Summary: Reader and Spencer share the night together following her doctor's appointment.
Content Warning(s): Fingering, penetrative sex,degradation, daddy kink, Adults w/ Age Gap (10yr), spitting kink, unprotected sex, vague mention of sub-drop, aftercare included
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There was something about the BAU bullpen that felt like another world. The open layout and the way it could shift from frantic rushing to bored silence in seconds sometimes made me feel like I was the most normal person contained within its walls. It was a rare sight, to see me there, and for good reason. I didn't like to be there, considering most of my time there had been spent being questioned about homicide.
But it wasn't like that, not that morning. I'd finished my doctor's appointment early enough that I could hopefully locate the elusive Dr. Reid before he took off for lunch. And sure enough, just as I excitedly bounced over to his desk, I heard the ever-excited, yet comforting squeak of my boyfriend as he returned with a freshly poured cup of coffee.
"Hey, what are you doing here?" he practically yelled through a smile, rushing over to drop the mug on his desk. He couldn't do it fast enough and barely made it. Once the mug was barely safe on the desk, his arms raced to wrap around me.
I giggled at the enthusiasm, considering it'd only been a couple hours since I saw him. But I was ecstatic to be with him and share the news I'd tucked away to keep safe on the way over. It was too much to bear by myself for long, and I knew he would be happy to help carry the load.
"I finished my appointment early and since I was in the neighborhood, I wanted to come see my boyfriend and give him the good news in person." I explained. Spencer eyed me cautiously, careful not to get too far ahead of himself. I looked back with what I'd hoped was a cheeky grin, but I had a feeling it just turned into a goofy, toothy grin. Just as Spencer figured it out and his eyebrows shot up, another voice joined us.
"Mia stellina!" Rossi boomed, the bass carrying through the room like it always seemed to. It was the kind of joyful exclamation that demanded your attention, no matter how dark the circumstances surrounding you were. I knew that from personal experience.
I laughed again as he enveloped both me and Spencer in a hug that the latter only kind-of-sort-of cringed away from.
"Reid didn't tell us that you were coming in today! I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
I snorted at the implication, stepping back to buy back my breathing space. "You're never a bother, Rossi." And I meant it, even if he had just interrupted mine and Spencer's very important conversation. I could table it for a moment, though. There hadn't been many chances for me to talk to Rossi since the hospital. Although he'd visited less frequently than Derek or Hotch, he'd still come by often enough for me to miss him. He was, by far, the most unique member of the team. People always assumed it would be Penelope, but I stuck with my contention that it's the quieter ones you have to keep an eye on. Not that Rossi didn't love to talk, and especially when it granted him the ability to name-drop.
"This is why I like you," he casually reminded, waving off a slightly offended Spencer on his side. "And I trust that Reid already told you about the plans for next weekend."
As soon as I turned to look at Spencer, he immediately looked away.
Luckily, Rossi wasn't obtuse and quickly recognized the display of guilt. "I stand corrected."
"What plans?" I butted in before either of them could speak. Spencer grimaced at the monotone, as he was fully aware of the level of annoyed it signaled.
"I told him to extend you an invite to the next family dinner, but it seems like he's selfishly planning on keeping you all to himself." Rossi's playful tone was his way of requesting I give Spencer a break, but I wasn't in the mood for forgiveness just yet. After spending months trapped in my bed, I was always looking for an excuse to talk to anyone that wasn't my roommate. And when it came to the team... I mean, they were like his family. It made sense I wanted their approval, right? Or was I really, honestly just seeking the approval of men like Hotch and Rossi because of my "daddy issues?" And oh, god, I didn't want to delve into that psychology.
"How rude," I deadpanned, instead, elbowing Spencer's side just enough to elicit a pained exhale and an explanation.
"I was going to tell her. I was just waiting until we actually knew when it was going to happen."
"He's lying," I told Rossi, earning a very adamant, denial from Spencer in the process that I brushed off. We both did. The pout that immediately followed was harder to ignore, but I could be strong.
Honestly, it was just funny to see him in this environment. When he was alone with me, he was usually the one in charge, but at work, Spencer was hardly that. It was the only chance I had to tease the ever living shit out of him with little chance of immediate consequences.
"Yeah, he's lying," Rossi easily deduced, waving a dismissive hand at Spencer before continuing, "But luckily, you were here. And whenever it happens, I hope that you'll be there, too. It's important for you to have a chance to socialize with us outside of the job."
I smiled, finally looping my arm around Spencer's to hopefully ease the pain caused by being ignored. Rossi, however, didn't seem to be on the same wavelength, considering he gave another quick quip. "Hopefully you'll bring the kid with you," he teased as he turned away, pointing to the notably older and larger man at my side.
"How am I the kid in this scenario?" Spencer muttered under his breath, the pout still on his face, and still just as cute.
"Will do, Rossi," I happily chirped.
"Thank you, stellina." Rossi said with a wink, casually bringing both hands to his lips to blow each of us a kiss.
Once Rossi was fully out of earshot, Spencer sighed in resignation. He had complained before about the fact that the team had immediately felt comfortable with me, contrary to his own experience. But of course, it wasn't fair to compare. I'd come into their lives piggybacking on their close relationship with him. Spencer didn't see it that way, though.
"Why do you get a nickname?" he grumbled, dropping his head to the side to rest atop mine.
I didn't let him rest there long, pushing him back away from me so that I could stand before him again. With my fingers under my chin, I flashed the brightest smile I could while dramatically emphasizing, "Because I'm a little star."
Spencer looked down at me with a gentle adoration, his hand coming up to brush over my cheek. My face followed after him, desperate for any contact he could offer in the sterile environment. It didn't really make much sense how touch starved I was; it wasn't like he hadn't touched me over the past couple months. Or even that he'd touched me any less– if anything, it had been more.
But then again, how could I ever get enough? I was certain Spencer would call me spoiled, and in many ways, I was, but I didn't care. If I could find a way to bottle up the way I felt when he held me, I would. Lord knows there were so many times when I'd needed it and he wasn't there. I wouldn't ever admit that to him, though. What would be the point?
He couldn't always be there. Sometimes he would have to leave.
Unaware of the dramatic monologue in my head, my boyfriend sighed. His lips pursed again while he watched my eyes soften the longer that he held my face. "You certainly are little," he concluded. I knew he wanted to say more but feared doing so might lead the conversation down a path less suited for work. Although, what I had planned wasn't exactly work appropriate, either.
"You know we're definitely going, right?" I replied, peeking my tongue out from behind my lips.
With a loud groan, he took his hand back like the question had burned him. "Fine," he conceded before quickly shifting the conversation, "but I'm more interested in what you came here to tell me. How did your appointment go?"
"It went very well. I got wonderful news," I beamed. There were many idiosyncrasies of Dr. Spencer Reid that I absolutely adored, but one of my favorites happened to be the one where his eyebrows jumped halfway up his forehead, his eyes going wide with a curious glint. Just like they did then.
"Does this news mean you'll be staying at my place tonight?"
"It can..." As I spoke, I wrapped both of my arms around his arm and pulled him down to whisper in his ear, "unless you want to take a long lunch break and get a head start."
"Someone's eager," he replied with a snort that didn't sound nearly as promising as I'd hoped.
"Can you blame me?"
Before I could sulk too hard, he poked me on the forehead and chuckled at the resistance I gave to the action. "Lunch, unfortunately, would not give me enough time for what I want to do to you," he practically purred in a barely-there whisper against my ear. "When I get home, I want to find you on my bed with nothing on. Do you understand me, little girl?"
"Yes." I had to stop myself from making too much noise, but a pathetic whimper slipped out before I could stop it.
"Good girl," he whispered with his retreat, "I'll see you then."
Suddenly, I couldn't wait for the hours to pass me by. I couldn't stay at the BAU for long, recognizing a sudden shift of energy as JJ began rushing them into the office right before I left. At first, I thought it was a case, but Spencer assured me it wasn't. He promised me that he would be home that night, and that I didn't need to worry.
But the hours did not fly by; they took their sweet fucking time. I didn't even bother waiting in the bed for most of them. I honestly spent nearly 8 of them rifling through the shelves in his living room, looking for a book that was both from this century and actually in English.
After I'd rifled through his cupboards and realized that he didn't have any food, I went to the grocery store and bought food, returned, unloaded the bags, cooked and ate dinner before I came to one simple conclusion:
Spencer Reid was a filthy goddamn liar.
That was my admittedly grumpy thought when I finally crawled into his still empty bed in his even lonelier apartment. His pillow smelled enough like him that I could hug it and pretend that I wasn't waiting for someone who was probably not going to come back anytime soon. I thought about going home, but I decided being lonely in his bed was better than being alone in my own.
My temper tantrum kept my face sulkily buried in his pillow, so when my phone started to ring, I didn't notice it. I didn't notice much of anything, and before I knew it, I'd drifted off into a world where Spencer could keep his promises because his job didn't suck.
Of course, even in my sadness my mind drifted to other memories spent there. I'd fallen back into the loop of memories of the last time we were together. I could almost feel his breath against my thighs and his hands raking over my hips. And like it always seemed to, reality and fantasy began to blur. Spencer's hand on my thigh felt so hot, I was burning beneath it. My whole body tensed, my back arching in the hopes of finding him.
I wasn't sure which woke me first, the low, gentle chuckle, or the whisper in my ear.
"Maybe I should change your nickname to Aurora."
I sat up before I even registered the words. Reacting to his voice alone, my arms were already around him and dragging him back down before he could say anything else.
"You're home!" I shouted, groggy but happy to not be alone. If I'd looked at the clock, I would have seen the hands pointing to the early hours of the next day, but it hardly mattered anymore. All that mattered to me was that he was there, in my arms.
"I guess it's my fault for not specifying that you should be awake when I got home."
Answering him with a sloppy, sleepy kiss on the lips, I relished the way he couldn't stop himself from laughing through it. "I'm awake now," I answered with a very poorly timed yawn. It luckily didn't dissuade him, and his hands quickly worked up over my hips and beneath the sheer negligee I'd worn to bed hours earlier.
"What's this? I could have sworn my instructions were to not wear anything," he chastised with a smile.
"I don't follow instructions. You already knew that," I mumbled back. It wasn't until I ran my hands through his hair that I realized that he'd already stripped down to nothing before waking me up.
How considerate.
His curls seemed so much longer than before, and the movements seemed to distract him enough to grant me some mercy. We both knew why I didn't want to be naked yet. And it really was a 'yet.' I truly believed that I'd eventually be able to own my body again, but that point just seemed so far in the future. Spencer didn't want to push it. Not that night.
"I'll let it slide this time." He shared the words with kisses over my jaw and neck, his hands growing hungrier by the second. They skipped straight from my hips to my chest, grabbing hold of my breasts through the thin fabric. He was almost out of breath already when he murmured, "Before we do anything, you have to promise me you'll stop me if it hurts."
"I know, Spencer," I droned, but he kept going.
"I mean it. Any sign of discomfort, you have to tell me."
"I know!" I shouted with a laugh, struggling to push him away while he continued to cling to me. Finally having managed to do it, I promptly fell back onto the pillow. As I rolled my body over to lay flat, I managed to grab hold well enough that I could pull him over top of me. "Don't ruin the mood!"
He stopped to admire the sight before him. All I could see, though, was the way he looked at me. The rest of the world seemed to fade away, and I wondered what he saw when he looked at me like that. He looked at me like he loved me so much he wanted to break me. I wished he would.
"How could I ruin anything when you look so fucking perfect laid out in my bed for me?" He growled, his nails dragging over the sensitive skin of my chest.
I couldn't tell if it was his intention or some kind of Freudian slip, but I was reminded of the day I marred his chest with a necklace-shaped mark in a very similar fashion. The memory made me giggle. "I'm not so innocent." The understatement of the century.
"Maybe not, but there are still a lot of things I've yet to show you."
I was waiting for the but. I knew it was coming.
"But for now, we're going to go slow."
And there it was. I thought to myself how ridiculously unfair it was that having a good boyfriend meant actually being able to rely on them to take care of you. Even armed with the knowledge of my masochistic tendencies, Spencer was too scared to seriously hurt me. Thankfully, though, he wasn't scared enough to stop him from sliding his hand up my thigh and slipping his finger into my drenched heat.
"The question is how slow?" he teased, recognizing from the rocking of my hips that I was more than prepared to have him then. "How much should I torture you, little girl?"
"Please," was the only word I could whine at first, but I still saw too much restraint in his eyes. I knew that if I didn't convince him now, I might be there for hours before he gave me what I wanted. It wasn't the worst idea, but judging by his already bloodshot eyes, I figured I might as well speed things along.
"Please, daddy," I whimpered much louder, tilting my hips up to present myself to him. I could feel his erection pressed against me, his palm pressing down as he struggled to decide if he even wanted to keep me in place. I could see that desire to destroy me return to his eye with a vengeance. He knew that I was challenging him, but then again, when did I not?
"Take care of me," I begged. That was the way I succeeded in breaking Spencer; in turn, he would break me.
He grabbed my legs so quickly and roughly that I was almost dizzy with it. Wrapping them around his own hips, he lined himself up and began dragging the head of his cock over my sex. Low and wildly shaking, Spencer's words were only barely audible over the sound of the blood rushing in my veins.
"Are you ready?" he asked, like my answer would ever change.
"Yes!" I shouted, nodding like my words wouldn't be enough.
Spencer had barely waited for the confirmation. Inch by inch, he slowly stretched me open like it was the very first time he touched me. His movements were so precise, so gentle and undoubtedly tender, that I thought I might actually cry.
I had almost forgotten what it felt like when he touched me like that. I would never admit it to him, but with every passing second, I could feel the love rushing back to me. That connection that had felt strained was reinforced and reasserted.
He just felt so fucking good. And apparently, Spencer had similar thoughts in mind.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his head falling forward to knock our foreheads together. There was clearly so much effort going into not hurting me that I just found myself hoping he was still enjoying it. That train of thought made it more difficult when his next question came. "Does it hurt?"
"No, it feels so fucking good," I sobbed, and it was the truth. My hips, though already growing tired thanks to the months of disuse, struggled to try and take more of him. And even when he was fully inside me, I still cried out to him. "Please, Spencer!"
"Be patient," he said with a grunt, his hips pulling back just enough for him to slam into me with more force. "I'm going to enjoy this."
The words made a swarm of butterflies burst through my lower half that already felt so full with him. The statement just sounded so perfectly selfish in a way I'd been dying to feel for months. I wanted him to reap the rewards he'd so obviously earned. I wanted to give them to him, really, but I just couldn't make it too easy. It wasn't our style.
"So it's not about taking care of me anymore, is it?" I pouted, although my lips quickly parted again as Spencer increased his pace in response.
"Are you not satisfied, little girl?" he teased, reaching up with one hand to wrap around my hair, forcing my head back among the pillows while he started to drive into me at a reckless pace. "Do you need me to fuck you harder?"
"Yes!" I yelled, my hands reaching for him, digging into his skin and bringing him closer to me. "I want it. Give it to me."
Whether he sensed the desperation in my voice or simply couldn't hold it back any longer, Spencer showed an uncharacteristic level of mercy on me. He barely protested at all before giving into my demands. Holding my head back in that same craned position, he laid sloppy kisses over my throat before whispering, "My little girl gets whatever she wants."
There were no more words on my mind besides his name, which I recited over and over like a prayer. Each time he filled me, my eyes could barely stay open and my lips were nearly bruised from my constant biting. It was easy to forget that the rest of the world existed— that it was past midnight on a weeknight and everyone in the surrounding apartments would probably fucking hate us.
But Spencer didn't seem to care either. Well, that's a misstatement. Spencer definitely cared about my volume, but he didn't care about other people not being able to hear it. He made that quite clear when he gripped my lower jaw in one hand and pulled it down, forcing my mouth open for him.
He had that look in his eyes again. The one that told me there were entire worlds in his mind that I hadn't seen. Deeply hidden desires lurking just under the rippling surface. I wondered how far they went and just how much Spencer would hurt me if I could convince him to.
"Tell me what you want," he ordered through clenched teeth, his jaw tensed and eyes still burning. There was a hurricane happening behind those hazel rings, and I wanted him to let it out.
I didn't know how to ask him to do that; to convince him to break me even while I lay before him already broken and barely keeping it together. I did the only thing I could think to do with his hand still holding my mouth open to him and presented my tongue to him.
Spencer tried to remain composed and stoic as ever, but his body betrayed in him the same way it always did. His eyes. From the second they flickered down to see what I was asking for, his pupils blew out and swallowed the comforting toffee color of his irises.
With an even darker tone, Spencer chuckled, "You're a filthy, greedy bitch."
It's hard to explain how much the words filled every part of my body. The way goosebumps rippled over my skin and an undeniable, almost unbearable heat burned at my face. It only got worse when Spencer finally did as I asked, gathering the saliva in his mouth just to drop it into my own.
The second it hit my tongue, I felt so irrefutably his that I was high with it. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I swallowed between hungry gasps for air. And when it was over, I presented my tongue to him again.
I did so good, sir. Please tell me that I'm good, sir.
There were no words, but Spencer praised me in his actions. He lowered his mouth to mine, his tongue sliding against mine until our mouths were connected in the basest manner. For all the destructive power he held, he kissed me so softly. He still kissed me like he loved me.
Neither of us lasted much longer. Spencer's hand slid from my jaw to rest on my neck, and a moan tore through my chest. Even though he applied no pressure, the casual reminder of what he could do to me was all that I needed. I lost myself in the bliss of him, my hands tangled in his hair and holding his mouth against mine even when I couldn't kiss him anymore.
His eyes watched me, still covered in the blackness of his pupils and that animalistic desire to claim me however possible. I watched those eyes the entire time I came, wanting to both grant him the submission he deserved while also selfishly wanting to see the control I had over him, too.
Spencer kept his eyes open as he followed after me, unable to resist the calling of my body, begging him to mark, use, and fill it however he pleased. I watched his eyes roll back ever so slightly, his breath hitching as he pulsed inside me in tandem with my walls that held onto him for dear life.
I was his. I'd known that before, but how easily I'd forgotten. How quickly I'd let some stranger and some lead lay claim to me and make me believe that I could be anything but Spencer's beautiful little girl.
When all semblance of fight left our bodies, Spencer still managed not to collapse on top of me. Apparently not even me letting him spit in my mouth was enough to convince him I was alright. I wrapped my arms around him and tugged him down on top of me, feeling the comfortable weight of him holding my chest down to more manageable breaths.
That was all there was for a while; our heavy breath breezing over sweat-covered skin as we lay tangled together under the sheets. I soaked in the feeling of slightly uncomfortable bliss, enjoying the way that we didn't care if it wasn't perfect because it felt close enough to us.
"I missed this," Spencer said under his breath. It was a rare showing of selfish honesty— the first time he'd admitted to me that he had been having to hold part of himself back for months. He hadn't been able to love me like he wanted, either. He might have been worried that I would take it the wrong way, but in reality, I had never felt so relieved to hear it.
"Me too." I returned, trying to assuage his guilt as much as I could. I knew it wouldn't do much, but I needed him to understand how grateful I was to share the moment with him.
Then again... They do say that laughter is the best medicine. So with a bit of a giggle, I mumbled, "Not so much the next part, but this one, yeah."
With a small, sleepy chuckle, Spencer slurred against the pillow, "You're such a romantic."
"Says the asshole who doesn't have to get up," I reminded him. I struggled to move underneath him as he seemed to drop even more dead weight on top of me.
Like I said: Asshole.
"I wish you didn't have to get up. I don't want to let you go yet."
I rolled my eyes, continuing to push at his stubborn shoulders while huffing back, "It'll only be a few minutes, Spencer. The bathroom is right there."
Nuzzling his face into my neck, he mumbled back, "Too long."
"I can never tell if you're more of an old man or a big baby."
"I don't know, let's stay here and talk about it for a long time," he answered with a laugh. I hated the fact that I laughed too, my attempts to shove him off finally ceasing. He pulled his head back, looking at me with all the love in the world.
I wasn't ready for him to look at me like that. I couldn't explain why, but the idea of him loving me still felt so terrifying. That fear was compounded by the realization that he might see it.
"Get up, idiot," I replied to hide that emotion. It also helped to distract me from my own thoughts, and I ended up biting on my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling. It didn't work.
"You're so mean to me," Spencer whined as he slowly removed himself with a small grunt.
"Only when you deserve it."
Normally I would have eagerly gotten up myself, but I realized then just how painful it was to move. Spencer watched me with a massive, overwhelming guilt that formed before I could even think of how to prevent it. I decided it wasn't worth it to try. It wouldn't work. I just let him guide my legs off the bed so that I could shakily stand and shuffle off to the bathroom.
The best part about the time alone was being able to pull myself together and massage the angry scar tissue.
It won't always be like this, I reminded myself, we can be beautiful again without it hurting.
That was the pep talk, anyway. It was the thing that got me back into the room and under the covers. Curling up by his side was like nature's medicine. All of my muscles relaxed against him... until he turned around and ruined the perfect comfortable position.
Groaning in the least attractive manner, I pouted the entire time we readjusted. But despite my protests, Spencer looked as happy and comfortable as ever. Plopping my head back down on the pillow, I narrowed my eyes at his contemplation.
"What?"
"L'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle," he answered, which really only led to my confused face shifting to confused and incredibly turned on again. But one word in particular sounded familiar, as reminded by Rossi earlier in the day. Or rather, the day before.
"I recognize that last word. What are you saying about me, Dr. Reid?"
"It's the final line in Divina Commedia by Dante Alighieri." He was doing that cryptic thing again, having apparently not learned his lesson that I would always beat the answer out of him eventually, one way or another
Through a yawn, I mumbled, "What is that, Dante's Inferno?"
"Well, Inferno is the first section, but I'm quoting Paradiso, which is the third and final installment of the overall work." And apparently, he was also doing that thing where he taught me really interesting new things when I definitely did not have the brain capacity to understand or retain the information. We both knew I would have to Google it later, so there was no point in lingering.
"Okay, so what does it mean?"
Spencer paused, his gaze sweeping back and forth across my face like he was searching for the proper translation. Like the real answer he sought was something that could only be seen by his eyes. Eventually, he settled on a simpler and equally romantic response.
"It's the way he describes the piece of Heaven he saw."
But that still wasn't good enough for my constantly curious self. It might have been the brat in me, but it was almost like he was avoiding the direct translation. Like I wasn't smart enough to come to my own conclusion about it. "I'm going to keep asking until you answer me," I droned, more reminiscent of a nagging two year old rather than a twenty year old.
"Spoiled," he remarked, lightly tapping on my nose before he sighed. "It means 'the love which moves the sun and the other stars.'"
I thought about the words for a minute. Or rather, I thought about trying to think about the words. Unfortunately, my exhaustion and blissed-out brain got the better of me, and the beautiful words whispered, in English this time, went in one ear and out the other. Spencer was giving me a smug little smile, like he could see my cluelessness written on my face.
"I like the Heaven explanation better," I sneered, trying not to let him win this one just yet. But it was obvious from the way his smile grew that he'd already won.
"Yeah, I knew you would. You just had to keep asking."
Snaking my hand around his waist, I pulled myself flush against him. "I'm a very curious kitten, Dr. Reid," I purred, gently rubbing our noses together in a very successful attempt to distract him from gloating.
And in a brief flash of self-awareness, I realized how utterly normal I felt. It wasn't just average; unlike the domestic moments we'd shared over the recovery, this one felt so... natural. There was nothing foreign about his hand on the small of my back, and the rhythm his fingertips tapped felt like a lullaby I'd heard a million times before.
"I wouldn't want you any other way," Spencer whispered, breaking me from the brief aside and back into the present.
"I'm pretty sure you'd have me in any form." I didn't laugh yet, but once Spencer joined in, there was no hope left for me.
"Yeah, probably, but you don't have to point it out!" he whined.
I watched as the color started to form on his face, first starting with his ears and nose before spreading out across his cheeks. That blush, still visible in the dim light, was still one of the most beautiful things in the world to me. I never tired of it. Paired with his embarrassed giggles mingled with my own, I felt the undeniable and overwhelming emotion that could only be described as 'love.'
When the laughter finally ceased, it was just the two of us in silence again, although now we were so close together that we might as well have been one person. It felt that way sometimes. Not like one might think— it was not the supposedly romantic but strangely depressing idea that we aren't whole without another. It was more like knowing that I would never be more myself than I was when I was in his arms.
Comfortable. Safe. At home.
"Spencer?" I spoke before he could fully close his eyes that he somehow kept open for me.
"What's up?"
"Thank you."
That seemed to wake him up, which was not at all my intention. In fact, I'd hoped he wouldn't respond at all and let the words stand. But he must have heard the hidden message behind it, the fear that all good things must come to an end.
"For what?" he asked. His hand on my back started to make soothing strokes under the negligee, reasserting his presence with me.
I considered answering. I thought about word vomiting all of my fears of inadequacy and broken promises and a future of settling for me. But I couldn't. I couldn't ruin the moment with such stupid things. The feelings would pass with enough time, right? I didn't want to bother him with it. I didn't even know if the problems were problems at all.
"I just wanted you to know that I'm happy and I love you," I said, instead.
Spencer still saw that I was hiding something, but we were both too tired to push it. We could always talk about it in the morning if we remembered, which I was hoping we wouldn't.
"I wish I could help you understand how much I love you," he murmured, removing his hand from my back to trace my jaw. "I can tell you that I want to marry you and raise a family with you but... I don't think it's enough.
My stomach immediately dropped. It fell so hard that I actually flinched from his hand, my face twisting into an even more obvious grimace. If my hope was for Spencer to sleep, I'd made a grave error. He immediately shot up onto his arm, cupping my face and inspecting my eyes for any persisting sign of pain.
"What's wrong?" he pressed, his eyes bouncing back and forth between my stomach and eyes. "Are you okay?"
"Nothing is wrong!" I squeaked, my hands flying to his shoulders to pull him back down. "I'm fine. I'm just tired."
Our eyes locked in a challenge; a silent back and forth of wills and pleas. And eventually, Spencer started to lower back on the pillow. He'd let me win this one.
"It is past your bedtime," he said with only a whisper of defeat in his voice.
"It's past every normal human being's bedtime, Spencer," I said before turning away from him in the hope that it would make that concern in his eyes hurt less. It didn't.
"And you think I'm the old man," he joked back, snuggling up behind me and sighing into my neck as his hand rested on my hip. "Goodnight, little girl."
So soon after he spoke, he was already asleep. Unfortunately, it wasn't so simple for me. Even in his sleep, Spencer's hands found their way to my stomach. His fingers spread over the expanse of skin like the scars didn't exist at all. Like it was just as perfect a placement for him to hold onto me as it ever was before. Spencer had a tendency to hold me with so much love that I no longer felt capable of containing it.
It was... suffocating. It took my mind back to images of his blood soaked hands in much of the same position. His hands felt foreign again, and I felt even further away. Like Spencer wasn't actually there, and neither was I. All that he was holding onto was memory instead of me.
He said he loved me, but he didn't say why. The only answers my mind would consider were things that had already died months ago. Things that his hands and kisses couldn't fix.
I couldn't ask him why. I was too afraid of the answer.