The Birds & The Bees | S.R.

Ch. 16 | Prey Drive

Summary: Spencer and Bunny spend their first night in bed together, but one of them has some reservations.

A/N: I legitimately cannot believe I finished this on time. I'm gonna have to probably start taking more breaks - I don't want to cheapen this work by rushing or pressuring myself. Also, as I noted on my page, I recently received very unexpected and troubling family news. I will try to warn you all if I need to take an unexpected absence.

Content Warning: Fingering, thigh riding, handjob, teasing, mild degradation, sexual anxiety/pressure to perform, drinking, alcohol, drunk sexual acts, public teasing, mild D/s dynamics

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The incessant chatter of the dinner table was something I'd loathed since I was a young boy. My mother had always insisted that I sit with her, and I'd never really protested. The topics maintained by the academics tended to be preferable to those held by my peers.

But times had changed so much since I was a boy. My peers had slowly slipped into that category of people I'd rather be around. Oddly enough, I'd also liked spending time with the children more, too. They had such a naive, green way of thinking that I cherished and deeply envied.

A conference was probably the only place where social events were my forte. Assuming, that is, that the conference was on a topic enjoyed by enough people that my English hadn't sounded Greek to the observers (or, alternately, I was expected to speak Greek).

Usually, I was placed at a table with the hope that I would speak; that the others at a similar academic caliber might be able to glean something from me the same way I wanted to borrow from them. But that day, I said very little. I let my coworker take the reins, and she was more than happy to do so. If she had known the reason for my silence, though, I think she might have been less sympathetic to my plight.

Because the reason I was quiet had nothing to do with social anxieties of any kind. No, it was due entirely to the young woman beside me who had been persistently drawing her hand up my thigh at any and every opportunity.

The first time she'd done it, I jumped hard enough to bash my knee — and not the good one — firmly against the table. I'd like to say my Bunny felt guilty, but I'd seen the way she had to stifle a laugh before she asked me if I was alright.

The second time she'd done it, I remained stone faced and silent. It wasn't until she squeezed my leg that I moved. That movement, however, was subtle enough to serve as its own kind of warning.

The kind that screamed, 'You'd better be prepared to finish what you've started.'

It was just my luck, literally, that she'd been interrupted by requiring both hands to eat her meal. That reprieve from the temptress was brief, but necessary. Because the third time she'd tried to touch me, she did not even bother pretending that she would settle for my knee.

That dastardly little rabbit sneaked her hand straight to my lap, where my firm hand came to crush her wrist until the movement of eager fingers stopped. She gave the tiniest squeak, heard only by me, to beg for her release. I granted it to her. I watched with only a little bit of guilt when she rubbed the tender muscles. She glared back at me, but the anger faded into a pout just as quickly as it'd come.

My laughter in response troubled her, or in the very least wounded her ego. My Bunny didn't stay in the audience of that for too long. Promptly standing up and escorting herself to the furthest bathroom in the hall, she looked back too often for me to miss the message she was broadcasting to anyone who would look.