dead to me| 2- s. r

TWENTY-NINE

WARNINGS: do i even have to say? if i do, smut: choking, edging, exhbitionism(i think?)

Over the course of the next week or so, you and Spencer had been joined at the hip constantly. He no longer had crutches and his ribs were slowly starting to heal, and the cast on his wrist said to be removed in a couple weeks hopefully. Yet, you still insisted he stay with you until he's fully healed, but really, you just enjoyed his company.

Slowly, more and more of his belongings were starting to appear in your apartment with neither of you noticing it, but you didn't seem to mind at all. Spencer had to stay in your apartment most of the time because you have Luna, and his apartment doesn't allow pets, and you refuse to leave her alone. It makes you sad now that you're going to return to leaving her home alone for long periods of time with only Penelope to check in.

Spencer limps into the kitchen and sits on the island, his cheeks flushed and his forehead sweaty as he had just come out of the shower. His hair is wet and dripping onto his forehead, prompting him to push it back with his hands, running his hand along his freshly-shaven jaw. Considering the fact that Spencer's been tense all week and is now suddenly relaxed, you have a sneaking suspicion as to what he was doing in there.

Thought his foot was mostly healed as well as his ribs, he was still on strict orders from the doctor to not overexert himself. That meant no sex yet, which was leaving you both quiet frustrated and cranky most of the time.

He'd try teasing you to give into him, insisting that it would be fine if you were on top, but you'd only answer with a shake of your head and by shoving his face away. Until the doctor clears him, the shower head, and occasionally your fingers would have to do.

This morning was no different then any other. Spencer had been sitting on the other side of the couch for a few minutes now while you read one of the books Spencer had bought you for your birthday, noticing his eyes on you in your peripheral vision. When he starts to crawl toward you, you stop him by raising a sock-clad foot and pressing it gently against his chest, marking the page in your book and glancing at him.

"Not happening," you chastise, pushing him backwards with your foot until he's back in his regular position. He pouts at you, flashing you the familiar doe eyes he was hoping would make you give into him, but you didn't. Deep down, you knew you could give him what he wants without injuring him, but seeing how desperate he's gotten, you've decided to make him wait. No matter how frustrated it was making you as well, his reactions every time you turn him down make it all worthwhile.

If he was already desperate now, you were curious what another week or two would do.

Then again, you don't plan on being that mean. You have needs, too. He'll just have to wait until you feel like it, especially since he's grown accustomed to having all the power lately, and you were planning on taking it back just as quickly as he'd had it. It was time for him to get the message of who was really in charge.

"Baby, please," he whines. "I'm fine, you don't have to worry about breaking me or whatever."

You acknowledge him with a hum, re-opening your book and focusing on the pages rather than him. He grows annoyed with you ignoring him and takes the book from your hands, resting his chin on your chest and looking up at you with an innocent smile. "Please? I can make you feel really good," he murmurs quietly, dragging one of his hands up your thigh.

You smack his hand away and tuck a piece of hair behind your ears, "Who says I need you to feel good? Especially when you bought me that nice present for my birthday."

"Y-You've been- What?" He sputters.

"While you were in the shower this morning," you hum, noticing his adam's apple bob as he gulps slightly. "I guess you were right, I really am enjoying it."