nina cried power [SPENCER REID]

thirty-six.

Meanwhile, Nina sits up on her knees so that she can pull of his jeans, propping up on one leg for a moment to wiggle them out from under his thighs. He kicks them off the rest of his legs just as he gets the last button undone, leaving him in the unbuttoned shirt and his obviously tented boxers.

"Your turn?" he asks, grinning and nodding at her, still fully dressed.

With a wicked smile, she raises her arms: an invitation, which he hastily accepts, hands tearing the grey shirt up and over her head. She's bare underneath, and he doesn't hesitate in stretching his hands over her slender back and kissing at her sternum, the slender bones protruding slightly when she cranes her neck back. She's laughing, and it takes him a moment to realise it's because he's whimpering, almost appreciatively.

Her body is slender, and he sees now that his pyjamas are hanging off her waist. He can feel the bones of her spine and hips as he pulls his hands over to her front, then coasts them up to her breasts. But before he can even reach, she, as if on instinct, arches her back inward, like a stretching cat, as if too pull her stomach in and away from his touch.

Instantly he pulls his mouth and hands away, raising them up as if in surrender, and takes the moment to catch his breath.

"Sorry," she mutters, wrapping her arms about his neck. "Instinct, I guess."

Her chest touches his collarbones from the way she's positioned above his lap, and, God, he wants to suck a mark directly onto the ivory skin, but he resists the urge, watching her face carefully instead. Gently, he touches her back, her waist; the first moment of calm since he'd allowed himself to kiss her that first time.

"When was the last time... you...?"

She swallows. Her hand plays with his hair, the other arm still around his neck, and she watches her fingers idly twirl at the birds' nest on his crown. Much better that than meet his eyes. "A long while ago. It's sort of... Erm.. Ahem."

Difficult. He supposed that wasn't surprising. With a lurch of disgust, guilt swirls in his stomach at the memory of being so forward and forceful against the wall.

"Nina," he whispers, and one hand finds place on her jaw, pulling her down so that he can kiss her gently on the tip of her nose, then her forehead. "Nina, Nina, Nina, Nina," he whispers, over and over, against her skin, but when he pulls back her eyes remain closed.

She cannot look at him. She cannot.

Spencer knows what that feels like: the sickening self repulsion, the fear of looking down at your own body and seeing what the other person must see too; the terror of what's currently happening, so you cannot look at it out of fear it'll become truly real. So you raise your eyes to the sky or close them tight, as tight as you can, and try not to cry.

He kisses her on her cheek as softly as he can. "We can stop."

"No."

"You want this?"

There's a beat, and Nina's chin tilts forward, half an inch closer to his mouth, before she catches herself and pulls back again. "More than I've ever wanted anything."

"Okay. Then, you can keep your eyes closed, if you like," he murmurs, kissing her brow. "Will that help?"

With a small smile, she nods.

"Do you want your shirt back?"

She shakes her head.

"Okay," he says, and he takes her by the elbows, pulling her arms from around his neck. Raising goosebumps, his hands slide up to cup over hers before he guides her to pull his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders. Once she realises, she does it herself, still with her eyes closed, and he pulls his wrists free of the sleeves before tossing it in some far corner. "There. I've evened the board."