New To Me, New To You // S.R. ✓

𝟎𝟏𝟖

Sex. That has been the only topic on your mind for the past couple of days. You haven't had sex with Spencer in over a week nor have you partaken in any BDSM activities, which is ultimately shattering. Unfortunately, though, the reason you have both been distant is due to the heartbreaking amount of time you've been spending at work.

He's on a case right now and you've been at work, taking care of children. You sound foolish speaking of a teacher teaching children and an FBI agent tracking down vile criminals, but they're both draining careers. Your job has become awfully bearable though, due to Cass following you around everywhere, gossiping about kindergarten crushes and boyfriends.

Speaking of Cass, you're worried about her. She'll come to school with tear stains on her cheeks and sometimes even bruises on her arms. And she may still gossip and keep a smile on her face, but the more you've watched her, the more you've noticed her behavior shift. It's a slight change in how she usually acts in class and towards you, but you can tell something is going on.

You didn't want to assume anything at first, but many symptoms of abuse have risen, and now you want to speak to Spencer about it. He knows more of abuse and cases that contain abuse enough for him to come to a conclusion. You don't want to keep your mouth closed simply because you'll be the root of issues, you'd rather stir up hell than see her grow worse and worse.

She's almost like your own, and you wouldn't mind taking her in if it's the case. You wonder though, if the reason she's glued to your side is because she wants to tell you something. Maybe not verbally, put telepathically.

You plan on informing Spencer on your observations, hoping he'll say yes. If you provide enough justifiable information, there is no way in hell he'll say no.

You have her information on your laptop, which means you can drive by her home if you want to see her living conditions. You believe it's a good idea, but then you give yourself a reminder that even in luxurious homes, abuse can still take place. You groan under your breath, the clock burned into your wrist ticking, ticking, and ticking.

Then, suddenly, your phone rings. You lift yourself from the couch, tossing your laptop to the side. You sulk along to the kitchen, the vibrations growing louder the closer you move in. You guide a falling piece of hair from your face, using your right hand to grab your phone. You turn it in your hand, the cold screen freezing your fingers instantly. It's Spencer.

You answer the call and raise your phone to your ear, unexpected heavy breathing blaring into your ear. You scrunch your eyebrows, panic setting in due to the continuous, imprudent noises growing louder and louder as time continues.

You then realize he's... masturbating.

"F-- Fuck," he groans, his breaths coming in short and rapid. You question your position right now, wondering if you should be doing anything, and by anything you mean reciprocating his exact movements of pleasure.

A shudder rolls down your spin, your clit immediately becoming wet. You turn around and slowly make your way to your room. His breaths slow down, and you feel disappointment course through your veins. You disregard his abrupt calmness and lay on your bed, keeping your phone to your ear.

You run your hand down your shorts, whimpering quietly at the contact made to your wet slit. You run your fingers up and down, almost teasing yourself. You travel your free hand under your shirt, instantly pulling and twisting your hardened nipple in between your fingers.

You then slip your fingers into your slit, arching your back at the intense feeling of pleasure. You pump your dainty fingers inside of your clit, your mouth hanging open as though inhaling all of the free air. You let out strings of desperate moans, your eyes rolling back and your leg coming up onto the bed.