larissa･ﾟ✧･ﾟ

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Sleep was impossible for him after your interaction at the bar. 

How was he supposed to sleep with your threat looming over him? For all he knew, you had already called Hotch and convinced him that he was some sick pervert who couldn’t be trusted around the women of the office. 

Instead of sleeping he did the next best thing. 

He returned to his bed and thought about you in that shirt. 

One hand wrapped around his dick with the other wrapped tightly around his throat. 

Thinking about how you sneered at him and called him a creep. 

Pushing his head back against the pillow, squirming like it’s you holding his neck. Squeezing hard. You would squeeze too hard, you would want it to hurt. You would call him a creep, disgusting, a freak. 

His groan comes out as a strangled whine as he runs his thumb across his leaking tip. 

He recalls how the black fabric clung to your waist, cinched just above your belly button. Revealing that thin strip of flesh around your midsection, your skin looked so soft and smooth, what he wouldn’t give to run his fingers across your waist. 

He’s snapped out of his self-gratification by the sound of his phone. Whining at the interruption.  

He had your contact saved under your full name, first, middle, and last, just like everyone else's in his phone. As if you knew what he was doing, there you were.

He answers without a second thought, he couldn’t possibly dig himself into a deeper hole. Maybe you want to give him a chance to explain himself, maybe you want to blackmail him, maybe you got too drunk and you need someone to drive you home, who cares, anything is better than nothing.

“Hello?” He has enough courtesy to stop stroking himself as he brings the phone to his ear. Glancing at the alarm clock beside him, when did it get so late?  

“Whatcha doing?” He can tell immediately based on your slurred speech that you’re drunk, and based on the obnoxious slurping you’re still actively drinking. 

“What?” It’s all he can say as his cock twitches at the sound of your voice, like a dog hearing its favorite word. 

“You sound… sweaty.” Your voice trails off into a fit of giggles, he doesn’t hear anything in the background so you must have left the bar but he’s desperate to avoid addressing his sweating.

“Are you still at Betty’s? Do you need me to come get you?” He isn’t sure why you called him, you’re drunk enough that you probably just did it by accident. 

“No- no, I’m home.” You’re still giggling, the sound makes his cheeks burn. Contrary to what everyone on the team thinks, he actually enjoys the sound of your laughter, he just likes it less when you’re laughing at him. 

“Are you okay?” He softens his voice, he’s a little worried that you’re too drunk. Even if you’re safe at home, what if you brought someone home with you and they’re over there taking advantage of you? Or what if you invited someone over for drinks and they slipped you something?

“No, Doctor Reid. I’m not.” You drag out his name, he can picture the way you flick your tongue when you use his title. It makes him sit up straight. 

“Do you need help?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay…?” Then why did you call him?

“Okay.” Your voice pitches up in that overly sweet way as you mock him.

“You’re drunk.” He’s stating the obvious but he feels like one of you should address it.

“Don’t worry Doctor, I waited until I was safe at home to indulge.”

“Are you alone?” He can’t imagine you left the bar empty handed looking the way you did. You could have taken any of those losers home. 

Any of those losers but him. 

“All alone.” He can’t help the sigh of relief that he lets out. “What are your plans for the rest of the weekend? We’ve got four more days to get through.”

“There’s a chess tournament livestreaming Friday night that I was hoping to catch.” It’s true, there’s no reason to make up an active weekend full of plans. He’ll watch the chess tournament and spend the rest of the weekend with his dick in his hand scrolling through your Instagram. It’s the only time he actively indulges in social media usage.  

“That’s it?” 

“Not all of us are on the prowl at bars every night." He can’t help himself as he snaps back at you, you started it with your tone anyway. 

“You’re so judgemental, and- and rude.” You stutter through your sentence, he can imagine the way your lips curl back as you say it.

“Why exactly did you call me?” He finally asks the question he’s dying to know the answer to. 

You’re quiet for a moment before you clear your throat. 

“Do you want to get breakfast tomorrow?” 

“Why?” This has to be a trap. 

“Maybe we can sit and talk for a few minutes, and really get to the root of our problems.” Definitely a trap.

“Really?” He makes his skepticism clear. 

“No, not really. But I’ll make it worth your while.” This phone call is harmless but he absolutely should not subject himself to one on one time with you. What’s your angle here? 

“Why would I want to spend my day off being berated by you?” 

“I told you, I’ll make it worth your while.” 

“Goodnight.” He needs this conversation to end while you’re still on mostly good terms.

Before one of you ruins it with something too mean. 

“Spencer.” The world around him stops when you whine. His hand involuntarily squeezes around the base of his cock, he’s going to spend the next several hours repeating that whine over and over again in his head.   

“Fine, how will you make it worth my while? Contrary to what you believe, I don't enjoy your constant verbal abuse.” He swallows, fighting the urge to start fucking his hand again. At the very least he should wait until you hang up. 

“I’ll wear the shirt again, the one I wore tonight.” He sucks in a sharp breath, holding it trapped in his lungs as he flashes through the mental images he’s branded into his brain of the shirt. Involuntarily flexing his hand around his cock again. 

“What time are we meeting?” His resolve is thrown out the window immediately at the thought of getting to see you wearing it again. He doesn’t even care if this is a trap at this point. 

“You choose, text me a place and a time and I’ll see you there.” 

“What? Why do I have to-” He starts but you interrupt him.

“Goodnight Doctor Reid.” And just like that the phone clicks. 

With his free hand he types out a place that he likes that isn’t too far from you, all the while his other hand has already started stroking his aching cock again. 

White Rabbit Diner, 10:30 a.m.

He tosses his phone towards his nightstand as he rolls over, burying his face in his pillow as he arches his hips, fucking down and into his hand as he recalls the exact way you whined out his name.  

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You should have texted him and cancelled. 

It would have been so easy to blame everything on your intoxication but for some reason you couldn’t. It’s eating you up inside, Emily’s words are driving you fucking crazy. 

There’s no reason to be nervous, yet you still gripped the steering wheel until your knuckles were white on the drive here. You have the upper hand here, you have all the power and he’s still just Spencer. 

He’s still annoying, bratty, creepy, Spencer. 

And until you prove anything Emily claimed, you shouldn’t act otherwise. 

Scratch that.

You shouldn’t act at all, you should just get the information you want and learn to live with it. You just want to know, there’s nothing wrong with knowing. 

You’re in a rut. You don’t know what you want anymore and Emily threw a firecracker into your already confused brain. Now you’re scrambled, maybe having an adult conversation about adult topics with an adult will fix you. You don’t actually want to fuck him. You just want to know that someone wants you, it’ll help you get your mojo back, that’s all this is.

True to your word you’re wearing the same shirt you wore last night, paired with a baggy pair of sweatpants this time. You don’t want to look like you’re trying to impress him, quite the opposite actually. You want to prove Emily wrong, if he’s obsessed he’ll be obsessed even if you look like this. 

You hold the strap of your purse tightly as you approach the entrance, a coping mechanism to try and soothe your nerves as you scan the inside of the empty restaurant. Only one booth is occupied. 

Of course he’s already here. 

You’re ten minutes early and he’s already on his second cup of coffee. 

When you start towards him he looks up, to no one's surprise his eyes linger too long on your chest before he meets your eyes. Neither one of you smiles or waves. 

There are no words exchanged between the two of you as you take a seat on the opposite side of the booth. 

He really is doing his best to look at your face. It looks as though it physically pains him to not look down but he gives it his best effort as he chews his lip. You want to keep him on the edge of his seat for a little while longer, so you take this as an opportunity to look him over. 

He’s dressed like he would be for a day in the office, of course. At this point you’re certain he doesn’t own casual clothes, his closet must just be a never ending supply of dress shirts and sweater vests.

And he looks tired, even more so than he normally does. 

Good. 

You’re glad he didn’t sleep well after whatever the fuck yesterday was. You hope he had a long night spent fretting over this whole situation. You spent your night and morning coming up with a game plan. 

You’re gonna feel things out, do a few “experiments” to test Emily’s theory, and that’s it. At the end of the day he’s still him and you’re still you. 

You just need to know.

That’s all. 

You just need to remind yourself that you have all the control here, he isn’t going to run and tell Hotch anything you say because he doesn’t want you to do the same thing. 

“When was the last time you had sex?” No reason to beat around the bush, you know this conversation is going to be uncomfortable for him. 

He chokes on his coffee, grabbing a napkin he dabs at his chin.

“What kind of question is that? Why does every conversation with you have to be about sex? It’s ten in the morning, what is wrong with you?” It’s ten in the morning and his voice is already high pitched in a way that normally takes hours of teasing for you to achieve. 

“We’re here because I want to talk about sex.” 

“Well I don’t want to, and if that’s all you want to do then I’ll just leave.” He starts to slide out of the booth but you reach across the table, grabbing his arm. 

“If you stay I’ll forget everything that happened yesterday.”

He shakes you off as he sits back down.

“I told you, I’m not scared of you and I didn’t do anything wrong. Going to a bar isn’t a crime.” Based on the way he crosses his arms defensively while his jaw ticks you know that he is in fact scared. 

“That’s fine and you’re welcome to go if that’s the case.”

He should know you’re telling the truth, your whole job is knowing.

“You swear you won’t tell anyone if I stay?“ He speaks softer now, less defensively.

“If you have breakfast with me and answer my questions I promise I’ll forget everything, I won’t coyly tease you about it, I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be like it never happened.”

He buries his face in both of his hands for a moment before dragging his fingers through his hair as he sighs. He always does that when he’s stressed, it’s why his hair is always a mess. 

“Okay, sure, fine. But I need collateral.” You knew he’d agree/ 

“Collateral?”

“Yeah, you have to give me something, or- or tell me something in exchange. I’m not just gonna tell you my embarrassing secrets without something in return, otherwise you could just go and tell everyone everything I’ve told you and that I was at the bar.”

“Fine, we can go back and forth, any questions at all, and you have to tell the truth, I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“And I’ll know the same.” He says it like he says most things, smugly, despite the way his leg bounces nervously under the table. 

“And obviously all of this never leaves this table. If you even tell anyone we had breakfast I will deny it.”

“Obviously. A mutual agreement of trust.”

“Agreed.” You hold your hand out, out of habit, and much to your surprise he shakes it. “I thought you didn't shake hands?”

“Is that your first question?” 

“No, when was the last time you had sex?” You’re itching for the answer, if it’s been a while he’s more likely to cooperate. The more desperate he is the easier it’ll be to get him to talk. You know how to play this game, if you want him to cooperate all you have to do is just your chest out and pout.  

“With Lila Archer, two years ago.” His eyes dart away from you down towards his coffee, his pinky twitches around his mug.

Fucker. 

“Are you seriously already lying to me?” You throw a sugar packet at him, he doesn’t so much as flinch as it hits him in the chest. You both watch as it falls under the table. 

“We already established that I don’t need to be doing this at all, why does it matter if I lie? This is just a stupid game, I gave you an answer. Let's just be happy about that.” He mumbles, always with the mumbling. 

You’re about to stick the end of his tie in his coffee when a pretty older woman in an apron smiles as she approaches the table.

“How are the two of you doin’? You look like you’re havin’ the sweetest mornin’.” She has an adorable tooth gap and a voice like honey but he doesn’t even look up at her, with you distracted he doesn’t tear his eyes off your tits. 

“We’re doing so great! We were just talking about the funniest thing that happened last night over at Betty’s, have you ever been?” You flash her a grin as you kick Spencer under the table, finally he looks up at her, just for a second before he looks back at you. 

“I haven’t but I’ve heard good things from a couple’a girlfriends of mine. How was it?” She pulls a pencil out of her apron pocket.

“Oh it was so great, we actually work together and ran into each other there completely by accident,” You point at Spencer as he glares at you. “do you wanna tell her what happened, Reid?” You turn your smile from her to him as his lips settle into a sulk. 

“You know what, it’s a long story and we don’t want to bother you but I think my friend and I are ready to order.” He speaks in a controlled and calm tone, despite his expression. He closes the menu in front of him, handing it to her. “I’ll have the un-birthday breakfast and she’ll have an order of chocolate chip pancakes with a seasonal fruit assortment.” You open your mouth to object but he just carries on speaking. “Could she also get a coffee and some water, and a cup of flavored creamer please, vanilla or mocha are fine, thank you.” He takes your menu before you can say anything, giving your server a tightlipped smile as he hands yours to her as well before she finishes scribbling in her notepad, turning on her heels and disappearing back into the kitchen. Once she’s out of sight he sighs. “Okay, fine, I won’t lie, let’s start over.” He’s pouting as he takes a sip of his water.

“How do you know my breakfast order?” You sit up a little straighter as you squint at him, studying his mannerisms. 

“You like sweet things for breakfast, you usually opt for a donut or a pastry over a breakfast sandwich. When there are donuts in the bullpen you always take a chocolate one, and you circled your finger across the seasonal fruit option at least four times when you were looking over the menu.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe he does spend a lot of time staring at you specifically, you seriously doubt anyone else on the team would know your breakfast order.  

“I- wow, I don’t even know what to say to-” You really don’t, you normally have a snarky quip to throw back in his face but this is uncharted territory. 

“When was the last time you had sex?” You don’t have time to think of something to say, he beats you to it.

“What?”

“You asked your question, and I answered, now it’s your turn, that was the deal.”  

“Two months ago.” You speak without another thought, if you tell the truth he’s more likely to as well. The second you say it he’s suspicious. He tilts his head like he does when he’s watching an unsub from behind the glass. 

“How is that possible? You said just last week that you… hooked up-” He says it like it’s a phrase in another language, completely foreign to him. “-with some vet tech?” 

“I was lying. I haven’t had sex in two months.” You shrug, you aren’t exhibiting any signs of lying and he knows it. You're telling the truth. 

“Why even bother telling everyone-” You hold a finger up in front of his face. 

“It’s not your turn. When was the last time you had sex? And don’t lie.” You put on the most serious face you can muster given how ridiculous this conversation is.  

“It’s been…” He mumbles something, reaching for another sugar packet, emptying the contents into his coffee. 

“If you keep mumbling I’m going to pour your coffee into your lap.” As you reach for his mug he pulls it back. 

“I suppose technically I haven’t.” The words tumble out of his mouth in quick succession as his eyebrows furrow.

“Haven’t what?” You draw your hand back. 

“That was your turn, you already set a precedent that there are no follow up questions.” He takes a long sip of his coffee, refusing to look at you as you stare at him. 

Oh. 

He hasn’t. 

“Why are you lying to everyone about having sex?” He sets his mug down a little too hard, the table shakes as your server reappears, offering a smile as she silently sets down your coffee, a small silver pitcher of creamer, and a glass of water before disappearing again. 

You have to clear your throat as you try to collect yourself. 

He’s twenty five, and despite how annoying he is you can’t deny that he is sort of attractive. If you’re into librarians, or guys who don’t know how to style their hair. You’re certain he could pick someone up at a bar if he tried.  

“I umm- I guess I just didn’t want to make a big deal about it when I stopped having sex.” Your brows are drawn together in a sharp motion as you continue to try and make sense of this. “Is this a voluntary celibacy?”

“Absolutely not.” His jaw ticks, just a little bit, his hands are in his lap but if you had to guess you’d say his nails are digging into his palms. 

Something must be wrong with him, aside from the obvious. 

You might not like him but you aren’t blind. Underneath his terrible haircut he has an objectively nice looking face. Sharp jaw, strong chin, pretty round lips…

It just doesn’t make sense.

“Why are we here?” He doesn’t mumble but he does whisper. 

“I told you, I wanted to talk.” You pour your creamer into your coffee, trying to keep your tone light.

“I get that part but why? We’ve never hung out before, you ignore me at after work functions, and you obviously don’t like me. You make a conscious effort to let everyone know you don’t like me. I just don’t understand why you’d want to spend one of your rare days off bickering with me.” The look of concentration on his face tells you he’s genuinely struggling to understand your motive.

You’re struggling with that yourself right now. 

You don’t want to lie. But you also don’t want to outright say, “because I want to see if you’re hot for me.” Because you aren’t really sure why it’s so important for you to know that in the first place.

“I- I don’t know.” Is finally the answer you settle on.

“Are we allowed to give super vague responses that don’t actually answer anything?” He almost smiles as he says it, it helps you relax again.

“How about we each get a pass?”

“Well that’s not fair, I would have used mine if I knew that was an option.” You love that tone of voice, argumentative and louder, more confident but without the seriousness that was starting to settle onto your conversation.

“Well now it is, and I pass, you get one too.”

“Fine, why did you stop having sex? At one point I assume you really were taking men home while you were out with Emily, otherwise you wouldn’t have earned your nickname. So, you stopped two months ago, why?”

Now you wish you hadn't used your pass. 

“I just… needed a change. I wasn’t satisfied by the-” You struggle to find the words to accurately explain the feeling. Once again, you don’t want to lie but you aren’t entirely sure of the answer. “I… stopped having fun. So there really wasn’t a reason to keep doing it if I wasn’t having a good time.”

It’s objectively true. 

You don’t mention that you stopped feeling the spark you used to get. You don’t feel that pang of arousal in your stomach when you’re with a partner anymore. 

You stopped getting butterflies. 

He nods, both of you taking long sips of your water and sitting in silence as you hear the kitchen door swing open, both of your breakfasts are brought out. You’re thrilled to have a reason to sit and think, even if it’s just for a moment as you cut up your pancakes. 

“Why haven’t you just gotten it over with? You’ve had options, I’ve been on cases with you where women are giving you the time of day.” You wave your fork in his direction before sticking it into a strawberry.

“I have standards, you know. Just because I haven’t had sex doesn’t mean I want to stick it into the first person that offers.” There’s a harsh snap to his voice that is reserved just for you, familiar and engaging as he takes a bite of his eggs. 

“I’m not saying you should fuck anything with a pulse, I’m saying that there have been plenty of pretty, nice women, who I’ve seen hit on you.” 

“I’m fully aware of that, but I wasn’t interested in them.”

“Why not? You clearly don’t want to be a virgin, so why not just get it over with?” You reach across the table for the syrup, coating your pancakes.

“Like I said, I have standards. I might be a virgin-” He whispers it, looking over his shoulder as if the diner isn’t still empty. “But I know what I like and what I want.”

“Hmm.” You hum around a bite of your pancakes. Fuck this place has good food, you’re gonna have to come back here.

“You asked two questions so now I get two. What is fun to you?” He tilts his head to the side, with an air of confidence you don’t normally see from him when sex is the subject matter.

“Hmm?” You hum around your fork.

“You said you stopped having fun, what’s fun? Shouldn’t all sex be fun?” 

Oh you sweet summer child. 

“What’s the second question?” 

“Depends on your answer.” One good thing about Spencer is how engaged he is in every conversation he has. 

“I like to try new things.” You tilt your head a bit to the side.

“Like what?” 

“You’ll need to be more specific if you want a specific answer.” You love the way he hangs off your every word.

“What was something fun you wanted to do, that one of your partners turned down?” The smile you get from him as he says it is unlike anything you’re used to from him. You like this side of Spencer, you much prefer this Spencer. 

This is like chess with him but better because you actually stand a chance of beating him. 

This conversation just got fun. Any dread you felt when you first arrived is gone. 

“I wanted him to beg for it.” When you see your server step out of the kitchen you smile and wave at her as she heads in your direction to refill your coffees. “I wanted him to ask nicely, and use his manners. He didn’t want to, he puffed out his chest like the big strong man he thought he was and told me that he doesn’t do that, because he expects it. So I kindly asked him to leave.” You continue to speak as she fills both your mugs. “Thank you.” You give her another big smile as she leaves.

“And what do you expect? What requirements do your partners have to meet?” He doesn’t seem to even notice that she came and went, he’s too focused on you now.  

“My standards are high these days, begging is obviously the bare minimum, which is probably why it’s been two months.” You pick up your mug, feeling the warmth beneath your fingertips. “It’s important to me that my partners feel grateful when they’re with me.” 

“Doesn’t seem like you’re asking for too much.” It’s your turn to almost spit your coffee out as he says it so casually. 

Clearing your throat you set the mug back down.

“I expect devotion.” 

“And what do these men get in return?” He’s like an interviewer. His questions come quickly, as if he has them written down.

“That would be your third question, Doctor.”

“I’m trading in my pass for an extra question, since we’re allowed to make up rules whenever we want.”

You pause for a moment, trying to meet his gaze as he avoids yours. 

“They get me.” You smile as he raises an eyebrow, his eyes are still down on the swirling of his coffee. 

Oh, you could absolutely pull the trigger on this if you want to. 

That’s the question you need to ask yourself. Do you want to? If you look at this as an abstract concept where he’s just a guy in this diner and not Spencer, he’s the perfect choice. 

And Emily’s right, he doesn’t even know it. You’ve never properly looked at his body language but he leans into every word that falls from your lips. He isn’t so brazenly staring at your chest today but he certainly steals glances. Even if parts of him hate you, that’s fine, parts of you hate him. But there’s an undeniable fascination for you that you’d never noticed before today.  

What’s the worst that could happen?

“My turn. Do I live up to the high standards of Dr. Spencer Reid? Would you have sex with me?” 

“Now you’re just being mean.” His confident tone falters a bit as he continues to stare down, tucking his hair behind his ears. 

You can’t exactly blame him for that reaction, You’ve spent the last year teasing him relentlessly. You’ve taken every opportunity handed to you to embarrass him, after the first month you stopped with the pleasantries. What reason would he have to assume this was anything but a cruel joke. 

You grab his mug, pulling it across the table so it’s in front of you. You take a handful of sugar packets as well, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Remind me, how many sugars do you take in your coffee?”

“Six, I can do it myself.” Jesus, he likes his sugar. He starts to reach towards you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You just click your tongue in response.

“No, no I’ve got it.” One by one you rip open each packet, when you empty the sixth one you look up to find he’s watching you closely. You lean over the mug, your tongue poking out from between your teeth as you spit into his coffee before you slide it back over to him. 

“Come on, seriously-”

You shake your head as he starts, effectively shutting him up.

“It’s still my turn, would you have sex with me if you could? Since you’ve played so nicely I won’t even make you say it out loud if it’s too embarrassing. You can just enjoy your coffee and I’ll know the answer.” Your tone is still teasing but you look at him with a fondness that is unfamiliar to him. 

He stares down into his coffee, his cheeks are red, and that squiggly little vein on his temple looks like it’s about to pop.

Okay maybe this was a step too far. 

But you seriously doubt you misread this situation, your entire job is to read situations. 

You watch with bated breath as he hesitantly lifts his mug. And just like that, the biggest germaphobe you know takes a long sip of his coffee. You can’t help the smile that plays on your lips. 

“What about you?” He mumbles, staring down like he doesn’t want to see your reaction. 

Hook, line, and sinker.

You take your mug, holding it out towards him, his eyes look like they might pop out of his head. 

“Go ahead.” Your smile only grows as he chews his lip. 

Tentatively, he leans forward, his every move is unsure but he spits into your cup, finally looking you in the eye. You don’t break eye contact as you take a sip of your coffee. 

He looks enamoured by you.

“You know… I’ve been thinking, I think that our work is being affected by our antagonistic relationship. Hotch is always telling me that I should be nicer to you. And I don’t know about you but I know that my current lack of… sexual fulfillment has made me irritable and distracted. Has it made you feel that way?” You brush the tip of your shoe against his ankle, immediately he jolts up, his knees hitting the table. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” You can feel his leg bouncing under the table again as he groans, taking another sip of his coffee, as if more caffeine is going to soothe his nerves.

“It isn’t your turn.” You click your tongue. 

“Fine.” He grumbles. “I don’t let this kind of thing get in the way of my work.” His fingers flex around his mug. “Can we just be done with this game?”

“I want one more question.”

“Better make it a good one.”

You intend to.

“Do you beg when you want something?” You figure you’ll floor him with that one.

He catches you off guard with an immediate whispered response. 

“Only if I want it badly enough.” This conversation has been full of surprises.  

“Your turn.”

“If I were to beg, would I get what I want?” There’s no confidence behind his voice anymore, he doesn’t even try to sound sure of himself.

Emily was absolutely right in every regard. He’s perfect. You don’t bother concealing the wild grin that you know is creeping across your face.

“If you want it badly enough.” 

He takes in a shuddering breath, his lips parting slightly as he stares at you. He looks like he’s still waiting for you to pull the rug out from under him. 

“You said you don’t have any plans for the rest of the weekend right? Other than your chess thing?” 

“My schedule is empty.” He says it just like the eager puppy Emily claimed he was, his tail might as well be wagging for a treat. 

And it’s only Thursday. 

This might be the best long weekend Hotch has ever forced you to take.

“You know, I get a little nervous with the maintenance people coming over when I’m home alone. Would you want to come over tonight and maybe stay for the weekend? I could order us a pizza.”

“You hate red sauce.” He says it like he’s found the missing piece of a puzzle, like this is a break in the case that proves this is all some big plot against him. 

“Why do you know that?” He shrugs as you roll your eyes. “I don’t like certain red sauce pastas, I like it a specific way. I still like pizza.” 

“Okay.” He nods, and a part of you knows he’s cataloging that information away somewhere in a mental folder with your name on it.

“And you understand why you’re coming over?” You say it slowly, nodding as you do. 

“I assume when I get there you’ll have a bunch of your friends over so they can point and laugh at me for thinking this was actually happening.” His tone is only half joking. 

“This is gonna be a lot of fun if that’s the mindset you’re in.”

“I’m not sure what other mindset I could be in right now, this has all been very… confusing.” And no one hates to be confused as much as Spencer does. 

“What do you think the chances are that this is real? You have a statistic for everything.” 

“I’d say about five percent.”

“That’s higher than I expected.” You bump his leg with your shoe again, he flinches but he stays in his seat.

“As unlikely as all of this is, I don’t think you lied to me at all. I think that you’re lonely, and unsatisfied. And that might just be enough for you to settle on a sure thing.”

Lonely and unsatisfied.

No reason to deny that, you wouldn’t still be here if that wasn’t the case. 

“You’re a sure thing? Even with five percent odds?” Your smile only grows. A sure thing.

“I’m a sure thing with one percent odds.”

“So you’ll come over?”

He chews on his lip as he nods. 

You eat the rest of your breakfast in silence, he seems to be lost in thought and you don’t want to say anything that’ll make him change his mind.

When your server returns you reach for your wallet but before you can he hands her some cash, telling her to keep the change. You don’t object, you just stare at him.

“Thank you.” Your smile never falters as you finish your coffee. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Are you ready to go?”

“Mhmm.” He hums and as he stands you join him, following him out to the parking lot. He walks you to your car, watching you lean against the driver side door. You take a moment to look him up and down.

You immediately find yourself staring at the tent in his pants. Good lord he’s like a teenager. You can’t remember the last time you were able to get a guy this worked up just with a conversation.

“Jesus, are you okay to drive like that?” You flick your eyes downwards.

“Shut up.” He gets so red so easily, you can’t wait to find out how low that red goes. 

“Seriously, are you sure that isn’t like, distracted driving?” 

“It’s human nature, if you spend an hour throwing yourself at me I’m going to have a physical reaction.”

“And throwing myself at you? That seems like a bit of an exaggeration.”

“If you say so.” He fidgets with his car keys. 

“Does six thirty work for you?”

“Six thirty is perfect.” Something tells you any time you offered would have been perfect. 

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He feels like he might pass out.

What the fuck just happened?

Once your car is pulled out of the parking lot he palms himself through his slacks, hissing as he finally relieves a bit of the pressure that’s been building for the last hour. 

Is it possible that you killed him at the bar last night and this is all some fantasy he’s having as he bleeds out on the floor? 

He still isn’t convinced that this isn’t just some kind of joke. 

You can have your pick of any guy.

You’ve had your pick, and he’s heard the descriptions of these men, they aren’t like him. They aren’t lanky, greasy, guys who can’t last more than thirty seconds.

He doesn’t really care if it is a joke at this point, if it’s a joke he might as well get what he can out of it, maybe he’ll get to see you with your shirt off before you laugh in his face and send him packing. 

The parking lot is empty, it’s a Thursday before noon in the middle of nowhere. 

He should wait until he’s home. 

But you were true to your word, and you wore that shirt again.

He has to stop at the drugstore before he heads home. He’s never done anything like this before but he’s pretty sure the guy is supposed to bring the condoms.

He can’t go to the store like this. 

The smart thing to do would be to just handle it here.

He doesn’t bother unbuttoning his pants, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t even get that far. 

Pressing his palm against the bulge in his pants he imagines it’s you, in the diner, brushing your foot up against him. He would have told you every single embarrassing secret he had if you’d have slid your foot up the length of his pants and pressed down. 

He’s practically drooling at the thought of being in your apartment. It’ll smell like you, he’ll be alone with you. And god willing, you’re going to touch him.

He feels like he won the lottery.

He got caught following you to leer and you and he’s being rewarded with the possibility of finally losing his virginity to the hottest person he’s ever met. 

With a whimper he rests his head on the top of his steering wheel as he makes a mess out of the inside of his pants. 

Hopefully you aren’t depending on him to last any longer than it takes for him to get inside of you. 

He’s glad he wore dark colored slacks. With a turn of his key he starts his car.

For the first time in his life he’s going to buy condoms. 

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The knock on your door makes you jump. 

Shooting a glance towards your clock tells you that it’s only five minutes after six. 

Yet there he is when you open the door.

Thankfully you spent the day cleaning and picked up the pizza a few minutes ago.

“I thought we said six thirty?” You don’t bother greeting him, you’re already irritated enough by the fact that he’s in the same clothes and you’re in your PJs.

“On time is late, early is on time.” He is quite possibly the lamest person you’ve ever met. 

“Twenty five minutes early is early. Sounds to me like maybe you just couldn’t wait.” You grab his arm, pulling him into your apartment. He’s still in a brown blazer and a dress shirt with a fucking tie, who dresses like this for a hookup? “Are you seriously still dressed like that? “Go change, I can’t have a conversation with you like this.” 

“How else would I be dressed?” Thank god he has a backpack with him.

“I hope to god you brought something other than business attire. Put on some pajamas or something.” You point him towards the bathroom as you split off towards the kitchen to grab plates. 

You quickly sort yourself out in the reflection of your microwave. You kept it casual, you’d hoped he would too but that was clearly wishful thinking. Your favorite pajama pants with Snoopy on them and a tanktop. Simple, classic, easy enough to take off. Not so obviously revealing that you can’t sit and have a conversation with him before you do whatever it is that the two of you are about to do. 

You straighten up at the sound of the bathroom door opening. 

Returning to the living room you watch as he sets his sneakers down by the door. He stands straight, holding his arms tightly to his body like he’s worried about taking up any space. 

You can work with this. 

Especially with him dressed like that. 

He’s got a black caltech shirt on with a pair of grey sweats, and of course, his mismatched socks. He’s always got so many layers on at work, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him in just a t-shirt and you’re liking what you see.

He almost looks like a normal person now. 

Okay. 

Time to rip off the band-aid. This shouldn’t be so hard, you both know why you’re here, you’ve already had one awkward conversation, what’s one more? 

You sit on the couch, patting the spot next to you as you open the pizza box on your coffee table. As he sits beside you, you set a slice on a plate before handing it to him. Doing the same for yourself. 

“I think we need to lay down some ground rules before anything happens here.” Your voice cracks a little as you clear your throat. Jesus, pull it together.  

“I completely agree.” Thank god he sounds nervous too.

You shouldn’t be nervous, you do this all the time. 

“Let’s start with the obvious, you can’t tell anyone about this. If you did I would vehemently deny it and of course whatever was happening between us would stop.” This can’t ever get out. Emily and Derek would never let you live it down. 

“Obviously.” He rolls his eyes as he takes a bite. 

“No offense intended, it’s not a personal thing, it’s a professional thing, for the sake of my career and yours.”

“Sure.”

“Did you bring condoms?”

He nods, unzipping his backpack he hands you a Trojan value pack, there’s four different options. 

“Forty condoms?” You stifle a laugh as you pass the box back to him. His cheeks burn red, making him blush might be your new favorite thing to do. 

“I wasn’t sure what your preference was or how many was normal. And I didn’t want to run out.”

“Run out!” You set your plate down as you laugh, you're too nervous to eat. 

“I don’t know how many is normal!” You can’t blame him, he really doesn’t know any better.

“That’s fine, you know what, forty is fine. You don’t have to use them if you don’t want to anyway. I’m on birth control and I got tested a month ago. And I know you obviously don’t have anything.” The second you say it the condoms go back in the bag. 

“Anything else?” He cocks an eyebrow at you.

“As far as commitment goes there is none. If either of us decides we’re done then we’re done.”

“Sounds about right for you.” He scoffs. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re scared of commitment, everyone knows it.”

“Not wanting commitment in a fuck buddy scenario is not the same as being scared of commitment.” This isn’t an argument you want to have right now because he is technically right. 

“Anything else?”

“No, your turn.” You grumble. 

“I don’t want you seeing other guys while we’re doing this.” Of course mr. commitment doesn’t want you seeing anyone else. 

“I will not engage in sexual activities with others but I’ll still have to flirt with guys when I go out with Emily.”

He frowns.

“We can work out the logistics of that later.” 

“Whatever, sure.” Another argument you don’t want to have right now. 

“I’d like for us to be honest with each other, even if it’s uncomfortable.” 

“Give me an example.”

“Like if I asked you about how many people you’ve slept with.”

“Does that matter?” You lean away from him as you cross your arms over your chest. 

“Not at all, I’m just curious. And you don’t have to answer, I just ask that if you do that you don’t lie.” You drop your guard a bit at that, he seems genuine.

“Around twenty, maybe twenty five.” You don’t know the exact amount but that sounds right.

“That’s it?” The ever distrustful Spencer Reid. 

“Tales of my sexual exploits have been greatly exaggerated.” You lean back against the couch, sighing. 

“I’ll also obviously answer any questions you might have with complete honesty as well.” 

You're eager to test the extent of that honesty. 

“Do you ever think about me when you jerk off?” You sit back up, smirking at him. 

“Usually.” He shrugs, reaching into his backpack he grabs a glasses case, he must have taken out his contacts in the bathroom. You watch as he puts on a pair of horn rimmed glasses. 

That changes things. 

This must be how he feels when you wear a low cut shirt. 

He blinks, adjusting to them. You tilt your head, holding your breath as you stare at him. They sit so nicely, high on his nose. Something about the round frames accentuate the sharp features of his face. The thick tops of them stand out against his pale skin. You’re slowly getting the sexy librarian appeal. 

Oh my god, pull it together.  

“How often?” You cough the words out, trying to regain the air of confidence you had when you asked the question. 

“Twice a day.” He answers much more comfortably than he did in the diner. He doesn’t twitch, he’s found a sense of calm here. 

“You jerk off twice a day?” You squeak out. 

“I jerk off while thinking about you twice a day.”

“Wow.” You wanted someone obsessed, you aren’t going to find anything better than this. 

“Oh I know. You’ve become a real problem for me.” 

“How do you want to do this? It’s your first time, it should be special.” As much as you’d love to tear into him right now and find out what makes him tick, that isn’t what tonight's about. You’ll have plenty of time for that later. 

“I could care less so long as it happens, I feel like I’ve dug myself into a pretty embarrassing hole if I’ve come all this way and said all these things just to not have sex.” He scratches the back of his neck as he gives you a sheepish smile. 

“I know a part of you still thinks this is some evil plot on my end of things but I promise I’m not joking.”

“I’ll believe it when you actually start touching me.”

You’re suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you’re sitting rather far away. You’ve both retreated to the furthest edges of the couch. 

You set your plate down, taking his and doing the same before you scoot over. You pull him closer as you throw your legs over his lap. 

“Believe it yet?” You speak softer now that you’re right next to each other. 

“I’m starting to. What are your limits? What do you want to avoid?” He keeps his tone sarcastic but this close to him you can see the way his blush creeps down his neck and under the collar of his shirt. 

“I don’t think there’s anything.” You’re practically whispering now, you’re so close to him. 

“That seems a little extreme.” His brows furrow. 

“If you do something I don’t like you’ll know. We can settle on a safeword but I’m also very comfortable simply telling you to stop if I don’t like something.”

“So… anything’s on the table.”

That’s the goal. 

“Anything you can think up in that big, perverted brain of yours. We can do whatever you want.” 

He swallows loudly. His hands rest awkwardly at his sides, usually in this position the guy would touch you but not him. He doesn’t even know that’s an option. 

“Do you want to watch a movie?” You’re trying to think of ways to make him more comfortable but you’re coming up empty. Should you offer him a book to consume? He isn’t like your usual partners, normally you’d put on a movie or a show to pretend to watch before you get started.

“I’d rather not.” He stammers, his fingers tap against your ankle rhythmically. 

“What do you want to do then?”

“You can’t seriously be asking me that right now.” 

“Well I don’t know, I don’t want to overwhelm you or anything, I figured you’d want to be eased into this.” 

“We can do whatever I want, that’s what you just said, right? Because if that’s the case then I’m certainly not going to start by watching a movie.”

“It helps to set the mood.” You roll your eyes. 

“My mood doesn’t really need any further setting. Does yours?”

Nope. 

“Do you want me to take the lead?” You give him a genuine smile, not your usual predatory grin. 

“I will do literally anything you ask me to do right now.”

Perfect, perfect Spencer. He is exactly what you needed to end your dry spell.

“Why don’t we start by going to my room.” You stand, holding your hand out to him. It’s quite possibly the first kind gesture you’ve ever made towards him. 

He nods as he takes your hand, letting you guide him down the hall and into your room. You take a seat on the bed but he doesn’t follow. Instead he stands in the doorway, robotic in the way he examines every detail. 

“You have more stuffed animals than I thought you would.” It’s the first thing he says once he steps into the room. 

“How many did you think I’d have?”

“None.”

You’ve got a lot more than that, a mess of them are strewn about your bed, you’ve got a few on your nightstand as well as a net mounted to the wall that holds a pile. It crosses your mind to be embarrassed about it but you’ve never let it bother you before, why would you start now. You kick most of them off the bed as you lay back against the pile of pillows against your headboard. 

You don’t want to rush him, tonight isn’t about you, even if you have big plans for him in the future. Right now you want him to be comfortable and happy.

He takes a hesitant step forward, not towards you, just further into the room. He faces away from you as he stares at your walls and shelves. You have photos with friends, and a few little paintings you found at thrift stores. His eyes linger on a picture of you, Emily, and Derek, out at the bar.   

Eventually he turns to your bookshelf. 

Whenever he’s reading he gets that look in his eyes, like he’s devouring the words rather than reading them. 

“Have you read all of these?” He murmurs. 

“Most of them, everything on the bottom shelf is stuff I still need to get to.”

“I haven’t heard of most of these.” His fingers linger over Ice Planet Barbarians. 

“I would be concerned if you had.”

He nods, turning to you at last as he steps forward, running his fingers across your comforter. 

“I always imagined your room being… scarier.” The fact that he imagined it at all only serves to sustain your smile. 

“Scarier?”

“Black and red, chains and whips.” Your room is a lot of things, but it isn’t dark and scary. Your sheets are a patchwork mix of colors, your walls are painted a soft green. 

“You imagined my room like a dungeon?” You cock an eyebrow at him. 

“Something like that.” He sits, facing you, the bed gently sinking against his weight.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this? You seem a little on edge. We can do something else for a few minutes if that’ll help.” You’re a little worried he’s about to turn tail and run based on the way he’s eyeing your door. 

“I’m ready, I just…” He stares at his hands, a look of concern that you’re all too familiar with after a year spent working together flashes across his face. “I’m a little worried this is all some kind of prank. That Emily and Derek are gonna jump out and laugh at me for thinking that this was ever really happening.” 

“Emily and Derek aren’t even in the state, Reid.” You reach out, touching his arm, a zap of static electricity makes you flinch before you rest your hand on his forearm. 

“I thought of that too, and then I thought about you going in on Monday and telling everyone everything. I can see it now, Derek will ask you how your weekend was and you’ll give everyone a theatrical retelling of how you tricked poor Spencer into coming over to your house. You got him to spill his guts and then you got him to strip down to his underwear before you kicked him out.” His voice sounds so small when he says it.

“You really think I would do that to you?” You didn’t know it was possible for you to feel bad for the boy genius but right now you do. You’ve seen him as Hotch’s spoiled prodigy for a long time but right now he’s… vulnerable.  

He scoffs.

“You know, when I was in high school, there was a girl I liked. She asked me to meet her at the football field, she wasn’t like the other kids, she was nice to me, and I liked her, and she was the prettiest girl in school, how could I turn that down?” You’ve heard lots of Spencer’s stories, directly from him, in passing, or from the rest of the team, but you’ve never heard this one. “I couldn’t believe she was actually there when I got there. I was even more surprised that the entire football team was there.” He doesn’t look at you, instead he looks straight past your head to the wall behind you. “They stripped me down and tied me to the goal post. I begged them to stop and not one of them listened to me, no one helped me. Even after everyone left, no one ever felt bad and came back for me, I had to get out myself.”

His gaze is unfocused as you give him a look that could only be described as pity. 

“I thought you graduated high school when you were twelve?” You whisper, it’s the first time you’ve ever wanted him to correct you, instead he gives you a sad smile.

“Youngest in my class.”

You feel a fondness for him that you haven’t previously. Here, in the dim light of your room, dressed in normal clothes, picking at his nails, he becomes someone different from the man you see in the office everyday. That man quite literally knows everything, the man in your bed right now knows nothing. 

“Come here.” You lean forward, pulling him close so he’s kneeling on top of you.

“Are you gonna make me beg for it?” You know without a shadow of a doubt that he would if you wanted him to. 

“Not this time.” You tangle your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck. “Let me know if you want to stop.” You murmur as you pull him closer.

“If I ask you to stop, something has gone seriously wrong.”

Much to your surprise he’s the one to close the distance between you, there isn’t any indecisiveness in his actions now as his lips press into yours. Warm and soft, and tasting like coffee with too much sugar. 

And for the first time in months you get butterflies, low in your stomach, in a place that you thought might be broken inside you. You feel a fluttering as his hands hold your hips with a tightness that tells you he’s worried you might disappear. 

You’d convinced yourself you might not ever feel like that again.

Thank god Spencer Reid loves to prove you wrong.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

a/n : i plan on doing things to spencer reid in the next chapter that he has never even heard of. anyways, sorry for teasing y'all for one more chapter before they doink lol

i don't have a tag list but you can follow @holymolynotifications for fic updates!!

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Sleep was impossible for him after your interaction at the bar. 

How was he supposed to sleep with your threat looming over him? For all he knew, you had already called Hotch and convinced him that he was some sick pervert who couldn’t be trusted around the women of the office. 

Instead of sleeping he did the next best thing. 

He returned to his bed and thought about you in that shirt. 

One hand wrapped around his dick with the other wrapped tightly around his throat. 

Thinking about how you sneered at him and called him a creep. 

Pushing his head back against the pillow, squirming like it’s you holding his neck. Squeezing hard. You would squeeze too hard, you would want it to hurt. You would call him a creep, disgusting, a freak. 

His groan comes out as a strangled whine as he runs his thumb across his leaking tip. 

He recalls how the black fabric clung to your waist, cinched just above your belly button. Revealing that thin strip of flesh around your midsection, your skin looked so soft and smooth, what he wouldn’t give to run his fingers across your waist. 

He’s snapped out of his self-gratification by the sound of his phone. Whining at the interruption.  

He had your contact saved under your full name, first, middle, and last, just like everyone else's in his phone. As if you knew what he was doing, there you were.

He answers without a second thought, he couldn’t possibly dig himself into a deeper hole. Maybe you want to give him a chance to explain himself, maybe you want to blackmail him, maybe you got too drunk and you need someone to drive you home, who cares, anything is better than nothing.

“Hello?” He has enough courtesy to stop stroking himself as he brings the phone to his ear. Glancing at the alarm clock beside him, when did it get so late?  

“Whatcha doing?” He can tell immediately based on your slurred speech that you’re drunk, and based on the obnoxious slurping you’re still actively drinking. 

“What?” It’s all he can say as his cock twitches at the sound of your voice, like a dog hearing its favorite word. 

“You sound… sweaty.” Your voice trails off into a fit of giggles, he doesn’t hear anything in the background so you must have left the bar but he’s desperate to avoid addressing his sweating.

“Are you still at Betty’s? Do you need me to come get you?” He isn’t sure why you called him, you’re drunk enough that you probably just did it by accident. 

“No- no, I’m home.” You’re still giggling, the sound makes his cheeks burn. Contrary to what everyone on the team thinks, he actually enjoys the sound of your laughter, he just likes it less when you’re laughing at him. 

“Are you okay?” He softens his voice, he’s a little worried that you’re too drunk. Even if you’re safe at home, what if you brought someone home with you and they’re over there taking advantage of you? Or what if you invited someone over for drinks and they slipped you something?

“No, Doctor Reid. I’m not.” You drag out his name, he can picture the way you flick your tongue when you use his title. It makes him sit up straight. 

“Do you need help?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay…?” Then why did you call him?

“Okay.” Your voice pitches up in that overly sweet way as you mock him.

“You’re drunk.” He’s stating the obvious but he feels like one of you should address it.

“Don’t worry Doctor, I waited until I was safe at home to indulge.”

“Are you alone?” He can’t imagine you left the bar empty handed looking the way you did. You could have taken any of those losers home. 

Any of those losers but him. 

“All alone.” He can’t help the sigh of relief that he lets out. “What are your plans for the rest of the weekend? We’ve got four more days to get through.”

“There’s a chess tournament livestreaming Friday night that I was hoping to catch.” It’s true, there’s no reason to make up an active weekend full of plans. He’ll watch the chess tournament and spend the rest of the weekend with his dick in his hand scrolling through your Instagram. It’s the only time he actively indulges in social media usage.  

“That’s it?” 

“Not all of us are on the prowl at bars every night." He can’t help himself as he snaps back at you, you started it with your tone anyway. 

“You’re so judgemental, and- and rude.” You stutter through your sentence, he can imagine the way your lips curl back as you say it.

“Why exactly did you call me?” He finally asks the question he’s dying to know the answer to. 

You’re quiet for a moment before you clear your throat. 

“Do you want to get breakfast tomorrow?” 

“Why?” This has to be a trap. 

“Maybe we can sit and talk for a few minutes, and really get to the root of our problems.” Definitely a trap.

“Really?” He makes his skepticism clear. 

“No, not really. But I’ll make it worth your while.” This phone call is harmless but he absolutely should not subject himself to one on one time with you. What’s your angle here? 

“Why would I want to spend my day off being berated by you?” 

“I told you, I’ll make it worth your while.” 

“Goodnight.” He needs this conversation to end while you’re still on mostly good terms.

Before one of you ruins it with something too mean. 

“Spencer.” The world around him stops when you whine. His hand involuntarily squeezes around the base of his cock, he’s going to spend the next several hours repeating that whine over and over again in his head.   

“Fine, how will you make it worth my while? Contrary to what you believe, I don't enjoy your constant verbal abuse.” He swallows, fighting the urge to start fucking his hand again. At the very least he should wait until you hang up. 

“I’ll wear the shirt again, the one I wore tonight.” He sucks in a sharp breath, holding it trapped in his lungs as he flashes through the mental images he’s branded into his brain of the shirt. Involuntarily flexing his hand around his cock again. 

“What time are we meeting?” His resolve is thrown out the window immediately at the thought of getting to see you wearing it again. He doesn’t even care if this is a trap at this point. 

“You choose, text me a place and a time and I’ll see you there.” 

“What? Why do I have to-” He starts but you interrupt him.

“Goodnight Doctor Reid.” And just like that the phone clicks. 

With his free hand he types out a place that he likes that isn’t too far from you, all the while his other hand has already started stroking his aching cock again. 

White Rabbit Diner, 10:30 a.m.

He tosses his phone towards his nightstand as he rolls over, burying his face in his pillow as he arches his hips, fucking down and into his hand as he recalls the exact way you whined out his name.  

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You should have texted him and cancelled. 

It would have been so easy to blame everything on your intoxication but for some reason you couldn’t. It’s eating you up inside, Emily’s words are driving you fucking crazy. 

There’s no reason to be nervous, yet you still gripped the steering wheel until your knuckles were white on the drive here. You have the upper hand here, you have all the power and he’s still just Spencer. 

He’s still annoying, bratty, creepy, Spencer. 

And until you prove anything Emily claimed, you shouldn’t act otherwise. 

Scratch that.

You shouldn’t act at all, you should just get the information you want and learn to live with it. You just want to know, there’s nothing wrong with knowing. 

You’re in a rut. You don’t know what you want anymore and Emily threw a firecracker into your already confused brain. Now you’re scrambled, maybe having an adult conversation about adult topics with an adult will fix you. You don’t actually want to fuck him. You just want to know that someone wants you, it’ll help you get your mojo back, that’s all this is.

True to your word you’re wearing the same shirt you wore last night, paired with a baggy pair of sweatpants this time. You don’t want to look like you’re trying to impress him, quite the opposite actually. You want to prove Emily wrong, if he’s obsessed he’ll be obsessed even if you look like this. 

You hold the strap of your purse tightly as you approach the entrance, a coping mechanism to try and soothe your nerves as you scan the inside of the empty restaurant. Only one booth is occupied. 

Of course he’s already here. 

You’re ten minutes early and he’s already on his second cup of coffee. 

When you start towards him he looks up, to no one's surprise his eyes linger too long on your chest before he meets your eyes. Neither one of you smiles or waves. 

There are no words exchanged between the two of you as you take a seat on the opposite side of the booth. 

He really is doing his best to look at your face. It looks as though it physically pains him to not look down but he gives it his best effort as he chews his lip. You want to keep him on the edge of his seat for a little while longer, so you take this as an opportunity to look him over. 

He’s dressed like he would be for a day in the office, of course. At this point you’re certain he doesn’t own casual clothes, his closet must just be a never ending supply of dress shirts and sweater vests.

And he looks tired, even more so than he normally does. 

Good. 

You’re glad he didn’t sleep well after whatever the fuck yesterday was. You hope he had a long night spent fretting over this whole situation. You spent your night and morning coming up with a game plan. 

You’re gonna feel things out, do a few “experiments” to test Emily’s theory, and that’s it. At the end of the day he’s still him and you’re still you. 

You just need to know.

That’s all. 

You just need to remind yourself that you have all the control here, he isn’t going to run and tell Hotch anything you say because he doesn’t want you to do the same thing. 

“When was the last time you had sex?” No reason to beat around the bush, you know this conversation is going to be uncomfortable for him. 

He chokes on his coffee, grabbing a napkin he dabs at his chin.

“What kind of question is that? Why does every conversation with you have to be about sex? It’s ten in the morning, what is wrong with you?” It’s ten in the morning and his voice is already high pitched in a way that normally takes hours of teasing for you to achieve. 

“We’re here because I want to talk about sex.” 

“Well I don’t want to, and if that’s all you want to do then I’ll just leave.” He starts to slide out of the booth but you reach across the table, grabbing his arm. 

“If you stay I’ll forget everything that happened yesterday.”

He shakes you off as he sits back down.

“I told you, I’m not scared of you and I didn’t do anything wrong. Going to a bar isn’t a crime.” Based on the way he crosses his arms defensively while his jaw ticks you know that he is in fact scared. 

“That’s fine and you’re welcome to go if that’s the case.”

He should know you’re telling the truth, your whole job is knowing.

“You swear you won’t tell anyone if I stay?“ He speaks softer now, less defensively.

“If you have breakfast with me and answer my questions I promise I’ll forget everything, I won’t coyly tease you about it, I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be like it never happened.”

He buries his face in both of his hands for a moment before dragging his fingers through his hair as he sighs. He always does that when he’s stressed, it’s why his hair is always a mess. 

“Okay, sure, fine. But I need collateral.” You knew he’d agree/ 

“Collateral?”

“Yeah, you have to give me something, or- or tell me something in exchange. I’m not just gonna tell you my embarrassing secrets without something in return, otherwise you could just go and tell everyone everything I’ve told you and that I was at the bar.”

“Fine, we can go back and forth, any questions at all, and you have to tell the truth, I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“And I’ll know the same.” He says it like he says most things, smugly, despite the way his leg bounces nervously under the table. 

“And obviously all of this never leaves this table. If you even tell anyone we had breakfast I will deny it.”

“Obviously. A mutual agreement of trust.”

“Agreed.” You hold your hand out, out of habit, and much to your surprise he shakes it. “I thought you didn't shake hands?”

“Is that your first question?” 

“No, when was the last time you had sex?” You’re itching for the answer, if it’s been a while he’s more likely to cooperate. The more desperate he is the easier it’ll be to get him to talk. You know how to play this game, if you want him to cooperate all you have to do is just your chest out and pout.  

“With Lila Archer, two years ago.” His eyes dart away from you down towards his coffee, his pinky twitches around his mug.

Fucker. 

“Are you seriously already lying to me?” You throw a sugar packet at him, he doesn’t so much as flinch as it hits him in the chest. You both watch as it falls under the table. 

“We already established that I don’t need to be doing this at all, why does it matter if I lie? This is just a stupid game, I gave you an answer. Let's just be happy about that.” He mumbles, always with the mumbling. 

You’re about to stick the end of his tie in his coffee when a pretty older woman in an apron smiles as she approaches the table.

“How are the two of you doin’? You look like you’re havin’ the sweetest mornin’.” She has an adorable tooth gap and a voice like honey but he doesn’t even look up at her, with you distracted he doesn’t tear his eyes off your tits. 

“We’re doing so great! We were just talking about the funniest thing that happened last night over at Betty’s, have you ever been?” You flash her a grin as you kick Spencer under the table, finally he looks up at her, just for a second before he looks back at you. 

“I haven’t but I’ve heard good things from a couple’a girlfriends of mine. How was it?” She pulls a pencil out of her apron pocket.

“Oh it was so great, we actually work together and ran into each other there completely by accident,” You point at Spencer as he glares at you. “do you wanna tell her what happened, Reid?” You turn your smile from her to him as his lips settle into a sulk. 

“You know what, it’s a long story and we don’t want to bother you but I think my friend and I are ready to order.” He speaks in a controlled and calm tone, despite his expression. He closes the menu in front of him, handing it to her. “I’ll have the un-birthday breakfast and she’ll have an order of chocolate chip pancakes with a seasonal fruit assortment.” You open your mouth to object but he just carries on speaking. “Could she also get a coffee and some water, and a cup of flavored creamer please, vanilla or mocha are fine, thank you.” He takes your menu before you can say anything, giving your server a tightlipped smile as he hands yours to her as well before she finishes scribbling in her notepad, turning on her heels and disappearing back into the kitchen. Once she’s out of sight he sighs. “Okay, fine, I won’t lie, let’s start over.” He’s pouting as he takes a sip of his water.

“How do you know my breakfast order?” You sit up a little straighter as you squint at him, studying his mannerisms. 

“You like sweet things for breakfast, you usually opt for a donut or a pastry over a breakfast sandwich. When there are donuts in the bullpen you always take a chocolate one, and you circled your finger across the seasonal fruit option at least four times when you were looking over the menu.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe he does spend a lot of time staring at you specifically, you seriously doubt anyone else on the team would know your breakfast order.  

“I- wow, I don’t even know what to say to-” You really don’t, you normally have a snarky quip to throw back in his face but this is uncharted territory. 

“When was the last time you had sex?” You don’t have time to think of something to say, he beats you to it.

“What?”

“You asked your question, and I answered, now it’s your turn, that was the deal.”  

“Two months ago.” You speak without another thought, if you tell the truth he’s more likely to as well. The second you say it he’s suspicious. He tilts his head like he does when he’s watching an unsub from behind the glass. 

“How is that possible? You said just last week that you… hooked up-” He says it like it’s a phrase in another language, completely foreign to him. “-with some vet tech?” 

“I was lying. I haven’t had sex in two months.” You shrug, you aren’t exhibiting any signs of lying and he knows it. You're telling the truth. 

“Why even bother telling everyone-” You hold a finger up in front of his face. 

“It’s not your turn. When was the last time you had sex? And don’t lie.” You put on the most serious face you can muster given how ridiculous this conversation is.  

“It’s been…” He mumbles something, reaching for another sugar packet, emptying the contents into his coffee. 

“If you keep mumbling I’m going to pour your coffee into your lap.” As you reach for his mug he pulls it back. 

“I suppose technically I haven’t.” The words tumble out of his mouth in quick succession as his eyebrows furrow.

“Haven’t what?” You draw your hand back. 

“That was your turn, you already set a precedent that there are no follow up questions.” He takes a long sip of his coffee, refusing to look at you as you stare at him. 

Oh. 

He hasn’t. 

“Why are you lying to everyone about having sex?” He sets his mug down a little too hard, the table shakes as your server reappears, offering a smile as she silently sets down your coffee, a small silver pitcher of creamer, and a glass of water before disappearing again. 

You have to clear your throat as you try to collect yourself. 

He’s twenty five, and despite how annoying he is you can’t deny that he is sort of attractive. If you’re into librarians, or guys who don’t know how to style their hair. You’re certain he could pick someone up at a bar if he tried.  

“I umm- I guess I just didn’t want to make a big deal about it when I stopped having sex.” Your brows are drawn together in a sharp motion as you continue to try and make sense of this. “Is this a voluntary celibacy?”

“Absolutely not.” His jaw ticks, just a little bit, his hands are in his lap but if you had to guess you’d say his nails are digging into his palms. 

Something must be wrong with him, aside from the obvious. 

You might not like him but you aren’t blind. Underneath his terrible haircut he has an objectively nice looking face. Sharp jaw, strong chin, pretty round lips…

It just doesn’t make sense.

“Why are we here?” He doesn’t mumble but he does whisper. 

“I told you, I wanted to talk.” You pour your creamer into your coffee, trying to keep your tone light.

“I get that part but why? We’ve never hung out before, you ignore me at after work functions, and you obviously don’t like me. You make a conscious effort to let everyone know you don’t like me. I just don’t understand why you’d want to spend one of your rare days off bickering with me.” The look of concentration on his face tells you he’s genuinely struggling to understand your motive.

You’re struggling with that yourself right now. 

You don’t want to lie. But you also don’t want to outright say, “because I want to see if you’re hot for me.” Because you aren’t really sure why it’s so important for you to know that in the first place.

“I- I don’t know.” Is finally the answer you settle on.

“Are we allowed to give super vague responses that don’t actually answer anything?” He almost smiles as he says it, it helps you relax again.

“How about we each get a pass?”

“Well that’s not fair, I would have used mine if I knew that was an option.” You love that tone of voice, argumentative and louder, more confident but without the seriousness that was starting to settle onto your conversation.

“Well now it is, and I pass, you get one too.”

“Fine, why did you stop having sex? At one point I assume you really were taking men home while you were out with Emily, otherwise you wouldn’t have earned your nickname. So, you stopped two months ago, why?”

Now you wish you hadn't used your pass. 

“I just… needed a change. I wasn’t satisfied by the-” You struggle to find the words to accurately explain the feeling. Once again, you don’t want to lie but you aren’t entirely sure of the answer. “I… stopped having fun. So there really wasn’t a reason to keep doing it if I wasn’t having a good time.”

It’s objectively true. 

You don’t mention that you stopped feeling the spark you used to get. You don’t feel that pang of arousal in your stomach when you’re with a partner anymore. 

You stopped getting butterflies. 

He nods, both of you taking long sips of your water and sitting in silence as you hear the kitchen door swing open, both of your breakfasts are brought out. You’re thrilled to have a reason to sit and think, even if it’s just for a moment as you cut up your pancakes. 

“Why haven’t you just gotten it over with? You’ve had options, I’ve been on cases with you where women are giving you the time of day.” You wave your fork in his direction before sticking it into a strawberry.

“I have standards, you know. Just because I haven’t had sex doesn’t mean I want to stick it into the first person that offers.” There’s a harsh snap to his voice that is reserved just for you, familiar and engaging as he takes a bite of his eggs. 

“I’m not saying you should fuck anything with a pulse, I’m saying that there have been plenty of pretty, nice women, who I’ve seen hit on you.” 

“I’m fully aware of that, but I wasn’t interested in them.”

“Why not? You clearly don’t want to be a virgin, so why not just get it over with?” You reach across the table for the syrup, coating your pancakes.

“Like I said, I have standards. I might be a virgin-” He whispers it, looking over his shoulder as if the diner isn’t still empty. “But I know what I like and what I want.”

“Hmm.” You hum around a bite of your pancakes. Fuck this place has good food, you’re gonna have to come back here.

“You asked two questions so now I get two. What is fun to you?” He tilts his head to the side, with an air of confidence you don’t normally see from him when sex is the subject matter.

“Hmm?” You hum around your fork.

“You said you stopped having fun, what’s fun? Shouldn’t all sex be fun?” 

Oh you sweet summer child. 

“What’s the second question?” 

“Depends on your answer.” One good thing about Spencer is how engaged he is in every conversation he has. 

“I like to try new things.” You tilt your head a bit to the side.

“Like what?” 

“You’ll need to be more specific if you want a specific answer.” You love the way he hangs off your every word.

“What was something fun you wanted to do, that one of your partners turned down?” The smile you get from him as he says it is unlike anything you’re used to from him. You like this side of Spencer, you much prefer this Spencer. 

This is like chess with him but better because you actually stand a chance of beating him. 

This conversation just got fun. Any dread you felt when you first arrived is gone. 

“I wanted him to beg for it.” When you see your server step out of the kitchen you smile and wave at her as she heads in your direction to refill your coffees. “I wanted him to ask nicely, and use his manners. He didn’t want to, he puffed out his chest like the big strong man he thought he was and told me that he doesn’t do that, because he expects it. So I kindly asked him to leave.” You continue to speak as she fills both your mugs. “Thank you.” You give her another big smile as she leaves.

“And what do you expect? What requirements do your partners have to meet?” He doesn’t seem to even notice that she came and went, he’s too focused on you now.  

“My standards are high these days, begging is obviously the bare minimum, which is probably why it’s been two months.” You pick up your mug, feeling the warmth beneath your fingertips. “It’s important to me that my partners feel grateful when they’re with me.” 

“Doesn’t seem like you’re asking for too much.” It’s your turn to almost spit your coffee out as he says it so casually. 

Clearing your throat you set the mug back down.

“I expect devotion.” 

“And what do these men get in return?” He’s like an interviewer. His questions come quickly, as if he has them written down.

“That would be your third question, Doctor.”

“I’m trading in my pass for an extra question, since we’re allowed to make up rules whenever we want.”

You pause for a moment, trying to meet his gaze as he avoids yours. 

“They get me.” You smile as he raises an eyebrow, his eyes are still down on the swirling of his coffee. 

Oh, you could absolutely pull the trigger on this if you want to. 

That’s the question you need to ask yourself. Do you want to? If you look at this as an abstract concept where he’s just a guy in this diner and not Spencer, he’s the perfect choice. 

And Emily’s right, he doesn’t even know it. You’ve never properly looked at his body language but he leans into every word that falls from your lips. He isn’t so brazenly staring at your chest today but he certainly steals glances. Even if parts of him hate you, that’s fine, parts of you hate him. But there’s an undeniable fascination for you that you’d never noticed before today.  

What’s the worst that could happen?

“My turn. Do I live up to the high standards of Dr. Spencer Reid? Would you have sex with me?” 

“Now you’re just being mean.” His confident tone falters a bit as he continues to stare down, tucking his hair behind his ears. 

You can’t exactly blame him for that reaction, You’ve spent the last year teasing him relentlessly. You’ve taken every opportunity handed to you to embarrass him, after the first month you stopped with the pleasantries. What reason would he have to assume this was anything but a cruel joke. 

You grab his mug, pulling it across the table so it’s in front of you. You take a handful of sugar packets as well, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Remind me, how many sugars do you take in your coffee?”

“Six, I can do it myself.” Jesus, he likes his sugar. He starts to reach towards you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You just click your tongue in response.

“No, no I’ve got it.” One by one you rip open each packet, when you empty the sixth one you look up to find he’s watching you closely. You lean over the mug, your tongue poking out from between your teeth as you spit into his coffee before you slide it back over to him. 

“Come on, seriously-”

You shake your head as he starts, effectively shutting him up.

“It’s still my turn, would you have sex with me if you could? Since you’ve played so nicely I won’t even make you say it out loud if it’s too embarrassing. You can just enjoy your coffee and I’ll know the answer.” Your tone is still teasing but you look at him with a fondness that is unfamiliar to him. 

He stares down into his coffee, his cheeks are red, and that squiggly little vein on his temple looks like it’s about to pop.

Okay maybe this was a step too far. 

But you seriously doubt you misread this situation, your entire job is to read situations. 

You watch with bated breath as he hesitantly lifts his mug. And just like that, the biggest germaphobe you know takes a long sip of his coffee. You can’t help the smile that plays on your lips. 

“What about you?” He mumbles, staring down like he doesn’t want to see your reaction. 

Hook, line, and sinker.

You take your mug, holding it out towards him, his eyes look like they might pop out of his head. 

“Go ahead.” Your smile only grows as he chews his lip. 

Tentatively, he leans forward, his every move is unsure but he spits into your cup, finally looking you in the eye. You don’t break eye contact as you take a sip of your coffee. 

He looks enamoured by you.

“You know… I’ve been thinking, I think that our work is being affected by our antagonistic relationship. Hotch is always telling me that I should be nicer to you. And I don’t know about you but I know that my current lack of… sexual fulfillment has made me irritable and distracted. Has it made you feel that way?” You brush the tip of your shoe against his ankle, immediately he jolts up, his knees hitting the table. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” You can feel his leg bouncing under the table again as he groans, taking another sip of his coffee, as if more caffeine is going to soothe his nerves.

“It isn’t your turn.” You click your tongue. 

“Fine.” He grumbles. “I don’t let this kind of thing get in the way of my work.” His fingers flex around his mug. “Can we just be done with this game?”

“I want one more question.”

“Better make it a good one.”

You intend to.

“Do you beg when you want something?” You figure you’ll floor him with that one.

He catches you off guard with an immediate whispered response. 

“Only if I want it badly enough.” This conversation has been full of surprises.  

“Your turn.”

“If I were to beg, would I get what I want?” There’s no confidence behind his voice anymore, he doesn’t even try to sound sure of himself.

Emily was absolutely right in every regard. He’s perfect. You don’t bother concealing the wild grin that you know is creeping across your face.

“If you want it badly enough.” 

He takes in a shuddering breath, his lips parting slightly as he stares at you. He looks like he’s still waiting for you to pull the rug out from under him. 

“You said you don’t have any plans for the rest of the weekend right? Other than your chess thing?” 

“My schedule is empty.” He says it just like the eager puppy Emily claimed he was, his tail might as well be wagging for a treat. 

And it’s only Thursday. 

This might be the best long weekend Hotch has ever forced you to take.

“You know, I get a little nervous with the maintenance people coming over when I’m home alone. Would you want to come over tonight and maybe stay for the weekend? I could order us a pizza.”

“You hate red sauce.” He says it like he’s found the missing piece of a puzzle, like this is a break in the case that proves this is all some big plot against him. 

“Why do you know that?” He shrugs as you roll your eyes. “I don’t like certain red sauce pastas, I like it a specific way. I still like pizza.” 

“Okay.” He nods, and a part of you knows he’s cataloging that information away somewhere in a mental folder with your name on it.

“And you understand why you’re coming over?” You say it slowly, nodding as you do. 

“I assume when I get there you’ll have a bunch of your friends over so they can point and laugh at me for thinking this was actually happening.” His tone is only half joking. 

“This is gonna be a lot of fun if that’s the mindset you’re in.”

“I’m not sure what other mindset I could be in right now, this has all been very… confusing.” And no one hates to be confused as much as Spencer does. 

“What do you think the chances are that this is real? You have a statistic for everything.” 

“I’d say about five percent.”

“That’s higher than I expected.” You bump his leg with your shoe again, he flinches but he stays in his seat.

“As unlikely as all of this is, I don’t think you lied to me at all. I think that you’re lonely, and unsatisfied. And that might just be enough for you to settle on a sure thing.”

Lonely and unsatisfied.

No reason to deny that, you wouldn’t still be here if that wasn’t the case. 

“You’re a sure thing? Even with five percent odds?” Your smile only grows. A sure thing.

“I’m a sure thing with one percent odds.”

“So you’ll come over?”

He chews on his lip as he nods. 

You eat the rest of your breakfast in silence, he seems to be lost in thought and you don’t want to say anything that’ll make him change his mind.

When your server returns you reach for your wallet but before you can he hands her some cash, telling her to keep the change. You don’t object, you just stare at him.

“Thank you.” Your smile never falters as you finish your coffee. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Are you ready to go?”

“Mhmm.” He hums and as he stands you join him, following him out to the parking lot. He walks you to your car, watching you lean against the driver side door. You take a moment to look him up and down.

You immediately find yourself staring at the tent in his pants. Good lord he’s like a teenager. You can’t remember the last time you were able to get a guy this worked up just with a conversation.

“Jesus, are you okay to drive like that?” You flick your eyes downwards.

“Shut up.” He gets so red so easily, you can’t wait to find out how low that red goes. 

“Seriously, are you sure that isn’t like, distracted driving?” 

“It’s human nature, if you spend an hour throwing yourself at me I’m going to have a physical reaction.”

“And throwing myself at you? That seems like a bit of an exaggeration.”

“If you say so.” He fidgets with his car keys. 

“Does six thirty work for you?”

“Six thirty is perfect.” Something tells you any time you offered would have been perfect. 

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

He feels like he might pass out.

What the fuck just happened?

Once your car is pulled out of the parking lot he palms himself through his slacks, hissing as he finally relieves a bit of the pressure that’s been building for the last hour. 

Is it possible that you killed him at the bar last night and this is all some fantasy he’s having as he bleeds out on the floor? 

He still isn’t convinced that this isn’t just some kind of joke. 

You can have your pick of any guy.

You’ve had your pick, and he’s heard the descriptions of these men, they aren’t like him. They aren’t lanky, greasy, guys who can’t last more than thirty seconds.

He doesn’t really care if it is a joke at this point, if it’s a joke he might as well get what he can out of it, maybe he’ll get to see you with your shirt off before you laugh in his face and send him packing. 

The parking lot is empty, it’s a Thursday before noon in the middle of nowhere. 

He should wait until he’s home. 

But you were true to your word, and you wore that shirt again.

He has to stop at the drugstore before he heads home. He’s never done anything like this before but he’s pretty sure the guy is supposed to bring the condoms.

He can’t go to the store like this. 

The smart thing to do would be to just handle it here.

He doesn’t bother unbuttoning his pants, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t even get that far. 

Pressing his palm against the bulge in his pants he imagines it’s you, in the diner, brushing your foot up against him. He would have told you every single embarrassing secret he had if you’d have slid your foot up the length of his pants and pressed down. 

He’s practically drooling at the thought of being in your apartment. It’ll smell like you, he’ll be alone with you. And god willing, you’re going to touch him.

He feels like he won the lottery.

He got caught following you to leer and you and he’s being rewarded with the possibility of finally losing his virginity to the hottest person he’s ever met. 

With a whimper he rests his head on the top of his steering wheel as he makes a mess out of the inside of his pants. 

Hopefully you aren’t depending on him to last any longer than it takes for him to get inside of you. 

He’s glad he wore dark colored slacks. With a turn of his key he starts his car.

For the first time in his life he’s going to buy condoms. 

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

The knock on your door makes you jump. 

Shooting a glance towards your clock tells you that it’s only five minutes after six. 

Yet there he is when you open the door.

Thankfully you spent the day cleaning and picked up the pizza a few minutes ago.

“I thought we said six thirty?” You don’t bother greeting him, you’re already irritated enough by the fact that he’s in the same clothes and you’re in your PJs.

“On time is late, early is on time.” He is quite possibly the lamest person you’ve ever met. 

“Twenty five minutes early is early. Sounds to me like maybe you just couldn’t wait.” You grab his arm, pulling him into your apartment. He’s still in a brown blazer and a dress shirt with a fucking tie, who dresses like this for a hookup? “Are you seriously still dressed like that? “Go change, I can’t have a conversation with you like this.” 

“How else would I be dressed?” Thank god he has a backpack with him.

“I hope to god you brought something other than business attire. Put on some pajamas or something.” You point him towards the bathroom as you split off towards the kitchen to grab plates. 

You quickly sort yourself out in the reflection of your microwave. You kept it casual, you’d hoped he would too but that was clearly wishful thinking. Your favorite pajama pants with Snoopy on them and a tanktop. Simple, classic, easy enough to take off. Not so obviously revealing that you can’t sit and have a conversation with him before you do whatever it is that the two of you are about to do. 

You straighten up at the sound of the bathroom door opening. 

Returning to the living room you watch as he sets his sneakers down by the door. He stands straight, holding his arms tightly to his body like he’s worried about taking up any space. 

You can work with this. 

Especially with him dressed like that. 

He’s got a black caltech shirt on with a pair of grey sweats, and of course, his mismatched socks. He’s always got so many layers on at work, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him in just a t-shirt and you’re liking what you see.

He almost looks like a normal person now. 

Okay. 

Time to rip off the band-aid. This shouldn’t be so hard, you both know why you’re here, you’ve already had one awkward conversation, what’s one more? 

You sit on the couch, patting the spot next to you as you open the pizza box on your coffee table. As he sits beside you, you set a slice on a plate before handing it to him. Doing the same for yourself. 

“I think we need to lay down some ground rules before anything happens here.” Your voice cracks a little as you clear your throat. Jesus, pull it together.  

“I completely agree.” Thank god he sounds nervous too.

You shouldn’t be nervous, you do this all the time. 

“Let’s start with the obvious, you can’t tell anyone about this. If you did I would vehemently deny it and of course whatever was happening between us would stop.” This can’t ever get out. Emily and Derek would never let you live it down. 

“Obviously.” He rolls his eyes as he takes a bite. 

“No offense intended, it’s not a personal thing, it’s a professional thing, for the sake of my career and yours.”

“Sure.”

“Did you bring condoms?”

He nods, unzipping his backpack he hands you a Trojan value pack, there’s four different options. 

“Forty condoms?” You stifle a laugh as you pass the box back to him. His cheeks burn red, making him blush might be your new favorite thing to do. 

“I wasn’t sure what your preference was or how many was normal. And I didn’t want to run out.”

“Run out!” You set your plate down as you laugh, you're too nervous to eat. 

“I don’t know how many is normal!” You can’t blame him, he really doesn’t know any better.

“That’s fine, you know what, forty is fine. You don’t have to use them if you don’t want to anyway. I’m on birth control and I got tested a month ago. And I know you obviously don’t have anything.” The second you say it the condoms go back in the bag. 

“Anything else?” He cocks an eyebrow at you.

“As far as commitment goes there is none. If either of us decides we’re done then we’re done.”

“Sounds about right for you.” He scoffs. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re scared of commitment, everyone knows it.”

“Not wanting commitment in a fuck buddy scenario is not the same as being scared of commitment.” This isn’t an argument you want to have right now because he is technically right. 

“Anything else?”

“No, your turn.” You grumble. 

“I don’t want you seeing other guys while we’re doing this.” Of course mr. commitment doesn’t want you seeing anyone else. 

“I will not engage in sexual activities with others but I’ll still have to flirt with guys when I go out with Emily.”

He frowns.

“We can work out the logistics of that later.” 

“Whatever, sure.” Another argument you don’t want to have right now. 

“I’d like for us to be honest with each other, even if it’s uncomfortable.” 

“Give me an example.”

“Like if I asked you about how many people you’ve slept with.”

“Does that matter?” You lean away from him as you cross your arms over your chest. 

“Not at all, I’m just curious. And you don’t have to answer, I just ask that if you do that you don’t lie.” You drop your guard a bit at that, he seems genuine.

“Around twenty, maybe twenty five.” You don’t know the exact amount but that sounds right.

“That’s it?” The ever distrustful Spencer Reid. 

“Tales of my sexual exploits have been greatly exaggerated.” You lean back against the couch, sighing. 

“I’ll also obviously answer any questions you might have with complete honesty as well.” 

You're eager to test the extent of that honesty. 

“Do you ever think about me when you jerk off?” You sit back up, smirking at him. 

“Usually.” He shrugs, reaching into his backpack he grabs a glasses case, he must have taken out his contacts in the bathroom. You watch as he puts on a pair of horn rimmed glasses. 

That changes things. 

This must be how he feels when you wear a low cut shirt. 

He blinks, adjusting to them. You tilt your head, holding your breath as you stare at him. They sit so nicely, high on his nose. Something about the round frames accentuate the sharp features of his face. The thick tops of them stand out against his pale skin. You’re slowly getting the sexy librarian appeal. 

Oh my god, pull it together.  

“How often?” You cough the words out, trying to regain the air of confidence you had when you asked the question. 

“Twice a day.” He answers much more comfortably than he did in the diner. He doesn’t twitch, he’s found a sense of calm here. 

“You jerk off twice a day?” You squeak out. 

“I jerk off while thinking about you twice a day.”

“Wow.” You wanted someone obsessed, you aren’t going to find anything better than this. 

“Oh I know. You’ve become a real problem for me.” 

“How do you want to do this? It’s your first time, it should be special.” As much as you’d love to tear into him right now and find out what makes him tick, that isn’t what tonight's about. You’ll have plenty of time for that later. 

“I could care less so long as it happens, I feel like I’ve dug myself into a pretty embarrassing hole if I’ve come all this way and said all these things just to not have sex.” He scratches the back of his neck as he gives you a sheepish smile. 

“I know a part of you still thinks this is some evil plot on my end of things but I promise I’m not joking.”

“I’ll believe it when you actually start touching me.”

You’re suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you’re sitting rather far away. You’ve both retreated to the furthest edges of the couch. 

You set your plate down, taking his and doing the same before you scoot over. You pull him closer as you throw your legs over his lap. 

“Believe it yet?” You speak softer now that you’re right next to each other. 

“I’m starting to. What are your limits? What do you want to avoid?” He keeps his tone sarcastic but this close to him you can see the way his blush creeps down his neck and under the collar of his shirt. 

“I don’t think there’s anything.” You’re practically whispering now, you’re so close to him. 

“That seems a little extreme.” His brows furrow. 

“If you do something I don’t like you’ll know. We can settle on a safeword but I’m also very comfortable simply telling you to stop if I don’t like something.”

“So… anything’s on the table.”

That’s the goal. 

“Anything you can think up in that big, perverted brain of yours. We can do whatever you want.” 

He swallows loudly. His hands rest awkwardly at his sides, usually in this position the guy would touch you but not him. He doesn’t even know that’s an option. 

“Do you want to watch a movie?” You’re trying to think of ways to make him more comfortable but you’re coming up empty. Should you offer him a book to consume? He isn’t like your usual partners, normally you’d put on a movie or a show to pretend to watch before you get started.

“I’d rather not.” He stammers, his fingers tap against your ankle rhythmically. 

“What do you want to do then?”

“You can’t seriously be asking me that right now.” 

“Well I don’t know, I don’t want to overwhelm you or anything, I figured you’d want to be eased into this.” 

“We can do whatever I want, that’s what you just said, right? Because if that’s the case then I’m certainly not going to start by watching a movie.”

“It helps to set the mood.” You roll your eyes. 

“My mood doesn’t really need any further setting. Does yours?”

Nope. 

“Do you want me to take the lead?” You give him a genuine smile, not your usual predatory grin. 

“I will do literally anything you ask me to do right now.”

Perfect, perfect Spencer. He is exactly what you needed to end your dry spell.

“Why don’t we start by going to my room.” You stand, holding your hand out to him. It’s quite possibly the first kind gesture you’ve ever made towards him. 

He nods as he takes your hand, letting you guide him down the hall and into your room. You take a seat on the bed but he doesn’t follow. Instead he stands in the doorway, robotic in the way he examines every detail. 

“You have more stuffed animals than I thought you would.” It’s the first thing he says once he steps into the room. 

“How many did you think I’d have?”

“None.”

You’ve got a lot more than that, a mess of them are strewn about your bed, you’ve got a few on your nightstand as well as a net mounted to the wall that holds a pile. It crosses your mind to be embarrassed about it but you’ve never let it bother you before, why would you start now. You kick most of them off the bed as you lay back against the pile of pillows against your headboard. 

You don’t want to rush him, tonight isn’t about you, even if you have big plans for him in the future. Right now you want him to be comfortable and happy.

He takes a hesitant step forward, not towards you, just further into the room. He faces away from you as he stares at your walls and shelves. You have photos with friends, and a few little paintings you found at thrift stores. His eyes linger on a picture of you, Emily, and Derek, out at the bar.   

Eventually he turns to your bookshelf. 

Whenever he’s reading he gets that look in his eyes, like he’s devouring the words rather than reading them. 

“Have you read all of these?” He murmurs. 

“Most of them, everything on the bottom shelf is stuff I still need to get to.”

“I haven’t heard of most of these.” His fingers linger over Ice Planet Barbarians. 

“I would be concerned if you had.”

He nods, turning to you at last as he steps forward, running his fingers across your comforter. 

“I always imagined your room being… scarier.” The fact that he imagined it at all only serves to sustain your smile. 

“Scarier?”

“Black and red, chains and whips.” Your room is a lot of things, but it isn’t dark and scary. Your sheets are a patchwork mix of colors, your walls are painted a soft green. 

“You imagined my room like a dungeon?” You cock an eyebrow at him. 

“Something like that.” He sits, facing you, the bed gently sinking against his weight.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this? You seem a little on edge. We can do something else for a few minutes if that’ll help.” You’re a little worried he’s about to turn tail and run based on the way he’s eyeing your door. 

“I’m ready, I just…” He stares at his hands, a look of concern that you’re all too familiar with after a year spent working together flashes across his face. “I’m a little worried this is all some kind of prank. That Emily and Derek are gonna jump out and laugh at me for thinking that this was ever really happening.” 

“Emily and Derek aren’t even in the state, Reid.” You reach out, touching his arm, a zap of static electricity makes you flinch before you rest your hand on his forearm. 

“I thought of that too, and then I thought about you going in on Monday and telling everyone everything. I can see it now, Derek will ask you how your weekend was and you’ll give everyone a theatrical retelling of how you tricked poor Spencer into coming over to your house. You got him to spill his guts and then you got him to strip down to his underwear before you kicked him out.” His voice sounds so small when he says it.

“You really think I would do that to you?” You didn’t know it was possible for you to feel bad for the boy genius but right now you do. You’ve seen him as Hotch’s spoiled prodigy for a long time but right now he’s… vulnerable.  

He scoffs.

“You know, when I was in high school, there was a girl I liked. She asked me to meet her at the football field, she wasn’t like the other kids, she was nice to me, and I liked her, and she was the prettiest girl in school, how could I turn that down?” You’ve heard lots of Spencer’s stories, directly from him, in passing, or from the rest of the team, but you’ve never heard this one. “I couldn’t believe she was actually there when I got there. I was even more surprised that the entire football team was there.” He doesn’t look at you, instead he looks straight past your head to the wall behind you. “They stripped me down and tied me to the goal post. I begged them to stop and not one of them listened to me, no one helped me. Even after everyone left, no one ever felt bad and came back for me, I had to get out myself.”

His gaze is unfocused as you give him a look that could only be described as pity. 

“I thought you graduated high school when you were twelve?” You whisper, it’s the first time you’ve ever wanted him to correct you, instead he gives you a sad smile.

“Youngest in my class.”

You feel a fondness for him that you haven’t previously. Here, in the dim light of your room, dressed in normal clothes, picking at his nails, he becomes someone different from the man you see in the office everyday. That man quite literally knows everything, the man in your bed right now knows nothing. 

“Come here.” You lean forward, pulling him close so he’s kneeling on top of you.

“Are you gonna make me beg for it?” You know without a shadow of a doubt that he would if you wanted him to. 

“Not this time.” You tangle your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck. “Let me know if you want to stop.” You murmur as you pull him closer.

“If I ask you to stop, something has gone seriously wrong.”

Much to your surprise he’s the one to close the distance between you, there isn’t any indecisiveness in his actions now as his lips press into yours. Warm and soft, and tasting like coffee with too much sugar. 

And for the first time in months you get butterflies, low in your stomach, in a place that you thought might be broken inside you. You feel a fluttering as his hands hold your hips with a tightness that tells you he’s worried you might disappear. 

You’d convinced yourself you might not ever feel like that again.

Thank god Spencer Reid loves to prove you wrong.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

a/n : i plan on doing things to spencer reid in the next chapter that he has never even heard of. anyways, sorry for teasing y'all for one more chapter before they doink lol

i don't have a tag list but you can follow @holymolynotifications for fic updates!!

★

Maybe Hotch will make sure the bureau pays for all the therapy you’re gonna need when you get out of here. 

If you get out of here. 

How are you gonna pass a psyche evaluation after this? Sure, you feel sane but a part of you knows that you’re… different. Spencer is too. You don’t leave a place like this unscathed. 

Maybe the team won’t ever find you.

And you’ll spend the rest of your days here, being fucked by Spencer in every possible position until the unsub gets bored or one of you dies. 

Right now, with your lips on his, that doesn’t sound like the worst way to spend however many days you have left. 

You slide yourself closer as you kiss him. It’s nothing like the ravenous, all consuming kisses you share in the throws of passion. It’s soft, it feels natural. You pull away when he doesn’t immediately kiss you back, just to glance at his reaction. 

You only get a moment to look into those big doe eyes before it’s his turn to lean forward as his hands dart up to your face, cupping your cheeks as he closes the gap between you once more. No tongues, no teeth, just the two of you. 

You revel in it, this moment that doesn’t belong to the unsub, or anyone else watching you right now. This is just for you and Spencer. 

When he pulls away it’s only when he has to take a breath, he keeps his forehead pressed to yours. 

“This is… torture.” He murmurs. “And I’ve been tortured, this is so much worse.” 

Yikes, that’s not what you want to hear. 

“Spencer…” 

“You can’t possibly know how abysmal it feels to be here. I would quite literally rather be tortured.” He says it so casually as your mouth settles into a deep frown, his gaze softens. “Not like that, not because of you, well actually, all because of you.” He’s quick to correct himself but he isn’t making you feel any less bad about kissing him if this is his reaction. 

“That doesn’t make it any better.” You mumble, wanting to shrink away but his hands are still on your face, his thumb moving in small, gentle circles.

He chews his lip, lost in thought for a moment before he nods to himself, like he’s figured it out. 

“Did you know that torture is one of the most ineffective ways to get information out of a person?” 

“Yes Spencer, I went through the same training you did.” 

“Statistically speaking it just doesn’t work, even when you manage to ‘break’ your victim, over seventy percent of the time their mental state has been compromised or they give false information to make the abuse stop. It’s extremely hard to get someone to talk if they’ve resigned themself to not doing so.”

“This really isn’t what girls want to hear after they kiss you, you have kissed someone before right?” You swear you heard a rumor about Spencer and some actress he met on a case. 

“I’ve been tortured.” He’s really hammering this point home. 

“I know, Emily told me what happened, I’m so sorry Spencer I’m just a little confused as to how that applies to this-” 

“And even through being physically tortured and…” His voice trails off for a moment but he shakes it off. “I was in a sense ‘broken’ but I still gave false information to my captor. I never fully complied. I lied, I stayed in the moment as best I could, always focused on survival, I refused to give up.” 

You just sort of nod in response, hoping that you didn’t break his brain when you kissed him. 

“And now I’m here, trapped in a cement box with you, and that’s all it took.” He’s talking like he does when he’s found some great break in the case. 

“I’m still not following.”

“All it took was you.” His brow furrows as his gaze intensifies. “He put me in a room with you and I broke immediately, I immediately gave in to my base instincts and did everything he wanted. He served you up to me on a silver platter and I couldn’t concentrate on anything else because a part of me felt… grateful. How sick is that?”

Grateful.

“Not that sick.” Your response is immediate, if that makes him sick what does it make you?

“Do you know how it feels to have the one thing you’ve wanted for so long, given to you in the absolute worst way possible? The guilt I feel for liking it, for wanting it, it’s eating up my insides worse than any drug ever has.”

The one thing you’ve wanted for so long. 

You know exactly how it feels. 

“Spencer, it’s okay.” You finally manage to snap him out of his ranting.

“Is this real?” His whisper is so soft he’s practically just mouthing the words. 

You kiss him again, a wordless answer to his question. 

“You’re sort of a romantic in the strangest, most morbid way possible.” You say against his lips in between kisses. “Only you could make torture sound so passionate.”  

“You make me feel like I’m losing my mind.” He doesn’t bother to pull away either as he mumbles against your mouth. 

Maybe he is, maybe you are too. 

You can think about that tomorrow, you’d like to spend the rest of the night making out with him. It’s hard to think about the morality of all of this with his mouth, so sweet and warm against yours. 

★

You must have fallen asleep at some point, when you wake your body is intertwined with his. You sigh against him, enjoying the last few moments of normalcy before your waking nightmare begins all over again. 

“I’ve been thinking.” You jump a bit at the sound of his voice, tilting your head up you can see he’s wide awake, the dark circles under his eyes look even more prominent than usual. 

“How long have you been up?”

“A while, we should start considering soon that we may have to be responsible for our own escape. I don’t see a scenario in which the team finds us unless they get remarkably lucky.”

“There is no escape, unless you know how to get through steel doors.” You stretch, leaning back into him as he adjusts himself to fit his body against yours. 

“There’s always a way, I just haven’t figured it out yet.” 

“Well let me know when you do.” 

“His emotional response to the scene yesterday has me concerned. I’m worried we might see considerable escalation today.” 

“That doesn’t make sense, our compliance should keep him placated.” You flip yourself around so you’re face to face with him now. 

“Normally I’d agree with you but the reaction was almost too positive. Now that he’s hooked he’ll need more to get the same rush.”

“So we should stop complying?” That doesn’t sound like a good idea. 

“No, that would be even more dangerous.” 

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“What we’ve been doing, whatever he asks of us.”

Great. 

“Good morning superstars.” He didn’t give you anytime to register that the intercom had even clicked on. “I see the two of you are feeling a lot more chatty, that is wonderful news. Now, as much as I love a nice emotional scene, your fans are not as interested in that. I think it is time to really test your limits as actors.” 

That’s not what you want to hear. 

“Are you up for a little roleplay?”

Definitely not what you want to hear.

“Listen closely, I do not enjoy repeating myself. On the underside of the sink in the bathroom I have taped a slip of paper, on it I have written my name, date of birth, and address. All the things your team would need to save you, of course if you reveal them during filming I will censor it, we are not done playing just yet.” You take his hand in yours instinctively squeezing. “I would like my leading lady to go, memorize her lines and then flush the paper. As she busies herself I would like Dr. Reid to move the props onto the set, I think you will know how I would like everything. Afterwards I will explain the contents of the scene.”

The door clicks in a way that’s starting to feel familiar. This time when you step out you’re surprised to find the hallway filled. There’s a small wooden desk, a duffle bag, and two metal chairs. He cocks an eyebrow at everything but does as he’s been requested, you can hear the scraping of metal as he drags the desk in. You focus yourself on fishing around under the sink, sure enough you find a folded scrap of paper. 

With trembling hands you unfold it, you’re a little surprised when you find exactly what he promised you would. 

Peter J. Hill

February 4th, 1989

301 Broadway W, Seattle Washington, 98137

Peter Hill. Just a normal, generic name, yet the sight of it makes you tense up. 

You repeat the information under your breath, over and over again until it’s branded on your brain, you couldn’t forget it if you tried. As instructed, once it’s memorized you flush it, stepping back out into the main room Spencer has set the desk up with the chairs on either side. His focus is entirely on the contents of the duffle bag, he’s holding it open. His mouth is pulled into a tight straight line and his brows are furrowed, you aren’t sure you even want to know what he’s looking at. That doesn’t stop you from trying to sneak a peek before he zips it shut, tossing it down.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to see that.”

“What? Why?” You’re about to reach around him for it but the intensity of his gaze stops you.

“Because I think I know that the scene is.”

“Brilliant Dr. Reid, always one step ahead, it is a shame you cannot help your team solve your own case, maybe they would have found you by now. Tell her what we will be doing today.” 

“It’s an interrogation.” He looks white as a sheet. “We profiled him as a sexual psychopath, not a sexual sadist.”

“Maybe you were right about me, Doctor.” 

“Interrogation? What information could he probably want from us?”

“Not from us.”

“From you angel. I would really like to see you from a damsel in distress angle, I just think you would be so perfect for it.”

“Spencer, what is he talking about?” When you turn to look at him you step back, he looks like he’s going to be sick. 

“Would you be so kind as to retrieve the timer from the bag, Dr. Reid?”

You watch with bated breath as he does just that, a blinking red digital timer set for three hours, waiting to be activated. 

“In a moment I will be starting the timer, and the brilliant Dr. Reid is going to show off some of his FBI skills for us. I want to see the best the bureau has to offer, make her talk or you won’t like what happens.”

“What’s the incentive? I don’t understand…” Your eyes are still locked on Spencer, he’s clearly figured out something that you haven’t.

“It’s a game, against each other. There’s a winner and a loser.” You’ve never seen him look so terrified, his hands don’t twitch nervously, they just tremble. "Which means ramifications for the loser."

“I like you more and more everyday Dr. Reid, we practically finish each other's sentences.” A chuckle crackles over the speaker. “He is exactly right, the winner decides the fate of the other.”

It’s an easy choice, if losing means you save Spencer from some kind of punishment then you’ll just give up whenever you’ve put on a sufficient performance. 

“So I just have to give him your information and he wins?” You speak up into the faceless void of wires on the ceiling that you’ve begun to associate with your captor.  

“I would not be so quick to do so my dearest. You don’t even know what the prizes are yet. And in order to secure your prize I expect a show, you do not want to know what is in store for you if I am not impressed.” 

“We know what your expectations are at this point.” You sneer up at where you can only hope the camera might be. 

“You sound so excited to begin so I will not make you wait much longer. If you win, angel, and he is not able to break you, you will be rewarded with a little trip out of the bunker. You and I will enjoy a nice dinner together, candles, wine, I will pull out all the stops for you. Nothing but the best for my headliner.” 

You feel as sick as Reid looks. 

“And if Dr. Reid wins. I will reward him with a little dental procedure.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Your voice is shrill, you can’t even glance at Spencer anymore as he continues speaking. 

“Two teeth, I do not care which ones, he can choose, are to be removed.” 

“This isn’t even a choice, you can’t expect us to play along with this or give you any sort of meaningful show, obviously I’m not going to tell him anything.”

“I think your precious doctor might disagree. Best of luck you two, your timer starts now.” 

You watch as the clock starts ticking down from the three hour mark, collapsing into one of the chairs, cringing as the metal shrieks against the floor. 

“This is ridiculous, what kind of show can he expect us to put on, I’m clearly not going to tell you and you obviously don’t want me to.” When you finally brave another glance at him he looks apologetic. His fingers twitching against his palm. 

He gives you an apologetic half smile before he stares at the floor. And you know exactly what he’s thinking.

“No.” Stern and serious the word leaves your lips before you've even fully processed the look in his eyes. “Don’t be stupid Spencer.”

The vibe in the room has shifted so violently it nearly gives you whiplash. Whatever cautious, intimate energy you had is replaced with rigid anticipation. 

How quickly your captor can flip the script. 

“You know it wouldn’t just be dinner.” His voice cracks as he murmurs. 

“That doesn’t matter.” You stand, slamming your hand down on the table. “This isn’t even a discussion.”

“I agree, it isn’t.” His eyes are downcast, both of you are standing defensively now, bodies angled almost aggressively towards each other. 

The timer blinks in your peripheral vision. 

“Spencer, we can’t do this.”

“We have to.” His voice is strained now as he flexes his jaw. “If we don’t then he’ll separate us. If you win he’ll separate us, I- it isn’t even a hard choice.”

“I’m a big girl, Spencer. I can handle myself, we aren’t pulling your fucking teeth out over this, absolutely not. I am telling you no.” 

He crumples himself down on the floor, sitting with his knees hugged to his chest. 

“You don’t understand, with the escalation we’re seeing if he were to be left alone with you…” He rakes his fingers against his scalp, a mannerism you’ve seen from him several times in high stress situations. 

“I- No. I don’t care, we aren’t discussing this any further. We can put on a little show or whatever it is that he wants. You can fuck me and try to get a confession out of me, I don’t care but I’m not entertaining this.” You sit back down, letting yourself relax a little bit as he sighs, sounding defeated. 

You let your head fall backwards, silently cursing Peter Hill as you stare at the ceiling. 

“Can I kiss you?” His voice is small, you’re a little taken aback by the request so you just nod. 

“Yeah, of course Spence. But we also need to figure out what we’re doing here, if we don’t put on a good show then I’m worried we’ll be living out both punishments.” You turn your head back towards him, he’s standing beside you, crouched down so he can catch your lips against his, his hands cup your face for a moment before sliding down your body, he holds your hand for a moment, squeezing. It’s almost a little awkward but you don’t mind. When he pulls away you take a breath as you’re met with that apologetic smile again. 

“I’m so sorry.” He leans forward and gives you another peck on the lips and before you can register what’s happening you hear a click and he grips your wrist tight.

“Spencer, what the f-” You start to stand but his hands push down on your shoulders, hard, you immediately realize one of your hands is cuffed. Before you can react he’s got your other wrist, with a click you’re once again restrained with your hands behind your back. 

“I am so, so, so sorry, and if we get out of this and you find it in your heart to forgive me I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

You yank on the cuffs, they’re metal and the second you pull against them you know they aren’t coming off without a key. 

“Spencer, let me go, now.” Your mouth immediately settles into a scowl. A stern look on your face as you try to stay calm.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“I’m serious.” 

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” His begging is so genuine, as if he’s the one restrained right now. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Three hours is a lot of time, and I think if we come to an agreement then this doesn’t have to get out of hand.”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“You will.” He tosses the duffle bag up and onto the table, you can see that it’s unzipped again, the bastard must have grabbed the cuffs when you weren’t looking.

“I won’t, I’ve had the same training that you have.”

“Exactly. I know every strategy and coping mechanism you’ve been taught.” 

Well, that’s not good. 

“Lets put on a show, make a real spectacle out of ourselves for an hour, I promise I won’t hurt you, but you have to tell me at the end of the hour.”

“No.” Your resolve stands firm, this is not happening.

“Sweetheart, please.” He kneels beside your chair. “I’m begging you not to do this.” 

The look in his eyes is almost enough to break you. Wide eyed and pleading with you but all you can do is shake your head. 

“No. I’m sorry Spencer.” You keep your voice stern even if you want to cry when he rests his head on your leg.

“You know there’s no safeword, there’s no stopping point. Do you understand what I have to do to you now?” His voice cracks again. 

You do know.

Unfortunately. 

Everything in his power to make you talk. 

If the roles were reversed you’d do the exact same thing. You understand him completely. Which is why you know that he understands why you can’t let him win. 

You brave a glance at the clock, less than ten minutes have passed. It’s going to be a long morning. 

When he finally stands up he clears his throat. His expression suddenly unreadable as he moves across the table, rubbing his hand over his face as if he’s trying to wipe away any emotion. You watch, silently, as he takes the other chair and sets it aside. 

“In an interrogation when you’re trying to empathize with the other person you sit, make them feel heard, make it a conversation. Stand when you want them to feel less than you, when you want to make them feel trapped.”

Spencer had said that to you once, when you watched Hotch sit with an unsub, he inflated his ego, tried to make him feel like he had outsmarted all of you. You’d asked questions and Spencer had been happy to answer. Now those answers ring around in your head.

You focus on keeping your breathing as even as possible as he starts to dig through the bag. You don’t look away and you don’t react when he starts setting the contents on the table. 

More cuffs.

A thick leather belt. 

A large red candle with a lighter.

A knife with a large blade. 

A hammer and pliers. 

“Really, you want me to believe you’re about to use a hammer on me?” You scoff, he doesn’t so much as flinch.

“Try to remember we’re performing.” He’s robotic as he tosses the bag back down to the floor, the heavy thunk tells you there’s plenty still in there. 

“It’s a good move, to lay everything out. Very effective.” You murmur, not sounding nearly as unbothered as you’d hoped to. 

“Stop talking.” He doesn’t raise his voice, he doesn’t even bother to look at you as he speaks. His expression has darkened so severely you feel compelled to comply.

You sit up a little taller, trying to not feel so small compared to him as he leans forwards, looking over everything.

“I’m not going to bother trying to reason with you any further, it’s a waste of time, you aren’t going to listen. I’m going to start simple, and give you an opportunity to see the error in your ways before I do anything too drastic. Every half hour that you let pass is going to result in an increase in the severity of my actions.” He never breaks eye contact with you as he speaks and it makes your hair stand on edge.

For the first time since you were taken you don’t feel safe with him.

If you said no right now he wouldn’t stop. 

Don’t act like that doesn’t almost make it better. 

Now is not the time for your perverse tendencies to shine, you can’t disassociate and forget the stakes anymore. This isn’t just another scene where you get fucked and try and process it later, there are consequences to your actions now. Consequences that only affect him, leaving you to bear the guilt of your choices.  

The timer lets you know it’s been about fifteen minutes, he seems to have come to a decision as his hand hovers over everything on the table, he takes the lighter in his hand, fiddling with it for a moment before he lights the candle. It’s one of those thick and short ones, the size of a can. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He finally breaks eye contact with you as he stares down at the floor. 

“I know.” It feels weird to be reassuring him right now. 

He walks around the table until he's standing behind you, gentle with you as he repositions you so you’re bent over the table.

He kicks your legs further apart, one hand on your lower back.

“Simple and painful enough to show you that I’m serious.” He mumbles to himself as you turn your head to try and get a better look at him to no avail as he keeps himself just out of your sight line. “Not so boring that it would result in retaliation.” You chew on the inside of your cheek all the while he’s still mumbling to himself. 

His hand rests on your lower back.

“Bruises are actually one of the safest injuries to have, because the skin is left unbroken it's the injury that puts you at the least risk for infection. We’re gonna start with thirty minutes and see if that makes you eager to talk.”

Only Reid would give you facts about the beating he’s about to give you.

You flinch involuntarily when he raises his hand. 

Fuck.

He does not hold back. 

Loud and firm as his hand connects with your ass, immediately you bite your lip, stifling a yelp. 

You want to scold him, or curse him out, or do literally anything but he gives you no options as his hand on your lower back pins you down and another blow connects. It’s so wildly clinical, the way his face screws up, like he has to do this. 

Maybe he does, you can’t really know what the reverse scenario would be. Would you let him face the unsub alone? You want to confidently say yes but deep down you know that isn’t true. 

You don’t get much time to dwell on it, your focus is reoriented when he hits you again. 

★

“Let’s go over everything again.” 

“We’ve already gone over this a dozen times, Hotch. Nothing changes and every second we don’t find them puts them more at risk.” Morgan hasn’t sat down once in the last twelve hours, alternating between standing over the table staring at photos and transcripts and pacing the room. 

“I just don’t understand why you can’t find them. This guy’s uploading at least one video a day.” Hotch turns back to his computer where Agent Garcia’s face fills the screen, her eyes flitting back and forth across her own monitors. 

“This guy isn’t dumb, every video he uploads he uses a different VPN and location for.” She never looks at the camera, too lost in tabs upon tabs of information. 

“Is it possible that any of these locations might be the actual one?” Hotch’s brow furrows. 

“None of them are anywhere close to Seattle, sir. Based on the upload time of the first video we know they’re still in the city somewhere.” Her face scrunches up as she looks away from her screen. “There’s a new upload.” 

“God damnit.” Derek grumbles as he puts his head in his hands. 

“Can you get it taken down before it spreads?” If it’s possible Hotch sounds even more grave than he usually does. 

“I can try, but he has some sort of bot set up, by the time I get it taken down two more pop up on another site.”  Her voice cracks. Everyone knows just by looking at her that she’s been crying most of the morning. 

“Forward us the link Garcia, you don’t have to watch it.” Hotch sits down in front of his laptop, waiting for the video to download. 

“Well, the thing is, this one is different.” Her expression is that of confusion as the video plays out on her own monitor. 

“Different how?” For the first time in hours Emily speaks up, previously lost in her own notes and files. 

“He isn’t directing them to do anything, and it’s dark in the room.” 

“They didn’t know they were being recorded.” Hotch clicks impatiently on the file, as if it can make it load faster.  

“They’re just talking and- oh.” 

“Garcia?” Hotch’s voice rings out clear.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be watching this.” 

“Forward it to us, I can take care of it.” For the first time in most of their careers, Hotch doesn’t sound so sure.  

He has to. 

Two members of his team, taken at the same time. The entire thing is being posted online as it’s happening. He should be able to stop this.   

Reid’s only twenty seven. 

And then there’s you, just a few years younger. 

Digging his fingernails into his palm he straightens up, everyone needs to keep it together. 

★

You can’t seem to stop crying.

Of course you’re crying, it fucking hurts. That doesn’t mean you’re any closer to telling him. 

His hand ended up being not so bad, it was the belt that really hurt.

He put the timer in front of you so you could watch as the seconds agonizingly tick down. It feels like the longest thirty minutes of your life and when it’s done you can’t help but sigh in relief, the side of your face is damp as you lay in a puddle of your own tears. 

“Are you okay?” He doesn’t help you up, you’ve still got plenty of time together, but he does bring you some water, tilting the bottle so it flows into your mouth.

“As good as I can be.” You try to sound sarcastic but you just sound hurt as your voice trembles. 

“Are you ready to be all done?” As he talks he takes the knife, flipping it in his hands a few times before he lets it rest on the edges of the candle, the blade hovering directly above the flame. 

“Am I ready to talk? No, I’m not.” This time you do manage to keep your voice steady. 

“Maybe another thirty minutes would help.” You fight the urge to groan, especially when he leans down and plants a kiss on your shoulder before standing up straight. He drags the belt across the raw skin of your ass before sliding it down to the backs of your thighs. You press your forehead down onto the cool metal of the table as the first smack hits the sensitive skin there. 

★

“So?” Morgan’s the first to speak when Hotch returns, looking haggard. The look on his face would be concerning on any case, it sets everyone on edge. 

“They’re… okay.” He sits, sorting through the pile of files in front of him. 

“Okay? That’s it? In the last video he was mouthfucking her and now they’re just okay?” 

“Don’t be gross Derek.” Emily scowls, this whole situation has left her sick to her stomach. 

“I’m not being gross, I'm being realistic.”

“It was an intimate moment that they wouldn’t want shared with the team.” Hotch murmurs as he rubs at the worry lines on his forehead. How is he gonna explain a video of his agents confessing feelings for each other and making out?

“More intimate than what we’ve already seen?” The angry edge to Morgan's voice has been unrelenting since the night they were taken. 

“I’m making a call as the unit chief that is in the best interest of our team. End of discussion.” 

How the hell is he supposed to tell his team that he doesn’t really understand what’s happening in that room anymore? That he just needs to get them out before they forget that they’re being held there against their will. 

“We’re gonna circle back to every living victim, and I mean every single one of them. Somebody has to have something that will give us some kind of clue as to who we’re dealing with.” He splits the files up into even groups, spreading them out between the dwindling members of the team. “I want everyone on the phone until somebody can give me something new.” He keeps his tone even as Emily and JJ stand, eager to get out of the stuffy room. 

“What’s on the video?” Derek closes the door, leaving the two of them alone. 

“I told you, it isn’t important.”

“Then what’s got you so freaked out.” 

Hotch looks like he’s seen a ghost and he knows it. 

“I just- I keep waiting for him to snap out of it.” Aaron keeps his voice low, as if anyone outside of the conference room can hear him.

“The unsub? I don’t think he’s gonna snap out of whatever movie magic delusion he’s living in.”

“Reid.” Hotch breathes out his name, thinking of the team's boy genius, and how he didn’t seem to be thinking with his brain these days. 

“The kid?” 

“When he was taken by Tobias Hankle he was in the same situation, he knew he was being filmed and could send us messages, and help us get him out.” He glances down at his watch. It’s been almost sixty hours since they were taken. “All he does is think, every one of his actions is always taken with intentionality, he’s an anxious overthinker.”

“I’m not following, Hotch.”

“This time, there’s nothing, no glance to the camera, no hand signals, word play, nothing. It’s like he has no self preservation skills in there. He should be keeping his distance from her outside of the scenes to keep the unsub placated but he doesn’t, he jumps at every opportunity to give her whatever she wants, to be as close to her as possible, knowing that it could result in retaliation from the unsub.” 

“They’re both in a really bad spot right now. I don't see why it matters if he’s trying to keep her happy.” Morgan jumps to Reid's defense on instinct. 

“Because he understands the profile. Now that we know what he was always after, that changes things. He’s an organized offender, he’s motivated by his need to control the scene and his obsession with her. The killing meant nothing to him, it was simply a way to punish those who wouldn’t obey. He’s a sexual predator with obsessive tendencies. Under no circumstances should he be pushed in anyway, it will always have negative effects but Reid just… keeps pushing." 

“Is it possible he’s misunderstood the profile?”

“When has Reid ever been wrong? It’s like he suddenly has no regard for his own safety, look, I’m not blind, I’ve seen the flirting between the two of them around the bullpen. But this isn’t flirting, he’s blatantly throwing self preservation to the wind.”

“It sounds like you’re profiling Reid now.”

“I am. Right now he’s a danger to himself. The unsub is spiteful and cruel. But Reid knows he won’t hurt her, he’s the only one in danger right now and he’s doing nothing to take the target off his back.” 

★

You stop watching the clock after five minutes, closing your eyes you stop trying to swallow down your squeaks of pain with each hit of the belt. Thirty fucking minutes of torment.

Every strike of the belt leaves you what you can only assume is a pretty nasty red welt. Very rarely do you find yourself in a situation where Spencer doesn’t fill the silence with random facts about something niche, or a statistic relevant to your position. 

Remember that this is a scene. 

He doesn’t want to do this, he has to. Perform or the consequences will be worse than separation and missing teeth. 

He doesn’t want to hurt you. 

He’s silent, other than his heavy breathing from the effort required to continuously tear into the meat of your thighs. 

You cry out with every hit, no sense in trying to look tough anymore, he knows it hurts. 

You take every single one. 

It’s easier when you think about why you have to do this. The image of a faceless man with his hand in Spencer's mouth, yanking out his teeth flashes across your vision. 

You’re anticipating another hit but it doesn’t come, slowly, you peek your eyes open.

Oh thank god. 

One hour and forty minutes left. 

Over an hour down. 

He undoes the cuffs behind your back and he’s quick to reconnect one of your wrists to a loop on the top of the desk. He pushes you back until you’re sitting in the chair, the cold metal stings against your raw flesh, drawing a hiss out from between your teeth. He remains silent as he sits across from you. 

“Can we talk about this, please, just for a few minutes.” Your goal is to sound as natural as possible, like this is an everyday conversation. You aren’t sure if it comes out that way. 

His eyes flit over to the timer. 

“I just don’t think we have anything to talk about if you aren’t going to tell me what I want to know.” God he’s stubborn.

“I just want you to hear me out, then I’ll hear you out, okay?”

He sits back, combing his fingers through his hair. 

“Fine, ten minutes” He flips the knife over the flame, the metal of the blade’s covered in a thin layer of soot now. 

“I need you to think reasonably, he’s been a man of his word so far, if I’m left along with him it sounds like we’ll have dinner and talk and that’ll be all. I’ll be back here before you know it.” You try to sound like the idea of being alone with Peter doesn’t absolutely terrify you. “The alternative is something dangerous and permanent.” You say your peace, staring at him as you wait for a response. 

“No.”

“No?” Well you weren’t expecting that. You were expecting intelligent and rational Dr. Reid to listen to reason, or at the very least, consider it. 

“No. You heard me. I cannot sit back and willingly let you do this. You think that you’re biting the bullet here and that you’re doing something to ‘protect’ me, but all you’re doing is getting yourself killed.” 

“You aren’t listening-”

“No, you aren’t. The man that we’re dealing with is an obsessive, sadist. If you’re left alone with him he won’t be able to control himself. It’s why we’re in here and he’s out there. He knows that once he finally takes his favorite toy out of the box he’s going to break it. If you go with him you won’t be coming back.” 

“I just don’t think he’s a sadist, he doesn’t kill for sexual gratification, he kills when he doesn’t get his way. As long as I do what he says I’ll be fine.” 

“You say that like it's so easy to follow orders from a serial rapist and killer. You don’t know what he’ll ask of you, and what happens if you don’t live up to his every expectation.”

“Whatever, let’s agree to disagree.”

“No, I don’t agree with you at all. I’m right, and if you’re going to make me hurt you to keep you alive and safe then that’s what I’m going to do.” He takes the knife, careful to never touch the blade. “Where do you want it?” 

“Spencer.”

You can tell by the way his eyes frantically flit around that he’s cracking under the pressure of the clock. 

“Make a choice or I will, we’re running out of time and if you won’t listen then I have to do this. I was thinking on your torso, across your ribs, that way it’s covered by most clothes. You won’t be able to wear crop tops and you’ll be stuck with one piece swim suits but that’s not so bad. At least I’ll still have a couple of teeth that no one ever sees.” Oh he’s pissed. He lifts the side of your top, the skin of your hips and waist are still dark purple, why not add a few more marks? 

“Don’t act like this is up to me. You’re choosing to do this.” You hiss. 

“Torso it is.” The hand not holding the knife grabs your free wrist, pinning it to the table. “You don’t understand at all. I can’t let you do this, there’s nothing I won’t do to stop you.” 

You watch, unable to tear your eyes away as he presses the thin edge of the heated blade against your ribs for just a few seconds before pulling it back. You’re hit with a searing white pain as a white line sizzles itself into your skin. It’s a completely different pain that the one you’ve endured from the spanking, you’d rather deal with that ten times over than then deal with this.  

You don’t recognize the cry that leaves your throat. 

Jagged and pained. 

With the way Spencer flinches you’d think that he was the one who was burned. 

You wait for the next burn but it doesn’t come. Instead he stands, carefully setting the blade back down onto the candle. His jaw is locked so tightly you’re worried he’s going to pop a blood vessel. 

He stares at you, eyes roaming from your tear soaked face down to the burn. 

You expect to see impatience, or a tired annoyance. 

Instead you just see shame, all of the bravado he had vanished at the sound of your anguished cry. 

An immediate regret for his actions.

Something about his sadness makes you forget that he even hurt you to begin with. You just want to comfort him. 

Jesus. 

Maybe you’re both going crazy. How long have you been here? It can’t be that long, a day or two? 

Spencer looks positively disturbed. 

Maybe he finally realized that you’re right, and it probably isn’t worth it to go through all of this just to end up with a bloody mouth.  

He’s quick on his feet as he hurries across the room and out the door, you stare, worried as he darts into the bathroom. You turn away at the sound of him retching. Facing the clock and watching as it ticks down another twenty minutes, ever so slowly. Accompanied by the sounds of Spencer spewing the contents of his stomach up. 

Finally, after what feels like forever you hear the water running, and a few moments after that he returns. Pale and distraught. 

He looks different. Changed. Like something has snapped. 

You almost ask him if he’s okay. 

Instead you clear your throat.

“What next, Spence?” 

He has to have an idea. You have to finish out the scene, even if hurting you apparently makes him retch. He looks so ashamed, maybe he won’t be able to bring himself to do this anymore.

Returning to the center of the room he takes another set of cuffs, leaning over the table to attach your free hand to the back of the chair. It’s an awkward position. One hand laid out on the table and the other behind you. You don’t question it, you’re too busy watching, holding your breath as he picks up the hammer. 

He must not feel too bad if this is what he’s gonna do next. 

“Don’t make me do this.” His whisper is so sincere. Pleading with you for any submission you can offer him. 

“I’m not making you do anything.” Unfortunately you have nothing to give at this point. You won’t let him make this sacrifice. Not when the alternative is far less gory. 

At least you hope it is. 

“You can make this stop.” He balances himself, leaning against the table, one hand splayed out and the other gripping the hammer so hard his knuckles are white. 

“So can you.” 

He chews his lip, eyes wide and wet around the edges. 

“Don’t move your hand, I don’t want this to be any worse than it needs to be.”

His words make you freeze in place, your hand rests palm down on the table, fingers spread.

You keep telling yourself through all of this that he would never really hurt you. 

Just beat and burn you.

Suddenly you’re not so sure. 

You probably should have considered that was something he was capable of before you let him cuff you to the table without any resistance.

He really has lost it.

He’s convinced himself that this is the only way to ‘save’ you.

And you’re stuck trying to save him. Let him torture you to save him from torture. Or save yourself from any more agony and subject him to the same thing. 

It’s the same choice he’s trapped in. 

You should have asked yourself how far he might go to get you to talk. You would go pretty far.  

“I’m sorry.” His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, he seems to have made up his mind, a look of resolution in his eyes. “It’s kinda funny, it didn’t really matter what the alternative was, I was never going to let you go with him. He could have threatened to break every bone in my body and I would still be doing this.” 

When he raises the hammer you flinch, he gives you one last look, pleading with his eyes but you just shake your head. When he slams it down you shriek, wincing as you feel a fresh flood of tears flowing out of your eyes.

You’re waiting for the adrenaline to fade, for the pain to hit. When it doesn’t you slowly open your eyes, flexing your fingers everything feels fine. You’re staring down to your perfectly intact hand. 

With a splatter of red across it. 

Across the table from you his left hand is splayed out, where the tip of his pinky should be there’s only a red splat. 

Your mouth falls open as your breath hitches. 

The remainder of the finger twitches, still spurting blood. He moves quickly and efficiently as he takes the knife off of the candle. Crying out in pain as he smashes what’s left of his pinky against it, effectively cauterizing the wound. 

What the fuck. 

“Please sweetheart, just tell me, if you tell me we can stop.” His voice is strained and higher pitched, tinged with the agony you know he must be feeling. You try to reach out to him but he’s done a damn good job restraining you.  

“Spencer stop, please, please stop.” You’ve got tears and snot running down your face at this point, he’s clearly got tears streaking down his face as well but his resolve never wavers, his hand is back on the table. Fingers splayed wide as the smell of burning flesh hits your nostrils. “Don’t, Spence, please.” You start to babble incoherently as he raises the hammer again, his eyebrows furrowed but there isn’t a moment's hesitation as he stares down at you.

“Tell me.” He whispers, when you stare back at him wordlessly he nods, as if reassuring himself before bringing the hammer down again. You don’t have the foresight to look away this time so you’re forced to watch, horrified, as he eviscerates the tip of his ring finger. A fresh splatter of red decorates the table. He’s out of breath, and so pale you’re worried he might pass out. He doesn’t waste any time as he retrieves the blade once more, trembling so badly he nearly drops it before he repeats the same process of burning the flesh around his finger until the bleeding stops. Your entire body shakes as you dig the cuffs deeper into your wrists, futilely trying to do something, anything to make him stop.

“Spencer. I am telling you to stop. Right now.” You want to sound authoritative, but your voice trembles so bad you just sound like a scared child. 

“I don’t see how this is better than a couple of teeth but we can keep going if you think this is what you prefer.” He’s out of breath, his chest heaving. His whisper is so dejected it only serves to make your tears flow faster. 

God, is he right? Is this better than a couple of teeth? Your brain can’t process anything right now, you’re too fraught. 

“Anything else Spencer, I will give you anything else, just fucking stop, please.” You don’t comprehend his escalation, how can he go from such tame actions against you to this, why the fuck does he care so much? 

“You know what I want. And if this is the only way I can get it then this is what we’re doing.” He’s already splaying his hand out on the table in front of you again, you can’t look away from his mangled fingers, half of his hand is out of balance. 

“Wait! Just wait a second! Please, Spencer, if you care about me at all you won’t do this. If any part of you feels the devotion you claim to have for me you’ll stop. Just stop.” His hand is close enough to yours now that you manage to reach out and touch your finger tips to what remains of his. “Anything else, in the whole world, I’ll give you anything else, do anything else, just stop.” You whisper the words, like you’re trying to talk someone down off a ledge, which technically, you are. 

“There’s only one thing that I want.” 

“Please.”

At least I’ll still have a couple of teeth that no one ever sees. He’s certainly proving that point right now. 

“There’s only one thing I’ve ever wanted, and I’ll be damned if I let this man take that away from me.” You’ve never been as afraid of him as you are now. Eyes wide and focused, and surprisingly coherent for a man who just smashed his fingertips off with a hammer. He could have done so many other things, so many less violent things before going straight for this. 

“Spencer.”

“We’ve got so much time left, once I get through all my fingertips I can only imagine what I’ll have to do to myself to make you understand.”

“I understand you perfectly fine, Spencer. I understand that you’ve completely lost it.” Your voice cracks, you try to reach him again but he pulls his hand back, spreading his fingertips wide so there’s no room for error. 

“If you understood me at all you would know that it doesn’t matter what the alternative is, there is never going to be a situation where I choose to let you be alone with him, I don’t care if he’s chained to the wall and you have a gun. He doesn’t get to be in a room with you, he doesn’t get to touch you, he doesn’t get to talk to you, he doesn’t get to breathe your air.” He sounds like he’s giving one of his lectures as he manages to pull himself together long enough to regain his composure and stand up straight. “Now, tell me. Because once I get through my fingers I’m going to start pulling my teeth out, and all of this will have been for nothing. Then, I’m going to line them up right here.” He drags the hammer leisurely in a line across the table just out of your reach. “To remind you, that I’m doing this for you, because you’re all I care about. To show you just how devoted I am.”

You don’t have time to unpack that right now, not while he’s still holding the hammer. 

“Spencer.”

“Tell me.”

“Spence.” As your voice hitches up an octave as his eyes squint, like he’s bracing himself again. 

God, maybe he’s right, how can this possibly be worse than two teeth? 

“Please.” Your heart breaks in two as his own voice turns to a soft whimper, he sounds so fucking scared.

When his eyes squeeze shut your own go wide with the raise of the hammer. 

“Peter Hill! Peter J. Hill, he- he was born on February fourth, in nineteen eighty nine.” The words fly out of your mouth as he slams the hammer down again, you sob as it hits the table. He pulls his hand back just in time, you’re on the verge of hysterics, you can’t seem to catch your breath as you inhale sharply, no amount of air seems to be enough. 

“I need the address.” His voice is hoarse and he’s as out of breath as you are. 

“Three zero one, West Broadway, Seattle, Washington, nine, eight, one, three, seven.” You mumble, you put your head down on the cold metal, still slick with blood. You don’t care at this point. 

There’s a faint beeping sound as the timer blinks, permanently stuck just above the forty minute mark. 

You don’t move.

You don’t sigh in relief. 

You don’t react, or even listen when the intercom clicks and the low voice demands more things you don’t want to hear. 

Your body is still heaving with sobs as he clicks the key into the cuffs, your wrist twitches involuntarily. You don’t turn to look when the time beeps again. Spencer does, he’s saying something to you but the words just aren’t registering with you.

Eventually he grabs your shoulders and shakes you.

“Sweetheart, you did so good, we’re almost done.” How is he holding it together right now? He takes your hands in his, all you can do is stare at the missing fingertips, burned black on the ends. “Hey, honey, I need you to focus for a few more minutes.” You finally manage to meet his eyes as he gives your hands a gentle squeeze. 

Hotch said something once about how the most important time to remain calm is when one of your teammates is freaking out. Someone always has to be in control. 

“You don’t call me honey, you don’t call anyone honey.” You murmur, like you’re in a trance. 

“I know, but you’re so sweet, you’re so good, I just can’t help it. I need you to help me, then we can be all done.” The patient tone he’s using is tinged with an urgency you don’t understand. 

“Why would you do that Spencer? You had so many other options.”

“I didn’t, I’m sorry honey. I got so scared that he was gonna take you away from me, so I did the only thing I knew was guaranteed to make you talk.”

He hurt himself.  

“Can we go lay down?” You’ve never heard your voice sound so soft. It’s like someone else is talking and you’re just listening in.  

“Yes, we will go lay down, but you have to focus, can you focus?” He squeezes your hands tighter and god, you really do try to focus as he places the pliers into your hands. “I need you to pay attention. Nod if you understand.” He looks behind him and you follow his line of sight. 

Ten minutes remain on the timer now.

When he turns back you nod slowly.

“Good, we only have a few minutes, I need you to locate my premolars, I typically chew with the right side of my mouth so you’re going to be looking on the left.”

“What?”

“The fourth and fifth teeth from the back, take from the top row.”

“Why?”

“Because my incisors and canines are important visually and my molars are the teeth I use primarily when I eat.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“No, why are you telling me this?”

“Because I need you to pull them.” How the fuck is he so chill right now? 

“No.”

“Yes honey, I can’t do it, I know I won’t be able to, the body has ways of stopping you from hurting yourself.”

“You already hurt yourself.” You point at his fingers, your voice is starting to drift up an octave again. 

“That was instantaneous, it was one swift moment, I couldn’t stop myself once the swing was in motion. This will require a lot more pulling and possibly twisting.”

“I can’t, you can’t really expect me-”

“You can, and you will, because we don’t have a lot of time and if you don’t do this he intends to come in here and pull all of them himself, that’s what he said, okay?”

“Spencer-” 

“Don’t squeeze too hard or you’ll end up crushing it, pull in one swift motion. It’s very likely that I’ll pass out after the first one, remember, the fourth and fifth teeth from the back.” 

You watch as he feels around in his mouth with his fingers before he nods to himself. 

“You have less than ten minutes, you need to do the second one right after the first, keep me propped up. There’s gauze and cotton balls in the first aid kit in the duffle bag, stuff the gap in my teeth with anything you can, when it fully soaks through you swap them.”

“Spence, I can’t-”

“You can.” He’s deadly calm. “I know you can, you’re so strong, we’re going to make it out of this together, I promise. I’m gonna get us out of here.” He holds your face with his intact hand. Leaning forward to press his lips to yours for just a moment before he pulls back, the look in his eyes tells you that it pains him to do so. 

You flip the pliers in your hand, feeling the weight of them. 

“Promise?” 

“With all my heart.” It’s the last thing he says before he opens his mouth. 

★

“I want to see the video, Hotch.” Morgan followed him out into the parking lot.

Garcia had called hysterically crying when the newest video was uploaded. Hotch left the room with his laptop and didn’t come back for a full two hours. At that point Derek had called Penelope himself, trying his best to calm her down. The only information he could get out of her was that their unsub had gone from porn to snuff. 

“We all need to fully understand the unsub if we're going to catch this guy, hiding information from us isn’t going to help them.”

“If this were any other case we’d be home by now. The unsub stops killing, we’re no longer needed. The only reason we’ve been allowed to stay on this case is because it’s our agents out there. There’s only so long we can stay on this.” 

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that from the point she was taken to the upload of the first video implies that the unsub is keeping them in a forty mile radius. I’m going to start going door to door, I’ve already got Garcia sending me a list of every house with a basement.”

“Hotch-”

“I don’t know what else to do. We have no leads, we have nothing. The unsub isn’t going to take any new actions other than ones that only affect the two youngest members of this team. I’m not going to have their lives on my conscience because I didn’t do everything I possibly could to save them. All I know is that we have no leads on this guy, but I’ll know him when I see him.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Call Emily and JJ from the car, tell them to start on the other side of the city, we’ll meet in the middle.” 

He’s quick to dial on his phone as he gets into the passenger seat. Once he’s instructed them on where to start they make their way to the edge of the radius. 

“What did he do to them?” He can’t help it, he has to ask. He has to know. He has to know how bad it was so he can know how to fix it when he

“It’s what he made them do to each other.”

“Jesus.” 

“It’s worse than I thought it would be, I don’t even know what state they’ll be in if we find them.

“When we find them, Hotch.” 

“Seattle wants us off the case in the next three days.”

“What?” 

“They say we can work on this from home, it isn’t a problem anymore because he isn’t taking any new victims.” 

“Why aren’t we pursuing this on a federal level?”

“I already tried, they want this handled discreetly, it doesn’t look good when two agents are simultaneously kidnapped and tortured on video. We haven’t even released anything to the public about them, haven’t technically filed them as missing.”

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I wish I wasn’t.”

★

You spent the next several hours taking deep breaths, trying to pull yourself together. Eventually you manage to get your breathing to even out.  

You do exactly as he said, keeping him upright against a wall, there’s a steady stream of blood at the corner of his mouth for a little while until the cotton seems to finally be doing its job. You dutifully change it out every few minutes, digging your fingers into his neck to feel for a pulse every time. 

You can’t help but take his hand in yours and examine his wound while he’s unconscious. There’s a good inch taken off of two of his fingers. You’re going to kill him when he wakes up. 

For now you lean your head on his shoulder. 

Letting your eyes rest for just a few minutes. 

When you wake it’s to low, pained moans. 

You snap to attention immediately, sitting up as you turn to assess the damage. He’s currently pulling the soaked cotton out of his mouth. 

“Let me have a look.” You’re quick to take his face in your hands as you tilt his head up, staring at his bloody mess of a mouth. He groans but you’re satisfied with what you see. His mouth isn’t the only part of him that’s a mess. His eyes are dark and frantic, his hair askew, the bottom half of his face is smeared with red. “You’re lucky, I got the root of both teeth, there shouldn’t be any fragments left and it looks like the blood is clotting. We should go to the bathroom soon and rinse out your mouth.” It’s your turn to be the calm one as he stares at you like a scared puppy. Even if your calm involves your hands still trembling as you hold his face. He nods, slow and measured as he lets his head fall back and rest against the wall.

You watch, focused on his every move as he winces. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” You try to scowl at him but he looks so pathetic you can’t bring yourself to. 

“Shouldn’t have what?” His speech is a little garbled and you watch as his tongue pokes at the gaps between his teeth, gently prodding at his aching gums. 

You grab his hand, holding his smashed fingers up in front of his face. 

“This. You shouldn’t have done this. There are other ways to put on a show for that freak, you didn’t have to mutilate yourself.” 

“I didn’t do it for him, I did it for you. You weren’t going to tell me otherwise.”

You want to argue further but what he’s said is technically true, even if you don’t agree with his motive. If the goal was to get you to talk he found the only thing that was going to work.

“I’m not happy with you.” You mumble, clearing your throat. 

“I’m not asking you to be.” 

“Good.” How do you forgive someone in this situation?   

“I don’t regret it.” He says rather bluntly. 

“I know you don’t.”

What is this? 

What do you call your relationship with someone who does this?

He spent the morning romantically comparing being with you to torture and the afternoon torturing himself as if to prove it.  

Even now, with his blackened finger tips and missing teeth, he looks at you with those wide doe eyes like you’re the most important thing in the world. Like he’s trying to figure out if you’re okay. 

“You’re an idiot.”

“You keep saying that, it’s factually untrue. If I was an idiot I wouldn’t be able to-“

“Please just be normal for like five seconds. You were just brutally tortured, maybe chill on the ‘well actually’ of it all.”

“Brutally tortured is a rather extreme way of putting it.” 

You take his hand in yours, tracing your fingers across his palm and up and down his fingers, lingering on the ones missing the top knuckle. 

“Did he talk to you after I passed out?” He speaks your thoughts aloud, you’re both wondering if that was satisfactory. 

“No, radio silence, I’m wondering if that was what he wanted.” 

“He wanted extreme, we gave him extreme.”

“You gave him extreme.” 

“Don’t be mad at me, I did it for you.” 

He keeps saying that.

He tangles his fingers in yours, you watch as he flexes the, bending each digit carefully. His ring finger and pinky spasm, uncoordinated. 

He did it for you. 

All that just to keep you from spending a moment alone with the unsub.

When you don’t respond he turns to face you, hair still askew. 

“Are you afraid of me?” He whispers. You really think about it before responding, even if your instinct is to immediately say no. Are you afraid of him?

“I’m not afraid of you, I’m afraid for you.” You finally respond. It’s a half truth, there was definitely a moment today where he frightened you. You aren’t sure what he would have to do to make you permanently afraid of him. Even if he kind of lost it there for a minute, some revolting, and unrelenting part of you almost thinks it’s romantic.

How far he would go for you. 

You need to get the fuck out of here. 

Do you even want to?

Yes. Obviously. 

Obviously.

“I’m afraid of myself.” You whisper back to him, returning your head to his shoulder as he wraps an arm around you. 

“I know why I’m afraid of myself, but what do you have to be scared of?” He’s trying so damn hard to sound light hearted but you can see right through it. 

“When I woke up here, the second time, and you were with me it didn’t even cross my mind to be worried that you’d been taken. I was just relieved to be with you.” He doesn’t respond, silent beside you. “I think there’s something wrong with me. There’s this little voice in my head, constantly nagging at me, telling me these horrible things about myself.” Your voice cracks as you try not to cry. 

“We all have that voice.” His fingers trail down you back, lightly scratching at you, a weak attempt to soothe.

“Not like mine. It’s my voice, and all of the horrible things are true.”

Damn right they are. 

“What kinds of things has this voice been telling you lately.”

“That I-” You swallow the lump forming in your throat, staring at the floor ahead of you, anything to not look at him right now. “That I like this.”

“You’re being forced to orgasm, of course it’s going to feel good, you can’t control that.”

“It’s not just that, it’s all of this. It’s the excuse to finally be with you. Seeing you… care about me so strongly, even if it’s acting, or real, or whatever it is.” Your heart threatens to pound out of your chest as you finally say it out loud. “What is this? You and I? You know more than I do, are we victims of circumstance? If I was stuck in here with Hotch, or Emily, or anyone else would I still feel like this? Is this entirely based on a trauma bond?” You find yourself picking at your nails until he stops you, intertwinning his fingers in yours. 

“Well, I can’t speak for you, but I don’t think I would have smashed my fingers with a hammer for Hotch or Emily.”

Just for you. 

“Could you speak like, not in torture metaphors?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? I think you should know how I feel about you by now.” Missing teeth and fingers flash across your mind.

“You make me feel like I’m losing my mind.”

That’s what he said last night. 

Maybe the cost of being together is losing your mind. 

“What do we do if the team never comes for us? What if they just can’t put a profile together and we end up stuck here?” You don’t want to be grim but it feels like more and more of a possibility with every passing hour. 

“I have a plan.”

You cock an eyebrow at him and he shrugs.

“I obviously can’t tell you.”

You never know who’s listening. 

You have a plan too. You know, without a shadow of a doubt that it will work, you just have to get Spencer to agree to it. 

★

You can’t sleep, not after the day you had. Spencer on the other hand practically passed out in your arms, his head on your chest, the rest of his lanky body coiled around you. 

You stare straight ahead into the darkness. 

If the bureau doesn’t cover your therapy you’re gonna make Hotch pay for it out of pocket. 

The crackle of the intercom makes you straighten up a little.

“Trouble sleeping, angel?” 

You look down, Spencer still breathes in steady even breaths, still fast asleep. 

“I was just thinking about what tomorrow's film might be, I mean how do you top the performance we put on for you today.” You try to sound genuinely interested, as if the mere sound of his voice doesn't make you want to recoil. 

Any information you can get out of him is useful. 

“The performance today was just… I mean wow.” You can hear the smile that must be playing on his lips. As if the two of you are friends chatting on the phone, you lean in to it. 

“Did you like it? I can’t stop thinking about it.” 

“Oh sweet angel, I loved it. Although there were a few things I would change.”

“Like what?” 

“Too many props, the focus was not on the two of you. I thought I would like it more than I did, I prefer more hands-on scenes.” 

 “Really? I thought you would have been impressed by his prop work.” You play up a mock offended tone as best you can in a whisper.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t impressed. In fact there are definitely props I would like to see you use in the future.” 

This might be the only chance you get to speak to him alone, you have to ask the question that’s been eating at the back of your mind. 

“How does this end? I mean, there has to be an ending. You’re a film maker, I know you have to have some big final act planned.”

“You know me so well, I bet you are an excellent profiler.”

“I do my best.”

“And so humble, you really were born to be a star.” 

“Give me a little teaser trailer for the grand finale, please?”

“I suppose I cannot keep secrets from you, not when you are so eager. We are still far from our finale, I have so much more in store for you, but I especially liked watching you with those pliers in your hands. The way you did exactly as you were instructed to when the alternative was so much worse. I wonder what I would have to do to get you to wrap those pretty little fingers around something a little more lethal? Or make you aim at Dr. Reid? What would I have to do to get you to pull the trigger?”  

You wish you hadn’t asked.