Chapter Text
On the way over, she realizes that she might have been a bit impulsive.
Well, very impulsive.
She’s gotten very good at ignoring those urges over the years, but sometimes she still slips up.
And here she is, sitting in her car, next to Spencer’s Volvo.
Should she go back to her place? He might be asleep.
(She knows he’s not - all the lights were on when she drove past).
He might not want to see her.
(He pulled her into bed with him weeks ago).
What if he doesn’t feel the same way?
(There’s only one way to find out.)
Go for it, Peanut, she hears her dad say, and it’s that which finally gets her out of the car.
It propels her all the way up the stairs until she’s standing outside his apartment. She let herself into the building with the key he gave her, but she feels like walking into his apartment unannounced might cause all sorts of trouble at this time of night, so she knocks.
She hears him get up off the couch and come to the door, unlocking it.
And then she’s staring at him.
He's in his Caltech shirt, his plaid pyjama pants, mismatched socks and his glasses. His fringe is falling over his face.
He's never looked better.
“Elle, what are you-mph!”
She loses out on yet another impulse, and she presses her lips to his with barely restrained need. She holds him close, standing up on her toes to wrap her arms around his shoulders, fingers grasping the soft, worn fabric of his t-shirt.
She freezes for a second, realizing that she’s practically jumped him (shit, she should've asked) and is about to pull away when his mouth opens and he starts kissing her back, hands on her waist as his thumbs run along her ribs, and she's pushed against the railings opposite his apartment door. She runs her tongue along the seam of his lips, and he moans, pressing even closer to her.
And then it’s his turn to freeze, and he pulls away.
“Elle, this isn’t- we shouldn’t-”
“I’m leaving. The BAU, I mean.”
He blinks, several times. “You’re what?”
Shit, this is exactly what she didn’t want to happen. “I handed my notice in to Hotch and Gideon when we landed. I’m applying for a job at the Academy as a training agent, so I’ll hopefully still be at Quantico. But I won’t be working with you guys anymore.” She smiles, a little sadly. “I just can’t anymore. It’s not good for me.”
“Is that…is that what you want?”
“Yes, Spencer. It is.”
“And is this,” he gestures to the way they’re holding each other, “what you want, too?”
She can hear the silent question. Am I who you want?
“More than anything.”
“Then okay.” One hand moves from her waist and cups her jaw, and she leans into the touch as he pulls her face back to his. His lips touch hers again, but unlike when she initiated, it’s gentle, like he’s trying to savor every second. It doesn’t stay that way, though, and she quickly finds herself being pulled inside the apartment, his mouth never parting from hers.
Elle kicks the door closed behind them, which makes him break the kiss and laugh into her hair as he locks the door back up, apparently unwilling to be physically separated from her. Then, she’s pressed against it, Spencer leaning into her and using his weight to keep her there.
She’s shied away from touch since Garner, with one exception.
That exception is Spencer, and from him, she craves it.
Her arms loop around his neck as she pulls him down to kiss him again, relishing in the way he tastes, and realizes that she's home.
She doesn’t think home is a place anymore.
She thinks it’s a person, and his name is Spencer Reid.
Eventually she pulls back, and she smiles up at him, pulling his now fogged-up glasses from his face and placing them on the shelf behind them. “Bedroom?”
“Are you sure?” She watches the way his kiss-reddened lips move as he speaks, mesmerized.
“Completely.” She’s not sure there’s anything she’s wanted more in her life, to be honest.
“Then please.” He sounds more than a little desperate as he says it, and she laughs, grabbing his hand and leading him back into his own bedroom.
She sits down on the bed, and then looks down at what she's wearing.
She’s still in her coat.
He’s leaning against the doorway, a soft smile on his lips that she can just make out in the dim lamplight. “I think we might both be wearing a few too many clothes for this.”
That makes her laugh, and she undoes her coat before dropping it on the floor at the end of the bed. She’s wearing a crop top without a bra, and her pyjama shorts are, well, short.
When she looks back at him, he’s looking at her with his pupils blown wide.
She feels a little shy under his gaze. “Like what you see, Doctor Reid?”
“You’re beautiful.” He blushes as he says it. “I mean, I knew that, but- damn it, why is it that the one time I really want to speak, I can’t get the words right?”
She grabs his hand, pulling him closer to her so that he’s standing between her legs and not halfway across the room. “I’d say you’re getting them just right.” She lies down, hand still in his, and he follows her, bracing himself on his forearms as he presses his lips back to hers again. He’s warm on top of her, and his weight is grounding. She wraps her legs around his hips, taking in the way he smells, the way his lips are soft and warm against hers.
The longer they kiss, the more desperate she is to feel and see more of him, and her hands slide down his back before sneaking under his shirt. The skin is soft, and smooth, and she slowly pushes his t-shirt up until her hands are on his bare shoulders.
The skin is less smooth here, more raised and hard, a little tight, much like the skin on her chest.
It’s scar tissue, she knows, but she knows that he’ll tell her about how it got there when he’s ready. She runs her fingers gently against the skin and he whimpers into her mouth. When she pushes him away from her for a second so that she can lift the worn cotton over her head, he whines very slightly, and she kisses his collarbone in apology. Then, the shirt is no longer on him and his mouth is on hers again, clearly desperate to be as close to her as he can physically be. His hips flex down, and she can feel that he’s hard already as he catches her clit, making her gasp into his mouth. She’s not wearing any underwear, and the pyjama shorts are very thin.
From what she can tell, there’s nothing underneath his plaid pants either, and she knows he’s noticed her reaction to him when he pushes his hips into hers again.
He smiles against her lips when she moans, before pulling back again, and then it's her turn to complain. His lips are swollen, and she can see the color in his cheeks. “I think you’re still overdressed.”
“Well, so are you.” Her fingers play at the waistband of his pyjama pants.
“Ladies first.”
The crop top covers the scar, so she’s nervous for just a second until she reminds herself that he’s already seen it.
He’s seen it, and all he did was hold her gently and talk about Japanese pottery.
Scars are history, not reminders.
So she sits up and pulls it over her head without letting herself think about it any further.
And she watches as Spencer’s mouth falls very slightly open, very clearly not staring at the scar.
She suddenly feels very powerful when he looks at her that way.
She raises an eyebrow. “Well, querido, are you gonna take those pants off?”
He stands up before sliding them down his legs as she works her shorts down hers.
She hardly gives him a moment before pulling him back on top of her. He holds himself up on one arm as he explores her body with the other, fingers tracing from shoulder to hip, across the planes of her stomach, the edge of her breasts. His mouth moves away from hers to kiss along her jaw before moving down her neck - she can feel herself growing wetter as he does, and pushes up towards his mouth with every movement of his lips. He kisses further, brushing along her collarbone as he runs over a nipple with his thumb, before pinching it and rolling it gently between his fingers. She gasps, and he presses a gentle kiss to the scar on her shoulder before sliding off the bed and down onto his knees. She sits up, her hands holding her up behind her as she takes in the sight of him on his knees in front of her, his hands pushing her legs further apart. When he looks up at her, it’s not a question in his eyes. It’s a plea.
She nods, and then he kisses her knee. It almost tickles with how soft he is, before he looks at her again.
“Lie down, please.”
And she does.
He presses a kiss to her inner thigh, his hand lifting her leg onto his shoulder, and when he leans forward, licking from her entrance and up to her clit with an impressive amount of precision, she wonders for the briefest of seconds how he ever failed his firearms certification before she bucks into his mouth, gasping as her hands slide into his hair involuntarily. He does it again, this time more purposefully, his tongue flicking against her, and she moans his name. She clenches around nothing, her body desperate to be filled, aching for it in fact, and he notices and complies, one long finger sliding inside of her, causing her to sigh in pleasure and relief. He pumps it in and out of her, fingertip curling slightly upwards and his mouth starting to focus on her clit, and she gasps again, her hips twitching up towards him. He chuckles, more darkly than she would have thought possible for him, and the vibrations do even more for her, bringing her close to climax with a speed she didn’t think was possible. She says his name again, this time in warning, and she looks down to try and make sure he understands.
When he looks up at her, his eyes are the darkest they’ve ever seemed, the hazel almost entirely run over by the black of his pupils, and it’s almost sinful how good he looks, his mouth buried against her and his hands holding her thighs apart. He nods, very slightly, then sucks as he slides a second finger inside her, meeting no resistance, and then she’s falling, gasping her pleasure into her hands as she tries to muffle the noise as her orgasm rips through her. He works her through it, wringing every last drop of pleasure out of her, only slowing down once she starts whining from overstimulation. He withdraws his fingers, kissing her thigh again when she whimpers at the sudden emptiness, and wipes off his mouth with the back of his hand before he leans over her again, cock somehow even harder and leaking against her thigh. He kisses her, and she can taste the way she and him mix on his tongue. She takes a moment to catch her breath, everything still slightly golden around the edges as she looks at him, her thumb brushing over his cheek as her other hand reaches up to brush his fringe out of the way.
Then, she moves, settling herself with her head on the pillows and pulling him over so he’s lying next to her. His hands explore her body some more, as though he’s trying to memorize her own personal topography, commit every curve to memory so that he can never forget it, and she feels the same electricity she felt before when he’d run his fingers over the bullet wound on her chest, so many nights ago. The calluses from his gun are the barest hint of roughness against her skin, the only thing she could call rough about the way he ever is with her, but she finds she loves it, pulling him back to kiss her again and finding she can’t bear to be separated from him for more than a second.
They're as bad as each other, it seems.
His hands find her breasts again, fingers running over the sensitive skin and making her nipples hard again without even touching them. She sighs into his touch, and his mouth finds her neck as she runs her nails down his back, making him shiver. She can feel the ache again, that need to have him inside of her, but she wants to enjoy him, wants to enjoy taking it slow as they get to know each other in this new way. She snakes her hand down between them and takes hold of him, the weight of him hot and heavy in her palm and the angle ever so slightly uncomfortable but worth it when he gasps into her shoulder.
“Fuck, Elle-”
It’s the first time she’s heard him swear without cutting himself off, and she just kisses him again, taking his gasps into her mouth as she pumps him slowly, enjoying the way she can almost taste his pleasure.
Soon, she rolls them over, and she sits between his legs, kissing down his body as his hand strokes up and down her arm, as unwilling to be apart from her as she is from him. She tries to memorize him the way she knows he has her - the freckle under his left nipple, the mole just above the crease of his elbow, the tiny birthmark that looks a little like a star above his right hip. She kisses each, a promise to herself to save the moments in her brain, before she takes him into her mouth. His head hits her soft palate, and he gasps her name again, the hand not currently on her arm sliding into her hair - never pushing, never demanding, only grounding himself. She runs her tongue on the underside before swirling it around the head, one hand at the base and the other on his thigh, and she feels the way his hips twitch as he tries not to fuck into her mouth. She smiles, and pulls off, kissing his thigh in apology when he whines at the loss of contact. “It’s okay, querido, you don’t need to hold back.” Then she sinks back down on him again, enjoying the tiny movements he makes, the way he doesn’t stop talking for a second even though she can’t quite make out the words he’s saying. Whatever they are, she’s pretty sure she’d like them, anyway.
Eventually, he gently pulls her head back with his hands, and he looks desperate. “Elle, I need-”
She nods, because she needs the same thing.
If he's not inside her in the next ninety seconds, she thinks she might explode.
Then she pauses as she straddles his hips. “Do you have-”
He nods, opening the drawer of the bedside table and passing her a small packet.
She tears it open, rolling the condom down onto him before lifting herself up and angling him so he’s notched against her entrance.
She meets his eyes, and he nods.
She sinks down on him slowly, feeling the way he fills her perfectly with every stretch, and she gasps as each of the nerves inside her lights up in pleasure. It’s like he was made for her.
She braces herself against his chest as she lifts herself back up, before dropping herself back down. He moans, his hands settling on her hips, and the next time, he thrusts into her as she comes back down, making her hands grasp at his shoulders. He looks at her the entire time, eyes tracing over her face even as his mouth hangs slightly open, slack-jawed in ecstasy, and she wraps a hand around the back of his head so she can press her lips to his again. The angle makes it so he’s pressing up against her g-spot, and she clenches around him, almost sobbing in pleasure.
She knows she’ll still be feeling this tomorrow, that she'll be able to feel where he's been, and she looks forward to it.
She starts to flag after a while, losing her rhythm as she slowly gets closer to the edge again, and he helps, his hands on her hips as he lifts her up, before dropping her back down again. His thumb brushes against her clit, and she whines, her awareness starting to close in on the way he circles it, pulling her closer and closer to what promises to be a spectacular second orgasm. His own thrusts are starting to stutter too, so she knows he’s close as well, and she smiles as she very gently bites at his ear. He gasps, thrusting hard up into her as his thumb swipes against the apex of her thighs one more time and then she’s coming hard enough to see stars, clenching around him and dragging him over the edge with her. She thinks she blacks out for a moment with the force of it, and she comes back to her body to the sounds of him gasping her name, thrusting up into her three more times before stilling.
They don’t move for a moment, her head pressed into her shoulder as he kisses messily along hers, orgasm-drunk and sleepy, his hands running down her spine. When she finally lifts herself off him, they both whine at the loss of contact, and she rolls onto the bed next to him for a moment as he pulls her into him, her leg slung over both of his almost possessively and her hand running along his ribs while he kisses the palm of her hand, making her giggle slightly.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing, just you being a big romantic.”
He smiles, his hand taking her face and pulling her in for another kiss. She melts into him, and when he pulls back, they’re both smiling. “My bedtime stories were literally romantic epics. Does this surprise you?” She shakes her head because no, it doesn't. Then he sobers a little. “Is that an issue?”
She's quick to reassure him. “Not in the slightest, querido.”
“‘Querido’. That means something like ‘darling’, doesn’t it?”
“That it does, cerebrito.”
He smiles. “So this isn’t just a one time thing, then?”
“Definitely not.” She nuzzles into his neck, and he twists the ends of her hair around his fingers, and she sighs. “Is that an issue?”
“Not at all. I just haven’t got a lot of experience in…well, anything, with anyone, really. I just… I don’t want to risk screwing it up and losing you as a friend as well.”
“Well I haven’t got much experience in relationships, but I think we’ll manage.” She kisses him again, before standing up. “Now, I am going to go clean up, and then I’m getting in the shower. Fancy joining me in about five minutes?”
He nods enthusiastically, and she laughs, leaning down to kiss him again before going into the bathroom, still a little unsteady on her legs.
The shower’s been on for a minute, and she’s been in it for maybe ten seconds, when he walks in, pushing the curtain aside and pressing himself up behind her, kissing her shoulder blade. He takes the bottle of shampoo away from her, before kissing her cheek. “Let me?”
She nods, and he massages it into her hair as she leans back against him, her eyes falling closed. When he’s done, he takes the shower gel and does the same down her back, loosening every tight muscle until she knows she’s only standing upright because she’s leaning against him. He turns her towards him, kissing her again and making her half-tempted to drag him out of the shower and ride him on the bathroom floor, the mess be damned, before he quickly rinses through his own hair and washes himself off, turning off the water and wrapping them both up in towels. He gently dries her hair with the towel before grabbing the brush she’s left by the mirror, combing through it incredibly carefully, almost reverently.
By the time she’s settled in bed, hair half-dry, in a clean set of pyjamas, and draped across Spencer again, she’s the most relaxed and happy she’s been in way, way too long. He’s playing with her fingers, and she smiles.
“Trying to memorize my fingerprints, querido?”
“Not exactly, my love.” And then he freezes.
And so does she. But only for a second before joy bursts inside her. “Do you mean that, Spencer?”
For the first time in the almost two years she’s known him, he’s speechless. So he just nods.
And she smiles. “Te quiero, mi amor.”
He relaxes again, pulling her close for another deep, satisfying kiss. When he speaks again, his accent is still awful, but she loves it like she loves every other part of him. “I love you. Te necesito, Elle.”
“Y yo también, Spencer. Yo también.”