#mie chats

it takes a while for you to notice, but when you do, you can't help but giggle to yourself, the lovesick look in his eye only slightly distracting you from the desire lingering underneath it.

"spence."

"yeah?" he barely looks up, his finger having dropped to trace the plane of your shoulder.

"y'want to give me a kiss, please?"

he looks up fully at that, eyes sparkling. he knows you're throwing him a bone, giving him an in where it would've otherwise taken him a solid half hour to get there. he appreciates it anyway.

smiling softly, he leans over you, taller frame engulfing your eyeline until you can't see anything but him. lips touch, and he lets out a sigh, tasting the sweetness of your laugh as he attempts to pull you as close as possible.

it gets away from you quickly, minds playing droning static as you move against one another. at some point, you've moved to be on top of him, thighs bracketing his, as his hands rest heavily on your hips.

"angel," he gasps out against your mouth, hands tightening on you.

it's only then that you realise you've been moving steadily, hips dragging softly against his. you stop, and he lets out a pitiful sound.

"i- i'm sorry," he chuckles breathlessly at your words, laying another kiss on your lips.

"don't be. do you want to?" the rest goes unsaid, but you know what he meant. you know what you want.

"i just want to do this, if that's okay."

he nods softly, leaning up to capture your lips with his once more. slowly, with the encouragement of his hands on you, you begin to move again.

the drag of his corduroy pants agains the thin linen of yours melds to create a haze of pleasure bubbling in your gut. you can't help but gasp into his mouth, moving desperately against him.

he echoes your sounds, fingers digging into the softness of your hips as he follows suit, rutting softly against you.

it's achingly intimate, soft sounds swirling into a bubble around you, both of you hyperaware of every place you touch. his lips on yours, your tongue in his mouth. your arms draped lazily over his shoulders, his gripping you tightly. your hips pressed against eachother, unable to get closer.

it amps up, rapture zapping up your spine until it's all you can focus on. you teeter on the edge of living in your mind and something else.

it takes one, two, three more movements of his hips against yours until you fall apart, pressing your forehead into the crook of his neck with a whine. he follows right after, choked sounds ripping themselves from the back of his throat.

But when you do see him?? It's like the clouds have parted. Your eyes light up, straightening up in your seat as you wave happily, not caring that you're jostling JJ and Garcia as you do.

"Spence! You're here! I was trying- trying to call you but," You frown again, "my phone is being weird." The frown can't stay for long, though, as you climb haphazardly over JJ's lap in order to stand in front of Spencer, lauching yourself at him with a giggle.

He can barely keep his balance, widening his stance a little before running a hand up and down your back with an indulgent smile.

"How much have you had, angel?" He stares pointedly at Elle as he speaks to you, who raises her palms in a repentant gesture. You mutter something into his shirt, words muffled as you don't seem willing to take your face out of his chest just yet.

"What was that?" "I dunno, Spence. Can we kiss?"

He flushes, and no matter how drunk they are, JJ and Garcia can always pick up on an instance where they can tease him. They giggle behind their hands, unsubtly whispering about how they've got to tell Morgan about this. Spencer can't bring himself to care, though, not when he's got you in his arms, your chin propped up against his chest as you look up at him pleadingly.

He can't help himself, bending down painfully at the neck to plant a kiss on your lips.

After making sure Elle is alright shepherding the other two home, he sweeps you out of the bar, bundling you up in his cardigan before putting you in the passenger seat of his tiny car. He's not a huge driver, so he has less of his attention on you than he'd like, but you don't seem to notice, chattering away mindlessly in the passenger seat about how the music was sooo good tonight and your friends are so cool spence i might steal them (you have).

Once you make it back to your apartment complex, he half-drags you into the lobby before giving up and hoisting you onto his back piggy-back style. It's surprisingly effective, not only to get you moving faster, but the sight of his brown hair right in front of your face shuts you up real quick.

He doesn't really realise why until he catches a glimpse of you in the elevator mirror, and the view of your eyes trained fixedly on his hair, clumsy hands trying to be gentle as you braid some of it, has his eyes practically turning into hearts.

Once he finally gets the two of you into the apartment, he makes sure you're holding on tight as he undoes your strappy shoes, placing them in the shoe rack overflowing with mismatched pairs. After toeing off his converse with nowhere near as much care, he maneuvers the two of you into the bathroom, depositing you on the bathroom counter. You whine softly at the loss of his hair in your hands, but his tolerant smile has you melting, looking up at him with a dopey smile.

Your adoration nearly has you forgetting to process what he's doing. He's darting around the messy bathroom, grabbing bottle after bottle until his arms are full.

"Spence, what are you doing?" The drinks have clouded your processing skills, and all you want to do his hold him and go to sleep.

He shoots you a small smile, depositing the stuff on the counter next to you before approaching you, cotton pad in hand.

"I've gotta take off your makeup, you know you'll feel uncomfortable tomorrow if you go to sleep with it on," Your eyes are glassy, looking up at him as he swipes at your face with the utmost of care. All the emotions that you harbour for him seem to bubble up inside you, until you can't take it any more.

If you were more lucid, you'd write him a poem. Maybe organise a fireworks show, or buy him a star. But, you're still held in the throes of alcohol, so it's all you can do to blurt out: "You're so so pretty Spence, I love you."

Despite the gesture not being nearly as extravagant as he deserves, blood rushes to his face, and he ducks his head a little as he kisses your forehead wordlessly. He continues to wipe at your face, much gentler than you would, revelling in the feeling of your soft skin under his hand, calloused from his gun.

Finally, once he's done, he helps you out of your dress, handing you one of your pyjama pants and a shirt of his to wear to bed.

As soon as you're dressed, looking achingly cozy perched on the counter, hair mussed and clothes draping over your form, he helps you down to your feet with hands firmly on your waist. He wraps his arms around you from behind, waddling the two of you to the bedroom and tucking you into the covers.

At long last, he slides into bed next to you, giving you some space in case you're overheating still. You can't have that, though, and shuffle along the mattress until you're tucked into his side. Falling asleep almost instantly, you push your head into the crook of his neck, and he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply and whispering into the darkness,

“Hey. All good?” Your own sleepiness was reflected in the short sentences, but you’d hoped that your eyes conveyed your concern adequately enough. 

It seemed like it worked, his hooded eyes raising to smile weakly at you. As he padded closer to where you sit on the couch, he nodded at the spot next to you in question. You shifted over, freeing up the space for him to crash, leaning heavily against you like he’s trying to meld himself to your side.

Which brings you to now. Whatever sitcom you were half-watching drones on in the background, the glow of the television splayed out over the delicate features of his face. His eyes are closed, eyelashes fanning over his cheeks, but you know he’s not asleep by the way he periodically presses himself closer to you. 

You’d questioned him once on his willingness and active initiation of physical contact with you, after you’d lived together for over a year. “I like it,” He’d said simply. “It’s comfortable. And it’s not that I dislike physical touch, I just can’t get over the thought of all those foreign pathogens on me. But, with you, I don’t have to worry about it. We spend so much time together. Did you know that living with someone for an extended period of time causes your microbiomes to change to share lots of traits? So you and I would share a lot, like-”

He’d continued to ramble for fifteen minutes. You’d taken it as an excuse to admire him openly. 

You’re taking this as another opportunity. Your head is bent at an awkward angle, but it provides you the best view of his exhausted visage, soft breaths ruffling the thin fabric of your shirt. 

He looks especially unguarded, an expression you’ve learned to value in the time that you’ve known him. It’s comfortable and soft, the feeling in your chest so warm that it entreats you to rest your eyelids for a second.

Spencer never expected to feel this comfortable with someone. He wonders what the him of five years ago would think of this— him, resting against someone, and them trusting him enough to lean just as heavily against him. It sends a spark of giddiness down his spine, one that he works very hard to not let shudder into the rest of his body, lest it disturb you.

Because of the angle at which his head is tilted, a lock of his hair slips down his forehead, finally falling to cover his eye. His nose wrinkles in response, but he’s not going to do anything. Not when you’re pressed up against him, leaning on his upper arm in a way that makes his heart squeeze in his chest. He’ll endure it. 

But he doesn’t have to endure it for long. As if you’ve heard his thoughts, he watches as your eyes flutter open slowly, pupils swivelling over to his face immediately. An easy smile tugs at your lips, and his breath hitches when you raise a hand to his face, gently capturing the hair and brushing it back to the top of his head. 

And as if that action wasn’t mind-boggling enough, your hand stays there, fingers tangled in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. 

Spencer can hardly hold in the pleased sigh that slips out, the feeling sending a rush of calm through his limbs. His eyes can’t tear away from yours, and he makes a mental note to read up on sirens, make sure that the attraction he feels to the depths of your irises isn’t supernatural in nature.

Either way, the two of you are not moving any time soon. The little bubble you find yourselves in is impossibly quiet, and yet it feels as though you’re saying more than you could in hours, through soft touches and bewitching eye contact.

the first time you and spencer fuck, you notice his lips are pressed together firmly, as if he's struggling to do so. whatever, it's probably a quirk of his, something he does when he's truly in the moment. you brush it off.

however, the second time it starts to get to you. he's just so quiet. you're writhing under him, caught up in the sheer swaths of pleasure that roll over you, and he's silent.

he wants you, you know that. you can see it by the dilating of his pupils, the way he crushes his lips to yours, but he won't say a word. just the sloppy, harsh thrusts of his hips against yours.

by the third time, you've had enough. sitting on his sofa next to him, you're determined to get him to make a noise, embarrassment be damned. pushing past the nerves that sit heavy in your stomach, you straddle him, knees knocking into the outsides of his thighs.

it's a clumsy attempt at seduction, your teeth nipping at his adam's apple, but it does the job. you feel him harden below you, his previously open mouth clamping shut right on cue.

pushing your hips down against his, you hum against his neck. his lips move, but don't part.

you hold your hand up to his face, running your thumb down his cheek, catching on his bottom lip and dragging it down with it. even that does nothing, his jaw remaining clenched as he bucks up into you. still silent.

it's all too much. you don't make it a secret that he elicits sounds out of you. you've never been quiet with him.

all the frustration and insecurity within you comes rushing up to the surface, and you burst, pulling back from him.

"spencer! are you— what's wrong? you're so quiet all the time, I... it's really off-putting,"

you didn't think you'd be this emotional about it, but when the guy you're so infatuated with seems as though he'd rather not say a word in the most vulnerable moments of your relationship, it tends to eat at you.

spencer seems taken aback, his hands shooting up from your hips to cradle your face.

"what? what's going on?"

his voice is so achingly tender, you can't help but crumple, lamenting your worries into the crook of his neck as he holds you to him.

spencer can't fathom it. he'd been silent, yes, but he's never felt far away from you during sex. in fact, he feels so intensely close to you that he has to rattle through mathematical proofs in his head in order to stop himself from careening towards his release too quickly. he never thought that it would affect you like this.

but the feeling of you sniffling into his neck begs to differ, and he resolves, then and there, to never have you feel this way again.