since the conversation, when you initiated intimacy in the way you did, kissing and holding, marking and whispering, the clock was off. There was no more ticking, no more deadline you felt you had to meet. Your actions were your own. Spencer never gave you any reason to think he wanted you to give it up, he was never desperate. Just willing. Just there for you, in every way he could.

“I…” You trailed off, your voice choking up as you smiled at him, a single tear dripping down your face. You’d never felt more cared for in your life. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you. I… I want you, Spencer. I want all of you, and I want to give you all of me. Penelope said something today… and she’s right. You’re different. You’re nothing like the people I knew, the people who hurt me. Spencer… will you sleep with me?”

Spencer smiled at you, and brought his hands from your hips to your hands. “Are you sure? Like I said, I’d wait forever-”

He was cut off by you crushing your mouth to his. You knew, you knew he’d wait forever, and hearing him say it made you want to do nothing more than jump his bones. His kindness had you dripping, his thoughtfulness its own kind of dirty talk. “Spencer, I’ve never been more sure in my life.” You wiped your face and smiled. “Now, get naked.”

…

Spencer’s hands flew to the buttons on his shirt, making quick work of it before he shrugged it off and threw it behind him. Your mouth watered at the sight of him. Lean and toned, with the faintest happy trail. You pressed kisses to his neck, making your way down his chest. You shimmied down his body until you were at a good enough position, and began to palm him through his pants. Spencer let out a broken gasp, and gripped the side of the couch till his knuckles turned white. Your hands went to his waistband, but before you could pull it down, he grabbed your hands. “Wait,” he simply said. You sat up, confused. He stood up, walked to face you, and picked you up bridal style.

You squealed, and he smiled. “If we’re doing this now, I want to be in our bed. I need to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible, and statistically-” you cut him off once more, by kissing him as he walked you to the room. He smiled and laid you on the bed. He climbed over you, straddling your hips and leaning down to kiss your neck. His mouth found the spot just behind your ear that made you sigh, one hand on the side of your head and the other holding your waist.

Spencer moved his kisses down your body until he got to the hem of your shirt, and grabbed onto it before looking at you with a question in his eyes. You smiled and nodded, and he smiled back. You sat up slightly so he could pull it off of your head, and when he sat back on his heels, all he could do was admire you. You hadn’t been wearing a bra, so you were bare in front of him. He’d seen your chest a couple of times before, but never like this. He was in awe, and bent down to place gentle, reverent kisses. He took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on it and swirling around it with his tongue, massaging the other with his hand. You moaned, and laced your hands in his hair and grasped hard. He nipped you slightly, and you writhed in pleasure.

Once he decided he couldn’t wait any longer, he moved away from your chest and moved to where you wanted him most. He settled his head between your thighs and gently massaged your legs. You looked at him, and felt a tremor of nervousness and excitement course through you. Ever so gently, he hooked his finger and pulled your shorts to the side. You had chosen a pair of flexible lounge shorts for your in-home coffee date with Penelope, and now you were thanking your lucky stars that you’d done so. He hadn’t pulled your panties aside as well, giving him an all-access look at the pool of wetness that marked your underwear. He breathed heavily in utter disbelief that you could feel this way about him. He licked a stripe up the spot and you moaned and wrapped his hair in your hands. He did it again, and again, licking and sucking until he could tease himself no more.

“Baby,” he panted, “Lift your hips, please.” You did as he asked, arching your back so he could slide your pants down. Along with them went your panties, and as soon as your legs were freed of the clothes, you were struck with another wave of nervousness. You had planted your hips back down, and before Spencer settled once more between your thighs, his eyes met yours. There was so much love in that look — complete adoration. You gave him a shy smile and nodded, and he smiled back. He moved back to the spot he was at, and paused, looking in complete infatuation at your core. You were wet, so wet to the point of nearly dripping.

“So beautiful… you’re so perfect.” He brushed a thumb across your clit, featherlight, and you whimpered into his touch. You squirmed, eager to get what you’d waited so long for. He laughed, before pressing a kiss to the very same spot. There was more pressure this time, and you moaned, pressing into him. He groaned in response, wanting nothing more than to please you. Holding back no longer, he began to eat you like you were the fruit of an oasis in the desert. He was starving, he was begging, and he held onto your thighs like any moment you might disappear.

You were in heaven, between the strong strokes of his tongue and the vibrations of his moans, you couldn’t believe you had waited this long.

“S-spence, ohmygod-” you ground yourself into him, chasing the release of the coil you felt building in your stomach. Spencer moved one of his hands to slip a finger inside of you, curling it so it hit the roof of your walls. You yelped, and your back arched. The pleasure was building, but there was something stopping you from reaching your release.

“I- I- Spence, I can’t.. I ah, can’t do ittt….” you whined, clenching your fists and pulling his hair.

“Shh, it’s okay.. You can do it… you can let go…” He added a second finger and moved a little faster, and you cried out. “Please baby, let go for me.. Please, come on my fingers. I’ve got you.”

The reassurance and added stimuli combined were just too much for you. When he stopped talking and went back to your clit, your vision went white and you saw stars. You came hard around his hand, body spasming and twitching as you sobbed. Spencer only moaned, determined to continue until you had fully ridden out your orgasm. Once he saw your body’s reactions slow, he kissed your clit gently and moved up to kiss you, not removing his fingers. They slowly pumped in and out of you, sticky and warm. “Hi, baby, you did so well.” Spencer said, kissing your face and your lips, while you began to come down from the intense high. You panted, looking at Spencer and seeing only complete adoration.

Even though you just had one of the most amazing orgasms of your life, you found yourself still unsated. Like he’d awoken a beast inside of you that screamed to be fed. You launched to bring your lips to his, and he startled for a moment before kissing you with the same fervor you had. He finally removed his fingers and brought his hands to your head. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and Spencer whimpered at the intensity of your connection. You rolled over, so you were straddling him. Spencer’s eyes went wide and his mouth gaped with a broken whine as you ground yourself onto his pronounced bulge, still trapped in his sweats. You cocked your head and smiled deviously. “Didn’t I tell you to get naked?”

Spencer felt a flurry of butterflies as you moved to the side, freeing his lap so he could take off his bottom layers. When he moved his boxers down his legs, his cock hit his stomach with a mouth-watering thud. His length was about as big as you’d assumed based on the print you had become familiar with over the months you’d been together, but seeing it now almost had you drooling. It was shiny, precum dripping down the length, weeping with intent. When his pants were on the floor, he grabbed the base of his cock, desperate to relieve some of the ache. You whined at the sight. You were sure you could get off to the sight of him touching himself in front of you, but that was a theory you’d test another day. You bent down, giving the head a kitten-lick, the salty taste of his precum tastier than you’d ever believed it could be. Spencer bit his lip and moaned, determined to make this last as long as possible, but quickly realizing that time was burning like kerosene. Quick, hot, hotter than in even his fantasies. And god, did he have fantasies. Before he knew what he was saying, words tumbled out of his mouth.

“I’ve thought about this so many times, you’re s-so pretty, “ he mumbled as you licked up his length once more. He bucked, sensitive and leaking still. “Y-you’re all I think about, all I wanna do is make you feel– oh fuck–,” He choked out as you took his length into your mouth as far as you could. Such a sweetheart, he was. You were ravenous, and began to suck him off, determined to make him feel as good as he made you feel. His hand dropped from the base of his cock and fisted the sheets beside him, the other hand instinctively coming to your hair.

He made no move to force your pace, just needing the contact with you to ground himself so he’d last any amount of time longer. “Oh my god, oh my god- fuck, y-you’re really –ngh– good at that,” He babbled, lost in the feeling of it. You pressed up with your tongue as you sucked, hollowing your cheeks. He already felt himself climbing to the edge of his orgasm. He twitched, and you knew he was close.

“W-wait, I’m- if- I’m gonna cum, y-you’re gonna make me-,” He let out something in between a moan and a sob, a broken cry as his hips stuttered. His cock pulsed, letting out warm spurts of salty cum into your mouth. You continued to stroke him as he came, swirling his head with your tongue. He came hard, whimpering with every continued motion. When you felt he’d finished, you pulled off with a pop! and swallowed in one quick motion. You bit back a gag, the taste and texture not quite appealing, but the action itself hot enough to ignore. Spencer panted where he sat, cock still not shrinking. Your eyes widened, and you smiled. He opened his eyes to look at you apologetically.

“I’m sorry, you just felt really really good, and you looked really good, and-” You cut him off once more.

“Shh, it’s okay. I knew you were close, I wanted to make you feel good.” You grinned at him and licked your lips. “Do you think… you’re able to go again..?”

Spencer let out a soft laugh and smiled, looking down at his still stiff erection. “I’d love to. Actually, I’m kind of surprised? Not surprised that I want to, but surprised at being able to so soon. Typically men 25 or younger have a minimum refractory period of 15 minutes, at least.” Spencer grasped his erection and gave it a quick stroke before let out a shuddering breath. “Still very sensitive, but I can definitely go again.”

Your eyes glinted as you laid on your back and opened your arms, beckoning him to climb atop you. He did so, embracing you as your legs wrapped around him. His cock pressed to your clit, still wet, and you melted into the feeling. He pulled back to look at you, and he paused.

“I love you. I’m so grateful I get to share this part of myself with you, and that you feel comfortable doing the same.” Your heart soared as you pressed your mouth to his in a gentle kiss.

“I love you. I’m grateful, too,” was all you said before looking down your body to see his erection pressed against your core, and you pulsed around nothing, needing to have him inside you. Spencer received your silent message and pulled back to sit on his heels. He grabbed his cock and aligned with your entrance. You met his gaze and nodded, and he began to slide in.

The stretch was addictive. Just a couple of his seven inches slid inside your aching hole and your back arched. There was a slight burn, filling you so perfectly. He drew soothing shapes onto your hips in reassurance. His head was tipped back in pleasure, in almost disbelief at your softness. You were so tight, it felt unbelievable. “So good, so perfect for me…” he whispered. He brought his head back to meet your gaze, your eyes glazed in pure pleasure. He pushed in slowly before bottoming out, both of you moaning in unison. You hadn’t felt this full or cared for in your life, and felt tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Spencer waited just a moment before slowly, ever so slowly, pulling out. The drag along your insides had your eyes rolling back inside your head, and Spencer was biting his lip so hard he was worried it’d bleed. He didn’t stop though, the pain necessary to prevent him from getting lost in the pleasure and cumming right then. He pictured the first time you’d kissed him, grabbing him by his tie and pulling him in. He thought he was enamoured then. But now, as he thrust back into you and you moaned his name, he was on cloud nine. He pressed on your uterus as he thrust in, and you let out a guttural sound.

Spencer began to thrust faster, but with just as much intention as before. Just as you were drunk off the feeling of his cock, he was completely intoxicated by the feeling of being inside you. He was babbling and moaning, nonsense coming out of his mouth. How you smelt good, how good you felt, how lucky he was.

“I’m so lucky- you’re so mngh beautiful, so so perfect, feels so good… you’re so good, wanna be good for you, can’t believe you’re oh my– m-mine…” His words made you clench around his cock. It’s like his every move was magic, made to coax your orgasm from you. Every stroke was beckoning your climax, every moan he let out just for you. It was almost too much, but the final straw came when he folded you just to be closer.

He moved his hands and slid them underneath your thighs, using a gentle strength you didn’t really know he possessed to push them up. He folded you, ever so gently, into one of the meanest mating presses there was, and fucked you so deep you saw stars.

“Oh, god Spence, it’s so- s-so deep,” you exclaimed, feeling your orgasm creeping up on you.

“I know baby, I know,” he said, eyes shut tight, deep in concentration. He sped up now, using the new angle to try and brush against the spot that made you cry out with every thrust. “Touch yourself, angel, wanna m-make you cum,” he whimpered, opening his eyes to look at you with the sweetest puppy dog expression. You moaned at his words and reached down to circle your clit, and you knew it wouldn’t be long.

“S-spence, I’m close, s-so close,” you cried out, and Spencer continued to fuck into you like his life depended on it.

“P-please come, please come on my cock baby please,” Spencer babbled, his eyes now brimming with tears. His poor overstimulated cock begged to release, but he was determined to please you. His pleas were too much, the angle too deep, your clit buzzing with pleasure. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami, making your legs tremor and shake. Your pussy drenched his cock, clenching around him like you’d never let him go, and Spencer cried out.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou, oh god, oh god I’m gonna cum, you’re so good, f-feels too good,” Spencer moved to pull out but you grabbed his hand on your thigh and had him look at you. You shook your head, purposely tightening around him, dizzy in pleasure. His eyes widened, and you whined.

“Cum inside, please don’t pull out–” You went to beg for him to stay once more, but who was Spencer to deny you? His orgasm hit him like a train, and he felt himself release inside of you, warm and sticky and just too good. He felt tears run down his face. To you, he looked like the picture of beauty. His hair was disheveled and he was red, sweating. He panted as he rutted inside you, his crushing orgasm finally subsiding.

You both lay there a moment, Spencer letting your shaking legs down. You panted, letting yourselves come down. You wrapped your legs around Spencer, having him lay on you. He practically collapsed when he did so. His softening cock twitched inside you. You held him, and began to giggle. Just a little at first, and then uncontrollably. Soft laughs, and without really knowing why, Spencer joined you. You both lay there laughing, the picture of post-coital bliss.

After who knows how long, he finally lifted off of you to pull out. You felt the pressure change, then his release began to leak out of you.

“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll go grab a towel.” He stood up, and went to the closet outside your bedroom, then the bathroom to rinse it with warm water. You looked at his surprisingly sculpted ass as he left, smiling and giggling once more. When he returned, you were sleepy, and felt comforted by the warm washcloth cleaning you.

“You look so beautiful,” he whispered as he cleaned you, then handed you the pajama top he had grabbed on his way back in. “That was incredible…did you have a nice time?” He asked, gentle and kind, doing one final swipe with the rag on the bed just beneath you, though you’d still have to wash the sheets before you went to bed. Your heart melted at his thoughtfulness as you sat up to put on the top, which was really just one of his softer button ups you often wore to bed.

“I had the best time, Spencer. It was everything I’ve ever hoped for and more.” You smirked. “We should do it again.”

Spencer laughed and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Don’t tempt me. After the lack of a refractory period earlier, I’m both eager to and terrified to find out how many rounds I could consecutively ejaculate, and I just went flaccid.” You hummed, and brushed the hair from his face.

“Another time, then. Do you want to order some food? Indian, maybe?” You asked, and he gave you a look of pure adoration.

In the end, Spencer concluded that your ideal toy was none other than a rabbit. You could have told him that from the start, saved you both the time spent exploring increasingly raunchy webpages, but there'd have been no fun in that. 

He had settled on the exact toy that you would have chosen for yourself, if you hadn't handed the reins off to him, and that, in the moment, was one of the most attractive things you'd ever seen. He was perfectly in tune with your body, with you, and that thought alone was enough for you to shut the laptop and pull him down on top of you right there on the couch.

—

"How does that feel?"

The only response you offer is a low whine, but Spencer nods attentively all the same.

You don't know which one of you looks more ridiculous: you lying on the bed, legs spread, head of the vibrator pressed to your swollen clit; or Spencer kneeling on the floor, glasses on, watching you clench around nothing, teetering dangerously close to another orgasm, like he's watching God at work.

"Spence…"

His name leaves your lips in a squeak. Your thighs are shaking, desperate to clamp shut.

"I know," he murmurs, keeping his voice soft. Comforting.

"I…I can't—"

"You can."

Soft, but firm. Comforting, but unwavering. He doesn't touch you, doesn't force you in any way, but his words hold you in place, reassuring you, telling you “you've got this” and, fatally, that “you're doing so well”. The praise goes straight to your head, then ricochets down to your core where it tangles in the fast-growing knot, pulls it so taut that you're sure it's about to snap.

You aren't sure how long you've been doing this, lying here playing with your new toy whilst he watches, engrossed, studying how your body reacts to different angles, pressures, modes—because yes, it has different modes; three increasing speeds and seven different vibration patterns—to see which combinations bring you over the edge the fastest, and which push you over it the hardest. 

What you do know is that you're nearing your umpteenth orgasm, and Spencer hasn't so much as glanced at his persistent, and presumably quite uncomfortable, erection. All he cares to look at is you, sweating all over his sheets, moaning for him like an angel.

"I really— fuck, Spence…" you're choking on your words, almost babbling as you try to gather the strength to speak. "I really…can't. Please…"

Spencer purses his lips, visibly torn between cutting his little experiment short for your sake and pushing you that little bit further—for research's sake. But, after a moment, he concedes with a small nod. "Okay. This can be your last one, alright?"

"…thank God—"

"And we'll run through the rest of the settings tomorrow."

Weakly, you raise your head to meet his gaze. He's smiling—grinning, actually. Too tired to argue, and too weak to kick him in the face, you just let your head fall back against the mattress, and you resign yourself to your fate.

"Do you wanna put it back in?" he asks, immediately returning his focus to the toy, to the questionnaire he's been running since he first asked you to lie down. "Or do you prefer it like this?"

When all you can muster in reply is a hum, Spencer gives your foot a gentle tap.

"I know you're tired, honey, but we're almost done. I promise," he says. "I read online that the insertable length has more of a rumble feel to it, whereas the 'rabbit ears' provide a lighter vibrational feel—would you say that's correct?"

"Spencer, I—" a sharp gasp cuts through your words. Your hips buck, rubbing your over-sensitive clit against the toy, and you bite your lip, stifle a whine, before answering, "Yes. Yes, i-it's…whatever you said."

"And do you prefer that?" he asks.

Your answer comes in the form of a moan—a loud one—followed by a sudden, unexpected gush of warmth as the knot finally snaps, unravelling in an instant, and it takes the last of your strength with it. The orgasm hits like a tsunami wave, pulling you under the tide before washing you up on the shore, so overcome with exhaustion that you fail to register Spencer's stunned silence.

"…I suppose that's as good of an answer as any," he says, puffing air into his cheeks as he leans back.

He's grinning line a kid, smile stretching from ear to ear as he admires the mess you've made of yourself.

"…what?" you mumble, confused. You've a dim awareness of how warm the sheets have become under your hips.

"Have you, um," Spencer clears his throat. "Have you ever squirted in the past? Or is this new?"

"What?"

"I see. So it's new, then? Noted."

—

Spencer's experiment was a resounding success. Sex was never lacklustre in your relationship—it was quite the opposite—but since opening your doors, and wallets, to the prospect of sex toys, your intimate lives have improved tenfold. You continue to discover new things about yourself, about each other, and Spencer stores each little fun fact away in his library of a mind; he has an arsenal of knowledge about you, your body, how to make you squirt even though you were sure you couldn't—and he never hesitates to use it.

You wake up to it, sometimes, that low rumble against your clit. You're already soaked through your panties, sleep-leaden body desperate for release before you even open your eyes. He peppers your face with kisses, whispers “good morning” as he guides you towards an orgasm that will likely put you straight back to sleep. You doze off in his arms, wake up some thirty minutes later already cleaned up.

He asked you—begged you, if we're being honest—to use it when he's away, to get off as much as your heart desires and, of course, to send him videos of it (even a technophobe like Spencer Reid is willing to use WhatsApp if there's something in it for him). You oblige, of course; you put on your prettiest matching set, and you put on a show for him.

And what you earn in response is a mouth-watering video of Spencer in his hotel room, moaning your name as he pleasures himself with his hands and, in more recent times, the vibrating cock ring you bought for his birthday.

There used to be a time where he could make as much noise as he wanted to, within reason. A time where he could flick on the lights and hum a happy little tune to himself without fear of disturbing any sleeping lovers. But it isn’t just him anymore. His once solitary apartment—his bachelor pad, as Morgan used to call it—is now a shared space, and he wouldn’t change it for the world. He would happily spend the rest of his late nights fumbling around in the dark, holding his breath, if it meant that he got to return home to you.

But tonight, though he does continue with his usual dance in the dark, the last thing on Spencer’s mind is letting you sleep.

“Psst. Hey.”

You wake disoriented, half-buried among your hoard of soft pillows and softer blankets. You’re sprawled out like a starfish, limbs strewn across your shared bed, with your face partially obscured by your favourite purple and orange quilt—a birthday gift handmade by Spencer.

Leaning over you is Spencer himself. Hair tousled. Glasses sitting halfway down his nose. Backlit by the light of the moon peeking through the blinds and looking very much like a guardian angel.

All you manage in response is a low grumble. Words feel too far out of your reach as you squint up at him, face all scrunched up in this confused, sleep-riddled expression that is probably about as far from sexy as you can get. 

You’re dimly aware of the state of your hair, and of the fact that you’re sleeping in a shirt that very obviously isn’t yours; you like maths, sure, but not enough to parade yourself around in a shirt displaying a right-angled triangle with the words “I’m always right” printed under it in big, ugly lettering. You’ve told Spencer to throw this shirt out more times than you can remember, and yet here you are wearing it when he isn’t around. If he hasn’t already figured you’ve been missing him, then he’s bound to find out as soon as he sees that cursed shirt.

“…Spence?” you mumble, struggling to keep your eyes open.

He greets you with this huge smile, bright and excited in all the ways that are sorely inappropriate for such a late—or early—hour. 

“There she is.” He leans down to kiss your cheek, and he stays there for a moment, letting his words hit your skin as he murmurs, “there’s my angel.”

“You’re back,” you observe, stating the obvious. You rub your eyes, still trying to pull yourself out of your haze as he settles down beside you.

“I am.”

He sounds far more enthusiastic than you do, peppering your face with kisses like he’s been away for months, and not a week—six days, technically.

He was due to come home tomorrow night. At least, that’s what he told you. You wouldn’t put it past him to lie for the sake of surprising you like this.

“How did it go?” Your fingers find his face in the dark, and you cup his cheek. “The case. Did you—”

“Shh.” Spencer presses his lips to yours, silencing you with a kiss that seems to thrum with something more, something unspoken, but he pulls back before it can be explored. “Just let me kiss you.”

“Spence,” you whine, but your protests are quickly muffled as he kisses you again.

Still, despite your attitude, you lean into him. Your hands slip into his hair, and you thread your fingers into the silken brown strands as you pull him closer. You try to sit up, but he gently pushes you back down.

“It went well,” he eventually murmurs. “I missed you.”

“’Missed you, too. How well is ‘well’?”

Spencer sighs against your mouth, and he pulls away with a barely contained smile. He tilts his head slightly as he looks down at you, studying you in all of your sleep-ruffled glory. “We caught the unsub,” he says, “no one on the team got hurt, and Los Angeles can sleep well knowing they don’t have a serial killer to worry about.”

“Only paparazzi.”

“And celebrity stalkers.”

“Same thing.”

“Very true.” He kisses the tip of your nose. “But that’s enough about me. How have you been? Have you been sleeping okay?”

“Well, I was…”

He flashes you this faux-sympathetic pout. “Sorry.”

“Empty words,” you mutter, shaking your head. “I was having such a nice dream, too.”

“Oh?” Spencer shifts, bringing himself closer to you as he props his head up with his hand. “What were you dreaming about?”

You shrug. “Oh, you know…some pretty FBI agent, a queen-sized bed, and…” your voice trails off for a moment, and you puff air into your cheeks before adding, “whipped cream.”

Spencer’s brows shoot up, and he nods along animatedly as though you’ve just uttered something profound. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Sounds like fun.” He trails his fingers, touch feather-light, along your jaw. His glasses continue to slip until they’re balancing precariously on the end of his nose, and you’re certain they’re about to fall right off and hit you in the face. “But I feel like whipped cream on a queen-sized bed would just result in quite a…sticky mess, right? I mean, the amount of laundry that would come of it—”

With your index finger, you push his glasses back into place. “Shh, let me have my fantasies.”

“Okay, okay,” he concedes with a sigh—light and breathy, almost like a laugh. “And I’m very sorry that I interrupted such an…interesting dream.”

“Very interesting,” you say.

“I’m sure it was.” His hand is holding your jaw, barely. He’s handling you with such an impossible gentleness, angling your face towards his with such subtlety, that you hardly even notice he’s doing it. “Let me make it up to you?”

“Hm…maybe.” You find yourself leaning into his touch instinctively, gazing up at him with love-laced curiosity as you ask, “what do you have in mind?”

Spencer purses his lips for a moment, pretending to be deep in thought as though it isn’t painfully obvious that he has, in fact, come in here with a plan. His hand leaves your face, and he begins carefully peeling away your blanket. “The same thing I’ve had in mind for the last week.”

“I’m listening.”

The words come out a fraction quieter than you had been intending. You try to bite back a smile, but your efforts prove futile as Spencer pushes the blankets aside to reveal you in just a t-shirt and underwear. Again, his t-shirt. One that he clearly recognises, because his face lights up with this stupidly smug grin. When you roll your eyes in response, he leans down to kiss your cheek.

"It suits you," he murmurs, almost whispers, and he follows it up with another quick kiss before sitting up. 

He nudges your knee, silently asking something of you. Your brain is, admittedly, still a little foggy, so there's a moment where you just stare at him, buffering, before you spread your legs and hope it's the correct move. Thankfully, it is. 

He settles between your legs, on his knees, and leans over you. One arm braced against the mattress, the other brushing hair from your face. He inches his face closer to yours, taking a long moment to just…look at you, admire you before (hopefully) kissing you again.

You decide he's taking too long, so you cup his cheeks and pull him down until his lips meet yours, and it seems that every ounce of restraint he had been exercising thus far dissolves in a matter of seconds. He kisses you like he's been starved of oxygen, need-driven and thoughtless—as thoughtless as Spencer Reid can get, that is—like he'd devour you whole, if physics allowed it. 

His glasses, no longer in place on his nose, press against your browbone, and you break the kiss just long enough to take them off and set them aside, out of harm's way, before turning back to him. Lips still parted, ready for him to dive back into you.

But Spencer's focus has now shifted to your neck. He trails his lips down until they meet the junction between your neck and shoulder, where he knows you're most sensitive. He nips lightly at the skin, and you feel him smile, proud, as your breath catches. Then, he works his way back up until his teeth find your earlobe.

"You know, it's a generally accepted theory that erotic dreams may be representative of latent non-sexual desires, or needs, that aren't being met," he explains in this soft, honeyed tone as he pulls back. His hands travel down your body, palms brushing over your curves through your (his) shirt. "They can come about as a result of loneliness, or a need for safety—even low self-esteem."

His fingers hook under the band of your underwear, and you raise your hips without hesitation. He pulls them down slowly, so slow it’s almost hard to watch, because he just loves making you wait, skimming the fabric along your legs before casting them aside. 

"There's also a possibility that you may see qualities in this pretty FBI agent that you lack in yourself," he continues, lifting your leg to press a kiss to the inside of your knee before progressing, steadily, down your thigh, "such as…attention to detail, maybe. Or perhaps…orderliness…a level head…"

"Spence…"

At the sound of your voice, Spencer looks up at you, brown eyes wide. Almost innocent-looking. You never should have told him that those eyes, and that damn deer-in-headlights look, were your weakness—all he’s done since then is use them against you.

"Mhm?"

"We agreed to keep Freud out of the bedroom," you say.

Spencer grins, baring his teeth against your thigh as he chuckles softly. "I know, but it's kind of difficult. He's so relevant."

"I’m sure he is," you mutter, doing your best to look unamused despite the smile tugging at your lips. "I have an idea."

"And what would that be?"

"Stop talking."

He gasps, faking offence as his hands squeeze your thighs. "I thought you liked my ramblings."

"I do," you say, "when we're not…like this."

"Oh, I see…you're getting impatient."

You stay quiet, denying him the satisfaction of a response. If you disagree, then odds are he'll drag this out even longer. And if you agree, if you validate him, then it'll just go straight to his head. And his ego is already big enough as it is.

"I could be a lot worse," he adds with an unassuming smile, "if you—"

"Spencer."

"Yes?"

"…please."

The word is an admission in itself, but it beats the alternative.

Spencer sighs. "Well…if you insist." He lowers himself, settling fully between your legs as he brushes his nose against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you need him to be. "I suppose I won't boreyou with all the dreams I’ve had while I’ve been away…"

"Wait, what—"

A sharp gasp cuts through your words as Spencer's mouth finds your clit, and any coherent thought vanishes, replaced with hot static and an overflow of need that has built up in his absence. His fingers press divots into your thighs, keeping them open as he works you with a proficiency that only he could manage; that eidetic memory serves him well when it comes to memorising you. Your body, your essence, your nuances; all the little things he can play to that have you writhing beneath him, forgetting everything that isn't the way his mouth feels, and the hunger that it ignites within you.

Need mounts almost to desperation as you lift your hips in a silent plea for more, and you whine when he gently presses you back down against the mattress. Your fingers find their way into his hair, curling into the chestnut strands as you push his face deeper into you. He makes this noise in response; a low, pleased hum, and it reverberates through you in a way that has you fucking reeling with pleasure. 

He releases his grip on one of your tensed thighs, and the next thing you know he's slipping a finger inside you with ease. A second finger follows and, before you know it, you're arching your back and trying to stifle moans in the hopes that the neighbours won't hear you as Spencer finger fucks you with practiced, calculated precision, hitting that sweet spot repeatedly and bringing you closer and closer to the edge at a carefully controlled pace. He knows you, inside and out, probably better than you know yourself—no, definitely better than you know yourself, because not once have you managed to achieve this kind of high when you've flown solo. It's second nature to him, something he can do without thinking—something he needs, just as much as you do, after such a long week.

His name tumbles from your lips, whispered like a prayer between hymnal moans. He looks up at you and, for a moment, his gaze locks onto yours. What you see in those dark eyes in that split-second is nothing short of worship. Tainted around the edges with a smugness that he can never quite hide when he has you like this, especially when you start to devolve into helpless whines and whimpers and choked, breathless curses. The way you always do just before he brings you over the edge.

The orgasm hits you right when he wants it to; halfway through whining his name, so all you can manage is a weak “Spence-” before the tension snaps and you lose yourself completely. You moan into your hand, and your thighs clench around his head—not that he seems to mind—as he continues guiding you through it, squeezing every ounce of bliss out of you before it all subsides, and you melt beneath him, dazed and drunk on your own ecstasy.

Spencer sits up, red face glazed with a thin sheen of sweat, and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. He watches you for a moment, gaze travelling across your form like you're a work of art in his stupid t-shirt, and he allows you to catch your breath before leaning down and capturing your still-parted lips in a slow, tender kiss. Your hands return to his hair, and you pull him that little bit closer, unable to stop yourself from moaning softly as you taste yourself on his tongue.

You trail a hand down his body until your fingers brush against his prominent erection and, when you do, Spencer breaks the kiss with a gentle shake of his head. His fingers close around your wrist, and he pulls your hand away even as you whine in protest.

"Not tonight, sweetheart," he whispers.

"Why not?"

"Because," he punctuates his words with a kiss to the corner of your mouth, "I just want this to be about you."

You pout. "Why can't it be about both of us?"

All Spencer does in response is flash you a knowing smile—one that raises far more questions than it answers—before lowering himself until he's lying flush against your body, being careful not to put too much weight on you. 

"You're weird," you mumble.

"You like it."

"I do."

Spencer nestles his face in the crook of your neck, and you can still feel him smiling against your skin as you run your fingers through his hair. It's hard to believe that he's only been gone for a week; it feels like it's been so much longer than that. Too long. 

You'd ask him to never leave again, if you thought you could. But you know exactly what his answer would be; soft-spoken, sympathetic, disappointing. He can't be here every night, not without giving up his job, and you'd never ask him to do that. 

Instead, you go a different direction.

"So…" you murmur, "about those dreams you mentioned…"

He lifts his head. Eyes narrowed; brow raised. "Oh, now you want to hear about them?"

"Yes. I’m curious."

He purses his lips for a long moment, keeping you on edge until he finally shrugs and says, "no."

You frown. "No?"

Spencer nods, and that smug, knowing little smile returns. Only now it's tinged with a hint of something disconcerting—something sinister, almost. He kisses your cheek once, then your nose, and then, finally, your lips.

"I think it'll be better if I show you," he says, keeping his voice light and innocent. "Tomorrow."