spencer reid x afab!reader drabble wc: 578
reader loves spencer's mouth. 18+ allusions to smut not proofread
You had a huge issue, and that issue was Spencer Reid’s mouth. It never stopped moving, lips never ceased to spread and splatter facts, teeth that gleamed when he gave those little lopsided smiles– fuck, the way it got to you needed to be studied by Sigmund Freud or something– that’s how down bad you are for this man. How sickly, grossly, head over heels you are.
And right now, you were at your peak, heat blossoming and bursting in your veins like the most recent hit of a drug. You never believed in the “heart-eye” look. It sounded like something purely made up in books. Romantic, escalated depictions of dilated pupils and fluttering lashes that couldn’t be purely communicated by the same repeated lines. But if you could see yourself, see the look you were giving him as he rambled about how white blood cells fight infection, you’d put your realist point of view to rest quickly.
“It’s actually a multi-step process. You see, each cell has a specialized role. Neutrophils like phagocytes, for example, engulf and digest germs. They’re often the first responders to an identified infection– paramedics of the blood stream, if you will.” He grinned at his comparison, proud of the brief spurt of creativity, and you almost ruined your jeans.
“Mhm,” you hummed, breathless. Your knuckles pressed firmly into your lips, just inches away from your teeth you were seconds away from gnawing on like a needy dog.”And– and what others are there?” Cats in heat had more shame than you, pressing against him on the couch, chest hot on his arm, yet Spencer didn’t notice.
His cheeks tinged pink, and Spencer stammered momentarily. Okay, so he did notice. “W-well, uh, there’s basophils, which– um, they release chemical signals to- to trigger infla-flamation and attract other cells.” You were slowly slipping into his lap, tossing one leg on either side of his lanky body you’d snap like a twig if given the chance.
Your hands slid up his chest, smoothing over his patterned sweater he practically cheesed over when he found it hidden at the thrift-store. “Like an alarm system?” You tilted your head.
Again, cats had more shame.
Spencer swallowed, hands resting on your waist. You could feel them trembling, pacing himself in ways you couldn’t manage, not without combusting. “Exactly.” He whimpered when you pressed closer, pelvis slotted onto his. “They re-release chemicals like–” his breath caught– “histamine, and that widens– widens blood vessels– mmph–” You’d started kissing his neck, tipping that head back with a gentle nudge of your nose.
“Don’t stop,” you begged, mouthing his pretty neck. You kept pressing down on him, the fire in your lower stomach stoked with every slow, tortured grind. “Baby, keep talking.”
He dipped his head and lurched forward, catching your mouth in a kiss that would have melted you if you weren’t already a puddle. You met each passionate press, caught and savored each wet gasp into your mouth, chased him down when he pulled back– gave him mere seconds to breathe before you were tangling your shaking fingers into his mangy curls, and diving back in with a wild, desperate frenzy that would frighten you if he were anyone else.
But he wasn’t. He was Spencer, your Spencer, with that devastating mouth and devastating mind that dragged you into his orbit each time. You weren’t complaining, not when you could taste the devotion on his tongue sliding against yours.