Summary: Spencer meets a girl he can't get enough of at the nightclub, then quickly realizes she is not supposed to be there.
Content Warnings: Adults w/ Age Difference (20/30), heavy petting, alcohol, underage drinking, brief mention of assault
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There are many reasons to come to a nightclub. For some, it's an excuse to find someone to kill their loneliness. For others, it's a chance to escape themselves. I wasn't sure which I was more of that night. All I knew was that I was ready for something, anything to break the monotony.
The pulsing bass reverberated through the floor, and I let it take me somewhere else for a while. I let myself get lost in the crowd of other regrettable people, and I allowed my body to move on instinct, to move to the music without much thought.
It was my birthday, as evidenced by the giant sash my friends insisted on me wearing. If anyone were to ask, I had just turned 21. But, truthfully, I still had another year to go before then.
The strangest part about it was that I wasn't usually the kind of person to make a habit out of breaking the rules. At least, not anymore. But something about the last year had made me stir crazy in a way I couldn't explain.
I could've thought harder about it; I could've found a reason. But I didn't want to.
So, I said, fuck it! Everything happens for a reason, right?
The thought perfectly coincided with a pair of pensive eyes that caught my attention through the sea of people I was surrounded by. A man somehow unlike the others was leaning against the bar, seemingly alone. I thought that it was strange, considering how out of place he seemed. Surely, I thought, he must have come with someone else.
But the way he was looking at me told me that, in the very least, he probably wasn't there with a woman. At least, I'd hoped not.
I almost went to him, but I was stopped by a familiar tapping on my shoulder. My friend was calling my attention to the suddenly relatively empty stage, and not before long she was begging me to join her on it.
I'd never been the best dancer, but I figured it was as good a way as any other to try to get a cute guy's attention. After all, that's what you do in a club, right? As I climbed up with her, I tried to spot him once more. Unfortunately, by the time I gracelessly clambered onto the stage, he'd already moved from his previous position.
'Oh well,' I thought, 'Maybe he hadn't really been looking at me after all.'
Rather than sulking over the loss, I focused on the music again. I swayed my hips to the beat and closed my eyes. I let my hands run up and down my body the way I wished someone else's would. Not just anyone, though. Someone... different. Someone who might almost make me feel like they'd earned it.
I wondered if that strange man could still see me. I wondered if he was still looking.
I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when I glanced back to the bar for the fifth time in a relatively short period of time, I finally spotted him again. Once he noticed me noticing him, he quickly turned around, and I knew it was my chance.
I scrambled down off the stage, leaving my friends to enjoy themselves among the writhing bodies and blistering heat. I wanted to enjoy a different primal experience.
Strutting right up to the bar next to him, I leaned over the counter and gave a brief, respectful wave to the bartender. Despite not breaking my gaze, I felt the hairs rose on the back of my neck.
I'd caught someone's attention. I didn't look, though. Not yet.
"Gin and tonic, please," I called when the bartender finally made his way over to me. Once he turned back around to make the drink, I knew it was a good time to look over at the stranger beside me.
Unsurprisingly, he immediately pretended he wasn't looking at me.
"Are you checking me out?" I asked just loudly enough that he would undoubtedly be able to hear me over the music.
His embarrassed reaction answered the question in the affirmative, although he unconvincingly insisted, "U-uh, no. No, I'm not."
"Oh," I responded, moving closer to him to prevent someone from separating us. "That's too bad."
He furrowed his eyebrows, and a small smile broke across his face as he asked, "Is it?"
"Well... Yeah," I laughed.
The way we locked eyes was a challenge, and one he seemed to only half accept. When he looked away from my eyes, it felt less like admitting defeat and more like taking me up on the offer to check me out.
He glanced down at my chest, and I moved from my position leaning against the counter to open my chest up for a better view.
"Can you see it well enough?" I teased with a slow gesture down the sash. I couldn't tell if his face was as red as it looked or if it was just the flashing lights playing tricks on me.
The bartender returned before he answered, and I handed him my change as a tip before holding the drink with my hand over the top. I might have been young, but I wasn't trying to get drugged in a club. I tried not to read into him noticing that habit.
"Happy birthday."
His offering seemed genuine, and this time, it was my face that turned burned. I hoped he didn't notice how flustered such an innocent thing made me, but I had a feeling he did.
"How old are you now?" he followed up, and I realized that I didn't really want him to know. Not the truth, anyway. Still, something about the way his eyes scanned every motion I made just made me feel like he could tell if I was lying.
"A year older than the last."
It wasn't a lie, after all, and he seemed to think it was funny. Behind me, a person was struggling to fit into the crowd at the bar. The somewhat unwelcome result was pushing me closer to the stranger I was quickly becoming acquainted with. But thankfully, when he reached out, he did so respectfully. His grip on my arm was gentle, but enough to stabilize my obviously struggling self.
"Thanks," I said with a bit of a laugh, trying not to seem dramatically inexperienced at this scene. "I'm not used to wearing heels."
He seemed so comfortable despite the chaos. So paradoxically confident yet timid.
"What's your name?" I asked, and he was more than happy to respond.
"Dr. Spencer Reid."
Something was so charming about the way he kept his honorific, which would usually have been irritating. He didn't seem to want to brag about it. He'd just announced it like it was a deeply ingrained aspect of his identity.
"Doctor? You seem pretty young for that," I playfully noted. Not that I was bothered by the prospect of an older man. I sipped on my drink as I waited for a bit of clarification, and his eyes continued to flit back to my lips every couple of syllables.
"Well, if you're talking about a Doctor of Medicine, I'm 30, which is actually the average age a person would be when they complete their residency. But most people with MDs will call themselves doctors after they graduate, so really, I wouldn't be too young at all."
I nodded along as he spoke, wondering if this kind of information dump was common for him. It was... kind of endearing.
Before I could get a word in edgewise, he continued to clarify, "But I'm not that kind of doctor. I have three PhDs; mathematics, chemistry, and engineering. I also have a BA in psychology as well as sociology."
I waited another second to make sure he was finished, and also because I was suddenly feeling quite intimidated. His strange socialization method made sense with his PhD subjects, and the bachelor's explained why he was so observant.
Something told me he didn't need to be told he was impressive.
"What about you? What's your name?" he finally asked, and I realized I never told him my name.
"(Y/n). No honorifics, unfortunately. Not yet."
"(Y/n)," he smiled, repeating it back to me and adding, "It's a nice name."
Uncomfortable talking about myself in light of the foregoing, I opted for a different topic.
"You don't seem like this is your first time in a club."
"Yeah, it's not. I have to go to them occasionally for work. I also grew up in Vegas, so they were kind of... everywhere," he chuckled.
When he raised his glass to his lips, I noticed that the distinct lack of color to his. I didn't mention it. There were so many reasons someone would prefer water, assuming that's what it was, including the basic desire to not be hung over the next day.
"What kind of work regularly takes you to a nightclub?"
I was genuinely curious, but I wouldn't get the answer. At the same time I asked the question, I felt a very strong pressure digging into my arm and yanking me away from the bar.
"Hey there beautiful, why'd you leave the dance floor?"
I didn't even recognize the very drunk man slurring the question to me. He looked like every other generic, idiotic brute that I had encountered through the night.
"Because I don't want to fucking dance with you," I answered as matter-of-factly as I could while seeing nothing but white-hot rage.
I could see Spencer's demeanor change, like he was about to do something. I shot him a warning glance that this was not his fight, and was pleasantly surprised that he'd respected it. I had gotten quite comfortable with this part of being out on the town.
"Come on, don't be like that," the man barked.
I pulled my arm away. Half of my drink sloshed onto the sticky floor below, but I didn't care. I wasn't going to be drinking it now, anyway.
"I said no," I said in a much louder voice, lifting my foot high enough for it to hurt when I drove the pointed heel directly into his foot. "And don't fucking touch me!"
Before I could throw what was left of my drink onto the asshole, I felt Spencer's much gentler touch. His arm wrapped around my waist as he stepped between me and the man and hurriedly guided me away from the guy and to a nearby table. As soon as I could reach it, I climbed onto a chair at the high top, rubbing my arm where it had begun to raise in welts from his nails.
"What a fucking dick!" I yelled, still fuming from the unwelcome contact.
In stark contrast, Spencer's very warm hand cupped my face, tilting it to look up at him.
"Are you alright?"
It felt like time stopped when he looked at me. Like the earth had halted in its tracks. My perception of the otherwise energetic music seemed to slow down, and the sounds of the crowd drowned away. I wasn't able to focus on anything other than the pounding of my heart and that tried to break through bone cages to find him.
'God, I must be drunk.'
"Hey, are you okay?" he repeated, and I finally snapped back to reality.
With a simple nod, I was suddenly no longer angry at the asshole who had caused the moment to happen.
"Yeah," I mumbled, "Thanks."
"Does that happen to you often?" he asked with a strange mixture of concerned and angry that honestly looked pretty damn attractive on him.
"Unfortunately. Most guys don't like being told they aren't your type. Especially if they aren't used to it."
"I wouldn't know," Spencer shrugged with a gentle laugh, "I'm pretty used to it."
A welcome bit of self-deprecating humor. He moved his hand, and I hated to admit that I'd already missed the warmth of it.
"Well, I don't know why you're used to it. I think you're pretty cute."
The statement was fueled by the alcohol, but it was still true. He wasn't joking about being used to a lack of desire. Seconds after I'd complimented him, he shifted uncomfortably. I tried not to read too far into it. I hoped it was how he would've responded to anyone.
"Thanks..." he started, shoving his hands in his pockets as he struggled to find something to do with them now that they weren't touching me. "But I feel like an asshole now."
I raised my eyebrows and chuckled at the strange response to a compliment.
"Why?"
"I uh, I lied to you earlier."
My attention piqued, I turned my body towards him and leaned forward to hear him better.
"Oh? To which question?"
He released a hand from his pocket, running it through his hair as he worked up the courage to look at me while he spoke.
"The... first one you asked."
I couldn't help but laugh. All of the air in my lungs was quickly drained by his absolutely endearing honesty. The way he just had to admit that he had been checking me out, as if I didn't already know.
"You are absolutely adorable, Spencer Reid."
He reacted much better to that compliment, although he seemed confused when I held my hand out for his.
"Come here," I instructed.
When he didn't listen, I reached my fingers out to grab his forearm and proceeded to tug him towards me. He took the few steps forward, and I took a moment to appreciate that his height granted me perfect access to his face from the high top.
I bit down on my lip as I glanced between beautiful eyes and his lips that parted softly. I heard his breath come faster the closer I came.
Without moving away, he asked, "What are you doing?"
While wondering if it was possible for him to do anything without being charming, I tightened my grip on his arm and looked up at him with the most lustful look I could muster.
"Well, I guess I'm going to kiss you. I hope that's alright."
"Why?" he asked.
An equally charming and maddening response, to which I just gave a small shrug. His eyes glanced back and forth, clearing trying to read between the lines of my own gaze. I let him. He didn't seem to have any follow up questions or reservations, so I used my free hand to pull his face to mine.
When our lips met, I was transported back to the dance floor in my mind. I could feel the vibrations shaking every inch of the club, but it was nothing compared to the butterflies erupting in my stomach. His hands returned to my face shortly after, and when his tongue slipped into my mouth it was the only confirmation that I got that he had also been drinking.
The taste of vodka and gin mixed, creating a cocktail of alcohol and hormones between us. A small moan escaped my lips at the thought, and part of me hoped he could feel it distinct from the bass. I wanted him to know the effect he had on me. Because, as it turned out, he wasn't just cute and smart, he was an incredibly talented kisser.
Not wanting to stop yet, I hooked a leg around the back of his knee and increased my hold on him. He lowered a hand to grab onto my thigh, and I gasped at the contact. I wondered if this was his first time making out in a club, because it was certainly mine.
Selfishly, I hoped I could be a first of something for him. Realistically, I knew it was unlikely. He was just too damn good at this.
Spencer began to retreat from the kiss, and before he could leave entirely, I bit down on his lower lip. The last, lingering contact seemed to have its desired effect, as he looked down at me like there was nothing else that he wanted more in this world than to keep kissing me.
"Was that a good enough reason?" I asked.
Instead of using words, he just kissed me again in response, with more pressure and less reserved. It was an answer I was more than happy to accept. His grip on my leg tightened, and it was nothing like the way other men grabbed me. When we broke apart this time, I knew it was time. I had to make my move.
"Come outside with me," I begged.
He seemed not to have expected any invitation, especially such a vague one. Nonetheless, he nodded and stepped back enough to let me hop out of the chair. His hand in mine, I led him through the crowd. He never let go. Not even when we got outside.
The air felt cool and crisp in comparison to the stuffy club. My ears were still ringing, and I wondered if we would sound the same to each other now that we weren't practically screaming. I let out a laugh from pure nerves, excited to be alone with him, but also not really ready to have this conversation.
Of course, he thought I was cute, but I was still a stranger. What if he wasn't actually all that interested and decided to ditch me? That would be embarrassing.
"Heeeeyyy! (Y/n)! How's it going?!" A familiar voice sounded from over by the smokers.
It wasn't one of my friends, per se. More like a friend of a friend. A very drunk and very excited acquaintance. I finally let go of Spencer's hand but glanced back to let him know to follow me over.
I stayed at a modest distance as I called back, "Hey, how's it going, John?"
"Goin' pretty fucking great," he slurred, and I laughed at how hammered he had managed to get in a couple of hours.
"Sounds like it."
"So, how's 20 treating you so far?"
Now, this is the point where I have to admit to myself and everyone else, that I am not the cleverest person. Because the question seemed so normal, and I was expecting it so much, that I seemed to have forgotten that I was not, in fact, old enough to be at this club.
So, without thinking, I responded, "Pretty fucking great."
To Spencer's credit, he didn't say anything, but I could feel his eyes burning into the back of my skull. It took me another second to realize what I had just admitted.
Fuck.
I was too scared to turn around. He seemed to know that I wasn't going to address it, and he wasn't the kind of person to make a scene. So when his hand grabbed mine again, and I felt the insistence in his grasp, I knew that I was utterly and completely fucked.
I grimaced to John, who just burst out laughing before yelling, "Oooh, jailbait got busted!"
My head fell backwards as I groaned, letting Spencer begin to drag me away from the crowd as I shouted back, "I'm not jailbait, you dick!"
Following the boy I actually wanted to be with, I tried not to give up hope yet. In a twisted sort of way, I was actually somehow looking forward to the lecture I was definitely about to receive. Seconds after we'd turned the corner into the small alley, he had me backed against a wall.
"What the fuck was that?!" his voice was hushed, although he was clearly still yelling.
I bit down on my lip to stop myself from laughing at his attempts to be scary when his voice was still cracking. I raised my shoulders to shrug, but he continued his ranting.
"You're only twenty?! You can't be here!"
"Well, actually, we're in an alley, which I'm totally allowed to be in."
He did not appreciate my humor.
"You know exactly what I mean. You're not old enough to be at a club, and especially not drinking! What were you thinking?"
He looked so delectable when he was angry, I wasn't sure how he'd expected me to take him seriously. Resting my head against the brick wall behind me, I looked up at him with a bored expression.
"What are you, a cop?"
I honestly wasn't anticipating a genuine response, so when he responded, "An FBI special agent, actually," all I could think was, "Oh shit, really?"
"Yeah, really, (y/n)!" he yelled back, taking a step back when my arms immediately fell from their defensive position.
"That's so cool!" I answered with equal enthusiasm, which he still, clearly, did not like.
"What are you saying? That is not cool! None of this is cool!"
"I mean, I think it's pretty cool."
"I could have you arrested! I should have you arrested!"
The way I raised my eyebrows and smiled was clearly not the reaction he wanted, but I could tell he was intrigued by it. He paused, and I licked my lips with a wicked grin.
"You gonna cuff me, Special Agent?"
I saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and he continued to distance himself from me. I took a step forward to maintain the gap.
"Wait, is it Special Agent or Doctor? I need to know now."
Before I could get too close to him, he had pressed his hand against my shoulder, pushing me back against the wall.
"Cut it out! Stop trying to distract me," his voice was stern, but his breath was ragged. One of my hands devilishly snuck up, wrapping around his arm that was holding me against the wall. "It's not going to work," he warned.
I didn't believe him. I could also tell that, despite the words, he did not want me to stop.
"How am I distracting you, Special Agent Dr. Reid?"
He could tell what I was doing, but he couldn't stop himself from falling for it.
"Is my proximity distracting you?"
I was pushing his buttons, very purposefully and with a very specific goal. I wanted to see what happened when he broke.
"N-No, that's not—"
I cut him off once more, leaning forward against his hand, dragging my nails against the skin of his arm.
"Do you want to kiss me again?" I asked.
He had to think about the answer, and that angry, tempted face left me burning. I rubbed my legs together in anticipation, and he seemed to notice the subtle movement. With the strength I could muster, I inched his hand against my shoulder lower, letting him feel my heart racing above my breast.
"You do," I responded to my own question, recognizing his silence as assent.
I met his eyes in another challenge, knowing this time would be much easier than the last. He was already hooked.
"Well then, Dr. Reid. You have at least two options. You can either dig out your work issued handcuffs, haul me downtown and explain what exactly happened between you and a drunk twenty year old girl at the club..." the pressure on my chest lessened as he obviously considered what it would require of him. "You can help them with all of the paperwork, prematurely ending the night, leaving me in a jail, and go home alone... "
The compassion in his eyes was clear, and I knew it was a bit unfair of me to go for such low hanging fruit. He was a good man. He was just trying to follow the rules. He didn't want to hurt me. Unless I asked for it, perhaps.
"Or you can get into an Uber with me to go somewhere else, and I'll let you do whatever you want with mine. Or yours. I'm fine with either."
"My pair, or my place?" he asked, much to my surprise and excitement. I could feel the rush of blood in my ears, but I begged it to be quiet. I hadn't closed the deal yet.
"So you're considering it?"
He finally released his hold on me, but he didn't move away. In fact, he moved closer. Close enough to me that I could almost feel the body warmth radiating from him. I couldn't look down yet, but I was pretty sure what I'd find bulging between his legs.
"I-I... I don't know."
An honest answer, albeit disappointing. My puppy eyes demanded a clearer one. He obeyed their call.
"I'm a law enforcement agent that just caught you in a crime, since I'm assuming you got into that club with a relatively convincing fake ID that I'm certain you still have on you."
I nodded, still unsure where he was going with this monologue.
"I should be arresting you, or at least taking you somewhere safe, not... coming back with you for..."
He trailed off, and I smirked a bit at his inability to finish that thought.
"And yeah, I figured you were young but... I'm ten years older than you."
"And?" I finally asked, wanting him to get to the point that I had figured out, just so I could turn it down.
Spencer took a deep breath before admitting, "I don't want to take advantage of you. I get that there is no sudden change in your brain when you turn twenty one, but the younger you are, the less developed your prefrontal cortex is. Your judgment, your impulse control, the ability to truly anticipate the consequences of your actions, that won't be fully developed for at least another five years!"
He would have kept going, but I had already planned for this response. My hand on his arm jerked him forward, pulling his crotch directly into my other waiting hand. Completely on brand for him, a small yelp sounded as I gently palmed his erection.
With an innocent smile, I whispered, "Dr. Reid, I don't think you're the one taking advantage here."
His features were contorted into an infuriated, yet pleased mess. After another very brief moment of contemplation, he gave into the temptation I was dangling in front of him, laying a deep, frustrated kiss on my waiting mouth.
When we separated, he practically panted into my mouth, "Do you have a hotel room?"
Giggling, I nodded.
"I guess I'll call that Uber now."