m.

first, a startled register of his environment and then, a confused glance at the very naked girl draped over his body. his arms come up, hovering, sputtering, and then politely putting his palms over your shoulders. nudging you to look up at him.

jesus christ, those eyes. 

“hi.”

so quiet. “hey, handsome.”

he lets out a long, contemplative sigh, thinking, thinking, thinking. when does this guy ever stop thinking? “we kissed,” he says it like a fact, but with questioning lilt that makes it sound otherwise. 

you prop an elbow on the bed, joint wedged into the space above his shoulder so you can see him better. the blanket keeping you decent slips a bit and spencer unconsciously tucks it more securely under your arm. you catalogue that for later. 

“we did a lot more than that. forgive me for being untoward but we fucked,” you clarify, innocent with your chin in the heel of your palm.

spencer groans, he groans! “don't be crude.”

“we're naked.”

“i know that,” he murmurs, disgruntled, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to your jaw and falling back into the pillow. you sport an amused little smile when you see the pout on his lips. 

you slept with spencer reid.

your coworker, your friend, the man you’d been terribly smitten with for who knows how long (7 months and 3 days.)

spencer reid who lingered by your side for hours last night, unassuming, unbothered, who smiled softly at your wine induced flush whenever he’d lean in to hear you better, who sat with you while you tipped your chin up at the sky to point out stars and asked him to name them, who pressed a sobering kiss to your lips in rossi's backyard after a clumsily delivered compliment.

you’re so pretty.

your response is a blur, forgotten, but you do remember how he drove you home with his hand idly playing with your fingers over the center console. how he tried but inevitably failed to be a gentleman as you led him up to your apartment, shared, hushed giggles echoing down the hallway and quite gracefully falling into bed leaving a very telling breadcrumb trail of clothes. 

and now, half a second of thought passes on whether you should ask him or surprise him. the latter wins and you dip down and kiss the corner of his mouth. you’re not evil, he deserves some warning before you really plant one on him. he wastes no time, bringing his lips to yours with those big hands cradling your face. 

his lips press against yours gingerly in a sweet, lingering kiss, followed by another and another. mouth slotted over yours, like perfect puzzle pieces, his tongue traces the seam of your lips and you grant him entrance, letting him gently lick into your mouth. you let out a small, needy sound at the warmth of his tongue against yours, melting into him. it makes him chuckle quietly.

“spence,” you gasp against his lips.

a subtle shudder makes its way down his spine at the desperation in your voice, the same need slowly fogging up his own brain, remnants of last night catching up. 

“i know, angel,” he cups your neck, what is happening?

“can i admit something?”

spencer smiles at you, boyish and stupid spread across his face, “please do.”

“you kiss nice, had i known you were this good of a kisser i would’ve done it ages ago,” you mumble, forcing words out to keep a sliver of your dignity.

he laughs again, a small pleased sound that makes you feel good. “you do too. you are wildly better than anything i have ever imagined–”

“you’ve imagined me?” you turn timid in a way that you hate but spencer kisses you and it melts away.

“of course i have. you’re wonderful.”

spencer pulls your leg over his and sits the two of you up, thighs bracketing his hips. the blanket falls unabashedly into the space between your bodies, pooled dangerously low over his lap. you thank whatever god there is for the enticing view of the scattering of light hair that trails beneath the covers.

you’re surprised with the ease in which spencer's hands drag down your sides, like he's done it a million times before. he pushes the pads of his thumbs into the area above your hipbone like he knows you’ll twitch when he does, and you do. damn his eidetic memory and damn his perfect mouth when he attaches his lips to your jaw, angling you as he lightly works the skin. he's careful enough not to leave a mark somewhere visible but it doesn't stop him from reminding himself he can do it elsewhere, somewhere more concealed.

“pretty girl,” he coos, kissing over your pulse point, below your ear, “lay back, please.” please. he murmurs against your skin, nodding behind you. he pecks your cheek, rather sweetly considering your state of undress and swiftly returns to your neck like he can’t believe he pulled away.

now wait.

you forget about your own hands through all of this, hanging limply over his right shoulder and heavy by your side. you thread your fingers into his hair and path something more devious for the other. spencer jolts when your fingertips graze over his cock, you’d think he’d expect it but he reacts like it's completely sudden. it scares you momentarily, were you too forward? but then he looks at you with something beggy and glazed over in his eyes and it motivates you to ease the shelter of the blanket fully off, baring him.

spencer pinks, tips of his ears to the top of his chest. you inch off his lap and sit in front of him. you watch the features in his face twist into realisation and cut him off before he can say something polite, "i wanna taste you, spence.”

you’ve stunned spencer reid. for the first time in his fucking life he doesn’t know what to say. so he pushes out a, “yeah? fuck, okay. yeah.” an embarrassing stutter of words but it's enough to reassure you. 

a firm finger pokes him square in the chest, not so hard that it hurts but enough to have him lean back against the headboard. he follows dutifully, letting the pillows take him, allowing him some semblance of solid ground beneath him. because he's convinced he might pass out at the sight of you settling between his outstretched legs, looking sinfully unaware of just how much you affect him.

although the effect itself becomes glaringly obvious when his cock twitches, two pairs of eyes darting down immediately. you can't tell if he's bigger than what you remember from last night, but you do know that you want him in your mouth immediately.

your head dips down, a slow hand curling around the base of his length, guiding it to your lips. the head, flushed and red, meets soft and plush, a light kiss against him. and spencer thinks he might die. your lips part, taking the tip into your mouth, tongue laving against his slit. your eyes flutter shut when a bead of precum settles over your tastebuds, slightly salty. you glide down, the weight of him in your mouth is deliriously good.

at some point between drawing back and swirling your tongue around his tip, spencer tangles his hands in your hair. fingertips soft over your scalp, he doesn't push, just holds you. your head bobs down again, forming a steady rhythm. your eyes start to water when he nudges at the back of your throat, breath faltering as the hair low on his stomach begins to tickle your nose. he immediately pulls you off with a gentle hand fixed to your jaw.

“you don’t have to do it all.” the concern in his eyes is sickening as he wipes off the saliva smeared to the corner of your mouth. you smile at him, a little sheepish, tilting into his palm. “i know.”

you press a kiss to his wrist and return to the task at hand, cock standing proud over his abdomen and possibly redder than when you left it. you lean down, letting a little dribble of spit fall from your lips to his length. decidedly, you wrap your fingers around him, letting the saliva act as a lubricant. you press a thumb to a vein running along the side of his cock, tracing it with every up and down of your hand. he lets out a shuddering exhale in response. 

you hope the look you give him is sultry at best, you don't know that his vision is starting to blur at the corners when your head dips down again. only to mouth at the tip this time, a sloppy makeout around the flushed head as your hand continues to work at the rest of him.

“god, angel. you’re so-” he cuts himself off with a moan when your wrist twists. “so good at that.”

you let the words get to your head, a burning heat that creeps up your neck. emboldened, you take more of him into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks as you go. spencer can't help the way his hips buck up and you almost gag again. you pull off with a breathless giggle, wiping your mouth while spencer regards you with that same sickening concern, except now there's guilt in his comforting touch when he inspects your face. he doesn’t find this funny at all.

you hold his wrist as you laugh again and put on your most reassuring voice, "i'm okay.”

a skeptical purse of his lips. you gravitate forward, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “i promise,” you whisper, followed by a nip at his skin. it elicits a gasped sound from the depths of his chest.

he pulls you into a kiss, relishing in the ever so slight taste of him on your lips as he turns the two of you around, you let him lay you down this time. the moment feels kismet when his fingers trail lower. one hand keeping him propped up and the other parting your folds. you're unbelievably wet, the lingering effects of last night and spencer on your tongue leaving you as much.

“oh, spencer.” your hips rise to his touch when he dips a finger into your entrance and he's immediately determined to make you say his name like that again. the way you gush around him as his finger curls up allows him to add another one to the mix. you think he’s ruined you forever with how fast the peak builds, a heavy, honey-like pressure pushing down on your stomach as his fingers move, relentless between your thighs. you stop him before he can put his thumb to your clit with an urgent gasp, knowing that if you come now you won’t be able to keep going, “fuck me.” swallow, “please.”

spencer pulls his fingers out, kissing your chin when your head tips back at the emptiness. he can't help the tug at the corner of his lips, eyes possibly filled with too much affection when your thighs give a needy squeeze around his hips. “i got you,” he whispers, pulling you closer with two firm hands at your hips. 

he pushes in, and it's an easy fit, you’ve been ready for what feels like forever. but where he lacks in overwhelming thickness he makes up for in length so it truly just keeps going. your hands brace at his side when he finally bottoms out. “i swear you weren’t this big,” you huff against his shoulder, almost exasperated. 

spencer laughs, though it skirts the edge of something aching, “ha-ah, you’re boosting my ego, sweetheart.”

“good,” you hum, eyebrows pinching when he begins to move. your walls flutter around him, adjusting, you don’t know how you took it last night without his rearranging you from the inside out. “you’re so- feels so good, spence.”

he whines into your neck, the speed of his hips increasing with every subsequent clench around his cock, he doesn’t know if he can handle this much praise. lewd noises fill the room, moans and flush inducing wet squelches echoing off the walls and forming into something tangible between your bodies. it's not enough, something's missing, you need him even closer. 

“baby, wait. flip me over.”

baby.

he hesitates before turning your body under his. upon re-entering you, it all clicks into place. you melt in satisfaction, cheek smushed against the pillow with your mouth stupidly hanging open. he gives an experimental roll of his hips, slow and deliberate, hitting places you never deemed possible.

“there?” he asks when you simultaneously mumble an incoherent y-uhuh, there, he lays over you and starts fucking you into the sheets.

his chest molds perfectly to your back, head fitted somewhere between your shoulders with his lips attached to the nape of your neck. he murmurs things, things you can't possibly comprehend with how deep he is, you swear you could feel him in your throat. your hips push back, meeting his thrusts with every persistent plap. sweat blooms. a light sheen everywhere your skin touches him, you feel warm all over. you feel him all over. spencer. spencer. spencer. 

spencer snakes a hand under your body with an unwitting amount of familiarity when he starts rubbing circles into your clit

you feel it again, pulsing, a pleasant ringing in your ears that drowns everything out except his voice. “gonna cum for me again? huh, angel? just like last night?” quiet encouragement, awe, tinged with a bit of condescension, it sends sparks down your spine, setting off fireworks between your legs. 

your head tips over to his arm, where it's planted beside you on the pillow, to sink teeth into flesh. canines dig into muscle, and if you were any more coherent, you would’ve drawn blood. your scream muffles against him, legs twitching out and shaking under his body, spencer blankets you with a heavy grounding pressure as your orgasm crests. his lips press to your cheek when you look over your shoulder at him, eyebrows imploringly upturned, he follows right after you and he is beautiful. 

he slumps, heavy. but the good kind. you welcome the pressure and the closeness for a minute while your breathing evens out. in and out.

“i need to pee, reid."

“oh please, don't call me that when i'm still inside you.”

you laugh into the pillow, shoulders shaking while he pulls out. funny boy. you pull a shirt over your head and watch as spencer stumbles trying to put on his underwear. he trails behind you quietly as you walk into the attached bathroom and pretend to ignore the pout he tries to hide when you close the door. 

you feel a little stupid talking to him from the toilet but it makes it somewhat easier to ask him. “can we do this again?” your voice muffles through the wood. 

he squeaks something panicked, “i don’t know if i can–”

you push an amused smile into your knuckles, “not now, spencer. at some point, in the near future.”

“yeah?” he asks, sickeningly hopeful. “would you let me take you to dinner first? preferably not at rossi’s house?”

spencer hears the flush and then the door clicks open. you have your hands joined behind your back, he takes a step forward.

“i’d really like that.”

you’ve got an expression on your face that doesn’t warrant a confirmation, still, spencer asks. “yeah?” 

you lean forward and kiss him, a few seconds too long. “it’s a date.”

He shows up so much you've stopped being surprised.

So much that you start anticipating his presence.

So much that you feel a sense of relief when he walks into the faculty social space—administration's initiative from three years ago that was meant to address the burn out and stress by providing a vending machine and a ping pong table rather than doing something more palpable like raising wages—and finds you at one of the tables, sorting through small cardboard cutouts with Carrie.

"Your professor charming alert." Carrie sing-songs. She's been taking every single chance at playful teasing ever since you and Spencer 'officially' hard launched your 'relationship'. You can tell she's gloating; Carrie seemed to have the notion—a childish one, in your opinion—that your initial annoyance at Spencer was borne out of attraction.

Now she feels vindicated, and you can't set the record straight without ruining your arrangement with Spencer.

"Behave." you murmur, just as Spencer approaches. He's windswept and smiling, as if unburdened by his workload. You can only assume that teaching and academia is a welcome reprieve after his high-pressure job at the FBI. You welcome him with a smile, and it feels natural, "Hi Spencer."

"Afternoon, ladies." He pulls up a chair and sits next to you, knees brushing against yours under the table. His gaze sweeps over the spread of pictures on the table, and a crease forms between his brows in confusion. "What's all this?"

"A fun little activity for my graduate students." Carrie replies, "The hear me out cake. Well, no more cake and just hear me outs now."

"Oh, you mentioned this a few weeks ago!" Spencer looks pleased when it registers, beaming at Carrie, "You said it helps keep your students motivated after the midterms."

"Yep. Free cake, they get to gush about hot characters and engage with our readings in a low stakes, almost casual way. Win-win." Carrie says with flourish.

You lift a cutout of Mufasa from The Lion King. "Whoever put this on that cake is brave and deserves the highest marks."

Carrie laughs. "Oh, I love that student. She's so outspoken and funny."

Spencer's frown deepens at the picture. He reaches over, gently taking it from your hands. "I'm afraid I don't understand. I thought the purpose of this activity was to share which Shakespearean character you find attractive."

"The Lion King is a Hamlet adaptation." you say, ready to defend the student.

"Yes, but with lions." he deadpans.

"Arguably attractive ones."

Spencer blinks, and turns to Carrie for explanation.

"It's an ongoing trend online, it's meant to be for characters who are more… unconventional." Carrie explains, holding up a Simba picture this time, "Hence, prefacing the whole thing with hear me out."

Spencer looks equal parts intrigued and concerned.

"When it's more broadly applied, it isn't always animals," you add, giggling at the utter bewilderment at Spencer's face, "Sometimes it's characters people normally wouldn't find attractive… like Beetlejuice."

"Or horror figures, like Ghostface or Pennywise from IT."

Spencer's brows are furrowed differently now, less in confusion and more focused, the way they always get when he begins contemplating. He doesn't laugh or seem horrified, now that it's been more clearly explained.

"You're right, though," Carrie adds, "I did specify only Shakespearean characters for my class, only because I had to connect this activity to the course subject. But it's much more lenient when it's just being done between friends."

"Interesting. So it's almost a showcase of someone's deeper desires." he murmurs, eyes skating over the variety of Shakespearean characters on the table—some quite tame, like Timothée Chalamet as Henry V; others funnier, like Bill Murray as Polonius. "Participating in it means opening up about your attraction to what other people would consider taboo."

"Yeah. It's a great bonding activity." you nod, smiling at how earnestly he's taking the entire thing, processing it through a scholar's lens. Without mockery or judgment, simply with the desire to understand.

"I see." he nods, watching Carrie sort the characters together.

She's trying to see if there's a common character that everyone secretly pines over. Last year, there was an overwhelming amount of Falstaff entries; this year, it seems to be Simba/Hamlet. You're busy helping her, when suddenly:

"Who are yours?" Spencer asks, twisting in his seat so his body is angled towards you, open and curious.

Carrie bursts out laughing. "Oh god, she has some crazy ones."

"No, I don't." you grumble.

"Yeah, you do." Carrie turns to Spencer, lips stretched in a massive grin, "You're about to learn some very fascinating things about your girlfriend, professor."

Spencer returns her smile, and you're struck with the desire to conk their heads together. They'd deserve it, matching grins and all.

"No." you shake your head.

"Why not?"

"I don't want you to judge me."

"I won't!"

"Or psychoanalyze me."

"I…" he pauses, "I'll try not to."

Carrie laughs. You glare at both of them, betrayed.

"He'll find out sooner or later," Carrie says, shrugging innocently, as if that would absolve her of her betrayal, "Honestly, I'm surprised it hasn't come up yet, with the amount of time you guys seems to spend together."

The teasing implication is clear. You feel your face burn, annoyed that you can't even refute it. Fake relationship or not, you had been spending a lot of time with Spencer.

Beside you, he chuckles, looking sheepish and caught, ears turning rosy. "Guilty. And now that it's been thoroughly explained to me, I'm very curious."

You groan, burying your face in your hands. "I hate you both."

"Come on, I'll start." Carrie compromises with a giggle, "One of mine is Waluigi."

"From… from the Mario Brothers?" you can hear the amusement coloring Spencer's voice.

"Yep." Carrie says, proudly popping the 'p'. "Another one is Shrek. I love a grump. My husband's a grump. And quite rotund. He gives great hugs."

Spencer laughs, "Shrek is a very well developed character, I think I understand the appeal."

"Thank you!" Carrie's foot makes contact with yours under the table, a gentle prod. "See, he doesn't judge. Your turn."

You don't lift your head from your hands, muffling the sound of your voice when you answer. "Loki."

"The Norse trickster god?" Spencer clarifies.

"Sure, but specifically the Marvel version."

"Oh, you can do better than that, Tom Hiddleston is objectively very attractive. That defeats the purpose of a hear me out." Carrie protests, nudging your foot again, this time more insistently. This woman thrives when it's time to tease you, a fact that you normally enjoy and encourage—what's friendship without some healthy ribbing?—but right now it feels like a curse.

You groan, regretting ever divulging your list to her. There's no point in lying, when you've had this conversation a million times prior, and Carrie knows you have quite an… eclectic taste.

"Ugh, fine. The balrog."

Carrie snorts in satisfaction. Spencer shifts beside you, and you suddenly feel he's much too close for comfort. His thigh presses against yours, and you can feel his warmth despite the layers of clothing.

"From Lord of the Rings?" Spencer asks.

You lower your hands and slump in your seat, braving his reaction. Despite your indignation, your response comes out weak.

"Yes."

"The one that Gandalf fights in Moria?"

"Yes. Fiery demon with muscles and a whip, come on, I don't think I have to explain myself here." you huff, directing your sheepish gaze at the spread of pictures on the table. "And for the record, they end the fight in Zirakzigil, not Moria."

He chuckles, scratching his jaw as he considers. "But that's not even really a human."

"So? Carrie wants to fuck an ogre and her students want a lion."

Across the table, Carrie throws her head back and guffaws.

"So this goes beyond… physical compatibility."

"Yeah," Carrie manages through her laughter, "Sometimes, people want non sentient things too. Or full on monsters, like, I dunno, the Kraken."

"Or demons, like the balrog." Spencer turns to you.

Your fingers slide under your glasses and rub at your eyes. "You promised not to make fun."

"I'm not, I'm just realizing that I'm so far out of your type." Spencer says.

You stop what you're doing and risk a glance at him. A dimpled smile greets you, so impish and sweet you have no choice but to return it.

"You could get a whip." you mumble.

His smile turns devious. Devastating. Everything in your stomach turns molten, and, with nowhere to go, simply spreads inside out. You wouldn't be surprised if you've miraculously turned lobster red. You want the ground to swallow you whole.

You wish he'll keep looking at you like that, with that exact smile, welcome the utter void it creates in your normally overactive mind.

Thankfully, you're saved from responding when Carrie interrupts. She raps on the table, chuckling.

"Okay lovebirds, save the dirty talk for when I'm not here."

"I swear to god, Carrie." you kick her under the table, hard, which only elicits a laugh from her.

And, because her ability to tease apparently extends to your current 'boyfriend,' she turns to Spencer, shoulders still shaking. She manages to silence her laughter just enough to ask:

"Now that you know about it, Doctor Reid, who would be your hear me outs?"

You perk up, turning to him.

Who would be his hear me outs? What sort of character or creature would entice Spencer Reid that way? You try to predict one, but he seems like an anomaly. He's the kind of person whose choices could range from something relatively tame like Morticia Addams, to something utterly wild and out of left field.

Honestly, you half expect him to say Cthulhu.

"I don't think I can beat the balrog." he laughs, running a hand through his already messy curls.

"You don't have to beat it." you reassure him with a smile, though you do want to add you can try though.

"Yeah, sorry this is kind of on the spot. Just give us one off the top of your head." Carrie says. Both of you stare at him curiously, but he doesn't seem to mind the attention. He's deep in thought, fingers trailing over some of the cutouts on the table.

"I've always enjoyed reading about the Sphinx," he mutters finally, the crease between his brows deepening into a valley the more he concentrates, "Depending on which culture you read from, the symbolism will differ, but one thread seems to connect all of them—sphinxes are guardians. I think I quite like how it goes in Greek mythology, where she's ruthless and unbending. Takes a clever man to get through to her. Certain versions show her to give Oedipus the answer, hoping he'd fall in love with her, showing us that she yearns for something human too."

You blink, staring at him. At this point, it really shouldn't come as a surprise to you, how much thought he gives into everything. But it does. Especially when it's something as silly as this, an online trend that got explained to him five minutes ago, but he's answering with careful consideration.

It's touching. And, you have to admit, however begrudgingly, quite endearing.

"You both said the game encompasses anything, right?" he says, when he realizes the silence has stretched, glancing between you and Carrie. "Or did I do this wrong?"

"You did it perfectly." the words leave your lips too fast. You smile anyway, encouraging him.

Carrie nods, lips stretched in a smirk. "Yeah, I think that answer ties with the balrog, at the very least. God, you two are a match made in freak-heaven."

Spencer laughs, cheeks turning pink. "I think I'm just attracted to strong, feminine figures."

"Oh, sure. But that doesn't negate what I said." Carrie points out, winking at you.

This time, you don't bother kicking her under the table. Not when Spencer's smile is once again directed at you, victorious and sincere.

Thank you deeply for reading, please reblog if you enjoyed!