The prison library is a haven, for the few minutes he’s allowed to visit twice a week. It’s quiet, secluded, and full of his favorite things – books. The selection is nowhere near as nice as his personal collection at home, or the public library, but it’s better than nothing. Without words, he’d go mad. He needs stories to keep him sane, to give him a route he can escape by.
Today though, he’s startled to walk into the small space and find twelve other prisoners inside – accompanied by a face he’s never seen before. A woman. What’s even more surprising is that she doesn’t wear the uniform of a guard or an employee. Instead she’s in Converse sneakers and a lavender polka-dotted dress. It’s been so long since he saw that color – any bright color, really. But it’s his favorite and it isn’t until that moment that the realizes how much he’s missed the simplest of things. The sight of his favorite color. Bright images in dull spaces. Things that look hopeful.
Reid isn’t sure what’s going on, but the other prisoners seem to be too absorbed in the books to notice him. Just as he’s thinking he can back away quietly and return tomorrow, she turns around, smiling at the sight of him.
“Well hello there!” she says. “Are you Luis?”
Reid tilts his head, confused. How does this stranger know his friend? “Uh, no, no I’m not. I’m sorry, who are you?”
Her smile drops, though she doesn’t seem annoyed. Merely disappointed. “Oh. They told me Luis would be joining us today, but he never showed up. I’m Y/N. I’m one of the teachers here.”
Requested: Dialogue prompts #12, 58, and 92: “Did you enjoy yourself last night?” “I didn’t realize I needed your permission.” “This relationship used to be all about communication! Whatever happened to that?”
For months it had been him on her mind. Only him.
As a member of the Crisis Negotiation team, their paths crossed in the office from time to time. After working the BAU for two weeks on a high-stakes case involving a cult, they’d bonded over their mutual love of books and old movies. There was so much they had in common, and soon enough they’d become fast friends. The tricky part was pinpointing the moment it had become more than that.
After a rough day at work, when the hostages her team had been trying to negotiate the release of were killed, Reid was the first person she called. He came over to her apartment to comfort her, and after she’d had three glasses of wine, the lines of friendship and deeper feelings were a lot blurrier.
She’d kissed him. He’d kissed back.
The next morning, they decided to keep things professional. Strictly friends – occasionally with benefits. And for a while, that worked. To an extent. In those relationships, someone inevitably wanted more. Knowing that he would never risk his job, she told him she couldn’t keep doing it. That it was too confusing, and if they were going to be friends, they needed to be just friends. No perks. No benefits.
It didn’t put an end to what she felt though. Something she absolutely refuses to admit to him. But weeks have gone by, and it’s time to move on. With his work, it isn’t too hard to avoid him. Nearly every week he is called away to some part of the country to save the world.
Which is why it takes her by surprise to see him waiting outside her office door. She doesn’t have to be a profiler to tell he’s angry.
Summary: Spencer and reader enjoy their first date in a museum, discussing facts and feelings. (Soft-Prequel to World-Lines)
A/N: it’s been so long, I’m sorry! I’ve been so bogged down with uni I’ve struggled to find the time to sleep, let alone write! But I’m caught up now so will hopefully be a little more regular on here. I don’t think the paintings described here are displayed in America but let’s pretend. Let me know what you think!
The warm, ambient atmosphere of a museum had always been a comfort to you. The low orange lights, calming classical decor, and high ceilings creating a restrained, yet peaceful, atmosphere. Cavernous rooms allowed musing thoughts space to grow whilst hardwood floors sent your footsteps echoing throughout the halls. This delicate balance of ambient background noise and quiet reflection had been somewhat offset on this particular visit by your enthusiastic partner.
Whilst Spencer’s somehow endless spiel of information and factoids had changed the museum experience somewhat, you found yourself pleased with this change - invigorated almost. Listening to his, always expert, opinion in that comforting timbre of his was a much more enjoyable way to learn about the exhibits than their accompanying uninspired plaques; even if your brain was beginning to feel overful with new information. How he could keep so much stored in that brain of his was beyond you.
The pair of you had meandered to an intersection of sorts. The left, more well-lit, turn appeared to lead to a hall filled with more modern and minimalist sculptures. You could appreciate the form of modern artistry, however the pieces never seemed to quite strike you in the same way as more classical works. Looking up to Spencer beside you, you stepped closer and asked, “which way?”
He smiled down at you, appearing briefly distracted before his gaze swept over the two options. Unable to choose, it seemed, he returned the decision to you. “I’ll follow you,” he whispered, almost conspiratorially.
Ducking your head, in a poor attempt to hide the heat rising on your cheeks, you peered down the right hand corridor. Decision made in a sudden spur of decisiveness, you gripped his hand and pulled him down the right turn. He fumbled some strangled words and you felt his fingers flex beneath yours. As you came across the first painting of this particular exhibit, realisation struck you. Embarrassed, you quietly cursed and quickly dropped his hand. Wide eyed, you looked up to him. “Sorry,” you told him sincerely, “I completely forgot.”
Hand still outstretched where you had so suddenly dropped it, he shook his head with a faraway gaze indicative of deep thought. “I-“ eyebrows creasing together, he looked to you with a grin, “I don’t mind.” As if to prove this fact, he stepped towards you and softly took your hand back in his.
Voice dropping to a breathy tone, you squeezed his fingers and asked; “are you sure?”
He was swift with his assurance, “completely.”
Lost in the warmth of his gaze, you almost forget where you were. That was, until a disgruntled gentleman pointedly cleared his throat beside you. Jumping in surprise, you sent a wide eyed stare to the stranger before quickly stepping out of his way. “Sorry,” you mumbled to the man, garnering no response but an aggravated glance as he moved past you. Lips twisting, you glanced up to Spencer with a stifled giggle. “Oops.”
Heartily, he laughed alongside you before his gaze raised over your head and surveyed the room. Thumb stroking over the back of your hand, he stepped further into the centre of the expansive space. “Shall we?”
Following his lead, you looked over the paintings displayed against the pristine and light walls. A contemplative hum escaped you as you processed the almost disturbing images. “These are…” you trailed off, searching for a word that described the feeling that this morbid collection inspired, “intense.”
You looked to him to gauge his reaction and found that dissecting gaze of his looking over the array of artworks. Eyes still stuck on the paintings, he tilted his head towards you and launched into his awaited explanation. “You know, this particular set are supposedly some of the last paintings of Spanish artist Francisco Goya.” You nodded along to his words, pulling him closer to one particularly large and intense painting. “After his death these, so-called, ‘black paintings’ were found painted over the walls of his French home.”
Eyebrows raising, you clicked your tongue. “He had these on his walls?”
Spencer nodded the affirmative before providing extra detail. “This particular piece was found in his dining room.”
Dramatically, you gave a shiver; “imagine this guy staring at you while you ate.” Your lips twisted at the thought of it, “no, thank you.” He gave a chuckle.
There were other paintings to see, certainly, but something about this one was incredibly hard to look away from. “What-“ you stumbled over the question as you struggled to discern what you even wanted to ask, “what’s it even… about?” You could look to the accompanying plaque but you were sure Spencer’s explanation would surpass anything written.
Immediately, he provided your answer. “Actually, this particular black painting is called ‘Saturn devouring his son’.” He wiggled his free fingers dramatically as he provided the title, earning an amused giggle. “It depicts the Roman titan eating his child in a futile attempt to prevent his own overthrow.” He paused briefly in his explanation, before adding. “The painter had suffered through his share of failed revolution.”
You hummed absently as you listened, watching the painting with a renewed vigour in an attempt to discern why it made you feel so… well, that was the real question; what did it make you feel? Again, almost automatically, you looked to Spencer for an answer. “How does it make you feel?”
Unusually, his reply was not instantaneous. You allowed him a few moments but when his silence persisted past the minute mark, you looked up to find a pinched, thoughtful, expression had overtaken him. Lightly, you tugged on his hand as you softly called his name. “Spencer?”
He jerked slightly as he recovered himself. Looking down to you with wide eyes, he admitted almost sheepishly; “I’m not sure.”
“No?” You asked, surprised you had encountered a question that he did not know the answer to. “I’m not sure either,” you mused, turning back to the canvas, “there’s a desperation in his eyes,” you gave absently, “I think it’s tragic, in a way.” Eventually, you gathered your feelings. “Once you get past the intensity… it kinda makes me sad.”
“That’s…” he trailed off, the fingers interlaced with yours flexing as he sought words. “That’s an interesting assessment.
Huffing, you rolled your eyes. “Okay, Dr Genius, no need to make fun of me.” You smirked up to him in a reassuring show that you were merely joking.
“No,” he protested, turning fully to face you, “I mean it!” He looked so earnest, his free hand raising to take yours, as he spoke. “I’ve never thought of it like that.”
You still were not entirely convinced that you had somehow provided the genius doctor with a unique and fresh take on something so high brow, but you appreciated his attempt and so you merely nodded with a smile. With both hands now cradled by his substantially larger palms, alongside the bright and affectionate way in which he looked at you, you were unable to prevent the heat burning in your cheeks. Entirely sure that your face were shining a rosy red, you ducked your head and prompted. “Shall we move on?”
Summary: You’re helping your boyfriend prepare for his annual fit test, but you may have an ulterior motive. Unsurprisingly, your genius boyfriend has figured you out.
A/N: it’s been such a while! I’ve been so snowed under with work recently but I desperately wanted to post something today! I hope this is okay, please let me know what you think!
The morning was filled with a fresh breeze, the wonderfully warming sunshine, and the increasingly distant panting of your boyfriend.
When the uneven, if still repetitive, noise of his struggle faded into obscurity beneath the subtle sound of wind rustling between the trees, you stopped your light jog. With a puff of air, you briefly raised your face to the sun before turning back to face Spencer.
“You okay back there?”
He didn’t reply, not that he seemed able to between his heaving breaths, but he gradually reached you. His lips parted as though to speak but all that managed to leave him was another struggled heave of breath as he collapsed forwards. Bent at the hips, hands on his knees, he very slowly caught his breath.
Wryly, you smiled down at him and raised a hand to rub his back. When he had regained at least some of himself you offered some water. He took the offered drink gratefully before heaving another breath and asking with a dramatic groan, “how much further?”
Twisting your lips, you decided to go easy on him. “We were gonna go another mile that way, but… we can head back now?” He nodded eagerly, eyes screwed shut in struggle, but made no move to follow your suggestion. “You need a minute?”
“Yeah,” he told you - almost deflating in relief, “yes, oh god.”
You tried not to giggle as he complained, gesturing instead for him to take a seat on a nearby park bench. Heavily he sat down, head falling back as his body all but went limp. You perched beside him, feet perching on the wood and knees hugging into your chest. Watching him, you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.
Itwas true that the fit tests could no longer be waived away, new policies coming in and demanding protocol be followed, but it was a slight exaggeration that Spencer had to work this hard to train to run a mile. You had every confidence that a week and a half would have been enough time to train him up to the distance and the time. However, you had a vested interest in him doing exceptionallywell.
Somehow, it had fallen that both Spencer’s and Garcia’s fit tests fell at the exact same time; a coincidence that you and Morgan had more than taken advantage of. You would do your best to train Spencer, Morgan would do his best to train Garcia, and whichever of them managed the fastest time were the winner. What did they win? Nothing. What would you win if Spencer was quicker than Garcia? A hundred bucks. It was a friendly competition and nothing more, except neither Spencer nor Garcia were actually aware of the arrangement.
In an effort to assuage your guilt over the whole clandestine affair, you spent your winnings on Spencer without fail. After all, he had earned the money and, truthfully, three straight years of Morgan’s abject confusion and frustration at how fast you could make Spencer run was prize enough.
Spencer’s breaths were beginning to slow beside you and so you turned to watch him. “It must be getting easier?” You asked lightly when he seemed coherent enough to respond.
Finally regaining the ability to speak in full sentences, he looked to you as he shook his head. “You would think so.” You expected him to say something else alongside that; some long-winded list of statistics regarding stamina, cardiovascular fitness, or whatever else, but he remained silent.
Concern filled you; Spencer had a lot to say, you didn’t like it when he was quiet. Lightly, you bumped shoulders with him, “you okay? You’re… kinda quiet.”
All of a sudden, he looked incredibly bashful. His head dropped, hair falling around him as though to hide from your view, and he shook his head. The red flush creeping up his neck made you smile. “What?” You pushed, affectionately soothing a hand through his hair.
When you had first ventured on this relationship Spencer likely would have kept his eyes down and struggled through an explanation. Now with the familiar comfort of you beside him, he lifted his gaze to yours, and smirked through his reply; “I was thinking about how much fun our mornings used to be.”
A light blush dusting your cheeks at the suggestive memories he was referring to, you smiled. Teasing lightly, you told him, “that counts as exercise too you know.”
The laugh he gave shook his shoulders even as he verbally disagreed; “well, actually,” you rested your head upon his shoulder, eyes caught on a small bird darting through swaying branches, “on average a man’s heart rate barely rises above one-thirty during sexual intercourse,” you hummed a small noise of interest, “so, really it can only be classified as light to moderate exercise.”
With a sigh, you lifted your head. “That’s a shame.” After a moment of pondering, you turned to him with a creased brow, “is that true even when it’s particularly,” your fingers walked up his thigh as you waggled your brows, “vigorous?”
You felt a surge of delicious victory as he shifted in place and his hand came to grip yours, preventing your fingers from travelling higher. “Even then, unfortunately.”
With a groan, you rose to your feet and pulled an unenthusiastic Spencer up beside you. “One more week, sweetheart.” You reassured, pulling him softly into an easy jog beside you, “then we can have our mornings back.“
He nodded with a sigh and a smile, excitement shining in his eyes, but made no response as his breath was already beginning to struggle from him.
———————————————————————
Getting back to your shared apartment you had quickly excused yourself to jump in the shower. You assumed, by the tiredness pulling at his every movement alongside the way he all but collapsed onto the sofa, that Spencer needed a minute to recuperate anyway.
Now, feeling freshened and squeaky clean, you emerged with a soft towel wrapped around you. Spencer had managed to extract himself from the sofa in the time you had taken, now laying sprawled on the bed looking almost asleep. Giggling at the sight of him, you moved to him and trailed light fingers through his hair. You smiled as he cracked open an eye to watch you.
As he returned the gesture with a smile of his own, a hand tugging playfully at your towel, he looked thoughtful for a moment before he murmured a defunct question at you. “You know I’m a genius, right?”
Eyebrows creasing, taken by surprise, you stuttered out an amused scoff. “How could I forget?”
With a groan of effort he sat upright, looking up at you as his hands lightly skittered over your hips. “For the past three years,” he began, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the cotton towel, “after every fitness test, you have bought me a present.”
Getting tongue tied, unsure where he was going with this but intent on playing it cool, you shrugged. “Well…” you struggled immediately, “I- you deserve a treat after… all that effort.”
“All the gifts have cost a hundred dollars,” you didn’t say anything, so he specified, “exactly a hundred.” Hands upon his shoulders, you steadied yourself.
“Erm…” was all you could think to give. You felt a little settled by the fact that he was still smiling up at you and still delicately massaging circles into your skin.
“Is that a coincidence?”
You bit your lip, looking at him through your lashes in a sudden burst of embarrassment. “…no…” you admitted with a grimace.
A laugh escaped him, “I knew it.”
Puzzled, expecting him to be at least a little agitated by you treating him like a horse to bet on, you couldn’t help but quietly query. “You’re not mad?”
Pulling you lightly, settling you on his lap with your thighs spread around him as your towel struggled to retain your dignity, he shook his head. “Well, I have to pass this test anyway,” his voice had dropped an octave, his finger tracing the path of a water droplet over the curve of your collarbone, “this way we both win.”
A low hum, almost a purr, escaped you and you cocked your head. Hands clasping behind his neck and eyebrow raised, you asked; “how long have you known?”
Eyes catching yours, even as his hands effortlessly relieved you of your towel, he smirked. Eventually, he gave his vague reply. “A while.”
Rolling your eyes, even as you leaned into the large hands that smoothed over your skin, you rasped out a teasing response. “So mysterious.”
A laugh shook his figure lightly as he pulled your hips closer to his with a commanding hand on your waist, the other hand falling between your thighs.
You gave a whine, eyes closing as you basked in the familiar but still enticing feel of his touch, but an errant thought sent a chuckle past your lips.
An answering laugh of his own framed his next question, “what is it?”
Hands framing his face, you ghosted your lips over his before murmuring your response. “I was thinking we should try to get your heart rate over 130 this time.”
The afternoon had progressed wonderfully, in your opinion. You and Spencer had retreated to your apartment after sharing a hearty lunch, barging through the door together and sharing a laugh over the rain now dripping from the pair of you. And now, you were lounging on the couch together.
The strains of the creepy orchestral music from one of Spencer’s favourite classic horror movies were lulling through the room and the warmth of his figure beside you was chasing away the cold sting of the rain.
You couldn’t lie to yourself, you certainly had an ulterior motive in convincing him back to your apartment. You were certainlyhoping this evening would end in a… particular way. However, it had already been a fun day and you wouldn’t really complain if you didn’t get your salacious wish.
Youwere starting to get a little concerned with his general lack of response to your continued and less than subtle attempts at seduction, however. Other than outright asking him what the problem was, all you could really do was try again.
Sinking a little further into the sofa, nodding along to the excitable tinge of his voice as he explained the obscure literary reference one of the characters had just made, you sidled closer to him. Taking a settling breath, you pushed even closer, your head resting on his chest and one arm slung over him.
Alongside his obvious verbal stumble, you could hear his heart pick up in its now unsteady rhythm. Laying more heavily against him, allowing him time to relax before you made your next move, you asked a distracting follow-up question. “So,” you murmured against his still thrumming heartbeat, “this is based off that book?”
“Uh-“ he stammered, one arm quite bravely curling to wrap around you. “Very loosely, yes.”
Intrigued by such a short response from your usually wordy boyfriend, you raised your eyebrows and craned your neck to look up at him. Immediately, your gaze pulled his caramel eyes to your features. His adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. “What?” He asked, voice hoarse.
You gave a smile, he really was delectable, before leaning up to kiss him. To hell with working up to this slowly, you thoughthazily, affection and attraction pushing you to act hastily. To begin with, the kiss was slow, saccharine, and sweet in a heady sort of way. Spencer had this wonderful ability to make you feel lazy, in a wonderful kind of way; with him you felt as though you had all the time in the world.
That slow, lazy feeling didn’t stop you from almost shamelessly attempting to deepen the kiss, however. One hand curling into his still damp hair and another smoothing beneath the collar of his shirt, you opened your lips beneath his. As your tongue swept over his bottom lip a small, soft, and entirely enticing noise of satisfaction fell from him.
In a quest to pull more noises from him, maybe a few that were louder and maybe a few that sounded like your name, you moved both hands behind his neck and tugged. You managed to sling one leg over his hips, and even succeeded in sliding fully beneath him, before he pulled back from you. This was as far as you had ever succeeded in getting; you were making progress at least.
But,really, it was time to ask.
Spencer babbled out a quick excuse for pulling from you, eyes not managing to meet your heated gaze and fidgeting hands awkwardly pushing his hair back into place. “D-do you want something to drink?”
You managed, just barely, to repress the laugh that bubbled through you in response to that; what an adorably strange question to ask after you had just tried so hard to get beneath him. “Sure,” you told him, pushing up into a seated position as he left the sofa entirely.
Resting your chin upon the back of the couch you watched him potter frenetically about your kitchen. “Spencer,” you called when his movements became a little less stiff, “can I ask you something?”
You watched the back of his head bob up and down in a nod, your cupboard open before him as he searched for a glass. “Of course,” he assented, clearly not realising the line of questioning he was opening himself up for.
“Do you want to…” trailing off with pursed lips, your mind searched for a way to phrase your question in a way that was less crass than ‘do you want to fuck me?’. Eventually, you finished; “do you want to sleep with me?”
A horrendous clatter sounded from him, luckily it didn’t seem as though anything actually smashed, before he turned back to face you with wide eyes. “W-what?”
Taking a deep breath, you slowly reiterated; “do you want to have sex with me? Like,” you shrugged in a show of faux carelessness, “at some point?”
Lips parting a few times, a plethora of stuttering half-finished responses clamoured to escape him. You quickly cut off this incoherent wave of noise. “Spencer, I’m just looking for a yes or a no here.” You paired those words with a smile, hopeful that something in the gesture would settle him. “Because if the answer is no… maybe we should talk about that, y’know?”
“No!” He let out quickly, hands raising in some kind of panicked clamour, before shaking his head. “I mean yes! I do want to…” he trailed off, struggling to get the sentiment out, instead he settled for “I do.”
Slowly, you nodded along to this response. Raising a brow, feeling somewhat devilish, you asked for clarification. “You do want to talk about it or you do want to have sex with me?” You were fairly confident he had meant the latter but you were desperate to hear him say it.
The red flush of his neck had reached his face at this point. “I do want to…” he made a strange gesture with his hands before giving up and quietly verbalising what he wanted, “to sleep with you.”
You grinned with a light giggle, thrilled by the prospect that Spencer really did want you in that way. Voice a little lighter with this reassurance, you let out another question. “Can I ask a follow up question?”
With great trepidation overtaking his features, he gave a single nod.
“Why haven’t you yet?“ At his answering silence, you clarified, “had sex with me, I mean. I’ve… more than given you the opportunity.” You giggled slightly at the memory of all those failed attempts.
Spencer stammered before you. “Well, I just- I…” you dramatically took a deep breath, hand raising and falling in time with the breath; he took your silent suggestion and breathed deeply alongside you. More relaxed, if only he slightly, he was able to get out; “I’m not… as experienced as you.”
Raising your brows at that, you lifted from the couch with a laugh and moved over to him. “What makes you so sure of that?”
A laugh escaped him, a short little chuckle as though he knew something you didn’t. Hands raising to generally wave over you, he told you; “because you’re… you.”
In a show that this was not a sufficient answer you cocked your head with raised brows. “And?” You prompted.
“And… you’re beautifulandcharming and kind and and…” he trailed off, seemingly frustrated with himself and his lack of eloquence in the face of awkwardness.
“Okay,” you gave, cheeks warming in response to that list of wonderful adjectives, “and you’re you.” You cupped his cheeks to find his gaze. “You’re smart - crazy smart - and handsome and kind and loving…” his lips quirked up at this list even as his eyes found his shoes, and you punctuated the words with a light kiss to his cheek. “So, I don’t really know what the problem is.”
He remained silent but seemed a little more confident, his hands now rising to rest on your upper arms in a light kind of embrace.
Taking your time to look over his features, feeling affection fill you, you lowered your tone into reassurance. “Sweetheart,” you all but cooed, “ I know this seems like a really really uncomfortable conversation that you don’t wanna have.” He nodded his immediate agreement with that sentiment, but his eyes rose to yours. “But,” you continued, “it’s not, okay? I really like you, Spencer.” The word wasn’t strong enough, and you knew it, but you weren’t ready for that admission quite yet. “So, this is just a conversation, okay?”
Finally, he nodded - his shoulders seeming to drop from their once hunched position. “Okay,” he let out, “I’m - I’m nervous that…” his voice wavered as he struggled with the words, “that you won’t… enjoy it.”
You giggled at that but very quickly explained your reaction when he seemed to sink into himself a little more. “The mere fact that you’re that concerned about my enjoyment puts you ahead of like ninety percent of other guys.”
His lips quirked up but he gave no response.
Looking over this nervous expression of his that your words could not seem to shift, you decided it was time to give him an out. “Look, Spencer, how about this?” Eyes narrowing at you, he nodded for you to continue. Smoothing your hands over his chest, you smiled. “So, option A; we sit back on the couch, forget this conversation, keep watching movies and you keep telling me all those interesting facts and you keep translating all those Russian parts for me.” He gave a relieved sort of laugh at the suggestion and, so, you doubled down. “Which would be fun and perfect and wonderful because I love being with you - no matter what we do - right?”
“Right,” he agreed, before curiosity got the better of him. “W-what’s option B?”
Smirking, you ducked your head to look up at him with doe eyes and answered. “Well, in option B you sit on the couch…” lowering your voice to a whisper, your gaze dropped to where his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I take this dress off,” you pulled open the first few buttons of the garment as though in demonstration, “and then I sit on top of you,” with a wicked smirk you added, in a thoughtful tone; “or kneel in front of you…” you made a show of shrugging, “wherever you want me.”
Swallowing thickly, he nodded - a strange strained sound becoming caught in his throat. It seemed that his mind was busy thinking about something else and so he forgot to verbalise his answer.
“What’s it gonna be, doc?” You whispered close to his ear.
“Uh-“ he stuttered, hands a little tighter upon your arms than before, “um- B- definitely option B.”
Entirely thrilled by his choice, you gripped his collar to pull him along with you as you backed the pair of you back towards the couch.
The receptionist had been incredibly helpful, directing you to your destination succinctly and perfectly. You had allowed yourself an extra ten minutes, wanting to be on time but doubting your own ability to navigate an unfamiliar environment. The building, at least the parts of it you saw on your journey to Spencer’s office, was grandiose in a strangely cosy kind of way. Although, you thought distantly, the patter of rain upon thick windows always inspired a cosy feeling.
The corridors were rapidly emptying as you wandered against the flow of quickly exiting students. Wistfully, you remembered these days; rushing from the building on a Friday night to ignore your impending assignments in favour of some disappointing party that ended in you throwing up in your dorm room. And now, here you were all these years later, on a Friday night rushing to meet your husband.
Time really is a funny thing.
Your existential musings paused as you reached his door. The sight of his name on the door made you smile as you tapped your knuckles against the door. Spencer answered quickly. An affection softened his gaze as he recognised you and quickly ushered you inside. Behind the privacy of a closed door you smoothed your hands over his chest and raised precariously onto your tiptoes to peck his lips.
“Hi,” he gave when you dropped down to your heels, his hands lightly placed over the curve of your hips.
“I missed you,” you responded with a smile.
It was true; you had missed him terribly. Now that his presence on a case was not an inevitability that you could count on, you struggled through each day away from him with nothing but his voice on the phone to keep you company. You honestly could not understand how JJ had managed all these years.
Spencer ducked his head to kiss you, confirmation enough that he had missed you too. “How was it?” He asked quietly.
You shrugged with a sigh. He knew as well as you that your cases were never able to be summarised in a selection of light-hearted footnotes. “It was…heavy.”
He nodded his understanding, lips pursing in concern as he sent a sweeping gaze over your figure. “But you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” you told him, because you were; despite the purple-green bruise flowering over your ribs that he could not see beneath your shirt.
The air felt heavy, your reunion weighed down by the still unshared details of this last case. You tried to lighten the mood, change the topic; the case and all it’s paperwork were not going anywhere and would still be awaiting you Monday morning. “Are you not gonna give me a tour, Professor?” You asked, a teasing smile leaving you, as you sent a brief gaze over your surroundings.
Spencer laughed with a nod, stepping back from you as he looked over the space. “Sure,” he prefaced, moving to gesture at his desk. “This is my desk,” he told you, obviously.
Hiding your giggle behind the back of your hand, you moved to the chair tucked behind the desk. With the most puzzled expression you could muster, you pointed to it and asked; “What isthis?”
Lips twisting, he played along. “That is a chair.”
Tutting, you gave the chair a light push and absently watched it spin. “Aren’t you supposed to stand up more at work or something? Sitting is the new smoking, right?”
“Actually,” you smiled to yourself as you looked up to watch the lengthy explanation you were sure to receive. “Despite numerous studies into that claim, no link between sitting at work and poor overall health have ever been made.” You nodded, watching and waiting for more as you dropped into his chair. “It’s actually widely considered to be socioeconomic factors linked to when, why and how often individuals-“
An almost timid knock upon his door interrupted his spiel of impressive, if not obscure, knowledge. A little disgruntled at this interruption, you peered at the door. “Sorry,” he told you, as though the interruption were somehow his fault, moving to open the door.
Just before the door clicked open, you gave a reassuring, “it’s okay.”
From your position seated at the desk you could not see who was standing on the other side of the threshold. You ignored their conservation, attention roving instead over the finer details of his office. Books were piled on almost every available flat surface, their spines pointed towards you with names you couldn’t hope to decipher. On his desk there was a picture of the pair of you; it was almost funny, in a sweet kind of way, that he even thought to include that. Could Spencer not merely close his eyes and conjure the perfect image of you?
You were in the middle of making a mental note to ask him about that when your ears caught upon the conversation still happening in the doorway.
Spencer, strangely, sounded confused. “From what I understand, your grades are perfectly fine.”
“But,” came an oddly lowered voice, “extra-credit couldn’t hurt, right?”
Your eyes widened and mouth dropped open as you wondered if this were really happening right now. Surely, you were placing intentions on the girl’s words that were not actually there. Surely.
If Spencer had come to the same conclusion as you, he very kindly pretended that he hadn’t and offered her a way out. “I don’t think you’re actually in my class.” The way he phrased it was strangely thoughtful. He most certainly would remember if she was in his class but his act of uncertainty may save her from embarrassment. Well, you thought wryly, more embarrassment.
She did not take the offered escape route. Voice dropping even lower, sounding now as though she had a substantial cough rather than the seduction she had likely hoped for, she pushed further. “Oh, but surely there’s something I can do for you?”
Something in the way she said it made it impossible to stifle your laughter. A cough escaped you as you struggled against your fit of giggles. Realising that the conversation at the door had entirely stalled in response to your laughter, you slapped a hand over your mouth - still quietly giggling.
The girl’s voice sounded again, significantly higher in pitch. “Who’s that?” You could almost imagine the deer in headlights expression overtaking her at the prospect of being discovered in her misguided attempts to seduce a professor.
“Oh,” Spencer gave, a lightness in the tone as his head turned to look at you. “It’s just my wife.” You had risen from the chair at this point, darting around the desk to catch sight of the poor girl and sending her an awkward wave as you did so.
She looked very nice, you had to admit; she had chosen a skirt, of course, but had paired it with such a nice shirt that you almost wanted to ask where she had bought it. “Nice to meet you,” you told her instead.
“You…I-“ she stuttered out, mortification overtaking her youthful visage. Quickly, she shot out, “thanks for the help,” before almost running away down the corridor.
Spencer lingered at the doorway briefly, expression indicating that his mind was busy trying to decipher a reasonable explanation for the interaction. When he closed the door you allowed yourself laugh more fully, secure in the knowledge that the poor girl would not hear you now.
Raising your eyebrows at his lack of response, you asked; “has that happened before?”
Looking back at the door, eyes crinkled in confusion, he shook his head. “I’m not even sure whathappened.”
You rolled your eyes at him. Stepping closer, you smoothed a hand over his arm in an attempt to reassure that you were not about to get mad about a student trying so hard to seduce him. “Oh, come on, sweetheart.” You pushed.
His confusion did not abate even with your prompting.
“Really?” You asked, disbelieving. “You, an experienced FBI profiler, cannot work out what just happened?”
Your insistence seemed only to confuse him more as he looked back at the closed door once more as though it held the answer. When, somehow, his brain remained without a solution you huffed another laugh.
“God,” you began, feeling a little awkward with no understanding as to why. “I don’t know how to explain this nicely. She was…” you pinched the bridge or your nose, “flirting with you.”
At your words, he looked utterly taken aback. “Why?”
Hands smoothing over his chest, dipping beneath his blazer, you cocked your head with a smirk. “Oh, I don’t know,” you murmured wryly, “why would anyone want to flirt with their handsome, smart, sweet Professor who explains things with his large hands as much as he does with his mouth?”
Eyebrows raised, he swallowed thickly at the seduction you sprinkled into the words. “I-uh-I don’t think that’s what she was doing?”
You knew him well enough to recognise that he really was being sincere. You felt a little stab of guilt as you looked at him. He had been definitively stuck in to minds over this partial reassignment, part of him almost excitable at the prospect of academia but another part anxious to be away from cases, the team, and - of course - you. You didn’t want to ruin this positivity by informing him that at least one student was more interested in sleeping with him than his syllabus. “Well,” you started diplomatically, “maybe your wife is a little biased.”
He seemed unconvinced by this change in your words. You weren’t entirely surprised, you had been so adamant earlier and were now trying to change your tune. You really didn’t feel like spelling it out for him but he was leaving you with little choice. You decided to play it coy; you could at least have some fun with this uncomfortable discussion.
Batting your eyelashes, you ducked your head to look up at him through fluttering lashes. “Oh Professor,” you gushed, leaning into him, “there must be something I can do.” Reaching up, you loosened his tie - fingertips lightly tapping against the thrumming pulse in his neck. “There’s really nothing I can do for you to get an A?”
Arching a brow at him, hoping you managed to get your point across, you smirked as he let out an almost laughing breath. “I-uh-think I get it.”
Pressing your lips to his cheek, skin tickled by his dusting of stubble, you giggled. “I always forget you went to college at like… four.”
He laughed properly at that, “I wasn’t four,” he all but scoffed.
“Close enough,” you muttered with a shrug, redoing his tie where you had loosened it. “I do like this professor look on you though.”
His warm hands squeezed your waist as he smiled at that. Brow suddenly furrowing in what you recognised as contemplation, he quickly asked; “wait, so did you… proposition your professors?”
You giggled freely at the question. “No,” you let out between laughter, just managing to tuck his tie back beneath his blazer. “I did ask for extra credit though.”
“You did?” He asked, watching you with great interest as you smoothed his collar and pushed back his hair.
You hummed your affirmative, before adding with a wry smirk; “I didn’t come to the tail end of their office hours in a mini-skirt and with hot red lips though.” After a quick, affectionate, swipe of your thumb over his cheek, you stepped away to collect his satchel from behind his desk. “I turned up in floods of tears, mascara tracking down my cheeks, basically on my knees begging them not to fail me.”
His lips quirked up. “That’s quite an image.”
“What, me crying and hyperventilating over my shitty grades?” You asked, winking at him. “Or me on my knees and begging?”
Head falling back slightly, hands lazily slung into his pockets, he looked over your figure with a delicious gaze. His smirk was answer enough. Lithely, you slunk back to stand before him. “I like the way you think, Professor.”
You reached him, fingers walking up his chest and doe eyes blinking up at him. “Your bag,” you offered, hanging the item from his shoulder.
Greedy hands pulled you closer, arms winding around your waist as his large palms pressed against your shoulder blades, keeping you flush against him. After all this time you would have thought that you would be used to kissing Spencer - but you weren’t. Butterflies still fluttered through your stomach, your heart still swooped, and your head still swam with an excited dizziness. Hands in his hair, forgetting where you were and where you were supposed to be, you opened your lips beneath his.
A sudden, unexpected vibration buzzed in the space between you and you pulled back with a breathy laugh. “And what is that, Professor?”
Reaching into his pocket, revealing his buzzing phone, he muttered an almost strained reply. “Please, stop calling me that.”
“I kinda think you like it,” you whispered as he answered the phone, “Professor,” you murmured into his other ear.
The way his eyes burned so passionately into yours told you that you would end up reaping the benefits of this game at some point in the near future. You pressed your lips softly against the hollow of his neck as he spoke into the phone.
“Uh- yeah,” he stuttered into the receiver, struggling against your ministrations. “We - uh- we’re on our way.”
He hung up quickly after that, the tinny voice on the phone getting cut off mid-sentence. “Sounds like we gotta go.”
“Unfortunately,” he eked out, sending a last set of kisses against your jaw.
“Stop distracting me, Professor,” you purred. “And let’s go.”
Summary: After breaking up under difficult circumstances, you and Spencer have carved out a friendly relationship. When your boyfriend plans a birthday party, you and Spencer have to face your feelings.
A/N: A warning, this is longggg. I had this idea and just couldn’t stop writing! Please let me know what you think! ❤️
It was a rainy Tuesday, ordinary in a boring type of way, when Spencer was asked to the party. You had been stood by his desk, looking down to him as the pair of you chattered; your hair shining like a halo beneath the amber lights of the office. Such divinity suited you, he had thought.
The chirp of your phone distracted you, an almost imperceptible jump of your shoulders as you looked down in surprise. “Oh, Alex is here,” you explained, lips twisting awkwardly at this mention of your boyfriend. “He’s -uh - he wanted to pick me up.”
The explanation was unnecessary. If your boyfriend wanted to pick you up from work there was no real need for Spencer to know about it; despite the jealous coil that wound through his stomach at the revelation. The fact that you had thought to tell him at all, with that guilty glint in your eye, did give him some hope. Surely, your continued guilt could only be thought indicative of your remaining feelings for him. Surely.
Despite the best efforts of his logic, he harboured all these small hopes that you offered him. Clung to them as though they were a refuge and he supposed, in fact, they were.
You were awaiting a response. There was nothing for him to really say, no need for him to give any real response past an amicable nod of understanding. You, however, wanted words. Did you recognise, he often wondered, these small hopes you offered him? “I’ll walk you out,” he eventually eked out, voice strained beneath the words he could not say.
You were meant to be together, he was sure. Tales of four legged humanoids separated by unsettled gods and souls tied by the red strings of fate were mere portions of the expansive mythology of soulmates. And that, truly, objectively, was all soulmates really were; remnants of mythology. And yet, Spencer believed.
You nodded your acceptance with a grin. Shoulders sagging in relief as you watched him collect his things. As the pair of you meandered to the building’s exit Spencer talked, likely too much. He knew the subjects you enjoyed and basked in your wide-eyed grin as he doled out every piece of somewhat interesting information he could muster. He hoped, as he always hoped, that the conversation would linger in your mind and overshadow any attempts Alex could make.
All too soon, the front door approached. The yellow street lights shone brightly through the glass doors but were quickly dimmed by a tall figure waving at you through the glass. Surprise halted you for a moment before you gave a brief smile and continued forward. Unreasonable annoyance lanced through Spencer.
Spencer walked with you to the door every night after work. This was his time with you and Alex had chased away the last remaining seconds. Poorly, Spencer attempted to chasten himself; he had no right to lay such a claim over your time. He had given it all up in a haze of weakness and narcotics. A haze that, once he had pulled himself through, he realised had left him with nothing. When his sobriety became more trustworthy, he had wanted nothing more than to grovel his way back to you. But he couldn’t. What if he wasn’t ready? What if he let you down, fell off the horse and destroyed your relationship all over again?
He had waited too long, it sometimes seemed.
Spencer greeted Alex coolly. Not cold in his words but lacking any true warmth. The best that Spencer could manage. Strangely, the man turned quickly to you in an effort to usher you away; “honey,” Spencer wrinkled his nose at the pet-name, “you mind if I talk to Agent Reid a second.”
“It’s doctor,” the pair of you responded in tandem. Spencer’s words harsher than he intended whilst yours were almost distant as you blinked back surprise at this strange turn of events.
With too much confidence to even be amicably embarrassed, Alex turned his gave over to Spencer. “Sorry,” he gave half-heartedly before turning an insistent gaze back to you.
You floundered. A darting gaze seemed unsure who to focus on. Spencer understood the fear flashing in your eyes; as far as he was aware, you were yet to share the true nature of yours and Spencer’s past relationship with Alex. As much as some strange foreign part of him wanted Alex to know, he enjoyed this secret. Another thing Spencer knew that surely Alex did not.
After another round of insistence from Alex, alongside a quiet nod from Spencer, you relented and left them. Bracing himself, for whatever was about to happen, Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets and let his attention wander to his shoes.
“So, er…” Alex started, awkwardly. “It’s her birthday this weekend.”
Eyebrows raising, but gaze remaining on his feet, he bit out a reply. “I know.” Of course I know, he thought spitefully.
Encouraged, somehow, by Spencer’s stern agreement, Alex continued. “Well, anyway, I’m throwing a party for her on Saturday - It’s a surprise!” He quickly added the last part, emphasising it strangely as though Spencer had been on the cusp of running across the parking lot to tell you. Knee jerking as he stood and listened to this man, Spencer felt increasing agitation needle at him. “I- she’d love for you to be there.”
Finally, Spencer looked at the man before him, suspicious. “That’s short notice.”
Rubbing the back of his head, Alex ducked his head. “Well,” for once, Alex sounded sheepish, “I wasn’t sure if it might be awkward… you know…”
Spencer swallowed a lump in his throat. So, he did know. You had told him. Of course, you were more than within your rights to tell him, but… there had been hope in your attempt to keep him a secret.
Alex floundered before him, seemingly unsure how to rescue them from this awkwardness he had steered them into. Spencer, was not going to help.
Finally recovering from his stuttering, Alex began babbling mindlessly. “Well, you know, my family came down to visit so they’ll be there.” Nervously, Alex wrung his hands together. Somewhere, distantly in Spencer’s psyche an alarm bell rang out in warning. Before he could hope to process it, the chatter of Alex before him drowned it out. “And she thinks of you guys as family, so… it’s important.”
He couldn’t take it anymore, he cut the man off. “I’ll be there,” he told him, before sharply turning away.
As he journeyed home, as he prepared a dinner for one, as he brushed his teeth, and even as his tired mind refused to sleep, he replayed the conversation verbatim over and over in his mind. Turning the conversation over, he found no explanation for the instinctive dread pooling in his stomach.
Over the next days, every second up until the evening of your party, the dread remained.
He had agreed to take you, the pair of you bundled into his car as he meandered to the location. As far as you were aware Rossi had invited all of you to a soirée at some grand hall in the city; although, considering the way you were gnawing on your nails, Spencer was sure you knew that something was amiss. Admittedly, he had not been entirely engaged in keeping up the charade. You hated surprises, on your birthday even more so, and he had endeavoured to make it as obvious to you as Garcia would allow him.
“You okay?” He asked, stopping the car to allow a pedestrian cross.
You hummed a little, high pitched, noise of agreement before turning sharply in your seat. “Spencer,” you began, voice wavering with nerves, “you would tell me right? If this is a surprise party for me?” He didn’t say anything, he opened his mouth a few times but all that escaped him was a stutter. Sure, he wanted you to know, but Garcia would tear into him if he ruined this.
But, looking at you, he deflated. Your wide eyes were fixed on him, blinking up at him with such panic that he couldn’t bear to keep anything from you. Relenting, he confirmed. “It’s… a surprise party for you,” you rubbed tired hands over your eyes. “Alex,” he wondered if you caught the disdain that laced that word, “was adamant about it being a secret.”
You groaned into your palms, still covering your face as you rubbed at your temples. “I told him I hate big parties,” you moaned, peeking at him between your fingers.
You sighed, cast a wandering gaze from the window, and dropped your arms heavily into your lap. Hands now picking at the hem of your skirt, you timidly asked a question that sent that strange alarm ringing through his mind. “Did he mention anything else?”
Eyebrows scrunched together, he leaned closer - concerned but unsure why. “Like what?”
You worked your bottom lip. Normally the action would stall his mind, sending his entire attention rapt upon the temptations of your lips, but your intense emotion overshadowed any errant desire. “It’s just-“ you began, only to be immediately interrupted by a car horn blaring behind you.
The pedestrian had crossed the road, and disappeared from sight in the time the pair of you had been talking. Spencer was still stopped in the middle of the road, the car behind him clearly losing its patience.
Holding a hand up, a silent apology to the driver behind, he pressed the accelerator. As your destination neared, he watched you shrink further into your seat from the corner of his eye.
———————————————————————
Despite your nervousness, you gave an excellent performance of surprise. Spencer was sure even the profilers of the room would have been fooled by your faux excitement. As much as he had hoped to hold onto your attention a little longer you had been whisked away by your boyfriend and presented like a trophy to a pair of people he assumed were Alex’s parents.
Morgan patted him on the back, murmuring some kind of encouragement, and directed his sullen figure to the other agents in attendance. They cheered him up well enough, providing some relief in this crowd of unfamiliar people, but unease returned each time he caught sight of your figure.
Butwhat was it setting him so on edge? Why did the overelaborate decor feel like a warning? Why did the abundance of expensive champagne wash dread over him? And why were Morgan’s eyes fixed on him so closely?
“I feel like a show pony,” your arrival beside him distracted his thoughts. It was hopeless trying to concentrate with you beside him. “Everyone’s looking at me, it’s weird.”
“Cmon,” JJ reassured, an excitable tone to her voice as though you would mirror her emotion, “you’re the birthday girl! Everyone’s supposed to look at you.”
Sidling beside you, Garcia trilled with more enthusiastic excitement. “Plus you look smokin’ in that dress,” a rosy blush painted your cheeks at that, the brief ‘thanks’ that escaped you immediately drowned out by Garcia’s next words; “where’d you buy it? Do they take coupons?”
A pair of large hands gripped Garcia’s shoulders,
Tugging her back slightly from where she huddled closer to peer at the label, Morgan spoke. “Okay, okay. How bout we leave the birthday girl in tact, yeah?” Garcia huffed but immediately brightened at his next words. “Dance with me, hot stuff?” As she tugged him away he craned his neck back to the group with a whispered “you’re welcome,” that sent a lovely chuckle past your lips.
Will and JJ soon joined them, sharing a look and a laugh over making the most of a child free night before sweeping away. Rossi dramatically held out a hand for Emily, cocking a brow when she merely crossed her arms. It took surprisingly little needling to convince her, a roll of her eyes and a scoff before she joined him in a dance. As the final pair swept away, Rossi sent Spencer an obvious wink.
Hands firmly in his pocket, worried you’d say no but panicked to lose the chance, he looked to his feet again. “You’re not gonna dance with the birthday girl?” You asked lightly.
Stupidly, he avoided the question. “Did you know in Vietnam everyone celebrates their birthday on the same day?” You smiled at him, the sweet uplift of your lips you always offered that he could never hope to decipher. He barrelled on, “It doesn’t matter when you were actually born because-“
“Spencer,” you cut him off, a hand on his arm, “just dance with me?”
Shutting his mouth, keeping his obscure knowledge of east-Asian birthday traditions to himself, he took your hand and led you to the small square set aside for dancing.
You turned to face him, a nervous apprehension colouring each movement you made. Somehow, your nervousness made him feel better. At least you were both floundering under the gaze of the other. Your hand was warm in his, fingers soft as they laced through his own, and the curve of your waist fit perfectly beneath his palm.
The rigidity of your anxious figure softened beneath his hands, your feet effortlessly following his lead and your lips upturning in one of the few true smiles of the night. “How are you finding the party?” He asked quietly, using the guise of conversation as an excuse to press closer to you.
You followed his lead and pressed closer still. “Well,” your eyes darted about the lavish environment, “it’s… yeah it’s nice.”
Spencer gave a hushed laugh, that was the least convincing lie he had ever heard, and you laughed alongside him. Between your giggles you coyly chastened him; “Spencer, it’s not funny!” You were still laughing even as you said it, “it’s-it’s a nice gesture, at least.”
He nodded sternly, fixing his features into an over dramatic stoicism that was reminiscent of Hotch. A few seconds were all the expression was given before his face broke into amusement at your answering giggle.
After a few small circles of the dance floor, your shared laughter had subsided enough for conversation to continue. “I don’t know,” you murmured listlessly, “it’s just not for me, I guess.”
Humming in agreement, thumb absently swiping over the hand that he held, Spencer replied. “I know,” he said lowly. And he really did know, the moment he had learned of the party he had known you wouldn’t enjoy it. You would grit your teeth throughout the evening and lie to protect the feelings of a boyfriend who should really know better. “You’d like breakfast in bed and scary movies and popcorn for dinner.” Just like that last birthday when we were together.
Your eyes widened as they met his gaze and he could understand this show of surprise. This was the first time either of you had dared make mention of the time you had been a couple. Spencer likely hadn’t picked the best occasion to remind you of your days with him but he felt a strange anxious gnawing in his stomach that time was slipping through his fingers.
You blinked a few times, your hand in his gripping more tightly, before you nodded and spoke in a melancholy kind of way. “Yeah,” you swallowed thickly, “something like that.”
The pair of you continued to carve a small circle into the dance floor, continued to gaze at the other, but it was a long while before you spoke again.
“Spencer, do you still-“
Your voice was cut off by another. “Hey, mind if I cut in?”
Spencer had half a mind to tell Alex that yes, he really did mind. His hand on your waist was now clutching you in a way he wouldn’t be able to explain away if you asked. You squeezed his hand and forced him to let you go by stepping back and telling him; “I’ll call you later, okay?”
Even Alex had the decency to seem a little threatened by that promise, looking at you with a mix of confusion and agitation. Spencer nodded, seeing the emotion still welled in your eyes, and let out a raspy “okay.”
He wandered back to where he had stood before, finding the others stood there as the dance floor cleared. “Deep breaths, man.” Morgan told him, voice careful as though he were speaking to a caged animal.
Unsure what Morgan was even referring to, Spencer asked with a crinkled brow; “what?”
Morgan gave no further indication of what he meant, eyes moving respectfully to where Alex was making some kind of speech. Beside Alex, you almost shrunk into yourself. Eyes wide, arms crossed over your front, and gaze avoiding everyone. Spencer didn’t need to be a profiler to know you were incredibly uncomfortable.
As much as Spencer tried to listen, give Alex at least this subtle politeness, all he could hear was the question you had been about to ask. What had it been? Was he overanalysing it? Was it something simple and filled with banality? Or would it change everything?
As Alex, rather gracelessly, dropped down to one knee his attention snapped back to the present. No, no, no, became his internal monologue. He must have made some kind of physical reaction as Morgan’s hand was now tightly gripping his shoulder. “Keep it together,”he distantly warned.
You were looking down at Alex, mouth opening and closing as what he severely hoped was panic overtook you. “I-I…” you stuttered and stumbled as a discontented murmur spread through the crowd.
You squeezed your eyes shut and forced a breath through your nose. Panic was still evident on your features as you reopened your eyes, but your gaze eventually settled. Your gaze settled on Spencer.
Some silent question shone in your eyes. Spencer felt the tears threatening to spill over as he shook his head at you, as subtly as he could muster. As his gaze poured over you he repeated an internal mantra that he hoped you could somehow hear; please say no, please say no, please say no.
You didn’t say no.
But, in some small relief, you didn’t say yes either.
Instead your gaze broke from Spencer, sending nausea swirling through him in dreadful anticipation, looking down to the man on his knee before you. You backed away slowly, hoarsely proclaiming that you needed some air. With a hand pressing against your stomach, you looked to the left and darted to the fire exit. The crowd parted eagerly for you, everyone hoping to see the distress upon your features as you fled the scene, and you left the door clattering behind you.
Spencer moved immediately, instinctively following you. Morgan harshly pulled him back, gripping him tightly and murmuring “give it a second.”
Morgan, thinking much clearer than Spencer feasibly could in this moment, was right. A second later and the crowd had burst into an excitable rabble and chatter. A group had descended on Alex, surrounding him with reassurance, whilst the rest moved about the room almost wildly. Now, at least, Spencer’s desperate clamour to follow you would be less obvious.
“I hope you know what you’re gonna say, kid.” Morgan told him, stern as an older brother, before releasing his hold.
Spencer took no time to reply, darting through the rabble of the crowd and to the still clattering fire exit.
Summary: After dinner turns into talk about children, reader starts to panic that their older boyfriend Spencer will not want to wait for them to be ready. He reassures them that this couldn’t be further from the truth.
A/N: I think I’m going to do an unofficial prequel to this about how Spencer and reader met! Thanks so much to the anon that requested this :) please let me know what you think!
The clink of cutlery was barely audible over the chatter of conversation. The dinner itself had been delicious, you had been reliably informed that Savannah had certainly not made it, and the wine had been perfectly paired. Meeting Spencer’s best friend had felt like such a big, scary step but Morgan had made you feel so welcome it was hard to see why you had been so nervous.
As the plates had emptied, Spencer so kindly offered to help Savannah with the dishes and incidentally left you fend for yourself with his best friend. His hand squeezed your shoulder as he passed behind you, encouraging eyes warm as he left you in your seat. Suddenly awkward, despite the amicable air, you smiled down at your hands instead of trying to make conversation. The age gap between you and the rest of the group was not striking but it was at least noticeable and you were terrified of saying something that could label you as childish.
Luckily, Morgan was social enough for the both of you. “So, how’d you meet pretty boy?”
Smiling at the memory, you took a sip of your merlot before responding with a wistful smile. “Well, I’m one of the IT techs at the university-“ you cut yourself off as he immediately began to laugh.
When he recovered himself, he asked with a smirk and a raised brow. “Let me guess… you got called to help Dr Technophobe with his email?”
You laughed noisily as you nodded, although you managed to add the detail; “the first time it was his printer actually.”
“The first time,” he repeated, eyebrows raised, “how many times are we talking?”
Eyes darting to the kitchen door as Spencer reappeared, you responded quietly as though your boyfriend wouldn’t hear. “The first week I think I saw him eight or nine times.”
Immediately catching onto the conversation, he sighed and corrected you despite Morgan’s laughter drowning him out. “Actually it was ten times.” In an attempt to defend himself against Morgan’s lighthearted ridicule, he continued, “and the last time I didn’t even need your help I just wanted to see you.”
“You didn’t need my help?” You asked dubiously, “when the photocopier was making that emergency alert noise?” Morgan’s laughter doubled.
Spencer’s voice raised in pitch as he defended himself, “that was the ninth time and that definitely wasn’t my fault.”
“I didn’t even know copiers could make that noise, Spencer, it must have been your fault.”
Waving a hand in the air, he dismissed that statement and you rolled your eyes with a giggle. “Anyway,” he stressed, “the tenth time there was nothing actually wrong - I told you I was struggling with my email but really I just wanted to ask you for coffee.”
Your cheeks took on a red glow as you remembered that day, “oh yeah.”
Morgan seemed entirely amused and proud all at once. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Dr Reid.”
In response, Spencer merely shoved his hands in his pockets with a shrug but sent an almost shy smile your way.
This jovial atmosphere remained throughout dessert, the house never falling silent due to the laughter bouncing off the walls. You were surprisingly at ease. To begin with, concern had flooded you that you would have nothing to say and would come across as just some naive girl making doe eyes at an older man. But Spencer had silently reassured you throughout, encouraged you to join in the conversation, and made you feel like you belonged there.
You felt fantastic, entirely relieved, the night had gone smoothly with no hiccups. Well, until the pair of you were at the door saying your goodbyes at least.
The baby monitor crackled suddenly into action, a whining cry sounding through the static making you jump. Morgan and Savannah shared a tired yet humoured look. “Your turn,” Morgan told her, dipping his head closer to her with a smirk.
Savannah, with a huffing laugh, rolled her eyes with a “yeah, yeah.” Turning to you and Spencer, she gave you with a smile and a warm “thanks so much for coming! It’s nice to have some adult company once in a while.”
You thanked her but you doubt she heard you over Morgan’s dramatic scoff. “Woman, I’m an adult.” He pointed at his chest as though to specify who he was talking about.
She gave him a long look, a pout pulling at her expression before she broke into a laugh. “Sure you are, Derek.” A last smile to you and Spencer, and she rushed off to allay the now screaming child.
You winced as a particularly high pitched cry squeaked through the monitor. “Better get used to that sound,” Morgan told you off-handedly as he held the door open, “that’s gonna be you two next.” He laughed as though you should laugh alongside him, and so - for the sake of politeness - you did. It was more a squeak than a laugh as the sound caught in your throat as you processed what he had said.
You were terrified to look up at your boyfriend’s reaction. What if he were jovially agreeing with his friend’s words, what if a spark of excitement had lit up his gaze?
Of course you already knew that Spencer wanted kids, you had been together long enough to have delved into that particular discussion. You had assured him that you wanted them too and so, realising you were in agreement, the pair of you hadn’t spoken on it any further. You realised now, all of a sudden in Derek Morgan’s doorway of all places, that you had never thought to discuss a timeline with Spencer.
He was older than you, in an entirely different phase of his life, surely he would want them sooner rather than later.
Finally, the pair of you escaped the house. Waving a goodbye to Morgan, you rushed to the car and fumbled with the keys as you tried to open the door. The keys jangled musically before thudding dully to the pavement.
A light touch on your arm stilled your jerking motion to pick them up. “I got it,” Spencer told you, already half crouched to collect the keys. “I can drive?” He offered lightly.
“Thanks,” you nodded, breathless in your quiet panic.
The drive itself was quiet. Silence was no stranger to you and Spencer, but it was usually a silence bathed in comfort and quiet belonging. This silence was entirely different; heavy with your insecurities and punctuated by the gnaw of your nails between your teeth.
Spencer, the behavioural analyst that he was, clearly noticed your agitation. A warm hand settled upon your thigh as you came to a stop at a red light. His thumb swiped lightly over the skin there and pressed just enough comfort into you to allow your thoughts return to coherency.
Fixing your gaze upon him, you felt the usual affection bubble through you as your eyes traced the wash of neon red light bathing his features. You loved this man, more than you had ever thought possible. You wanted everything with him, kids included, but… just not yet.
Noticing your fixation upon his features, he turned a brief gaze to you despite the light bathing him now turning green. Softly, as though worried he would scare you off, he asked; “you okay?”
You lips parted, a sullen and dishonest ‘yes’ forming on your tongue, but you stopped yourself. You felt so lucky to have Spencer and to begin with you had continually hidden your fears and feelings from him in fear of somehow pushing him away. You had quickly learnt that this made neither you nor Spencer very happy. In aid of that past epiphany, you told him the truth. “No, not really.”
Spencer didn’t get angry, didn’t get annoyed or offended, didn’t hold anything against you. Instead, Spencer nodded calmly, pulled into an empty parking lot, clicked the car into park, and looked to you patiently.
He didn’t push you to tell him everything instantly, he sat calmly with an open expression and waited. Taking a deep settling breath, you sorted through your thoughts and started to speak. “I love you, Spencer.” You assured him. Considering the way his eyebrows pulled together and fear twisted his expression you realised it was probably the worst way to start. It sounded like the beginning of a breakup which was the opposite of your intention. “I’m not breaking up with you!” You almost shouted in your hurry to calm his fears. Relief settled his shoulders instantly and he nodded for you to continue.
Your hands were wringing together in your lap as you continued. “It’s just… what Morgan said.”
One hand on the wheel, he turned as much as the car allowed to face you. “About having kids?”
Nodding emphatically, entirely relieved that he knew exactly what was on your mind, you twisted in your seat towards him. “I just… I’m only 26.”
“I know.” He told you, with a strange little laugh indicating he wasn’t entirely sure why that detail was relevant.
“Well… I do want kids, Spencer, you know I do but… I’m only26.”
It was a quiet for a long while as his gaze settled on the middle distance. Tone filled with uncertainty, he tried to confirm what exactly was bothering you. “Are you… worried I’m not going to want to wait for you to be ready?”
You didn’t verbally reply, afraid to confirm this out loud, but you nodded with your gaze stuck on your lap.
His fingers drummed against the wheel and you couldn’t help your gaze from darting to the motion. From there, it was impossible to keep your gaze from his features. Thoughtfulness had overtaken them, eyebrows pulled together as he looked over you. Eventually, he carefully formulated his response. “Honestly,” you gulped in response, “I would love to have kids now or-or soon at least.” You almost shrunk back into your seat in disappointment but you tried your best to remain strong. “But,” he added in a slight panic, watching the badly hidden sadness quickly overtake you, “what I would love more is for you to be their mother.”
Looking at him through your lashes, you whispered out; “are you sure?”
“Yes.” He told you simply but, because it was Spencer he couldn’t help but to add; “the physical and social impact of pregnancy and child rearing is significantly greater for mothers than fathers. On average it’s estimated that women who give birth before-“
You cut him off with an almost panicked giggle and a hand gripping his. “Spencer, maybe stop before I decide against having kids altogether.”
A hearty laugh met yours and the air of the car felt instantly lighter. How easy things were to deal with when you simply communicated with each other. Spencer was so open with you about your worries, fears, and feelings. It was entirely refreshing. You had come to realise that it was exactly what a relationship shouldbe.
A realisation came to him suddenly, you could tell in the way his eyes widened and mouth dropped open as though to immediately say whatever had sprung to mind. He quickly stopped himself and awkwardly cleared his throat as though that would distract you. It didn’t work. “What?” You asked, lightheartedly.
“It’s nothing.” Dubiously, you raised your eyebrows and sternly crossed your arms. It did not take long for him to relent. “It’s… how do you-um-feel about marriage?”
He said the last word so quietly that you were forced to strain to hear it. You weren’t even certain you had heard him correctly. “Marriage?” Nodding, he scratched the back of his neck and avoided your searching gaze. Suspicion spawned in you. “I’m not… averse to marriage.” You told him honestly.
Only partially settled, he awkwardly stumbled out another question. “But is- are you - do you want to wait for that as well?”
Warmth spilled through your chest as you worked out what Spencer was trying so very hard not to tell you. “Are you gonna ask me soon?”
Spencer was an incredibly talented man, but one thing he could never seem to do was lie to you. “No!” He squeaked out, an obvious mistruth, “I’m just asking. I’m curious.”
You gave him a knowing smile that did nothing to hide your obvious excitement. Almost bouncing up and down in your seat you asked; “Is it gonna be soon?”
Dramatically, he shook his head. “No! No, I just-“ he cut himself off as he looked at your excitable expression. Shoulders dropping, realising the cat was well and truly out of the bag, he grumbled despite his smile. “Just act surprised when it happens, okay?”
You practically lit up, cheeks almost aching as you beamed at him. “So it is happening?”
“Let’s go home?” Was his unsubtle attempt to redirect your thoughts. With a wry grin, he clicked the car back into drive but replaced his hand upon your thigh. You slipped your fingers beneath his, taking his hand from your leg and instead squeezing it between both of yours.
Summary: When you and Spencer share a room, you wonder over how inevitable the actions of the next hours are.
A/N: I feel like this is super long and I know for a fact it’s super self-indulgent. Not to spoil what we all knew was coming but this is also 18+. Let me know what you think!
“So, uh-“ Spencer’s voice cut off prematurely as the door swung open to reveal the small room the two of you were about to share. Clearing his throat, voice cracking with dryness as he spoke once more, he ducked his head. “This is it.”
Your eyes darted frenetically between his downcast gaze and the cosy room before you. “Nice,” you said stupidly. Silence stretched between you, your single word seeming to cement the tension in the air rather than dispelling it as you had hoped. Realising that one of you needed to take the leap and actually step into the room, you squared your shoulders and took that step forward. It felt as though you were hurling yourself into the sun considering the way the heat burned through you as he stepped in behind you and clicked the door closed.
Steeling yourself, you dropped your bag and turned to face him. As much as you had planned to say something witty and charming, something that would fully break the tension between the two of you, the moment your eyes met his you realised any attempt would be fruitless. The last few days of playful teasing had created a heat between you that wasn’t going to dissipate with a few well selected words.
You had a feeling that there was only one way the tension between you would be relieved.
Eyes darting around, clearly looking for something to distract his suddenly fidgeting hands, he saw your discarded bag and rushed forward. Hefting it into his hands, he bundled past you and towards the bed closest to the window.
Dropping your bag beside the neatly made bed, he nodded his head once to himself before turning back to you. “You – uh – you can take this bed.” He explained, only a light stutter tarring the words.
Casting a gaze over the bed and the space around it, you raised an eyebrow with a realisation. The bed was perfectly made, the other bed seeming messy in comparison, and the bedside table held a stack of three heavy hardbacks that Morgan would never look twice at, let alone read. “This is your bed?”
He looked from the bed to you and back again, seeming to realise what it sounded like he was implying. “Oh – um,” his features scrunched and he looked as though he were thinking very hard about something. “It’s just this bed is the furthest from the door so in the case of an intruder you would be the second target giving you ample time to escape or call for help or-or…” he stuttered and stalled entirely as you approached him.
Grasping the wrist of the hand that was half raised in some kind of gesture, you looked down to his hands even as your thumb swiped over his wrist. “You expecting an intruder?”
His hand turned under yours, palm flipping up to allow his fingers grip your palm. Unlike yours, his eyes did not shift up to meet yours, they remained fixed on your hand in his. “It’s just a precaution.” He still refused to look up at you, second hand coming up to nervously straighten the cuff of your shirt sleeve. “The electrical locking system of most hotels is actually much less secure than their more classical analogue counterpart. Picking a barrel lock requires much more skill than-“He paused when you slipped your hand free and moved towards the door before he powered through the hesitation. “Than – um – digital locks becau-“ He completely stalled as you gripped the table beside the door and hefted it over the door. “What are you doing?”
Grinning at him as you finished placing the table, you snatched a dusty glass vase from the sideboard. “Learnt this trick from Emily,” you told him, balancing the vase on the very edge of the table, “if someone comes in the vase will fall and smash, waking us both up.”
He mirrored your bright smile with a particularly subdued one of his own. “It’s doubtful the vase would smash, the carpeted floor would provide enough of a cushion to keep it in tact.”
“Right,” you muttered in response, wondering how you could shift this conversation away from the hypothetical intruder the two of you were supposedly going to face. Inspiration struck you quickly and a devilish smile twisted your lips; “hey Reid?”
The glint in your eye clearly sent alarm bells ringing through his head if the bobbing of his adam’s apple were any indication.
“Yeah?” He asked, hoarsely.
Slowly, you sidled back towards him. “What d’you reckon Morgan did to his back?”
Brown eyes narrowed on you, gaze flicking between both your eyes as he tried to calculate where you were going with this. You couldn’t blame him for his confusion, you were taking a very roundabout route to your destination but you were hoping it would prove worthwhile.
“I’m not sure,” Spencer told you plainly. You briefly wondered if he housed the same suspicions as you concerning Morgan’s sudden inability to share a room.
Reaching him once more, you watched the way he quickly shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled up at him. The movement was casual enough that you could dismiss it but the way he subtly rocked back and forth on his heels told you that the motion was more a nervous one.
“You could’ve helped him with that, couldn’t you, doc?”
And then, he fell right into your trap.
“I’m not actually a medical doctor,” he told you, as if you didn’t know. “Although, if the problem is muscular rather than skeletal he would probably require a good masseuse.” You couldn’t help but smile as he led the conversation right where you had hoped he would.
“One of your PHDs isn’t in massage then?”
Apprehension overtook him. “Ah – no.”
You shrugged, undoing his tie with nimble fingers and pulling it free. As you pulled the fabric from him it pulled him ever so slightly closer to you and he hardly made an effort to prevent the motion. You could feel his staggered breath spill warmth over your lips and you fumbled slightly with his tie as you worked up the courage for your next move.
“Well, I could teach you?” Your suggestion was met with a gaze that swept over your figure and neither of you paid much attention to where you threw his tie.
The hoarseness of his voice caused a dryness of your own throat, anticipation tasting sweet in your mouth. “You don’t have to do that.”
Shrugging, left hand smoothing over his chest where the tie had been, you gave a response. “You tried to teach me to speed read a few days ago,” you heavily emphasised the word tried, earning a laugh from the man before you, “consider this payback?”
Lips darting out to wet his lips, he nodded softly.
Beaming in response, your plan falling into place so perfectly around you, you patted his chest pointedly. “Sit down, doc.”
Nervousness practically poured from him but he followed your instruction; perching on the edge of the bed so precariously you were surprised he didn’t fall off.
Spencer’s gaze followed your movement until you disappeared behind him, at which point his hands clenched together in his lap. You clambered onto the bed behind him, your own more subtle nerves making the movement clumsier than you would have liked, and knelt behind him.
The tense set of his shoulders was the opposite effect that you had been hoping to have. Beneath the first touch of your hands they somehow stiffened even more. Lightly working your thumbs into the surprisingly substantial knots of his upper back, you leaned forward to murmur close to his ear. “Spencer, relax.”
He let out an extended breath that shook with a mix of laughter and something more promising. The laughter did soften his shoulders beneath your ministrations. “What?” You questioned softly.
Beginning to melt into you, his head fell back just enough for you to watch his eyes fall closed. “You just-“ he cut himself off as he hummed with satisfaction; the noise sending your tongue sweeping over your lips. “You don’t use my name that often.”
He didn’t seem to notice how much he had just given away; the possibilities that pooled in your mind at the power he had unknowingly just handed you. You gave no verbal reply but your hands became more insistent in their attempt at drawing more hums of pleasure from him.
“Does that feel good?” You asked lowly, raising on your knees slightly to gain a height advantage.
Almost unconsciously, his head fell back farther: resting against you now and you smiled down at his closed eyes. “Yeah,” he told you, the word becoming breathy almost immediately, before he mumbled out more confirmation “feels good.”
In all the time you had known him, you had never seen him so unrestrained, so relaxed. You almost didn’t want to ruin it by pushing this further but when his now blown eyes opened to find you, you changed your mind. The gaze that had found you, however briefly, was filled with a dark promise you had never expected to find.
You let one hand trail upwards from the back of his neck, fingers working through his hair and nails lightly scratching his scalp. The noise of satisfaction that one simple action pulled from him bolstered your confidence enough to let your other hand slip softly down his chest.
As you undid his second top button, letting your fingertips tease the skin of his chest, you gave an obvious excuse for your actions. “Massages are more effective without a shirt in the way,” he swallowed thickly at your words, “do you mind?”
To begin with, he shook his head that he didn’t mind, eyes squeezing shut. But, as you undid the next button and let your entire hand slip beneath his shirt, his hands stopped you.
Pausing immediately, you looked questioningly down to him. His fingers were flexing where they held your wrist, eyes squeezing shut before opening to settle on you with scrunched eyebrows. All clear signs of hesitation.
You were making your desire for him more than obvious at this point, you supposed that some of your actions over the previous days could be explained away with enough mental gymnastics, but with your hand under his shirt it was impossible to ignore. So, what was making him hesitate so much?
After a moment apparently warring with himself, he gave your wrist a final squeeze and forced some words out. “The best way to learn a new skill is…” he looked down at your wrist caught in his hand briefly before daring to meet your eye once more, “practice.”
Now, that was promising. Realising that, for his sake, you were going to have to give up some of your control of this situation - you pulled your hands back. Unable to completely retract from him without attempting to send his thoughts into a spiral, you leaned close to his ear one last time.
“Where do you want me?”
He remained for a brief pause, shifting in his seat while his eyes darted back and forth over the thoughts in his head. Eventually, he stood and you almost pouted at the cool air he left behind.
Sitting back on your heels, leaving your palms resting on your knees, you blinked innocently up at him. Considering the way his eyes widened at the sight of you kneeling before him, it was a wonder you kept a victorious smirk from breaking your show of faux innocence.
Recovering himself, Spencer vaguely gestured for you to turn around. Following instruction without daring to tease him further, you turned and shuffled backwards until your back was flush to the edge of the bed.
Now that you couldn’t see him, anticipation killed you. He didn’t move to you immediately but you could hear him shifting behind you. Without seeing his face you couldn’t tell whether he was purposefully dragging this out to make you squirm or if his nerves were getting the better of him.
The anticipation made your skin tingle and when he finally touched you you felt as though you might explode. Immediately, you sank into his touch with a contented sigh. This small sound he pulled from you seemed to bolster his confidence and his hands became firmer.
You weren’t sure if he genuinely was just a quick study, although that wouldn’t surprise you, or if he had lied about not knowing how to do this. His hands, that you had been so drawn to for the last few days, genuinely seemed magic. Your shoulders dropped and your back relaxed as he worked your muscles perfectly, the warmth of his hands pushing comfort into you. You practically melted beneath him.
You let out a mewl of contentment that stalled his hands, sending them gripping you with an urgency that he couldn’t hope to hide. The breath he heaved out ruffled your hair and you suddenly realised how close he had become to you.
Daring to lean back slightly, trusting him to not let you fall, you sighed as his hands began to move once more. As much as you were enjoying melting beneath his ministrations, you were hoping he would dare to push this further.
Impatience picked at you however, your body unwilling to wait now that you knew how well his hands could work you, and you took action. Nerves did try to halt you; what you were about to do would either push this interaction to where you really wanted it to go or would stop it entirely.
Throwing caution to the wind, reassuring yourself with the memories of how he had looked at you earlier, you tilted your head back. Head resting against him, you let your eyes fall shut and hoped he was looking down at your expression.
Biting your lip you let a muffled moan slip free. The noise wasn’t a complete lie, you did feel incredible right now, but it was a definite exaggeration. Then, using the weapon he had so carelessly given you earlier, you let a few breathy words escape you. “Oh, Spencer, that feels so good.”
What sounded like a high whine got caught in his throat but instead of falling into you like you had hoped he would, he fell away from you. It took you a moment to right yourself, considering how heavily you had been leaning against him you almost fell off the bed entirely, and by the time you turned to face him he had sat on the bed opposite you.
His elbows rested against his knees as his body fell forward and his hands rubbed harshly against his eyes. Guilt tore through you, he looked so uncomfortable.
Pulling your knees into your chest, you hugged yourself to try and forestall the discomfort now pulling at you. “Sorry,” you told him so quickly the word came out almost unintelligible. “I’m just y’know overstressed and- and like everything else you - you’re really good at that-“
Luckily, he cut off your words before they could devolve even further into rambling insanity. “You-“ he started awkwardly, lips pressed together as he tried to force his words out. “You’ve been flirting with me?” he finished quietly, eyes never quite reaching yours.
Why he phrased that as a question you weren’t sure. Had he not been paying attention the last few days? It was obvious. You didn’t bother denying it; “yeah, I- I have been,” you told him, nodding slowly as you tried to figure out what had gone so wrong.
Finally, he managed to catch your gaze. His eyes weren’t guarded as you had feared, they were still warm and open - never closing to you. “Is it…” Spencer was struggling so much getting these words out that you wished you could just read his mind and save him from the stress. Alas, you could not work out what was happening in that brain of his. “It’s just…” he wrung his hands together. “Are you just curious?” He rushed out eventually, words jumbling together in his rush. “Just for-for a night or do you…”
He really was struggling to force this out but, luckily for him, you had worked out where his meandering words were headed. “Spencer,” you breathed out, his shoulders dropping as he realised he was no longer expected to keep talking. Standing from your spot on the bed, you took a few steps to stand in the space before him. “You wanna date me.”
You didn’t need to ask and so you gave it as a statement. His hesitance and uncertainty now made perfect sense; his attraction to you was more than skin deep and he didn’t want to misread the situation.
He held your gaze, pressed his lips together, and nodded silently.
Finally gaining this confirmation, you smiled brightly down at him. You bounced the last step to him, hands framing his face to keep him looking up at you as you let a gleeful laugh free. At your expression, he finally smiled.
Bending at the hip, you brought your face close to his. Your lips brushed his as you murmured a single word. “Good,” you punctuated the word with your lips, a soft kiss that quickly became more as a large hand gripped you and pulled you closer.
Your noise of surprise was swallowed by his lips as his second hand curled snugly around your waist. His previous nerves and uncertainty had disappeared entirely; replaced with a casual confidence that was evident in the way he pulled you into his lap.
From your new perch straddling the doctor you quickly realised why he had sat bent so awkwardly forwards earlier. Giggling into his kiss, you gave a whine when he responded by pulling his lips away. They didn’t stray far, one hand tugged through your hair to tilt your head back while his lips worked down your neck.
When you had started this venture with Spencer you had expected him to be nervous, almost clumsy, but it seemed that the moment you confirmed your long term interest in him he let go of any anxiety. The way he let his hands roam your figure while he worked on marking your neck thrilled you.
You worked the remainder of his buttons free whilst your brain still functioned well enough not to fumble. At the feel of your palms against his chest his own hands started pulling greedily at your shirt.
“I’ve wanted to get you out of this all day,” he all but growled out, the stubbornness of your buttons clearly frustrating his usually perfect dexterity.
“You don’t like it?” Pressing against him, making the task ahead of him a little more difficult, you shifted your hips as though you didn’t know the effect it would have on him. “I wore it just for you.”
Hands leaving your shirt, the buttons very much still done up, he squeezed your thighs meaningfully. “Oh, I know.” The words were almost drowned out by your yelp of surprise as he hefted you upwards. Locking your legs around his torso, you let one of your hands grip his hair as you pulled his lips back to yours.
A gasp was pulled from you as your back hit a mattress with such force you bounced a few times. Shuffling up to rest on your elbows, you marvelled at the imposing way he was looking down at you. His large height was no surprise to you but the way he looked over you now was intimidating in the best way. “Much better,” he commented - smugness dripping from his tone.
Excitement tingled through you at this bold Spencer you had never encountered before. He dropped on top of you, arms caging you in as a more skilled hand pulled your buttons free.
It was interesting; when he was in a position of control over you he seemed much more confident in his every ministration but flip the scenario and he became a fumbling mess beneath you.
The possibilities were endless for the future trysts that were to hopefully come, but your mind was thrown back into the moment at the feel of his rough palms against your bare stomach. “You’ve been teasing me with this all day,” he murmured against your collarbone, lithe finger hooking underneath the middle band of your bra.
“Mhm,” you hummed, wiggling beneath him in an attempt to push him to touch you in one of the places begging for his attention. “Didn’t think you noticed.” That was an obvious lie.
From the smirk he shot up at you from his new position over your abdomen, it was clear he caught the mistruth too. “No?” He questioned, the warm breath that spilt over your stomach sending a pleasant shiver through your figure. “You haven’t been thinking about this?” He punctuated the question with fingertips dragging over your stomach, a deliberate delicacy in the action that sent you writhing beneath him. Your reaction did nothing but embolden him further. “You weren’t wondering how good my hands would feel?” Your tongue couldn’t quite form words of affirmation around your shallow breaths.
If you had known it would be like this you would have pounced on him sooner.
His fingers skirted beneath the waistband of your pants but immediately returned to your stomach despite your whining protest. Spencer had the audacity to laugh down at you, taking a moment to watch you mewl beneath him and likely saving the image to remember perfectly until the very end of time.
“Spencer,” you complained when his hands stilled upon you entirely.
He jerked back into action, having seemingly forgotten himself as he had watched you, and tugged more insistently at your pants.
Lifting your legs, impatience begging you to help him undress you, you almost shivered as the cool air kissed the skin of your legs. You did shiver when his hands warmed your thighs, his insistent grip tugging you closer. Unwilling to let him take complete control of the situation, keeping the playfulness of the previous days alive even in this heated exchange, you pulled your legs free.
Caging him in with your thighs slung over his hips you used his figure as leverage to pull yourself up. Hands slipping over his shoulders you pushed his shirt from him. Nails lightly marking over his shoulders you pulled his lips to yours. You teased him - cutting off the kiss just as he was falling entirely into it by pulling back as your hands worked his belt; his bottom lip trapped beneath your teeth until you decided to release it.
Just as your hand dipped beneath the waistband of his slacks, he harshly gripped at your arms halting you. A challenging gaze met yours, one eyebrow quirking at you even as his lips couldn’t keep from raising in a smirk.
Slowly, he leaned into you. Eyes dropping to your lips, gaze lingering there as his low voice murmured hoarsely to you. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” the phrase was punctuated with your gasp as he pushed you heavily back. Still knelt over you, his hands washed over your thighs - dragging slowly over the supple skin but lingering longer as he spoke darkly. “So, this is gonna go exactly,” as he spoke his fingers slipped beneath the thin fabric of your underwear and you could practically see his ego inflate at the wetness already pooled there, “how I want it to go.”
You tried to squirm but it merely worked to slow his swirling fingers. He had been right earlier; you had spent the past days entirely distracted with thoughts of how his hands would feel on you but nothing in your wildest fantasies could have lived up to the way his fingers worked you. “Did you hear me?” You heard his voice through the haze of your own pleasure but were only able to give a response when his hands purposefully stilled.
“M’kay,” you whined, tugging at his wrist in a pathetic attempt to get him to move.
The ministrations continued, the sensations overwhelming but he never pushed you close enough to that precipice you were quickly becoming desperate to fall from. From the smugness overtaking him you could tell he was fully aware of how unfair he was being. “What was that?” He pushed.
It was shocking, really, how powerless he had so swiftly made you. You enjoyed this shift in the power dynamic between you, however, and considering how he was already making you feel you were more than willing to let him take the reigns. In fact, you couldn’t stop the words that spilled so desperately from your lips. “Ah- Spencer- please!”
Just as you were on the precipice of collapsing into yourself, he stopped again. His free hand moved up to grip your chin, turning you to face him, and two lithe fingers tapped your cheek in silent instruction to open the eyes you had not noticed falling closed. When he held your desired gaze, he spoke slowly to you; “please, what?”
“Spencer…” you whined again, hoping his name alone would earn you your release. Pointedly, he swiped his slicked fingers over your clit once, but only once. You bucked at the movement but quickly gave in to his request. Locking a determined gaze on him, you begged him with as much authority as the words could allow. “Spencer, please let me cum.”
You couldn’t decipher whether it was victory or desire that splashed a new darkness into his caramel eyes, but you couldn’t think to care when his ministrations restarted in force. “Do you really think you deserve to?” The finger that slipped inside of you certainly didn’t match up with his question but you nodded into the sensation regardless.
“Y-yes, I do.” You managed between gasping breaths as a second finger joined the first. If he kept going with the relentless pace he had set it soon wouldn’t matter whether you really deserved to cum or not.
If he noticed the rapid approach of your orgasm he did nothing to prevent it. If anything he sent you careening to it more quickly when his thumb stretched up to circle your clit whilst his fingers curled deliciously inside you. “Is this what you imagined?”
The tone of the question demanded an answer and you nodded up at him. The hand that had gripped your chin relented only for his thumb to swipe over your lips as he demanded verbalisation; “use your words.”
“No,” you told him honestly, his answering hesitation quickly abated by your next gasping words, “this is better.”
He rewarded your honesty by redoubling his efforts. The hand on your face trailed down to harshly pull the fabric of your bra out of his way. The delicious combination of his hand roughly kneading your breasts, blunted nails leaving half-moons in the tender flesh, alongside his fingers curling inside of you finally sent you over the edge.
Both hands tightly gripped his arm as you came. You felt so awash with the crest of pleasure you had crashed into that you needed to anchor yourself to him just to stay present. The feeling was so intense you couldn’t be sure if any noise managed to leave you, you knew your mouth had opened as though to moan wantonly but the blood rushing through your ears and the euphoria washing over your thoughts made it hard to tell.
Eventually, the tides of pleasure slowed to ebbing waves. They were present, obvious in the way you would twitch every so often, but the world slowly came back into focus. Unsurprisingly, the first thing your gaze settled upon was Spencer.
Satisfaction was written clearly over his features as he looked over the mess he had already managed to make of you. You jolted visibly as he withdraw his fingers from you and swallowed thickly as you watched him lick them clean. Considering the stratospheric orgasm you had just returned from it was unfair how quickly that single salacious action made you needy for more. You were almost certain that Spencer would be the death of you.
You barely cared if he knew it at this point.
Gripping his wrist, you forced the fingers from his mouth and pulled him closer to you. “Spencer, I need you to fuck me right now.”
He pulled back despite your protests but you settled your complaints when he pulled your underwear entirely off. The noise of his clinking belt provided a kind of musical backdrop for the low timbre of his voice as he spoke next. “You’re not satisfied?”
It was clear in his tone that he more than knew the answer to this question and that your honest answer would hand him any power you had managed to hold onto this far. But you simply did not care.
“I don’t think I could ever get enough of you.” You told him, your earnestness unexpected but entirely honest in this moment.
He leant into you, a lingering kiss pressed to your lips as a hand swept the hair from you face. The moment was slower than those that had preceded it, a sweetness pervading the entire exchange, but it didn’t seem to alter the flow of your intimacy. If anything, it ramped up the heat between you even further; considering the warm ache quickly forming between your thighs it was hard to believe that you had justorgasmed.
His lips distracted you entirely; too wrapped up in him, as you were, to notice that he had freed himself from his slacks. You broke from his lips with a more than audible gasp when you felt him enter you, but he stopped his progress immediately when you squeezed your eyes shut. “No, look at me.”
With great effort, you forced a steady gaze on him. He had barely breached you but you could hardly keep still as he pushed deeper. Considering the heated days that had led up to this moment his self control was impressive; every millimetre he inched forward was slow, measured. His eyes roaming your features, finding every slight reaction you gave him and savouring the sight.
You had had enough. Using the only slight leverage he had allowed you, you rocked your hips purposefully to meet him. Grip tightening on your thighs his head caved into your neck as he choked on a groan.
Now, with him bottomed out inside you, you realised why he had been so torturously slow. His large hands had always made your mind wander, however inappropriately, and consider the size of him. With your walls now deliciously stretched around him, you had your answer. Despite your rush to experience him, you were glad for his patience, your body needed time to relax around his size.
Spencer aided this adjustment with a finger swiping purposefully over your clit and his mouth moving over yours. Melting into him, body quickly becoming pliable to him, you shifted your hips in a quiet indication that you were ready and waiting.
When he shifted it was only slightly but it still drew a throaty whine from you. Spencer’s own low voice joined your unintelligible noise, a delicious curse falling from his lips; “fuck.”
Your memory was hardly faultless like his, but you were sure you had never heard him swear before. There was no doubt you would remember hearing such dirty words in his familiar timbre. After all, the way he said just that one word was already ingrained in your mind after a single iteration.
“Why does that sound so good when you say it?” His reply was non-verbal but seemed to somehow answer your question regardless. He pulled back, almost entirely leaving you, before slamming forwards in a sudden, sharp movement that filled you entirely. Your back arched into him, your arms gripping him instinctively - desperate to pull him somehow closer still.
The forceful pace he set was indicative of the slow but burning heat that had built and built and built over the past days. One of his large hands pushed your left hip, keeping you from squirming beneath him, whilst the other framed your features as his mouth dropped to your neck.
Sloppily, his lips and tongue worked over your hammering pulse. The delicacy of his actions disappearing alongside the harshness of his thrusts. You could feel the peak of pleasure building inside you once again, the friction of his action pushing you closer and closer but never close enough. You let your hand wander down the small space between your bodies, fingers quickly finding your clit and working yourself desperately to the edge.
His head raised from your neck, molten eyes meeting yours before darting down to where your fingers worked circles over your clit. His own hand shot down, smacking yours carelessly out of the way, and worked over you. Something about his fingers, his calloused fingertips upon you, was more addictive than any pleasure you could bring yourself.
“Oh god…” was the only warning you could give before you dove headfirst into another toe curling orgasm. You knew well enough by now that he would want your eyes on him as you rode through your high and so you let his warm eyes overtake your vision.
Your walls clenched around him, pulling him in further and you could tell he wasn’t far behind you. When your name repeatedly spilled from him like a nonsensical prayer, he collapsed forward and pressed his lips harshly to yours. He came with a shudder and a groan against you before he slowed his movements entirely.
The air of the room was then bathed in a subtle quiet, punctuated only by the slowing puffs of breath as the pair of you basked in your shared afterglow. Your hands skittered up and down his back, one of them moving higher to press softly into his hair and you smiled as he hummed with appreciation.
Eventually, even the satisfaction he had just brought you could do nothing to ease the growing heaviness of him on top of you. “Spencer,” you murmured, lips grazing his temple as you turned to face him, “you’re heavy.”
He lifted his head, a smirk shot at you before his lips grazed your temple, then your cheek, then your lips, and finally your forehead. The action was so saccharine after the intensity that you had just shared that you couldn’t help but giggle at the pleasant juxtaposition.
You shuddered as he pulled himself from you. When he left you the relief of his weight leaving you was quickly overwhelmed with disappointment as he left the bed entirely. You pouted. Seeming to sense your gaze upon him, he turned back to you even as he continued into the bathroom. “I’m coming back!” He reassured, the words almost tinny as they bounced to you from the tiled bathroom.
The faucet ran briefly, the struggle of the water evident in the creaking of copper pipes, before he reappeared. Something warm wormed it’s way into your chest as you spotted the flannel clutched in his hand and you sank into the bed as he approached. His weight shifted the bed and you looked up at him with a shyness that didn’t suit the situation.
Lightly he lifted one leg. Kissing your calf he lightly dragged the flannel down the inside of your thigh.
How and why such shyness was overtaking you at this point you weren’t sure. It was just… cleaning you up after having made such a mess of you seemed almost more intimate than what you had shared before.
“Are you gonna sleep next to me?” You were almost afraid to ask; the question seemed ridiculous but you just wanted to be sure.
His ministrations paused, the flannel discarded somewhere out of sight as he let soft hands wander over your smooth skin. “If you’ll let me.”
You laughed, relief washing through you. “Spencer,” you began coyly, “I just let you fuck me into the mattress, there’s not much I wouldn’t let you do.”
Grinning down at you, excitement sparkling in his eyes, he moved to stretch out beside you. “C’mere,” he murmured, hands pulling you into him as sleepy eyes fluttered shut.
————————————
You had bounced into the hotel restaurant the next morning, a quickly cooling coffee now sitting before you that you didn’t feel any need to drink. Spencer had waited upstairs before joining you; you had decided it would be too suspicious for the pair of you to arrive at breakfast together despite the fact that there was no reason for such a trivial action to rouse suspicion. If anything, your avoidance of arriving together would be moretelling.
And so, he was still struggling against the coffee machine whilst you sat happily at a table with Morgan and JJ.
“How was your night?” The question jolted you, head jerking to face Morgan before you spluttered out a reply.
“Uh- yeah - fine.” You tried to dismiss your obvious fluster with a wave of your hand.
Morgan nodded thoughtfully before tilting his head to face JJ, an expectant eyebrow raised. Ignoring his gaze, the woman looked at you closely. Eyes sweeping over your features, giving no answer to the questioning gaze you shot her, she deflated.
Leaning to her left she hefted her heavy bag into her lap and began digging through it. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you,” she told you, confusing you even more so, “but I hate it when Morgan’s right.”
As she spoke she pulled a twenty dollar bill free from her bag and handed it unhappily to Morgan.
“Thank you,” he gave her smugly, pinching the cash from her fingers.
Mouth dropping open, you realised exactly what they had bet on and dropped your gaze to examine yourself. You had been so careful; covering any marks he may have left on you with long sleeves and perfectly taming your mess of hair. What had given you away?!
JJ didn’t need to be asked for an answer. “I’ve never seen you this happy in the morning, not ever.” She stressed the last word as though you weren’t aware of this fact. “And before your coffee too? It’s obvious.”
You opened your mouth to come up with some vague mistruth that could save you but Spencer’s voice cut you off.
“What’s going on?” He asked, cluelessly, as he moved to sit beside you.
A/N:I did a thing. It became this thing because of @eideticmemory. I am in no way shape or form half the writer she is but I had to do this. Inspired by this anon.
Summary:Spencer losing his virginity. That’s it. That’s the plot
Spencer Reid did not party. He did not go to bars or get drunk. He rarely had more than one drink when he did go out with his coworkers, or more, was forced to. Don’t get it wrong, he loved them. They were more like a family to him than work buddies but in his line of work, he rarely had a day off. So when he did, he would prefer to spend it his way- curled up on his leather sofa with a good book, or ten. And no one could change his mind.
Now Derek Morgan, Spencer’s best friend and one of his aforementioned coworkers- although some might say they’re more akin to brothers than either of those labels- he liked to party. He loved going out with his friends, doing shots and drunkenly destroying open mic night. And he always, without fail, dragged Spencer out with him.
What? He was concerned for his friend. His best friend. Spencer never talked about what happened while on the job but Derek knew it got to him. It got to them all something that came with the territory. And recently he had been extra stressed and tense and Derek knew just what he needed.
A night out on the town where, hopefully, he could help pretty boy get laid.
Spencer didn’t want this. He begged, literally begged Derek to let him stay in but ultimately lost the fight. Because in the end, Spencer did enjoy hanging out with him he just wasn’t always too happy about the location. Or getting stranded at whatever bar and/or club they stumbled into after Derek, without fail, went home with a girl. Sometimes two.
Trilly’s was a local bar, often frequented by cops meaning it wasn’t too heavily trafficked and even when it was a busy night, it’s numbers didn’t compare to the bar Spence knew Derek would drag him to.
Which is why when Spencer agreed to go out, “Just for an hour, tops,” his one condition was that they go there. While his best friend may enjoy hitting on an entire group of girls at once, Spencer much preferred to sit in a corner and observe.
Flirting was not his forte and he had little to no desire to make it one. Sure, he’d been on a few dates before. Kissed one or two girls in college but dating just wasn’t really his thing. Really, it wasn’t. It’s not like he didn’t have game or anything. That totally wasn’t the reason.
As bad as it was, Trilly’s very rarely saw females. Spencer knew the statistics, and with under thirty percent of law enforcement being female, the odds were in his favor. He could go out, have a drink with his friend and avoid any awkward confrontations when Derek would inevitably try to be his wingman. It would be a fun, easy night.
After almost a month of detective work, Y/N had finally caught the son of a bitch who had been ransacking local, small businesses over the past two months in Alexandria. She was exhausted. Twenty-seven days of non-stop work, late nights and early mornings that sometimes bled into each other. She hadn’t taken a single day off.
Many of the businesses the culprit hit had to shut down because they didn’t have the means to stay open. Citizens didn’t want to shop at a store that had been burglarized by a man in the wind, worried he’d come back for more than just a few valuables. So Y/N put all her effort into finding him with some sliver of hope that it could save the business that hadn’t gone under already.
John Willis was pulled over for his taillight being out and the cop that apprehended him noticed several of the missing items that had been reported laying in his backseat. Y/N wondered how, after evading law enforcement for two months, he was caught so easily.
She didn’t let it weigh on her mind for long though. Willis was locked up and she finally got a night off.
She wouldn’t call herself a party girl, but she was known to get a little mischievous at the local cop bar, Trilly’s, every now and then. And tonight, she planned on having some fun.
Y/N dragged her best friend and crime-fighting partner, Jasmine, out with her. Jasmine had reluctantly agreed, having just gone through a pretty rough break-up. Y/N reminded her that he was trash and she would find someone better. “Or at the very least a very hot cop to have rebound sex with.”
Jasmine rolled her eyes. “I will do no such thing.” But she agreed to come out anyway.
When Y/N got to Jasmine’s apartment to pick her up, Jas was already waiting outside, dressed in a low cut deep blue dress that hugged her curvy figure. “Damn girl, I’d take you home in that outfit.” Y/N quipped as Jasmine got into the car.
Jasmine looked her best friend, who wore a similar dress that was red, up and down with a smirk. “Right back at you, sexy.”
Trilly’s was unusually busy for a Wednesday night. When Y/N and Jasmine finally made it through the door, the place was pretty packed. The music was turned up louder than normal and a large group of people had made the middle of the room into a makeshift dance floor. Or grind floor would be more accurate, as that’s the only dance move these people evidently knew how to do.
They squeezed their way past sweaty bodies to the bar, hailing the attention of the bartender almost immediately. Y/N ordered them a round of shots.
“Starting the night off strong, are we?” Jasmine popped one eyebrow up as she leaned against the slightly sticky bar littered with peanut shells and drops of missed alcohol.
Y/N nodded. “Only way to do it!” She partially yelled over all the commotion around her. The bartender set down two shots in front of them. “To rebound sex.”
Jasmine laughed, a barely noticeable blush dotting her cheekbones. “Mmhmm, sure.” She raised her glass but Y/N stopped her before she could down the liquid.
“Nuh-uh,” She tutted. “Say it back or else it won’t work.” With reluctance, Jasmine just barely whispered the cheer back but it was enough to satiate Y/N. “Much better.” She chimed. They clinked their glasses together and downed them simultaneously, placing them upside down on the bar after.
Spencer was already uncomfortable. Derek and him had literally just stepped foot in the bar and he was already regretting his decision to go out tonight. It being a Wednesday, he never thought in a million years it’d be this busy.
People pushed past each other in front of him. A group of at least twenty people were grinding against each other in the middle of the room where they’d deemed it the dance floor for the night. The floor was sticky as was the booth and table the two men eventually found themselves seated in. Spencer grimaced, his phobia of germs eating at his mind.
“Breathe pretty boy.” Derek smiled, slapping Spencer’s arm across the table. Spencer inhaled slowly, looking around at all the people bustling around him. This was clearly not his scene.
“I didn’t expect it to be this crowded.” Spencer yelled over the noise.
Derek laughed, “Where’s the fun in an empty bar?” Spencer held back the glare that was fighting to make itself known. When he didn’t respond, Derek slapped his hands on the table. “I’m going to go get us drinks.”
Y/N scanned the crowd for Jasmine who had said twenty minutes ago that she was going to slip out to the bathroom.
After a few minutes of searching, she spotted her friend practically sitting in the lap of some stranger at a booth across the room. She laughed to herself, setting some cash down on the bar for their drinks before making her way through the crowd.
When she gets to the booth, Jasmine looks up at her. “Y/N, you found me.” Her words are a little slurred. Y/N forgot how much of a lightweight her friend is. “This is Derek. He’s an FBI agent.” She whispered the last bit, or thought she did but the men at the booth laughed.
Which is when she noticed the guy sitting opposite them. She made eye contact with him and smiled. She could feel her face get hot but she passed it off on the alcohol coursing through her veins.
He was cute. Y/N studied his face for a second, hoping he wouldn’t notice her blatantly checking him out. He looked pretty young. Obviously he was old enough to be an FBI agent but had she not known that, she would have guessed him to be fresh out of college.
His hair was longer but it suited him and he had really kind eyes that Y/N was drawn to. Even though he sitting, she could tell he was tall. His shoulders slumped slightly as if trying to fold in on himself, something she knew all too well being quite tall herself.
“Y/N.” She introduced herself, snapping out of her dazed state and returning her attention to Derek, who was the exact opposite of the guy she was just looking at. “Nice to meet you. Sorry, about my friend.” She joked.
Derek shook his head, a wide smile on his face. “Nothing to be sorry about.” Any other guy and she would have been pulling Jasmine away but there was something about Derek that was non-threatening. She somehow knew her friend was in good hands.
Literally, he had great hands. His muscled arm was wrapped tightly round Jasmine’s waist as she leaned into his side. Y/N would be lying if she didn’t admit to his obvious allure.
Y/N looked back over to the other guy, who she now noticed had been staring at her the whole time. Upon them locking eyes, he swallowed. “Is this seat taken?” She asks him, pointing to the empty spot beside him. He shakes his head, his hands falling nervously into his lap.
Spencer was mentally scolding himself for being at a loss of words, which he never was. He could rattle off facts about literally anything and talk for hours but right now, he was speechless.
Y/N slide into the booth beside him. “So, are you with the FBI too?” She asked, her hands cupping her glass. She figured he was but since he didn’t offer her a name, she figured she would try and make conversation.
He nodded. Derek cleared his throat and Spencer looked up at him, pleadingly. His friend just aggressively nodded in Y/N’s direction, a way of telling him to say something.
“I’m Spencer.” He squeaked out.
Y/N looked up from the table. “It’s nice to meet you Spencer.” She smiled. Spencer waited for the inevitable offering of her hand, getting prepared to explain how he doesn’t shake hands because the amount of germs that are passed in a handshake are staggeringly high.
His eyebrows pinched together when a few moments passed and her hands didn’t move from her glass. “You don’t shake hands?” He asked, slightly dumbfounded.
Y/N chuckled. “Did you want me to?” She asked, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. Spencer’s cheeks ran crimson and Y/N smiled at herself. “Not on the job, don’t feel the need to be so formal.” She summed up, leaning against the worn leather of the booth.
“Where do you work?” It feels like such a dumb question but it’s left his mouth before he can process it. You’re at a cop bar, Spencer, where the fuck do you think?
“Alexandria PD.” Y/N answers without thought, sipping at her drink. “Been there for three years now.”
“Oh, don’t be so modest.” Jasmine waves her hand at her best friend, scoffing. She turns to Derek, pressing her pointer finger into his chest to accentuate her words. “She’s the lead detective. Youngest to ever be promoted.”
Spencer’s eyes don’t leave Y/N while Jasmine talks. Y/N looks at her friend incredulously but there’s a small smile on her face and a blush is creeping up her neck. “I don’t like bragging.” She says to Jasmine, a small laugh leaving her lips.
Spencer has never been mesmerized before but he’s completely lost in Y/N’s laugh that he barely hears Jasmine continue talking.
“Pfft, it’s a big deal, Y/N. It’s not every day that a twenty-five year old gets promoted to that position.” Jasmine continues.
“Sounds like congratulations are in order.” Derek smiles, his eyes never leaving Jasmine. Y/N shakes her head. Jasmine is definitely not going home in the same car she came in.
“Thank you, but it’s not a new promotion.” She takes another sip of her beer, welcoming any distraction at this point. She hates it when she’s the center of attention.
“She never wants to celebrate her successes.” Jasmine tuts, rolling her eyes. She finally breaks eye contact with Derek to look at Spencer. “You know, she was top of her class at UCLA and has three masters. Three. I barely got through my one.” Jasmine hiccups at the end, nodding.
Derek looks over at Spencer and Y/N. “Looks like pretty boys gonna have a run for his money.”
Y/N looks over at Spencer, quirking an eyebrow. “Oh.”
Spencer’s cheeks darken but he doesn’t offer further explanation. Y/N looks to Derek for answers instead. “Three PhD’s.” He says, raising three of his fingers up in conjunction with his words.
Y/N nearly chokes on her beer. “Three?” Getting her master’s was hard enough she couldn’t fathom doing it again for her doctorates.
“He goes by doctor.” Derek winks at her.
“Morgan.” Spencer warns, looking up at him with stern eyes. Derek throws his hands up in surrender. “You don’t have to call me doctor.” He says to Y/N, running a hand through his hair. “He just likes messing me.”
Y/N smirks. It’s small and nearly imperceptible but Spencer notices and it makes his breathing pick up. “Who said I didn’t want to, Doc?” Spencer swallows, pressing his hands together to distract himself.
The conversation moves on but after a while, Jasmine and Derek are in their own little world, leaving Spencer and Y/N to talk.
She learns that he was the youngest person ever recruited for the FBI, a fact which he didn’t want to own up to. Similar to Y/N, he didn’t like the spotlight on him. Unlike Y/N, he had a reason to have the spotlight on him, which she told him after finding out he’s a literal genius.
“You can’t have an IQ that high and expect people to notput you at the center of their attention.” Spencer blushed at her words.
“I don’t mind your attention.” He replies, making Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “But normally, people are more annoyed by it than they are fascinated by it.”
Y/N tucks a pieces of hair behind her ear. “Well they’re clearly missing out.”
They talk for what feels like hours. Every new piece of information Y/N gets, she savors. There’s something about Spencer that makes her want to know everything about him. And she damn near does.
He doesn’t just work for the FBI, he works for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, which is like the best of the best. He has an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute, a skill which Y/N is borderline envious of, and he’s from Las Vegas. Which is where his mom lives, in a clinical facility because she has schizophrenia.
“I’m so sorry, that must be really hard on you.” Y/N says, placing her hand on Spencer’s arm soothingly. Her eyes are soft like her hand which he notices when he accidentally brushes it. She really means it.
Spencer learns that Y/N came to Virginia after university because her dad passed away and she was the only person in her family close to him. He left everything to her which also meant she had to go through all his belongings.
A tenant in his apartment building found him dead. The initial report said he had died of natural causes but after his autopsy they found signs of foul play. As it turns out, he was murdered. It’s what propelled Y/N to become a cop in the first place. “I set up base here and never looked back.”
He also learned that she’s probably the sweetest and funniest person he’s ever met, and he’s friends with Penelope and JJ. She’s smart, she seems to pick up on all his little quirks and respects them. And she’s beautiful, which he knew from the instant he saw her but is even more pronounced now that he’s getting to know her.
The two had been so engrossed in their conversation they didn’t notice that their friends were no longer sitting across from them. With a quick glance behind them, Y/N saw Jasmine slip out the front door, holding Derek’s hand and laughing flirtatiously.
Spencer groans next to her. “He was my ride home.”
“Did you really think the night was going to end any differently for those two?” Y/N asks, settling back into the seat.
“No.” Spencer relents. Without thinking, he reaches across Y/N and takes her drink, taking a few sips before realizing what he’s done. “Sorry.” He says, placing the cup down.
Y/N moves a fraction of an inch closer to him. “I don’t mind.” Her hand lightly brushes his thigh. “But, as you probably already know, we practically just kissed.”
Spencer’s breath hitches in his throat as Y/N’s hand comes to rest fully on his thigh, her fingertips lightly tracing circles on his inner thigh. He tries to focus on anything else but he can practically feel the blood rushing to his dick.
Y/N notices the change in his demeanor, leaning in closer so she can whisper. “I’ll stop if you want me to.” Y/N doesn’t know what’s come over her. Sure, she’s hooked up with guys she just met at the bar before but she’s never been this straightforward with someone. Not right off the bat, and definitely not with this much ease.
The tension between them has been palpable ever since she sat down an hour ago and now, with their friends gone, there was nothing stopping her from commenting on it.
Spencer shook his head at her words, mumbling something Y/N didn’t quite pick up on. “What was that, doc?” She emphasized the last word, her hand slowly moving up his thigh.
He started to bounce his right leg nervously. Y/N smirked. “I make you nervous?” He nodded slowly. Y/N stopped what she was doing, removing her hand and putting some space in between them. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” She was suddenly overcome with embarrassment, her actions finally seeping into the logical side of her brain.
“I didn’t tell you to stop.” Spencer nearly growled. Now it was Y/N’s turns to blush as she nervously looked over at him. There was a hunger in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. She unconsciously squeezed her legs together.
He leans closer to her until his lips are grazing her ear. “The bathroom’s empty, we could sneak away, no one would even notice.”
Y/N swallows at the implication. He’s been watching, waiting for the right moment to initiate whatever the fuck this was. Which means he knew it would get to this at some point.
Without a second thought, Y/N grabs his hand, hauling him out of the booth and making a beeline for the bathroom.
Just as Spencer had told her, the bathroom was empty. That, of course, didn’t stop her from checking all the stalls to make for certain that they were alone. Trust me, no one wanted to hear what was about to happen.
Spencer was still standing by the door, his once cocky demeanor now dwindling into the awkward nervousness that Y/N had grown to love about him.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” She says softly, grabbing both his hands. They just met, she doesn’t know what he has or hasn’t done before and while Y/N might have some experience with bathroom sex, she’s found that not all people do. In fact, it’s very rare for her to find someone who has.
Spencer lets go of her hands and for a split second she thinks he’s going to turn around and walk out but then his lips are on hers and she’s trying to get her brain to catch up because she’s missing it.
In a surge of confidence, Spencer cups Y/N’s face, smashing his lips against hers. After a moment, she kisses back, her hands coming up to run through his hair.
The moans that fall from her lips at the contact has him hard. He moves them so she’s the one pressed against the door, his hands coming down to grab her hips and pull her against him.
His tongue asks for entry and she gladly concedes. In a swift motion, she’s wrapped her legs around his waist, his hands supporting her by holding her thighs.
Y/N’s dress has been effectively hiked up from the change in position and while she respects his respect for her, she wants his hands on her. She reaches down to move them up until they’re resting on her bum. With a satisfied grin she pulls away from his lips.
He looks at her, out of breath and red in the face. “You’re not wearing underwear.” He breaths out.
She laughs, curling her finger around the hair at the back of his neck. “Actually, I was. Seemed to have lost them.” She shrugs innocently.
His eyes widen as he realizes what she’s saying. Something in her knew he would get it. He chastely kisses her cheek, his lips hovering over her ear. “You took them off, didn’t you? When you went to the restroom twenty-seven minutes ago.”
Y/N bites her lip, partially to fight back the laugh that wanted to come out knowing Spencer had counted the minutes, and nods. “Naughty, naughty girl.” He whispers, biting her ear. She gasps at the action, not expecting it, which propels him to grind against her.
“You gonna do something about it, doc?” She giggles, leaning forward to place a kiss on his collarbone.
Spencer moves them over to the sinks and sets her down on the counter, standing between her legs as he kisses her neck. Y/N starts to undo the buttons of his shirt just enough to expose his chest, which she runs her fingernails down, leaving red tracks in their wake.
“Fuck.” He groans, his forehead pressing into her chest. She lifts his head up to kiss him, fingers combing through his hair again, an action she’s coming to thoroughly enjoy.
“Do you have a condom?” Y/N asks as she kisses down his neck, her hands following in motion until they hit the top of his jeans.
Something about the question jars Spencer. Like his thoughts finally register exactly what he’s doing and the nerves slowly creep back into his stomach. He nods hastily, reaching into his back pocket where his wallet is. He sets it down beside Y/N on the counter.
Y/N unbuttons his pants and pulls the zipper down, tantalizingly slow, being careful to avoid touching his erection. Still attacking his neck with kisses, she pushes both his jeans and boxers down and they land bunched around his ankles.
She can’t help but look. I mean, really, it’s human nature to be curious.
His whole body is flushed red, or marked red by her fingernails and mouth, and that doesn’t exclude what he’s packing. And boy, is he packing. Y/N swallows at the sight.
Spencer avoids eye contact now that he’s fully exposed but Y/N is gentle in bringing his eyes to hers. She kisses him. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. Bathroom sex is just like normal, bed sex.” She laughs a little at her phrasing.
Spencer just nods nervously, reaching next to her to pick up the condom. He rips the package open and, with slightly shaking hands, focuses on putting it on.
After a few moments of fumbling hands, ragged breaths and a deep red blush that’s been slowly creeping up his neck, a smile slides across Y/N’s face. She places her hands over his and he looks up at her with worry in his eyes. “This is your first time doing this, huh?”
He swallows nervously, a small nod of his head indicating that her assumption was correct. “Like, ever?” He nods again. She responds by bringing his lips to hers. Y/N kisses him gently, a lot more calm and composed than they had been walking into this bathroom.
There’s still a nervousness about him but Y/N feels him relax into the kiss, slowly gaining back some of the confidence he had a minute ago. His tongue swipes over her bottom lip, her jaw dropping to allow him to search her mouth with his tongue as if he’s done this a hundred times before.
Had she not asked, she never would have guessed that he was a virgin. Aside from the obvious nerves, which she had passed off as a combination of alcohol and public sex, there was nothing about the way he held himself that made her second guess it.
His blush has completely taken over his face and it makes Y/N’s heart beat faster, if that is even possible because it was already running at a million beats per second. The taste of him overwhelms her senses which is why she lets out a small whine when he pulls away.
Spencer looks into Y/N’s eyes, his own glazed over with lust. “It’s okay.” She whispers, dragging her hand down his chest until it lands right above his sex. “I’ll teach you.”
He gulps, audibly gulps, as she wraps her hand around his cock. His forehead falls to her shoulder briefly as a barely audible “fuck” falls out of his mouth.
Y/N shuts her eyes and tries to contain the excitement boiling inside of her.
She slips the condom on with ease. Spencer watches her do it before looking up at her. Now she can see just how nervous he is. His hands are slightly fidgeting at his sides so she grabs them, placing them on her hips.
She scoots forward enough for access while still being supported by the granite beneath her. Spencer’s hold on her hips tightens.
Y/N hooks her hands behind his neck, giving him a nod of approval. “Whenever you’re ready, baby.” She whispers, looking in his eyes. Her entire demeanor has changed. She’s settled down so that he can enjoy this as much as possible and her eyes reflect that kindness.
Spencer removes one of his hands from her hips to help guide himself. He fumbles a little but after a few misses, his tip gently pushes into her. Y/N inhales sharply at the contact.
“Is this okay?” Spencer asks hesitantly, searching Y/N’s eyes for any sign of regret. She nods her head enthusiastically, a whimper falling from her lips.
“Yes, please, Spence, fuck me.”
He obliges, inching into her slowly until he’s buried to the hilt. “You okay?” He asks again, freezing his motions.
Y/N, overcome with pleasure, takes a minute to reply. “Please keep going.”
He finds a steady rhythm. It takes him a bit of time but he gets there eventually, fueled on by the soft moans that fall sporadically from Y/N’s lips. His thrusts are slow at first, picking up in speed as he grows more confident.
Spencer, being the person he is, knows everything there is to know about sex. But knowing about it and actually doing it are two very different things and he’s coming to that realization very fast.
Words cannot describe how good this feels. The way her walls clench around his cock with every thrust. The feeling of her hands on his back, fingers pressing little crescents into his skin hard enough to leave a bruise. And the noises she makes when he hits that perfect spot, encouraging him to continue.
Pure bliss is what it is. If this is what heaven’s like, Spencer Reid would gladly die in Y/N’s arms right now.
Y/N hooks her ankles around his waist, pulling him closer. She gasps out a moan at the new angle, her head falling back. Spencer somehow manages to pull her hips even closer. He thrusts faster but at a steady pace that has Y/N’s legs shaking.
“Spencer.” She moans when his lips attach onto her neck and start sucking the spot just above her collarbone. She’s close, which honestly shocks her. She also knows Spencer’s not going to last much longer, she doesn’t expect him to at least.
“Shit.” He mumbles against her neck.
“You gonna come?” Y/N asks between gasps of breath, one of her hands moving down to rub circles on her clit.
“Mmhmm.” Spencer moans.
“Then come baby,” She encourages, getting closer to her own release now that her fingers are working are her core, electricity jolting her body.
He tuts, a moan breaking the action. Y/N can tell he’s holding back. Spencer lifts his head so he’s looking at her and it nearly sends him over the edge, that look of pleasure plastered on her face. “Wanna wait, for, fuck- for you.” He manages out between moans.
“I’m right behind you baby, just let go.” As if under her complete control, Spencer releases and within a second is tumbling over that edge, stilling inside her. His orgasm knocks the breath out of him.
He’s jerked off before, had countless orgasms in the privacy of his own bed but nothing like this. Never like this. His head falls onto Y/N’s shoulder, slick with sweat.
The feeling of Spencer unloading inside her has Y/N coming, Spencer’s name leaving her lips in broken moans as she wraps her arms around him.
Spencer remains motionless for a minute, trying to catch his breath. Y/N can’t fathom trying to move right now, so she welcomes the stillness, her hands rubbing Spencer’s back.
After a moment, he stands up and helps clean Y/N up. She smiles the whole time at the gesture. After pulling his clothes back on, Spencer stands in front of Y/N.
“That was…” Spencer breathed out, his hands landing on Y/N’s thighs.
“Unexpected.” She finished his thought. “Amazing. Best you’ve ever had?” She laughs, her hands propped on his shoulders.
“I have nothing to compare it to but I’ll get back to you on that.” Y/N laughed.
“I’ll hold you to that.” She smiles. He leans in and kisses her softly.
“It was definitely something.” Spencer says as he helps Y/N down from the counter, balancing her when she stumbles slightly under her weight.
Spencer’s arm wraps around her waist. “It definitely was.”
“Did you really think the night was going to end any differently?” He asks, repeating the words she had said to him right before everything changed.
Y/N smiled, shaking her head. “Nope. It was just what the doctor ordered.”
Summary: After failing his field test, Spencer is stuck on desk duty for a week. You, his usual partner for cases, get put with Morgan for the newest case, and Spencer can’t say he’s a fan. Oh no, he’s not a fan at all.
A/N: Hey I watch criminal minds now for one reason and one reason only. Can u guess what it is? Anyways, enjoy!
Word count: 2236
His eyes had followed you all day. His gaze stayed locked on your figure as you smiled, laughed, and pushed Morgan away with a blush. On any normal day, that would be you with him, but since Spencer failed his last gun-on-the-field test, he had been punished with one week of desk duty.
…Leaving you to partner up with Morgan on the newest case.
You and Spencer were good friends, both bonding over being the youngest on the squad while being somewhat prodigies. But where Spencer thrived in mind, you thrived in body, having one of the best aims at the academy and being exceptional at hand-to-hand combat.
Naturally, they paired you and Spencer together, tying together the two weak links. You’d needed more experience and familiarity with the cases the BAU handled; Spencer had needed training (or protection) on the off chance of a physical altercation happening on a case. But now that Spencer was confined to the office only, you were working without a partner, and so you had been paired up with Morgan.
Something you didn’t seem to mind one bit.
He could see it, the both of you working together over a table scattered with papers. Derek’s hand would brush yours or your shoulder would bump his. You would snort at something he said or look deep into his eyes while explaining a lead you had uncovered.
Spencer burned with envy, jaw tight and eye twitching as he clicked on his mouse a little too tightly, only to hear a small crack. Glancing down, he scoffed at the sight of his jammed button, no longer able to move and therefore no longer able to select anything on his computer. Useless.
When he returned his gaze to your and Derek’s forms, his chest jumped at the sight of you staring right at him, a small smile on your face. The moment you noticed Spencer look up, though, you flinched away, a flush of pink rising up to your cheeks as you began to cough and spin in the complete opposite direction to avoid his gaze.
Spencer rose to his feet in concern, and Derek glanced at you in surprise, chuckling and patting you on the back as you choked on your own spit.
“Wrong pipe?” Spencer could barely hear him say from the distance but could read his lips. Not that he focused on those words too much, too busy watching the way Derek’s hand rested on your back and rubbed your shoulder blade.
It was when you whispered something then, Derek leaning in to hear you better and you, in turn, leaning closer to him as well that Spencer finally tore his gaze away. A swell of hot jealousy rose in his chest and burned his throat like bile.
His chair rolled back and slammed against the wall, almost shaking the room as Spencer snapped up from his seat. People startled to attention at the sound of the crash, eyes wide and confused when they saw Spencer as the cause. He saw you had twisted around as well to see what had happened, brows furrowing and lips parted when you met his gaze.
He held it, eyes never leaving yours as he tugged his computer toward him, pulling random cords. When he finally unhooked something, anything, he gathered up the cord in his hands and announced to the group, “I need a new mouse.”
With his detached keyboard dangling by his side, Spencer stormed out of the room, leaving confusion and concern in his wake.
~~~
“You need to tell her.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Honey, you’re smart, not smooth–give up on this whole ‘lying makes me look cool’ spiel.”
Spencer bit his tongue, trying to focus his eyes on the screen that Garcia had pulled up. Photos of the recent unsub who’d been murdering teenage girls in a small town. Stuck at the home office, Spencer could only wait for information of the case’s status to reach him, otherwise he had no clue how it was going or how the team was doing.
Or if you were okay.
“Is it really a lie if there’s nothing to tell?” He dropped his eyes to the phone, still ringing and waiting for Morgan to pick up the call for the unsub’s identity.
“No,” Garcia sighed, “but in your case, there’s plenty to tell.” She adjusted her glasses while zooming in on the various pictures, only peering out of the corner of her eyes to say, “Face it, Reid, you’re a smitten kitten.”
“I am not-”
“Sweetness, whatcha got for me?”
“Suspect’s name and criminal history, as always. Aren’t I just a god?” Spencer rolls his eyes, sitting back in his chair and giving up on the argument as Garcia relays the information. Instead, he focused on the screen, familiarizing himself with the suspect until he heard your voice.
“Is Reid okay?” you asked in the background of the call, barely audible over Garcia and Morgan’s flirting. Spencer straightened up at that, head whipping toward the phone as he stopped in his tracks to listen for more.
Garcia raised a smug brow as she paused mid-sentence, both lines quiet and waiting for Spencer’s response. Spencer parted his lips, preparing to speak before you asked, “Is he there with Garcia?”
“Y-yes,” he sputtered, “I’m here.”
The room turned quiet, neither side of the call quite sure how to respond. A shuffling on Morgan’s side clued into the fact that he’d handed her his phone, allowing her to talk to her missing partner.
“Oh, um,” her voice was louder, its shakiness more noticeable, “cool-I mean, good.”
His heart warmed. “Yeah.”
It went dead silent again, silent enough that Spencer could hear Garcia’s lashes brushing her skin as she rolled her eyes. There was a buzzing running along his veins as he sat and waited, thinking of how you’d wanted to know if he was okay, if he was there.
“So… do- do you have any ideas about our guy?”
And just like that, it was just you and Spencer delving into a case together again, even if he was so far away.
“A few.”
“Give ‘em to me.”
~~~
It was the first unsub you’d taken down single-handedly, and the team decided to celebrate. “To YNs!” rang around the bar as the BAU clinked beer bottles together, everyone congratulating you and patting you on the back. A large grin spread across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes and making them gleam.
Spencer watched from a stool at the bar, a smile settling on his face dotted with a hint of pride. He watched as Garcia gave you a side hug, cracking her bottle against yours before whispering something in your ear that made your eyes widen. He tensed in his seat after that, grin dropping as a heavy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.
She told her. YN knows how I feel, and it wasn’t even from me. Shit.
Your eyes never looked up, never tried to meet his even though you knew where Spencer was in the room. He didn’t know if that was good or bad.
Panic rattled his brain as he watched your every emotion from then on, trying to gauge how you felt about what Garcia had told you.
It was hard to do when Morgan approached you.
That look was on his face; Spencer knew it well. After a few beers, Morgan was loose enough to hit on women, loose enough to hit on you.
Like a hawk, he watched the interaction–Morgan spoke under his breath, you laughed, he laid his hand on your shoulder, and you looked up at him with that gleam in your eyes.
Spencer should have known. He should have seen it coming. Why would any girl prefer him over a guy like Morgan? Especially you? Big, muscular guys who were at your level of strength and stamina, and even compared to your mind in some ways.
Why would you want him? He couldn’t even pass the gun-on-the-field test.
Even though it hurt, Spencer watched your interaction with Morgan a little longer, taking in how you nodded at what he said, biting your lip and blushing at what he’d muttered as Morgan pointed at him and- Shit, she’s looking, act natural!
Spencer spun toward the bar, almost falling off his stool as he slammed his hands against the counter to balance himself. Heart pounding in his chest, he set down the beer, a sigh escaping as he set his elbows on the surface and dropped his head into his hands.
If there was ever a time where Spencer envied Morgan (which wasn’t often), it would be now. He thought you and him had had a connection; every case aside from this week’s you’d worked by his side, asking for his guidance and in turn adding your own opinions, unfiltered by previous cases. It was his shoulder that brushed against yours while cramming together to overlook the same group of files and papers; it was his hand that skimmed over yours; he was the one you walked out with every night, looked toward for guidance, high-fived after solving a case, and laid your head on during a long flight home.
How could he have been so stupid?
“Spence?”
YN.
A hand pressed on top of one of his, still buried in his own hair. His skin tingled at your touch, and his heart tightened in appreciation. Gently, you tugged his hands out of his hair, forcing him to look up as you took a seat to his right.
“Hey, the only one who gets to tousle your hair is me, remember?” you teased, cheeks blooming into a soft pink. Spencer straightened up and faced you, eyes trailing up and down your face. When you shifted uncomfortably, he paled in embarrassment.
“Congrats on your first solve, YN.” Instantly, your face lit up, and Spencer’s chest constricted. God, he loved when you smiled at him.
“I couldn’t have done it without you.” You took a sip of your beer, missing Spencer’s face falling.
“Actually, it seems this was the one case you have done without me.” His voice turned forlorn, attracting your attention.
“What?”
His lips quirked in bitter amusement. “You seemed to handle things quite well with your new partner.”
Brows furrowing, you set down your beer, turning fully toward Spencer. “Are you talking about Morgan?”
Yes.
“Yes.”
You paused, gaze turning thoughtful as you observed Spencer’s every action. You could see right through him; he could feel it. But your words confused him. “This case… I didn’t like it very much.”
“What? Why?”
You shook your head. “It wasn’t right.”
“But you got the guy.”
“No,” you smiled softly. “I know that, but… I didn’t enjoy it like I usually do. Not that I’m, like, a sick person or something!” you rambled nervously, hands gesturing in a panic. “It’s just,” you clenched your eyes shut and took a breath, “it sucked that I couldn’t work it with you.”
Spencer froze.
“What?”
You opened your eyes and looked at him, face fully red. “I wish you’d been there. You know, instead of… in-instead of Morgan.”
Spencer’s jaw dropped. Your eyes widened.
“Not that I don’t like Morgan! Morgan’s awesome! Not that I like Morgan in that way, though–and-and I don’t like you in that way either! Wait, that’s not what I meant–what I mean is that I like you in a way that I don’t like Morgan. No, wait, I like you in a way that is different from the way I like Morgan, and-crap, that sounds wrong-”
Your voice seemed to fade as Spencer watched you frantically ramble. His heart pounded so loud it drowned out his own thoughts until all he could hear was Morgan’s not the one she likes; it’s me. She likes me. YN likes me and misses me and wants me around her and-holy shit.
“-and so yeah, I like you.” Your mouth slowed to a stop as you finally took in a breath, face transforming from the previous purple to a flushed red.
Spencer couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t take his eyes off you. The girl he’d fallen for since the minute he’d first met her returned his feelings.
“Spence?”
His eyes dropped to your lips, following the way they muttered his name.
“Spencer?”
He lifted his hand, brushing his fingers along your warm cheek before running his thumb over your bottom lip.
“Say it again,” he mumbled. “Please.”
“Spencer?”
“No.”
“I like you, Spencer,” you smiled against his thumb.
“Yes.” He leaned forward, stepping down from his stool and still towering over you as his nose pressed against yours. He tugged your lips to his, his hands drawing yours up to his hair before cupping your face. When you tightened your grip on his locks, he sighed. His hot breath warmed your face as he pulled away, his thumb brushing along your puffy lower lip. “Always yes.”
