Summary: Spencer's birthday plans get interrupted by a case. Frustrated by Reader's busy schedule, Spencer finds a unique way to spend time with her.
Content Warning(s): Mild exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, Dom/sub, light choking, degradation/praise, sub space
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Waiting for Spencer Reid was an interesting position to be in. It was also, unfortunately, very, very common. You would think the IQ points would translate to efficiency, but you'd be very wrong. The only thing that boy does fast is read, and even that didn't follow through to text messages, considering he'd read none of the six I'd sent him in the past hour.
So, naturally, as one does in an emergency, I called him. Unsurprisingly, the phone barely rang a second time before he picked up. Talking was, as we were both aware, his forte. Without even waiting for my greeting, his groggy voice came through the receiver with a song-like sound.
"Hello, little girl."
But it wasn't his turn to sing, and he knew damn well why I was calling. I could hear the smirk on his face so well that I could also envision exactly what he looked like in that moment, with his fluffy hair sticking up from constantly running his hands through it and his eyes only half-open as he tried to finish reading whatever horrible thing that he had in front of him.
It wasn't how anyone should be spending their birthday. Especially not him. There wasn't really anything I could do about it, though that didn't make it any easier to hear the exhaustion and sadness behind that scratchy voice.
"What're you doing up late? It's past your bedtime, you know," he chastised before I even had a chance to speak. He wasn't wrong — It was 3AM where I was. But where he was, it'd just hit midnight.
"I just wanted to wish a happy birthday to my favorite old man," I purred back once I'd managed to calm my fast-beating heart. I wondered if I'd ever get used to the brief rush of adrenaline and relief when I heard his voice for the first time after some time away.
I hoped not.
Spencer didn't seem impressed by my reasoning, though. "You're sweet. Go to sleep."
"You're up, too," I whined, still picturing the way he would undoubtedly pull the phone further away to lessen the noise. I almost asked if he was also picturing me but stopped when I realized that whatever he had in mind was probably a lot more exciting than reality. Then again, he often told me that moments like this were his favorite. When we're both too tired to keep our eyes open but too happy to be with each other to let them close all the way.
"Barely," he corrected.
"Besides, I had to stay up. It's your birthday."
I'd meant to lift his spirits, but the long pause after I finished made it evident that my efforts were for naught. He almost seemed even more upset than when he'd answered, and I tried to convince myself that it had nothing to do with me. It wasn't that hard, considering he was probably staring at images or words of dead people.
"Yeah, sure feels like it."
His tone alone ensured me it was worse than my imagination.
"Put your work down and pay attention to me instead," I suggested as softly as I could with the neediness bleeding through, "That's the first part of your present."
"You're my present?" he asked through a gruff laugh that made my heart skip a beat, "I like that present."
He was trying. I could feel it in his voice, and I wished more than anything that I could teleport to where he was and hold him until it was too difficult for his mouth to form a frown.
"You already have me. That'd be like regifting," I pointed out with only a pinch of self-deprecation. It was still too much for Spencer, though, who swiftly shot back the ever cheesy, "Every day with you is a gift."
"Gross, don't get all sentimental with me," I ordered playfully.
He returned the energy with all the sass I always knew he was capable of. Once his whining ceased, he mumbled, "Do you come with a gift receipt?"
"No returns or exchanges allowed, I'm afraid."
Spencer just let out a strained sigh, and in my head, I imagined how it would feel to climb onto his lap as he leaned back in his chair. I could almost feel his arms wrapping around my waist and his lips peppering kisses wherever he could reach. I could feel his love for me flowing across the country, persisting past the cell tower obstacles to make its way back to me.
"I can't wait to see you again," he whispered, his first purely sincere statement of the night.
It was an unfortunate choice, too, because it also reminded me of the biggest bummer that I unfortunately had to share.
"Oh, I meant to tell you, it's midterm season, so..."
He was, thankfully, not as bummed as I was expecting. He was almost certainly thrilled to have a chance to sleep spread out on his bed without having to satisfy the very needy girl beside him, but he still managed to come up with enough bratty energy to scoff, "Are you telling me that I don't get my gift when I get home?"
"It'll just be a few days. Promise," I spoke through the biggest, cheesiest smile I'd had yet. "You're very distracting, Dr. Reid."
"When are your exams?" His enthusiasm gave away just how disappointed he was with the news, but any frustration was clearly aimed at my poor professors.
"My last one is on Wednesday."
The gasp that left him was too funny not to laugh, followed by exasperated, blubbered nonsense that didn't ever get much clearer. I barely managed to understand him when he cried, "Don't they know Halloween should be a national holiday?!"
"You should call my professors and yell at them."
He actually considered it for a moment, but then returned the same silly intonation, "Maybe I will."
"Do it. You're probably more qualified than them to teach me, anyway."
After a short silence that was filled with more sexual tension than I'd expected considering how the phone call started, I heard Spencer gruffly comment, "You're a cocky little brat tonight."
It was so familiar to me that I jumped on the opportunity, giggling through my sleep deprived delirium, "I'm in rare form for your birthday."
The explanation earned me a chuckle, but not much else. At least, not that I could see. The static on the other end of the phone sounded a lot like the way it looked when Spencer leaned his face against his palm and tried to see something that wasn't there.
But I was there. Sort of. We'd done a lot more with a lot less, after all. So, that's what I offered him.
"You know... we could have a redo of the last time I called you late at night on a case."
"That did not end well for me last time," he droned. I tried not to laugh at the manufactured memory of Spencer holed up in a hotel bathroom because he just had to have me in whatever way he could.
"Only happy endings for your birthday. I promise."
But then, as it always did, work got in the way. Filled with only the greatest sadness and regret, Spencer quietly but honestly replied, "As much as I would love to, I don't think it'll be possible on this case."
"Is it that bad?"
"Unfortunately."
I bit my lip because there was nothing I could do. I couldn't help Spencer with his work any more than I could fix the distance. All I could offer him was a safe home to return to. He would always find that with me.
"Well, in that case, I will be equipped with cartoons and kisses upon your return," I offered with grace.
But I wasn't the only one in rare form. Without skipping a beat, Spencer corrected with a smug sadness, "You mean your return. Considering you're abandoning me on my birthday."
"Oh my god, the drama!" I cried before remembering that it was, still, in fact, 3AM. The light grimace I gave after remembering would be the only apology my neighbors would get from me. I was too busy building a narrative happy enough to drown out the horrors in front of him. "You'd think I was the one who was away all the time."
"I'm allowed to be selfish; it's my birthday," he sang, and I soaked in the sound, storing it away for any rainy days.
"Fine. What do you want, brat?" I asked in the worst attempt at an impression I'd ever given.
He was just waiting for the question. Drawing out the first couple of syllables, he laughed through the stupidest birthday wish of all time.
"I want... you to go to bed."
"Ugh!" I yelled again, not even bothering to feel bad about it that time. My exasperation fell on deaf ears, both from a willful desire to ignore my suffering and a literal ringing from the constant yelling.
Still, that impossible man drummed up enough compassion to gloat with a simple, "I love you."
"I love you, too, jerk," I grumbled, only to be swiftly corrected with a playful, "Try that again."
"I love you, too, old man."
He was satisfied enough with that answer, despite the sarcasm dripping from it. He still knew that the words were true, and that was all that mattered. Any punishments that might be necessary for my broken promise to behave for his birthday could always be doled out later. When the distance between us was narrowed to inches and clothes could be removed like cheap wrapping paper.
"Thank you, little girl. Sweet dreams," he whispered, reminding me once more of just how empty my bed felt without him. I stared at his pillow for just one second before I threw myself into it. He chuckled at the sound of rustling sheets over the receiver but said nothing else.
"You get some sleep tonight, too, okay?" I asked, uncharacteristically and openly vulnerable in a way that used to scare me.
Spencer's voice was filled with pride and love as he answered, "You can't see it, but I am giving you a pinky promise."
"Good." Burying my face in his pillow again made it easier to remember that it wouldn't be forever when I said, "Bye, Spencer."
"Goodnight, little girl."
——————
Autumn on campus felt pretty similar to the rest of the year. I wished that it were different, a little more exciting, to reflect how I felt about the impending holiday. But no, it was just students stumbling into their usual classes and hectically scheduled midterms with hangovers and a total lack of holiday cheer.
It was, in a few words, a complete bummer. The only thing that kept me going through the last of my exams was the knowledge that I'd be seeing Spencer. Unfortunately, he was still doing that rather annoying thing where he refused to answer my text messages. It wasn't until he ignored even my most ridiculous threats that I realized something was going on.
The 'Read' notification sat menacingly on my screen, and I was so fixated on it that I almost didn't notice the familiar mop of brown curls visible in the front row of the auditorium. But once I saw it, the phone was forgotten faster than ever before. I ran down the steps at a ridiculously dangerous pace, dodging the others still grumbling from their previous exams.
I landed in front of him with only enough breath left to sneer, "You're in my seat."
"Surprise," he said with my favorite smug, self-assured smile.
"Adorable. Now move," I ordered with a wave of my hand. As much as I loved the guy, I wasn't about to change my seating arrangement for him. It was beginning to make sense, though, why my friend told me that she wouldn't be sitting with me today.
"Fine," he sighed, taking his sweet time moving seats and watching me happily bounce on my feet in the meantime. I snuck behind him into the seat before he'd even fully stood up. That little amount of friction between our bodies seemed to be enough to cause the tension to mount. It'd only been seconds, but I was already seriously considering abandoning the class. To hell with the professor who'd already seen me.
But Spencer's eyes locked on mine, and he leaned onto the armrest with that same silly smirk.
"It's a workday, Dr. Reid," I whispered, forcing my arm next to his and watching the way his pupils grew as I came closer.
"I might have pulled a few strings," he replied just as quietly, keeping the illusion of secrecy despite many prying eyes around us, "Might've told Hotch I was invited."
"But you weren't," I snorted.
Spencer's head hung in just a little bit of shame, but his wide smile never waned. It was still there, bright and pure in its simplicity as he softly admitted, "Yeah. I lied. But I'm here now."
There were no complaints about that fact, either. His pinky reached out to mine, twining together in the dim light of the auditorium. Somehow, for a brief second, I forgot about everything else. The noisy chatter meant nothing to me, the two of us lost in some alternate pocket universe that felt safe and warm from the cold air outside.
But time resumed, and I watched as Spencer took his eyes off of me first, turning instead to the lecturer watching us with a knowing glint in his eyes.
"Good morning everyone! We have a special guest with us today."
I wanted to pay attention to his little introduction, but I couldn't. Every word that was said about him sounded so clinical. It felt so empty compared to the truth I knew about him. He was so much more than a collection of publications and PhDs.
He was... indescribable. Even as his mouth formed a flat line and his awkward handshake was granted to the crowds of disinterested students, all I saw was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Even if it was only from the shadows of his greatness. Then again, I don't think he'd ever let me feel that way.
Speaking of...
"Dr. Reid, the only thing I ask is for you to give these wonderful students a chance to show you what they know," my professor started with a laugh before he so kindly continued, "So go easy on them."
In any other situation, I might have let it slide. I would have accepted the fact that Spencer was far beyond my intellect and not stand up for myself. But this time, Spencer was on my turf.
"All due respect to Dr. Reid, I don't think he needs to go easy on us," I called from the front row, only audible to the other dutiful students that cared enough to sit up front. I heard Spencer laugh beside me, shaking his head just a little bit at the challenge. He didn't say anything though, and I returned my eyes to the professor who was already familiar with my antics as I boasted, "At least not on me."
While Spencer caught on to the fairly obvious double entendre, shifting his crossed legs closer, the professor just wrote it off as my usual academic pride.
"I did try to warn you that that one might get competitive," he commented. At this point, everyone had definitely figured out my relation to the man next to me. It was kind of hard to hide a bullet wound from your school. But again, I was so caught up in the man beside me that I didn't even feel a little shame at their playful teasing.
Spencer's commentary was the only thing that mattered, and he gave it with a dreamy sigh. "I'm not offended at all. I'm sure she's very clever."
The little bit of light left in the room started to fade, and once I was shrouded by the shadows, I felt confident enough in my plan to dig through the bag at my feet to pull out probably the nerdiest item in it.
A fucking back-up clicker. Which, I promptly handed to the man beside me.
"You're in seat B4," I whispered gruffly, earning yet another snarky chuckle from my boyfriend.
"Is that a challenge?"
I didn't answer. Not him, anyway. What I did answer was the question that had appeared on the screen.
"Ms. (Y/n)?" My professor called, recognizing my seat number without even looking up.
Luckily for me, today was nothing but a review day of the midterm I'd already taken. While I knew all of the questions and, what I'd hoped were the right answers, Spencer had to read the questions from scratch. Really, it didn't give me an edge. It just put us on equal playing ground.
As I gave my answer, I watched in my peripherals as Spencer's eyes narrowed and tongue peeked out from lips that I still hadn't gotten the chance to kiss today.
It was a bad thing to think about, because my brief reverie of the things that mouth was capable of reminded me of another one. I didn't even notice another question had appeared on the screen, and when I heard the familiar buzz of an attempted answer, I shared my Professor's temporary confusion.
"Ah, Dr. Reid," he laughed, probably already regretting welcoming the bastard here, "Please explain the answer."
But there was another thing working in my favor: My boyfriend's giant fucking ego. Really, it should be impossible that someone who was normally super insecure could enjoy showing off as much as he did. My professor didn't mind, because Spencer's long-winded answer was a wonderful review of... basically the entire course, and I didn't mind because it granted me the one thing I needed.
Time. Time to slowly remove my jacket and reveal the sweater underneath. Spencer's eyes caught the motion, glancing over only a couple of times while he managed to give his answer. It wasn't until I started to remove the sweater that he cut his answer short.
His throat clearing told me he wanted my attention, but I was still just too distracted for him. I fanned my chest that felt warm for reasons other than the temperature of the room, guaranteeing his eyes would stay there long enough for me to catch the next question before he had a chance.
Or so I thought. Because before the question appeared, I made the positively stupid mistake of meeting his gaze. As soon as I did, my mind was stuck there, drowning in molasses and honey and—
"Dr. Reid, please feel free to continue to do my job for me. Lord knows I would love a break," the professor joked, and I almost felt guilty for just how genuine he sounded. Not like Spencer would have noticed passive aggression if it existed.
Not like either of us would have cared. Per usual, we were so lost in the space of B4 and B5 that we didn't care about the rest of the alphabet. All we cared about was winning. It was growing more and more obvious to me, though, that I would have to become a little more ruthless if I wanted to bring down the bona fide genius.
The sound of his voice rang through the auditorium loud, clear, and confident. He didn't need to worry if he was right or not, because he knew he was. The smugness was grating to my ears. I knew I couldn't trick him into making a mistake, but there was one thing I could do.
I'd learned one thing very well in my time with Spencer, and that was how to manipulate that pretty little voice of his.
For example, if I wanted to hear it catch in his throat and come out a few pitches higher, all I would have to do is touch him. The riskier the touch, the higher his voice would go. Which was why I spread out the jacket over my lap, making sure that our legs were close enough that it covered him, too. Then I waited, calmly and kindly listening to him drone along until there was a natural enough inflection to hide evidence of any nefarious actions. Just as his voice started to rise, I slid my hand over his knee.
Spencer barely stuttered, just enough for me to know he was affected, but not enough for anyone else to notice. He took the loss with grace, quickly ending his answer with a summary that contained only half as many words as he would have normally provided.
He kept a few for me.
"What do you think you're doing?" he hissed, shifting close enough to me that I could feel his breath on my ear.
"All's fair in love and war," I hummed. His breath caught again when I began stroking my thumb over his leg that had just started to bounce.
"This is wildly inappropriate."
"How perceptive," I returned with my own little smirk. The interaction caught us both, trapping us in the alternate dimension that existed when we held each other. His hand found its way to mine, and his thumb brushed over the back and sent goosebumps shooting over my skin.
I'd practically abandoned our pursuits altogether when I heard my friend's voice as she took the question that we'd both missed. I should've been upset for losing after all that I'd gone through for my strategy to succeed, but it was hard to feel anything other than butterflies when Spencer was still looking at me like that.
Even when I looked away, he stayed, patiently waiting for me to take the final question in the review. I granted him a chance to take it, but he just shook his head, implicitly asking me to take the win for the both of us. Even when we were competing, we were always on the same team.
There were no more distractions as I explained the answer as simply as I could. I was positive the rest of the class was tired of hearing our voices, but Spencer never stopped smiling. I could feel the pride rolling off of him, his hand growing tighter around mine as he took in a deep breath.
"Very good, (y/n)," my professor announced, signaling the end and initiating a large sigh of relief from everyone else.
Spencer sighed too, although his was with a different kind of relief; a dreamy, soft sound as he muttered under his breath, "Just like I said. Very clever."
The air felt positively electric, and I never hated my class more than I did in that moment. The rest of the period ticked by so slowly that I almost swore the clocks were broken. Once we were allowed to leave, Spencer insisted on sticking around to thank the professor for his hospitality.
I knew it was necessary, but that didn't mean I had to like it. I tried to be as patient as possible, even though it seemed pointless. Spencer's little grin told me he knew very well what he was doing. The conversation had dragged on for practically five minutes of agony while I idled by the door.
But then my professor passed, and I felt the adrenaline course through my veins in seconds. As anticipated, we didn't even make it out of the building before the tension broke. We'd barely even made it down the goddamn hallway before I shoved his scrawny ass into the first empty classroom I found. Once the door clicked shut behind us, the roles were quickly reversed.
I hadn't seen him that excited in so long that I'd almost forgotten how easy it was to get swept up in his undertow. I couldn't keep track of his hands or his mouth as they marked any bare skin they could find. But no matter how frantic and uncoordinated the movements were, they never ceased to send chills down my spine.
"This is wildly inappropriate, Dr. Reid," I managed to slur between sloppy, heated kisses. It was barely comprehensible through the pent-up lust that had driven us there in the first place, but it still felt worth saying.
Spencer, however, made his feelings very clear with a gruff, forceful, "I don't care."
His hands were already roaming over my hips, pulling me so close to the edge that I nearly fell off the counter entirely. While I was laughing at his haste, he was busy leaving angry marks on my collarbone, pulling the top of my shirt down to grant him more access. And despite how badly my body burned with desire and need, I drummed up just enough self-preservation to force out a few, regrettable words.
"Take me home."
Even though I tried to make it sound more seductive than a normal request to stop, it brought the momentum to a halt. Spencer immediately stopped his kisses, but let his hands continue to stroke loving patterns over the sides of my thighs.
"Don't you have other classes?" he asked. The feeling of his breath against my ears making me second-guess my already voiced decision. But as enticing as the idea was of having him now, having already waited over a week, I knew we could have so much more fun with a little bit of privacy.
"Don't you have work?" I teased, hoping that it would spur him to take the action we both knew was safer. At the same time, I couldn't stop myself from wanting to poke fun at the academic in him.
"Unless this is your way of telling me you've always wanted to fuck a girl in a lab because, I must admit I'd be more than happy to oblige."
Spencer's whole body tensed as he imagined just what it would feel like to take me in such a public place. After a couple seconds that I can only imagine were filled with fantasies and a reasonable fear, he pulled me from my seat on the counter and placed me back on the ground.
"Let's go," he said, pulling me by my wrist towards the door.
I only barely managed to stop him with both hands on his arm. He turned back to look at me like I'd done some horrible thing, but I was too busy trying to stop the laughter that was spilling from my chest.
"You're uh—" I cleared my throat, pointing to the very noticeable tent in his slacks before I keened through the giggles, "You're gonna have to do something about that."
With a quick glance down, Spencer remembered the very unfortunately obvious trait of the male anatomy. "Fuck," he stated plainly.
I couldn't resist.
"I mean, I'm down," I joked one final time.
"Shut up!" Spencer laughed, too, trying and failing to adjust himself in his pants while I just enjoyed the show.
After all, we both knew that once we were alone, he would get a reprieve from my ridicule. He would get whatever he wanted.
——————
The chaotic clashing of hands and mouths continued seconds after we'd reached our destination. The empty apartment had all of the sounds of our desperation echoing back to us, and after soaking in the melodious noise for a few seconds, I snapped back to reality.
"Okay, she doesn't get home for another 30 minutes at the earliest so, we'd better hurry," I urged, trying to shove Spencer off of me to convince him to move. It barely worked, with his arms clutching tighter the harder I struggled to get away.
Wrapped together just like that, the two of us barely made it a few feet before we almost tumbled to the ground. That was just enough of a reminder of our lack of coordination for Spencer to finally, begrudgingly, release me. Kind of. His hand still held tight to mine, and our laughter still combined the whole way to our bed.
From there, Spencer felt confident in our privacy to answer, "That's fine. I usually tear open my gifts pretty quickly."
It was a very good metaphor for the way his hands worked over my clothes. I didn't even try to pinpoint the moment where being naked no longer made me feel nervous. I let the scar tissue show because neither of us were going to look at it, anyway. We were too caught up in the slight shifts and nuances of our faces as we rushed towards our one mutual goal.
"I missed you," I mumbled, the words feeling as natural as breathing itself.
"I missed you, too," he returned, and I felt the raw emotion, the sincerity and desire in every syllable. But once it was over and he had finally managed to remove everything but my underwear, all that was left was an all-encompassing, mind-altering level of lust.
"God, watching you in class was so fucking frustrating," he strained, his upper lip curling with disdain as he watched my body squirm against the sheets.
"Why's that?"
"I wanted you so badly."
There was no denying that it was the honest truth, and I didn't even want to try. I wanted to gloat and bask in the confirmation that his presence was dangerous for my academic career. Not to mention my sanity.
"Like I said. You're very distracting."
Then, to prove my point, that brilliant bastard shoved his hand under the band of my underwear. He only held me softly for one second before he slid his fingers through the slickness and thrust them roughly into me. It hadn't been that long, but the emptiness I felt before was even more apparent now that I had any part of him inside of me again.
"Am I?" he chimed with a smile.
I wanted to be bratty, to fight the tension that was building and appear unfazed by his ministrations, but there was simply no pretending. Not when my body was already on the verge of spasming around his fingers that seemed to stroke the perfect place within me with every movement.
"Jesus Christ," I sighed. I should've known better than to give him ammunition.
"You've resorted to blasphemy already?"
Spencer partnered the tease with a ruthless thrust, burying his fingers to the knuckle inside of me and holding them there. He waited until I ran out of breath and struggled to take another while also trying not to scream in a mixture of frustration and devastating need for more.
"I thought I told you we had to hurry?"
"We've got time," he shot back without pause, "You're just being a needy little brat."
"Yes, I am," I whined just as quickly, "I'm a fucking brat and I need you."
He almost seemed disappointed in my compliance. His fingers began moving again, eliciting noises that were louder, higher, and sweeter after the anticipation. He tried to draw the attitude out of me by stopping again, waiting for a quip that didn't come.
"Awww, no fight?" he cooed.
"I can't. It's your birthday," I grumbled before biting my tongue. The pressure was becoming so unbearable I thought I might honestly draw blood. But after another few seconds of torture that felt like a lifetime, Spencer withdrew his hand completely.
He was testing the limits, watching how far I would let him go before begging. But even when he took the same soaked fingers and began rubbing me from the outside of my underwear, I only opened my mouth to steal quick, soft breaths and give pitiful whines.
"Oh, I like this..." he laughed, apparently having gotten past his concern about my sudden compliance, "I could get used to you behaving."
The song-like cadence got to me, threatening to spark and ignite everything I was holding back. I almost bit back. I almost let the desire scorch my throat with a few choice words for the very rude genius, but I didn't. The only thing that stopped me was the feel of cotton sliding down my thighs as he removed the final barrier between us.
"You'd miss my misbehaving," I said with a chuckle. The sound mixed with another, a deep moan that filled my chest when I felt him press himself against my entrance. My back arched, causing him to slip inside of me just enough for us to both lose our words.
"I don't know..."
If I'd wanted to say anything, my mouth wouldn't have let me. It was too busy singing his praise while simultaneously begging him to silence it. My lips floundered for a kiss that he hung just far enough away from me to deny. Satisfaction was painted over every feature as he started to enter me, brushing his lips against my mouth every few seconds just to pull away before I was granted the intimacy I sought.
"You do look rather cute when you're begging."
It was strange, the way my body started to predict his movements. I met him in the middle of every motion, and I swore even our breath became synchronized in its rapid firing. It wasn't until his hand rested over my throat we broke the rhythm. I wasn't going to complain, letting the energy flow down my spine that arched towards him on instinct. His hips never stopped, and I could tell by the way his breath hitched and his fingers grew tighter around my neck that the new angle was as wonderful for him as it was for me.
"You look so sweet when you let go of every ounce of self-preservation and dignity you have and put your life in my hands," he whispered with an affection that almost seemed odd considering the context. But then there was something else in his moans, a genuine gentleness that made my already arrhythmic heart beat faster.
"You know I'll take care of you, don't you?" he asked as his movements stayed calm and careful. Loving and safe.
I didn't even notice my eyes had closed, but it ultimately didn't matter. Because when I opened them, I saw the same man that existed in every image behind my eyelids. The only indication he got that I was still capable of communication was the gentle curve of my lips that dropped open in a pleased sigh as his hips continued a slow, tender pace.
It still felt like too much, but not in a bad way. It was too much in the sense that I was reminded once again just how ruined he'd made me. And the smug little shit knew it, too.
"You don't have a single thought in that pretty little head, do you?" he cooed, dragging his hand up the column of my throat to force his fingers against my tongue. True to my word, I didn't try to fight back. I soaked the digits that still tasted like me with my jaw left open. His pupils dilated as he watched the spit pool in my mouth that awaited his instruction.
"You just want to be used. Like the perfect little doll you are."
Unlike my own, his smile was more of a smirk. A crooked, ever so slightly wicked quirk that made my muscles tense around him in their own version of an affirmative answer. He took it, happily. His body crashed into mine, but it merely felt like an extension of myself returning home like the waves meeting the shore. I could feel him claiming his rightful place at the deepest parts of me, making his home with every powerful motion of his hips.
I could hardly breathe, let alone think. I didn't want to. It felt unnecessary.
"My sweet little girl," he muttered with an unbelievably chaste kiss in the center of my forehead, "You'd do anything to make your daddy happy."
I felt detached from myself in a way that didn't feel me with fear or pain. I could feel myself through his hands, strong and working the pliable flesh of my thighs as he held them up so that he could drive into me harder.
His eyes, also only half open, burned with intensity. I could feel the determination, the undying desire to grant me a serenity that no one else could. His need for me to feel safe and loved with the seemingly contradictory brutality.
But it wasn't contradictory. The power behind every movement, the insistence on being as close to me as he possibly could, might have caused some physical pain, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of sharing this space with him. Of sharing my body with him just to see what he would do with it. I already knew, but I wanted to feel it again and again. Because with each stroke of his hand and thrust of his hips, I felt it.
Spencer had free rein to do whatever he wanted, and he chose to love me.
"I'm so close. You know what I want," he pleaded despite holding all of the power. He handed it to me with a low groan, trying to kiss my lips while he commanded, "Do it. Come for me."
My body obeyed his command, falling to pieces around him with shockwaves breaking over every inch of me. My vision went white, crafting a halo of light around him as he also found himself reaching a peak that seemed different than the times we'd shared before.
I tried to figure out what had changed, what about this time made it unique. But as the euphoria faded, all I saw staring back at me was the same face as always, radiating a joy and understanding that warmed damp, chilly skin. Spencer's release provided a similar warmth within me, and my body clung to him even tighter despite the exhaustion.
My breathing took its time to even out, but I was in no rush to leave him. I would have stayed like that forever, with Spencer covering me like the silliest, boniest blanket. If it wasn't for the dead weight he eventually dropped on me, we probably would've spent the whole day lost in the covers. But he could thank the scars for me being a little less forgiving.
Of course, thankful is not the word to describe him at all. Whiny was more like it. Even as I turned our bodies together so that I would still be sitting on his lap, he did nothing but groan and bitch about it. That is, until I silenced him with a kiss that barely brushed over his lips.
That was enough to turn his frown back to the dopey smile I loved so much.
"Happy birthday, old man," I purred, enjoying the way his hands grabbed me tighter at the loving nickname. But age wasn't what was on his mind. I could see it in the way his eyes tore past my defenses and he held me closer like we could actually become one if he tried hard enough.
"I'm so in love with you, it's infuriating," he whispered.
"I've heard that one before."
Spencer wasn't in a joking mood, though. All of his humor seemed to be expended earlier in the day, and now he was just left with all the mushy, romantic innards that I normally kept at bay.
It wasn't that bad, though, I thought as his hands framed my face so our foreheads would touch. There were worse things to be trapped with.
"It's true," he mumbled with his voice still high and slurred together, "I look at you and there is just... nothing that can be said that would ever explain the way it feels."
"Gross," I joked.
"Get used to it," he returned. And if that wasn't enough to make me laugh, he stuck his tongue out in the most childish display I'd seen from him since he'd fucking licked my hand on our picnic. It was also just charming enough that I was willing to let the sappy stuff slide.
"I'll be nice to you this time," I grumbled. "But also, speaking of time, you'd better hurry up if you don't want to do the walk of shame with an audience."
Spencer's arms fell limp with a dramatic cry before he used them to cover his face once more.
"Ugh. Go," he ordered. Despite his words, he still made me fight against greedy hands to wrestle my way out of bed. It would have been smarter to let me go quickly. I really don't know what he was thinking, but he would learn his mistake soon enough. Because as I was finishing up in the bathroom, I heard a very amused voice chiming down the hall on the other side of the door.
"Good afternoon, Spencer."
I debated not opening the door and freeing Spencer from the unbelievably uncomfortable position he'd just found himself in, but ultimately decided it was too cruel. Still, the stalling had taken up enough time that the poor guy felt compelled to reply.
And, of course, the only thing he could think to say was a pathetic, high pitched, "Hi."
Somehow managing to contain the absolutely riotous laughter I felt in my gut, I opened the door with the straightest face I could muster.
It wasn't enough. Spencer saw the pleasure I took in his humiliation and practically shoved me out of the bathroom to take my place behind the doors. While I found the action endearing in the most awkward way, my roommate was mostly just confused about how the fuck I'd managed to find someone as stupid as me.
"I didn't know he was coming," she said once she managed to smile at the silly situation.
Clearing my throat, I tried to sound sincere in my bullshit apology. "Me either, sorry."
In a way, I think the fact I couldn't pull myself together worked in my favor. Normally, she would have scolded me (albeit playfully) for not alerting her of what she might be walking in on, but this time, she just tried to withhold the smile that still stretched over her cheeks despite her best efforts.
"You're fine," she sighed, giving in to the desire to go against her usual grumpy demeanor before retreating to her own room. "Have fun, you hooligans."
Once her door clicked shut, I heard shuffling on the other side of the door next to me. Spencer's shadow was visible from the light peeking out underneath, and I waited a few more restless seconds before I announced, "You can come out now, Spencer."
Cautiously, the door creaked open just enough for his head to poke out and confirm that I wasn't trying to trick him.
"I've never been a hooligan before," he said with a bounce in his step and his eyebrows halfway up his face. To think that he was the same man who threatened to arrest me for existing at a nightclub was, in a word, hilarious.
"Well, good news for you," I purred, and the sound must have reminded him of my more devilish nature, because his jubilance quickly shifted back to an obvious anxiety. I wrapped my arms around him even when it meant that his muscles tensed, dragging him down so I could whisper in his ear, "I was just about to ask if you wanted to help me play hooky."
"And do what?"
It felt strange to say that I hadn't really thought about it. That the second I'd seen him I knew that the day would be good and free and fun. That everything felt so perfectly fine that I didn't even want to challenge it with a schedule.
Spencer looked at me, his answer apparent in the way he started to relax the longer we stayed wrapped up in a shitty apartment hallway. It didn't matter what I said. Spencer would have followed me, just like I would have done for him.
And without the angst or uncertainty of what could go wrong, there was only one thing left for us to do. With a shrug and pout, I proposed the riskiest plan we'd had yet.
"Whatever we want."