hiiiiii this is kinda short but its a transition chapter!!! enjoy and plz keep commenting/voting i absolutely love reading all the comments! you guys are the best for supporting my writing xo
warnings: a lil smut, some angst. ** = gif placement as per usual
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Sleepy girl," Spencer's melodic voice rings in your ear, his arm draping over your waist. You grumble in return, leaning into his touch, your tired sounds going up an octave at the feeling of his hardness pushing against your stinging butt. He chuckles, breath hot on the back of your neck. "I can't tell if that's a needy whine or a pain whine."
"It stings," you reply, though still rutting up against his bulge. "But it's okay. Kinda like it."
"And that's not even the worst I can do," Spencer says lowly. You turn around to face him, a curious smile on your face before kissing him sweetly. In your past relationships, mornings consisted of waking up and immediately running to the bathroom to brush your teeth, moisturize, and put on natural looking make-up. With Spencer, you didn't feel the need. He loves you in your rawest form, true and unconditional.
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kiss him again, submitting instantly when he moves his mouth on yours. He didn't need to have you tied up or pinned down or laid across his lap to signal that he's the one in control. He didn't even need to say anything. You're his - no question about it.
"It's our last full day here," you murmur against his jaw, hand snaking down into his boxers. You thumb along his slit, smirking at the obvious pre-cum. "Feels like somebody had a good dream."
"Don't be a tease," he warns lowly. You continue placing kisses down his chiseled jawline, not bothered in the slightest by his scratchy vacation beard. Moving to his neck, you suck on a spot that omits a groan, wrapping your hand around his shaft and pumping a few times. He's lost in your touch, melting into you the same way you do for him every time. "Please, Y/N"
"I'm sorry? What's this?" you raise an eyebrow, a shit-eating grin on your face at the sound of Spencer showing even the slightest ounce of neediness. After weeks of complete control, you had him in the palm of your hand. Literally and figuratively. "Is Spencer Reid begging for ME to touch him? Oh how the tables have turned!"
He rolls his eyes, gripping your jaw harshly.
"I thought it might be nice to take it slow this morning," he says, his other hand snapping down to grip your wrist, stopping the slow pumping. "But if you're going to be a cocky little slut about it, I have no problem fucking your throat."
The words evoke a literal whine from you, making Spencer chuckle arrogantly. He says nothing, but you know exactly what he's thinking: that's what I thought.
"I'll be good," you promise, allowing him to push his mouth on yours. You return to pumping his cock, leaning away from his kiss and pushing him gently onto his back. Licking a teasing stripe along his bare collarbone, you descend down his torso, peppering each word that falls from your lips with a kiss. "I...just...wanna...make...you...feel...good."
You tug down his boxers, licking a stripe up the underside of his shaft, carefully tracing the prominent vein with your tongue. He lets out a ragged breath, hand gently placed on the top of your head, showing restraint by applying no pressure. Taking his tip into your mouth, you ease down onto his cock, making sure to look up at him with doe eyes.
"So pretty with my cock in your mouth," he sighs, thumbing your cheek. You take him further, hollowing your cheeks and using your hand to add to the experience. "Yeah, just like that sweet girl. You're doing so good."
You hum in response, the vibrations causing him to buck his hips up, a flustered apology leaving his lips immediately. His fingertips massage the crown of your head, guiding your movements but not forcing them. He knows you'll take him deep all by yourself.
"Close," he mutters, moans and what you could've sworn was a whimper leaving his lips. He was letting you take the lead, fully relinquishing control as you blow him in a way that can only be described as sensual. Maybe even loving. Yeah, a loving blowjob. Your attention snaps back to him as he cums down your throat with a stifled moan, abdomen tensing and fingers tugging your hair. "That's my good girl-shit-yeah take it all."
"Did I do good?" you ask, knowing the answer but wanting to play along as his sweet, needy little sub. He nods exasperatedly, holding his arms open and kissing your temple when you snuggle up to him.
"You always do," he murmurs. You sit in silence for a few moments until a knock at the door startles you both. Spencer groans. "Son of a bitch. They're clearly doing it on purpose, now."
"I'll get it," you place a hand on his chest sweetly, throwing a pair of shorts on under your oversized CalTech shirt. Well, not exactly yours. Bare feet padding over to the front door of the cottage, you turn the knob with a scowl on your face. "What do you want?"
"Well damn," Emily chuckles, holding her hands up in surrender. "We wanted to see if you two were going to be joining us for the last poolside brunch. But from the looks of it, you have other plans."
"It's early," you respond, turning around to find a clock. The small, unused stove in the kitchenette lights up: 12:19 pm. Shit. "Oh god, we must've slept in. That never happens."
"Rough night?" your friend jokes, and you blush, shaking your head. "Don't worry. We had a late start anyways, Hotch and Garcia are both having slow recovery times. But Dave made Bloody Mary's!"
You look over her shoulder to see the team sitting around the table, Hotch's posture slumped with dark sunglasses resting on his face despite the cloudy day.
"We'll be out in a few," you promise, closing the door and walking back toward the bedroom. Spencer looks at you expectantly, patting the spot next to him. You stay standing. "We should really go out there, you know."
The man groans, dramatically hiding his face in a pillow. He didn't need to say it for you to know what's on his mind. This is the last morning things will be how they have been the past few weeks. Waking up in each other's arms, sharing morning breath tinged kisses and lazy touches.
"It's not like we're never going to see each other again," you crawl into bed, kissing up his shoulder to his collarbone, finally settling on his cheek. His eye peers out from beneath the pillow before throwing it aside entirely, turning to face you. "We live 10 minutes apart, Spence. Plus we'll see each other at work. And on nights we're in hotels we can sneak to each other's room for secret rendezvous."
"I don't want secret rendezvous," he says plainly. "I want you. I want to be able to kiss you and hold your hand and protect you without anyone saying we can't."
"I know," you whisper. His words make your heart sink, such grandiose desires coming from the lips of someone you had initially pegged as shy, reserved, and insecure. But you now know that Spencer is all of those things until he lets you in beneath his walls. And you're one of the lucky ones who gets to see and experience his whole heart. "I'll transfer-"
"No," he cuts in, looking at you seriously. "You're an asset to the team. And if I don't see you everyday I'll go crazy."
"So then it is what it is, Spence," you sigh, out of ideas. It's not ideal to have to conceal the purest, strongest love you've ever known - but the alternatives weren't much better. "We just have to keep it a secret for now."
"But what about," he hesitates, grabbing your hand. His eyes are intently glued onto yours, gauging your response to each syllable he utters next. "What about when things get more serious? What about when we want to get married? Or have kids? Because Y/N, I want to marry you. I want a life with you."
Shit. There it is. The words that would have made you jump out of bed and run for the hills had they come from the lips of anyone else. But with Spencer, as uneasy as you are in the wake of his confession, you can't find it within you to run. And it scares you like hell.
Cut and run had been your motto since you first started dating people. To you, love was fleeting, something you're meant to feel with your entire soul for a brief time. It's not something you ever saw as permanent.
You saw your parents go up in flames at a young age, starting with occasional fights and ending with a violent boom. It always ends. Which is why you had made a point to end it first, on your terms. Often leaving before the first "I love you"'s can even be spoken.
It was simple, almost like a game. Break them before they can break you, or worse.
But with Spencer, you hadn't looked for an out. You hadn't watched him sleep in the golden sunrise haze and hatched a plan about when the right time to leave is. You hadn't convinced yourself he was too needy or too affectionate or bad in bed, just searching for a reason to leave. You haven't played any of your old survival games, because he's different. Because you love him.
Because deep down, when you think about what you want your future to look like, it's the lanky dork with an IQ of 187 and the softest lips you've ever felt. You want to wake up with him in the morning and make breakfast on Sundays and cheer on your kids at their soccer games. You want to go from a scorned yet independent party of one to a duo who's hearts belong to each other.
Spencer Reid has shattered every preconceived notion you once had about love. He not only changed the definition, he became the definition.
So then why do his words still frighten you?
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," he stumbles awkwardly over his words, a certain sadness in his eyes in response to your wide-eyed silence. You sit up quickly and his eyes follow you, concern written all over his face**. "I know that type of stuff overwhelms you. Fuck, Y/N, please forget I said anything, okay? That wasn't fair to you."
"No, it's okay," you try to find the words amidst the ultimate tug of war between your brain and your heart. Your logical mind says to abort mission, love never works out in the end. But your heart says otherwise. You hope it wins the battle.
"It's not, I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that," he speaks calmly, as if any inflection in his voice will cause you to crumble. He knows you too well. "Just, let's take it day by day. Alright? We can go back home and see each other after work and-"
"Spencer, I love you," you cut him off, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. The air in the room feels as though it's depleting, and you're sure you're about to die a slow death of suffocation. He looks down at your trembling hands, trying to steady them in his gentle grip, sighing when you pull away. "I love you so much and I don't want you to think even for a second that I don't. I just need a minute. I'll meet you outside in a few, okay?"
"Okay."
Tears threatening to spill, you see him sigh and place his head in his hands as you escape into the bathroom. Looking at your reflection, you break.
Why can't you just be normal? Un-traumatized and unafraid to be loved? The perfect man - one who understands, values, chooses, and loves you - is right outside the door, saying what millions of girls would die to hear.
You should've fallen into his arms and kissed his face and said you feel more for him than you had ever thought possible. You should've let him pet your hair and tell you about his favorite jazz album and what kind of pets he wants.
Instead, you ran away like you always do.