hellooo spencer likes his partner's lower back
goes a little lovesick everytime he sees your shirt ride up and expose your back and the curve of your hips YUPPPP
yeahhh he does (mdni, this got a little smutty i couldn't help myself)
he loves when you wear low rise jeans and tshirts that only just reach your waistband because everytime you raise your arms, that sliver of skin peeks out and he feels like a victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time. a little rush that makes him wanna dig his fingers into your hips. he does, coming up behind you and reaching out, prompting you to jolt because he was on the other side of the room 5 seconds ago.
he’ll often have a hand splayed over the small of your back, selfishly letting it drift lower than considered decent–but how can he help himself, that little dip is so enticing–he relishes in the way you lean into his touch. he very rarely indulges in pda in front of the team, incredibly wary of the potential teasing it could bring up. but that large hand, fixed to the dip of your back, has a constant grounding presence.
spencer reid is, by all means, a missionary man, he likes being able to look at you, meet your equally blissed out gaze, and you feel the same. but every once in a while, when you need the pressure, the feel of him pushing you into the mattress. you turn on your stomach wordlessly and he jumps at the opportunity, all too eagerly. his hands latch on in an instant, pulling you back to meet his thrusts. he traces his fingers from the nape of your neck all the way down to the base of your spine, in a light reverent caress that makes you shiver. a warm palm abruptly pushes you down, causing you to arch beautifully, presenting your lower back to him on a silver platter. a possessive trance passes over him, seeing you sprawled out like that makes him want to grab, to hold, to make something tangible of how he feels. he runs adoring hands over your sides before his thumbs dig into your flesh in a vice-like grip, it doesn't hurt, but you’re sure there’ll be little purple marks tomorrow.
he notices them the next morning as he untangles himself from your body to stretch, carefully so he doesn't wake you. the light catches on your body when the covers peel off slightly. wide, guilty, eyes stare at the expanse of skin where your his shirt had ridden up through the night. faint red and violet splotches bloomed where his fingers had been. oh no. he slowly pulls you into his arms, back flush to his chest, where he presses an apologetic kiss to your shoulder.
“i'm sorry baby.”
“f’what?” you mumble, drenched in sleep as his voice rouses you.
he rubs a soft hand over your lower back in answer, kissing your shoulder again, he pouts. “you're all bruised up.”
“oh yeah?” you giggle, like you knew they were there even though you haven't seen them for yourself.
“why didn't you tell me?” he whines, lips pressed to your neck where he had moved the guilt ridden kisses to.
“i liked it,” you reassure, turning your head to see him. you kiss his nose, all scrunched up in annoyance with himself. “i’m pretty sure you do too.”
he notes your intentional change in tense but he doesn’t mention it, tucking himself back into the crook of your neck as you close your eyes again. his hand drifts down, you do too, his fingers circle around the marred skin. marred by him, it seems. deviously, that guilt fades into something. pride, egged on by you pushing back into his touch.
he can't even bear to look between your bodies, the image of your lower back marked up by him causing something dark to pool in his belly. it causes something else to stir as well.
he’ll kiss it better later :)
