Mistakes Like This
Pairing: Spencer Agnew x Cast!Younger!Reader
Summary: After texting one of your directors a soft nude during a night of weakness, things have been tense. The mentioned director, Spencer Agnew, has left you on read. You go out to forget, but the universe never lets things go to plan.
Word Count: 9.1k
CW: Marijuana Edibles, Alcohol, Crossfaded Reader, Vomiting, Description of Panic Attack, Quick mention of Non-Consensual Groping, Cigarettes, Age Difference (9 Years), Miscommunication Trope, RPF Smut (Oral only)
Other Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Coworkers to Lovers, Boss/Employee Relationship, Love Confessions, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, AFAB Female Reader-Insert
AN: My first fic ever, and a gift to @cherrybdis on AO3! They wrote the cutest fluffy Spencer oneshot here. If you want to read this on AO3, it's available here! This is lightly inspired by the Prelow song 'Mistakes Like This' and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it instead of my english practice exams.
Tears are welling up in your eyes whilst Angela rubs your back on the floor of a cubicle in the Smosh studio bathroom. She’s holding a grimace concocted from a mixture of ‘I’m so sorry’ and ‘babe, you are seriously fucked’.
On your way to work—actually, maybe since you’ve gained consciousness this morning—your heart was pounding. You were desperately hanging on to the thread of hope that today would be one of those days where beloved Spencer Agnew would mysteriously disappear from the main studio areas to one of his so-called ‘grind sessions’. You couldn’t face him. You had dastardly spots on your hands that were so vibrantly red... you were sure the general public on your walk to work could see your figurative Macbeth villainy as if it were literal.
But karma is not nice, not even to the ones who pray.
It's like subconsciously you knew the answer to your prayers, because your stomach did an ugly flip before even opening the door.
Things moved in slow-motion, an experience you thought people exaggerated for dramatics. The door to the studio opened sickeningly slow despite your strong pull, and with your head down low you catch a pair of Timbs in the doorway. Your eyes drag up the figure for what felt like a decade, and you felt your acids slosh inside you whilst they worked their way upwards. You tried to quickly step aside to let the brunette through, but it felt dreadfully tardy. Spencer looked up from his phone, his unoccupied hand halfway up as if to push the door that was unexpectedly opened before him. He took a step through the doorway and sent a blink your way that could have been taken from a mascara commercial and the only thing that felt quick during that entire interaction was the way he turned his head away and muttered a quick ‘thank you, man’ before continuing to scroll on his phone.
Angela was the one to pick up on the urgency in your steps and unnerving glisten in your eyes as you speed-walked passed her desk to the bathrooms.
“I am the world's biggest dunce, Ange,” your words are muffled by your sleeves as you aggressively rub your face, “I’ve never felt more embarrassed in my life, and part of our literal jobs is to do embarrassing shit. Not to mention I’m a whole NINE years his junior.”
You hear the sound of hissing from your counterpart.
“Yeah, look, I’m not gonna lieee...” you peak through your fingers, eyes full of despair, and she decides not to continue.
“Come on. Spencer is a great guy! I could never see him in a million bajillion years having some sort of weird thing against you over one drunk nude! AND it wasn’t even full bush or nip. I feel like I could send him my bush and he’d still bring me a coffee in the morning. I dunno, girl, he’s really understanding.”
Part of you believes her comfort. It’s just that nagging tug in your heart for this overall dismissiveness coming from a guy who is generally so direct. Your crush on him largely stemmed from his ever-present kindness that always precedes his crude jokes. But you don’t feel that warmth right now, and you're thinking it's all your fault.
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
You’re leaning on the brick of your apartment building, not ready to face the silence of your flat knowing your roommate was visiting family. The 7:30 pm California air nibbles your cheek, and you dig your face into the collar of your jacket. You’re smoking a cig. You usually wouldn’t these days, as life after joining Smosh has been really great. You’re burning holes into your phone with your stare, analysing the photo you drunkenly sent last night.
The lighting was dark, only slightly lit by a corner lamp and candles. You’re laying down on your unmade bed, with the t-shirt you were wearing pulled up to bunch up underneath your chin. Your bra and panties were matching in brown (one of Spencer’s favourite colours, which you sinfully thought about when buying new lingerie) and were both adorned with lace and a dangly heart pendant. The photo doesn't include your full face, just cutting right above your lips that are slightly pouted and red from wine. You honestly liked the photo. You thought it was hot. Apparently, Spencer did not.
You didn’t see Spencer for the rest of the day after your puke-sesh, which is most definitely a good thing, but you still felt a little empty. It’s only been a day of this weird energy between you two, but it feels like weeks since you last spoke.
You missed him, and badly. You’ve only been at Smosh for just over 2 years but during that time you two became a quick duo. You’re incredibly worried that this may be the end of what was becoming a bestfriendship. You missed joking around with him and the way he would laugh at all your jokes even if they sucked. You missed when he would say a reference no one heard except you and how he would catch your laugh and send a shy smile as if to say ‘hey, thanks for listening’. You missed when you didn’t understand a game on Board AF and he would manage to help you without embarrassing you on camera. He didn’t even heart react to your Slack message today like he usually would.
Your eyes linger on the little piece of text under your picture. ‘Read 1:03am’.
You hold back a tear. You seriously messed things up. Spencer was the first guy you felt like saw through you to the bone, without needing to take your clothes off. After years of an awful dating history and finally meeting a soul so genuine and attractive, it was as if you were a teenager with a crush again. You stub out your cigarette on the bricks behind you and can it as you walk into your apartment.
It’s Friday, so it’s socially acceptable to go out drinking at your age. Majority of the Smosh cast and crew decided to have drinks together at one of the nicer bars nearby to celebrate a particularly smooth shoot week, but you declined the offer knowing Spencer would most likely join them. Angela sent you an understanding pout as you left the Smoffice, and about 4 text messages wishing you well and saying she’s there if you want to talk. You were going to dress up reeaall nice and bag a good-enough guy to make you forget about your shitty mistakes.
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
In the middle of small talk with your Uber, your phone buzzes with notifications from Shayne. Unusual, as he’s mentioned he doesn’t like to drunkenly text. It’s a bunch of blurry selfies where you can only make out himself, Courtney, Angela, and Olivia, with a tall dark figure in the back who you guess is Amanda. The series of photos are unflattering to say the least, their faces lit up pure white by the flash against the blue and purple background of the bar. The 3 texts after the barrage of photos read:
so mcuh fun rn but we all mss u spnecr missd u so mch he left early #loserrrr
jkjk
tht was js a joke btw im jk
Your heart pangs bittersweetly at Shayne’s joke of Spencer missing you. You raise an eyebrow at his overuse of ‘jk’, ultimately pinning this strange behaviour to his intoxicated state and rolling your eyes as you reply:
miss you all more! glad to see u guys are having so much fun xxx be safe ok :p
Shayne reads it, his speech bubbles appearing and disappearing and eventually leaving you on read, probably distracted by another round of drinks or a good song. You don’t blame him but let out a small sigh as you question why everyone’s decided to leave you on read recently.
You thank your Uber kindly, shutting the door behind you as you begin to approach the small line-up to the club you always choose. It’s on the quainter side and a bit of a hole-in-the-wall but it’s always been your favourite since moving to LA, they always play good music. The bouncer sees you and ushers you in with a wink and a polite ‘how are you?’, you don’t know if you should be happy that you’re recognised as a regular or concerned at your alcoholism.
The atmosphere engulfs you, eliciting a pit of euphoria to build in your stomach. Orange, purple, and hot pink lights flicker across your body and reflect off your jewelry. You feel your pregame shots really hit as you melt into the environment.
You move towards everyone dancing, drinking, and flaunting like there’s no need for a tomorrow. You decide you just want to enjoy being a speck in the crowd before you grab a drink, letting the sweaty flesh and polyester club outfits rub up on you as everyone moves to the beat of the niche DJ set. Somewhere amongst it all someone offers you a compliment followed by a gummy and, against usual judgements of strange people and strange gummies, you take it. You’ll take being crossfaded over feeling heartbroken.
With that thought, an image of Spencer flashes across your mind. His green eyes are clear in your imagination. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head to try to get rid of the thought of him. His curly brown hair. His recent haircut into a subtle mullet was one of many catalysts that caused you to fold last night. And that goddamn tongue. You remember blushing at a fan-edit of your intense stare directed at his peeking tongue as he focused in a Games video. Images flash across your mind with no sign of halting.
You audibly groan, opening your eyes as you decide you’re obviously not drunk enough, and that gummy isn’t going to kick in for at least another 30 minutes.
You make your way to the round island bar and your heartbeat spikes at the sight of brunette curly hair, despite knowing it’s not your curly haired boy. Of slightly taller stature, he’s sat at the bar by himself chatting to the bartender. It’s evil, but maybe a hookup with a lookalike will snap you back to normal for a little while.
“Hey,” you yell slightly due to the deep bass, “what’s a pretty thing like you doing alone in a place like this?”
You’re holding back a smirk as his attention turns to you and laughs at your jest, sizing you up a little. Success!
“I could ask you the same, ‘pretty thing’.” He flirted. Super success!
You slide into the seat next to him, chatting him up. He buys two rounds of shots. You’ve realised in your past endeavors that most guys can’t really tell that your flirting is a little empty, and that you’re heart belongs to another guy. Or maybe they can, but it doesn’t matter because they’re talking to you for the same reason you’re talking to them.
At this point, you’re feeling the overlap of drunk and high, itching to get back to the dance floor. You nudge him with your elbow, “Hey! We should go dance!”
“Oh jeez, I’m really not too much of a dancer. You have to make me pretty drunk.” He ends his sentence with a laugh as you pout at him.
You motion him to come closer to whisper something in his ear. His eyes widen and he shakes his head and laughs, “Okay, okay. You’ve backed me into a corner. Let me break the seal first and I’ll be dance-floor-ready, sound good?”
You nod ditzily as he leaves for the bathroom.
You watch his back for a second before turning around to order the Friday night special cocktail, then, for the second time today, things began to slow. The club seemed to drown out around you. Midst waving down the bartender you look directly across the island bar and see him.
The difference between the bass and your heartbeat was indistinguishable. He’s looking wide-eyed straight at you through crooked glasses, his drink about to slip from his hand and his mouth slightly ajar. You’re not in control of your face in this moment but you assume you probably look similar. Heat is crawling up your neck, blood rushing to your face. Your chest starts to feel heavy.
He looks absolutely incredible, and despite your shock and horror your intoxication helps it go straight to your lower regions. His hair is messy, his lips and cheeks particularly pink, and his glasses askew. Despite this, the aforementioned shock and horror remain strong as your thoughts circle back to: ‘What the fuck?’
You mentally facepalm. You recall a small memory from a work event. Tipsy from the spiked punch, Spencer and you sat on a large beanbag, an awkward distance away from each other just absentmindedly chatting. Everyone was tired from a rough shoot week, making the energy hang in a lull. You mentioned how this particular event was lackluster and how you don’t really love alcohol unless you’re alone or at your favourite club.
You fucking told him! Your secret hole-in-the-wall club, and you told him. He often has that effect on you that makes you spill secrets. He replied to you saying you should show him it one night. You blushed.
It doesn’t matter anymore. You begin to feel a cold nausea as the club surrounds you once again. Your eyes linger on him as your body begins to turn on instinct, an alarm goes off in your brain, ‘OUT, OUT, OUT!’
The DJ’s timing is supposedly impeccable. A sensual song plays through the woofers accompanied with spotlights that light up the room red and fade to darkness in time to match the rhythm. This lighting paired with the slow movements of the packed crowd and your crossfade makes this small LA club you once knew like the back of your hand into a labyrinth you were dropped into for the very first time.
You shouldn’t have taken that gummy, but at the same time how could you have foreseen such an unforeseen circumstance?
The exit seems to be getting further away. You shuffle through the crowd as fast and as mightily as you can, but you feel so sluggish. Anxieties continue to multiply as you picture Spencer chasing after you. The multitudes of different fabrics, jewelry, and slick skin you squeeze against feels like poison, and it feels like the deep heat that radiates in the midst of the crowd avoids you completely as your skin runs cold and your short breaths fill your lungs with ice.
Someone cops a feel of your breast, another pinches your thigh, another yells ‘where’re you going?’, you want to scream, but you can’t. Your head, your legs, and your arms start to tingle in a pins-and-needles fashion. The cold air in your lungs start to become unbearable, something builds inside you like a soda about to volcano out of a bottleneck.
You can’t do this. Why are you doing this? Is this better than whatever could have happened if you stayed? You can’t do this. You really can’t. The music is so loud, you can barely see anything half the time, your goosebumps are so intense they start to hurt, you can only think of Spencer despite it all, you can’t tell if you’re crying, you’re almost definitely going to puke all over this crowd of peop-
Before you know it, the air is still.
The streets outside are still semi-occupied with late-night dog-walkers and passing taxis. The streetlights and nearby delis and corner stores illuminate the street a delicate orange hue. A passing relief washes over your overstimulated body before your shivering snaps you back to the reality of the situation. Your heels click as you speed walk while pulling out your phone from your purse to call an Uber. Adding to your current horror, it’s fully dead. You keep walking. The lack of safety in your predicament doesn’t hit you properly as your crossfade and adrenaline has persisted on.
About a block from the club your knees start to buckle from the numbness in your legs. You hear quick footsteps behind you but can’t react before falling to the ground.
It’s Spencer who calls your name, dropping to his knees and trying to pull you into a sitting position. You clutch your chest in an attempt to calm your insane heart, before turning away and absolutely annihilating the sidewalk in front of a corner store with puke.
Spencer winces. He lays a gentle hand to push back your hairline and another holding the length of your hair in a hand-ponytail.
“Holy shit,” He mutters your name under his breath in a way that would have made you blush if you weren’t messed up, “are you fucking good?”
Despite his crude language, it doesn’t hit in an offensive way. Spencer makes it sound incredibly endearing and sincere. You urge yourself to respond. Instead, you just vomit again.
After a couple beats of you just hunched over in silence on the concrete (save for your feral breathing) Spencer tucks your hair behind your ears and begins rubbing your back. You begin to tear up. This is now officially the second time of the day you are hunched over vomiting and crying while a coworker rubs your back. You scoff at the ridiculousness of the situation as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.
“Hey… Hey come on. Please don’t cry. My apartment is only less than a 10-minute walk away. We’ll get up whenever you’re ready, okay? Are you okay? Sorry… Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.” He rambles. He’s watching you intently.
“I’m so sorry, Spence.” You manage out. Tilting your head towards him you can only slightly make out his face through your hair that dropped back into the front of your face. He looks shocked that you spoke.
“There’s nothing you should be sorry for.” He replies.
It takes energy to reply and say everything you need to say, energy which you do not have. You instead opt to slump your head back down. You glance at your dead phone sitting in your lap and catch a reflection of your makeup running down your face and wince at how helpless you’re being and begin attempting to get up. Key word is attempting. Spencer says a hushed curse under his breath at your movement.
“Woah, woah! Slow down, let me help you dude,” He scoops his hands underneath your armpits to stabilize you as he helps pull you off the concrete, “you’re going to hurt yourself if you’re not careful.”
He leans you against the wall of the corner store building, one hand now holding yours and his other gripping your hip. You take a sharp breath and for the first time tonight it’s not because of panic pooling in your stomach but a flustered nervousness. For the first time tonight you make proper, maintained eye-contact. Spencer scans your face for sign of hurt like you’re a fragile, priceless painting and you watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. You can’t make it out fully under the lighting, but you swear his cheeks pink at your dazed and unbreaking stare.
“Are… Are you okay to walk? I can call an Uber-” You shake your head no, breaking eye contact with him and muttering something about puking in an Uber.
In your peripheral you see him tighten his lips and nod. At the same time, you feel his thumb absentmindedly rub the back of your hand. You feel an awkward tension, so you painstakingly pull away your hand from his gentle touch. You allow his other hand to linger on your back as he begins to guide you to his apartment due to the sensible realisation that you may buckle down again.
No words were exchanged until about halfway through the walk (which was more of a 15-minute walk because of your pace). You spent the quiet trying to recollect your thoughts and sobriety and you find yourself only being able to focus on one thought at a time, quickly forgetting or half-remembering the last thought you just processed.
“…My purse…” You mumble, as the thought passes your mind. Spencer’s head jolts towards you, surprised at your sudden speech whilst also trying to keep you steady through his hand on your back.
“What? Oh. No, don’t worry, I have it right here,” he adjusts his torso so you can see your cute purse hung on his shoulder and nicely tucked under his arm, “see?”
Theres a moment. Then you laugh, just a little.
He laughs too, “What?? Why are we laughing? Don’t I look good?”
He’s grinning sincerely, not trying to hide his excitement at some inkling of a positive mood shift. You drop your head, shaking it slightly but not saying more. Then, with a shiver ripping through you, another thought.
“It’s cold.”
Spencer immediately halts.
“Holy shit bro, I’m so stupid,” He’s taking off- well. More like ripping off his jacket with such a speed never seen, “I should have given this to you ages ago. Chivalry is dead.”
He gently lifts your arms to loop them through the holes of his signature denim jacket. Assuming you don’t currently have the dexterity to do it yourself, he moves to the front of you and snaps a couple of the buttons up for you. You can’t help but stare at him intently whilst he focuses on the jacket buttons, soaking in his scent and his radiant warmth. Your eyes follow the tongue peeking out his lips. It’s terribly bittersweet as one particular thought has lingered behind the rest.
The nude.
If your mind had the ability to race right now, it would be like Formula 1. Instead, with majority of your processing skills out-of-order, you find yourself softly slumping into Spencer’s chest whilst you were subconsciously chasing his warmth and unique scent, a scent of fresh linen and something unplaceable like his stupid pheromones or something.
Spencer’s arms instinctively went up around you thinking you were mid-fall. His body turns stiff at the sight of you just leaning there.
He whispers, “…You okay?”
You nod against his chest. Feeling his heartbeat through his shirt you’re soothed by the fast rhythm, but you peel yourself away with the thought you don’t deserve such an intimate touch. You mutter an apology under your breath whilst rubbing your eyes with the sleeve of his jacket.
The walk continues and so does the silence. Your arms are wrapped around yourself, and your face is buried in the collar of Spencer’s denim. One reason being your nose turning pink from the cold and the other being your cheeks turning pink from the chivalrous gesture of Spencer lending you his jacket with less than zero hesitation. You were expecting to be dancing and drinking the cold off in a sea of warm strangers, so you disregarded your own jacket. You supposed it was worth it for this moment but deep down you felt guilty. You were taking advantage of his kindness and forcing him to take care of you in your vulnerable and ugly state after you just sent him an unsolicited picture he clearly held distaste for you over.
“The entrance to my place is just around this corner,” Spencer breaks you out of your train of thought, pointing at the corner about 50 meters away, “are you hungry? Alcohol makes me crave Homestate.”
“I thought just existing made you crave HomeState.” Spencer looks at you blankly in surprise then proceeds to let out a hard laugh.
You look at him while he throws his head back in laughter and smile a little. For a moment you feel like everything is back to the way things were. As he begins to stop his giggle-fit your stomach lets out a rumbling growl which causes him to look at you again and continues cheesing while he grabs his phone to order food.
“I’ll take that as a yes then!”
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
Bouncing in your ears and piercing through your migraine is the jingle of Spencer’s keys as he unlocks his front door. You squeeze your eyes shut, but dare not make as much as a grunt to not inconvenience him further. If you had it your way you would be booking it out of here.
A satisfying click brings you to open them again, watching as Spencer opens his door wide and looking at you expectantly with a soft smile. Despite your shivering, his face warms a deep part inside you.
“I already ordered food for us. I know it’s hard for you to talk right now, so I tried to remember your order as best as I could,” he locks the door behind you as you walk in and look around his apartment, “I was thinking you should sit on the couch and rest while I set up a bath for you. Does that, like, sound okay?”
He’s just observing you with one hand scratching the back of his neck as you stand still taking in his apartment. You take note of all the interesting lamps, plants, and framed posters. His furniture wasn’t bright or cold, but all assorted earthy colours. You finally look at him.
“You don’t have to do that.” You replied, voice just above a whisper from the embarrassment you felt creeping up your neck due to being coddled. Spencer furrows his brows.
“I know, dude. It’s okay. I want to. Frankly, as nice as you look, I’m not going to just let you stay like this.”
It’s like your heart burst into flames. You decided to just accept your fate, nod quickly, and shuffle over to his nice green couch. ‘As nice as you look’? You tighten the jacket around you, quelling your heartburn. Spencer disappears and comes back with a bundle of blankets, draping them around you. You stare at him, taking note of his focused face that he’s adorned every time he’s tended to you. You noticed a tinge of something out of place in it every time. Something in the furrow of his brow and his avoidance of eye contact whispers to you that he’s avoiding something, and you think you know what.
“Okay, I’ll be 5 minutes. The remote is just there on the coffee table if you wanted to, you know, browse.” He remarks, voice fading as he heads down the hallway.
You can hear him rustling about and some water running but your object permanence is not the greatest at the moment and you feel a cold plunge of loneliness and dread wash over. You can’t seem to overcome the barrier in your head preventing you from moving and grabbing the remote. You sink into the couch.
When Spencer comes back you are in the exact same position as before. At first he quirks an eyebrow, but it quickly turns into an empathetic gaze. You decide you can’t risk moving independently at this point and uprooting the comfort that has settled into your bones. You don’t even really pull your eyes away from the remote on the coffee table. He helps a begrudging you up off the couch to chauffer you to his bathroom.
You’re kind of in a state of awe as you stand in the doorway to his bathroom. A neat stack of Spencer’s clothes is stacked on the vanity with a still-packaged purple toothbrush and a mini toothpaste sat on top, bubbles tower upon the hot water in the bathtub, and there’s 5 scattered candles all of which smell of vanilla.
“I thought you should brush your teeth as soon as possible since you did puke a bit…” He softly says, rubbing the nape of his neck again—a nervous tick.
He observes you just standing there in his jacket, eyes drowsy and wandering, arms closely hugging yourself, bottom lip between your teeth as you shift your weight from foot to foot. Even though you are now in the safety and warmth of Spencer’s apartment, you still move like prey. He sighs, not out of annoyance, but out of hurt in his heart seeing his friend like this.
“Hey. Here,” He closes the toilet seat and puts an old towel over top, “sit down.” He faintly orders. You follow as he says, a bit confused.
Spencer begins unwrapping the toothbrush and applying toothpaste. What? You’re slightly confused until he runs it under the tap, bends slightly over you, and brings it to your mouth. He hums expectantly, signalling you to open your mouth. You look at him from below, shocked and a bit resistant. He whispers reassurances and that’s all it really takes for you to do whatever he wants. You open wide.
Spencer is surprisingly gentle, brushing your teeth intently and making sure no toothpaste drips from your mouth. He takes your chin into his fingers. Your stomach feels heavy like you just swallowed a jawbreaker. You’ve never been so embarrassed and turned on at the same time. To be fair, Spencer has never been this close to your face; it’s almost impossible for your eyes to escape him.
You scan over his skin, taking note of the little faint scars on his cheekbone where his moles used to be. You memorise his eyes, especially how in the candlelight they look so green—unlike in the Smosh lighting, where they’re so pale they look almost grey. Your heart swooned at how his glasses perfectly framed his face. You lean into his hand still on your chin and reach a tentative hand up, pushing the spectacles back up his nose with one finger. Spencer’s movements still as he meets your eyes before coughing, thanking you, and finishing up his dentistry act.
He helped you stand to the sink for you to spit, holding your upper arm. To your dismay, he takes a step back.
“Okay, um, I’m gonna be in the living room so you call out if you need me and I’ll be here before you can even finish saying ‘Spencer.’”
Your body instinctually grabs Spencer’s wrist as he turns to leave. His mouth is slightly agape as you both stand there waiting for something to come out of your mouth.
“I… I don’t think I want… that I want to be alone at all,” Your hand falls to your side as you fidget with your dress, “can you just stay?”
Spencer takes a sharp breath, not replying immediately.
“Like, not in a weird way, obviously. I just want you here, you can face away from the tub and stuff-”
“Yeah, yeah, of course I can do that. I am at your beck and call. Full service.” He lets out a breathy laugh.
You smile at him a little toothily and something in his eyes soften at the sight. He turns around while you slip out of his jacket and your garments, tossing them to be with the rest of Spencer’s dirty laundry, and you try your hardest to get in the bath without slipping and dying. You sink into the bubbles. Spencer, still turned away, sits down on the tiles of the bathroom and scoots his way backwards so he sits resting on the bathtub. He hears you giggle at his movements and he smiles to himself.
“What? Can’t a man scoot?” You laugh a bit more, and he drops his head to hide his smile that you already couldn’t see.
For a good amount of time, you both were sat there without a word. You played with bubbles. He scooped dirt from underneath his fingernails. The warm light from the candles made your eyes droop, succumbing from tiredness. There was too much in the air to fully accept sleep.
“I’m really sorry, Spencer-”
“Look, I’m sorry-”
Spencer turns his head ever so slightly towards you instinctually, as do you to him.
“You go first-”
“My bad, you go-”
A snort leaves you. You both burst out laughing.
“Stop, stop! Okay, stop,” you trail off with a giggle. Spencer’s softening laughter and slight head tilt towards you indicates he’s now waiting his turn. You bite your lip and your face falters into seriousness.
“I don’t know what I was thinking last night,” Spencer winces at your words, “I got the tiniest bit wine drunk and I become an inhibitionless idiot. And I made it so much worse by completely avoiding you today. I get why you ignored me, it’s not your responsibility to reconnect after something like that, it was all on me. And now look at me. Relying on you, being a crossfaded and anxious doofus.” you stare at how the bubbles sit between your fingers as tears well in your eyes.
“I’m really so, so sorry Spence. I don’t want this to ruin our friendship. I would do anything to make it up to you.”
Your apology was slow and just above a whisper but it rang in Spencer’s ears like tinnitus.
“I should be the one saying sorry.” His hushed words catch you off guard and stirs something in your chest, but you stay quiet like he just did for you.
“You don’t know what you were thinking? I have absolutely no fucking clue what I was thinking!” He shifts his seating position with irritation, one hand rubbing his brow.
“You send me this- this fucking picture—a great picture—and I have- I have no reply. It was like I was sent back to the body of a pubescent high schooler,” his face now drops into his hands, “my first thought was ‘this must have been the wrong number’ and ‘surely this wasn’t meant for my eyes’ and then you never came back with a panicked text taking it back or unsending it and I just- I just- I didn’t know what to do. Because you looked amazing, and I felt so guilty and weird cause you’re nearly a decade younger than me but I was also jealous at the idea that maybe… maybe it wasn’t for me. I’m still not even completely sure.”
“Oh, Spencer-” You tried to butt in.
“I kept thinking maybe you would show up to the bar later and surprise everyone. I stayed sober so maybe I could talk to you,” his voice is back to being hushed, but still as rushed as ever, “then you never showed, and I remembered that bar you told me about. I didn’t really think after that and 30 minutes later I’m there and I’m drinking and I’m wondering how you must think I’m a prick or something.”
He’s running his hands through his curly locks and sighing in irritation. You swear his eyes are tearing up a little.
“When I saw you whispering to that guy, it’s like my world slowed around me. I never get that jealous, like sure, here and there I guess I do but, man. I was furious and- and shocked. Not even just at the situation but at myself too, you know? I shouldn’t be feeling this way for someone 9 years younger than me and working under me. Then I saw your face and the way you turned away and I was just like: ‘fuck it, she’s my friend and I’m being an asshole’ and I j-just got up and ran as fast as I could after you, hoping I wouldn’t lose you. Both tonight, and in our friendship.”
“Spencer-”
“I should have- I should have responded. I shouldn’t have ignored you, no matter what you say-”
You grab his face with your wet and bubbly hand, forcing him to look at you.
“Spencer, it was for you.”
There’s a flicker in his eyes. They’re erratically searching your face, opened wide. Something deeply unreadable swims through them. Subconsciously he adjusts himself so his body faces you more.
“What?”
“The picture.” You whisper, slowly dropping your hand from your aggressive grip on his face into a wet caress of his cheek and facial hair.
Something inside Spencer’s head snapped and in his gaze something shifted. Without missing a beat, there was movement. Spencer lifts both hands to cup your cheeks before leaning in with a desperation and swiftness unexpected from a person like him, kissing you hard. He’s pulling your face into his, silently praying for you to reciprocate; to prove you meant what you said.
Your heart burns alight as you wrap both your wet arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly deeper into the kiss. The sounds of your lips fill the room. Spencer’s hands move from your face to your slick hair, from your slick hair to your neck, from your neck to your bare shoulders, he can’t seem to still himself but neither does he go any further.
A nibble on your bottom lip elicits a low and insignificant moan, but Spencer is fueled by it. He runs an excited yet unsure tongue over your lips and lets out a soft, relieved breath from his nose when you allow him in. You taste of his toothpaste and something sweet and its utterly intoxicating to him. He tastes of cider and peppermint gum and it’s so, so Spencer. Your senses are completely overrun.
Spencer, Spencer, Spencer.
You let out a string of mewls and hums. You raise your position in the bath in a desperate attempt to get closer over the barrier of the bathtub, revealing the upper half of your naked figure. Spencer seems unnoticing, letting out small groans that mix with your own.
Spencer. Spencer. Spencer.
All the tension in your muscles from the day behind you completely unknot in his embrace. Pulling one arm away from his neck, you grab one of his hands on your shoulder, still continuing the kiss. You begin inching his hand lower, testing the waters and desperate for him to touch you. Spencer pulls his face away the tiniest bit, his eyes drunk on you and eyebrows drawn with concern. Are you trying to move his hand off you?
He pulls his eyes away from your face to look at what you’re doing and lets out a strangled, shaky breath. The bubbles of bath soap run down from your collar bone and outlines the curves of your exposed chest. Your skin looks soft and glossy as it reflects the flickering candlelight. He mutters curses under his breath.
He catches your sultry gaze again, even in the lack of light you see his pupils blown wide. There is a heat radiating off him that wasn’t there before. This man is 35 years old yet he still manages to look at you like he’s a virgin, you think to yourself.
“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” He says, almost absentmindedly, like he meant to just think it.
It was incredibly earnest. Not like when your first boyfriend in high school would say it just because that’s what couples say. You’ve never felt like this before. If time paused in this moment, you would be okay with that; to sit staring at each other for eternity.
Then, there is a buzzing from the intercom at the door. You both tense and release your hands from each other on reflex.
Right, HomeState. You cover yourself with your arm and bubbles, looking away bashfully but still smiling. Spencer rubs his arm with the same expression.
“M’sorry. Unfortunately, I do think I should get that.”
“Yes, probably. It’s okay.” Your smile is audible.
Spencer leans on the bathtub wall to get himself off his knees and you hear two crackle and pops as he gets up. You stifle a little awkward laugh, and he shoots you a bemused look.
“I, uh, I’ll see you in the living room. Take your time.” He says, before walking out of the bathroom to meet the delivery driver.
Your body is incredibly tired and slow. Mentally, you feel the most sober than you ever have.
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
Spencer’s ‘Creed’ shirt is not something you’d think you’d ever wear, let alone be willingly permissed to wear by Spencer himself. His sweats hang low on you making it so you had to pull the drawstring in all the way. Seeing the way his clothes fit was proof of the size difference between you two and turns you on immensely.
You’re still in shock. Spencer liked your photo. Spencer likes you. Spencer kissed you.
While cleaning your smudged make-up in the mirror (as best as you can with a towel and no make-up remover) you ponder on what Spencer said to you. You felt like a huge idiot. But so does he, so it’s equal.
You bring the collar of Spencer’s shirt to your face, sniffing it while you bounce up and down and quietly squeal. You take a deep breath, shake off your lingering tiredness and nervousness before leaving the bathroom.
Theres a low hum of noise coming from the living room. You creep down the hall as you recognise the noise to be some music on low volume. The smell of food hits you and you realise just how hungry you are.
Spencer is sat on the couch faced a little away from you, not realising your presence. You stand still and just stare for a moment. He’s on his phone on what looks like apple music and he’s biting his nails; a bad habit you haven’t seem him do before. He’s changed his clothes from a plain white tee and light jeans to dark grey sweats and a faded graphic tee. Seemingly in deep thought he sighs and runs the hand he was biting through his curls, nibbling his lip as he does so. This action causes him to catch your eye, he jolts involuntarily.
“Shit, you sneaked up on me,” he plays off his thoughtful face with a dry laugh.
You see his eyes check you before snapping back up to your face. He taps the space next to him on the couch, beckoning you to sit and eat. You sit an affectionate but awkward distance next to him, unsure of the vibe after the events in the bathroom. You look inside the takeaway bag and see your exact HomeState order to a T. You gasp and beam a smile at him, eliciting one from him too. He seems particularly satisfied he got your order right, letting out a small sigh of relief only someone as observant as you could have noticed.
After that, you both seem to sink into a comfortable chatter for the first time tonight. You kept up the best as you could in your current state, but you notice Spencer speaking slower and repeating things for you without a second thought. It’s like he was programmed to always accommodate for you. He kept showing you videos and tweets on his phone and it was just like how you guys were before the nude… except now you are irrationally horny.
Your half eaten HomeState lay discarded on the coffee table as you look over Spencer’s shoulder. He thinks you’re looking at his phone, but your half-lidded eyes are laser-focused on his side profile. In between sentences he licks his lips, and you bring your legs to your chest. He laughs at the tweets he’s showing you, and the melody makes you fidget with the drawstring of your—well, his—pants. Then, at a particular favourite he looks over to see your reaction and is met with your intent eyes, stopping his sentence in its tracks.
Your noses are nearly touching. Without noticing, throughout your conversation you’ve both progressively moved closer and closer to each other. His breath fans over your face. Both of you have flickering eyes.
It was wordless, but enough was said. You snake your hand through the curls at the nape of his head and bring him to meet your lips. He lets out a breath of relief, like he was hoping for the right moment to continue what was interrupted. Spencer chases your lips even though you weren’t going anywhere, it’s clear that his confidence has increased this time around. His hands snake to your waist at an awkward angle and you decide to take a leap of faith and, without breaking the kiss, slip into straddling him on the couch.
It's Spencer who breaks the kiss. You look at him confused and with worry and also with a little impatience. You can feel your slick pooling between your thighs. He looks up at you with swollen lips and yearnful eyes, but you can pick up on the air of concern that clouds him. He strains out your name.
“Are- How- Are you sure about all of this…? You were super intoxicated tonight, and, like, you puked a serious amount,” He rubs your waist as he speaks. Through all his sweetness and careful demeanour, you can’t help but notice the rock-hard bulge underneath you as he speaks with a shakiness. You press a soft kiss on his lips.
“Spencer, it feels like I’ve never been this clear-headed. I get totally rendered useless when I have panic-attacks, I couldn’t distinguish the difference between the shakes in my legs to be from alcohol or adrenaline or both. Same with the puke. If anything, the puking made me feel leagues better. Even though, I do feel bad for that corner store I did it in front of,” He laughs at that, and you can sense his comfortability as he sneaks his arms around your waist, “I really, really like you, Spence. I feel on top of the world in this moment.”
“I really, really like you too,” he pauses, “at any time if, you know, you’d rather just go to bed you know-”
You cut him off as you grind down on previously mentioned bulge. He halts his sentence with a hard groan, his hands moving from your back to grip down on your hips. His eyelids flutter and you’re amused at his reactions. You place your hands around his jaw and dip down to his ear,
“I’ve thought about this for way too fucking long to just go to bed.” Spencer’s grip tightens and you gasp at the buck he made against you. He mutters profanities under his breath.
You go back in for a kiss, rougher this time. There’s a sense of urgency between you, like you both are making up for lost time. The low music is overpowered by the erotic noises of your kisses and moans, Spencer’s groaning mixing in with the noise as you grind your hips over his sweats.
His hands get more confident, going from edging the hem of his ‘Creed’ shirt to finally sneaking below it and touching your hot skin. The movement urged you forward as well, breaking the kiss to start trailing sloppy pecks. His cheeks, his stubbly neck, his collar bone. Each kiss bringing involuntary noises from the brunette you thrived off.
You pull back, causing him to whine. You go to pull off your shirt but Spencer stops you.
“No, I want it on,” He pulls you back in and takes his turn now to kiss your neck and collar, “you look so good like this…”
He moves one hand further up your side to just under your breast.
“Is this?”
“Anything is okay, Spence. Just- Just do it, please. I need you.”
You moan back into a kiss as he cups your breast in his large hand, your hips stuttering when he pinches your nipple. You smirk in this kiss as you think of an idea. When you break it, Spencer looks confused at your devious face. You lift up your shirt and engulf Spencers head with it.
You both laugh momentarily but he doesn’t waste time making work of his mouth on your tits. You’re throwing your head back as he sucks and nibbles on your sensitive areolas, still playing with your other nipple with his hand. His free hand works its way down, untying the tightly pulled drawstring of your sweats and slipping his hand past the hem to grip your ass. His grip is intense, like he doesn’t know his own strength, and he helps you rock your hips on his crotch as you begin to stutter due to his apparent magic mouth.
Spencer’s name tumbles out of your mouth over and over again between soft moans. In response he grumbles against your chest, causing your grip on his shoulders to tighten. Then his mouth detaches and he leaves a kiss on your sternum before an unexpected and swift movement makes you yelp. He shifts, picking you up slightly and laying you down across the couch while still under your shirt. You swear you can feel his toothy smile against your skin, matching your own.
“What are you-?”
He begins leaving a trail of ticklish kisses down your stomach from your chest, causing you to squirm. The sight of his clothed figure moving down to your core makes you choke out a moan. You can tell he’s trying to go slow but shares your impatience. He reaches your pubic bone just above your sweats and hooks his fingers on either side of your hips. You lift yourself up to aid him in ripping off the pants, leaving your lower regions bare.
You hear him say something along the lines of cussing mixed with compliments and you giggle in response. Your giggling is cut very short by a guttural groan as Spencer licks a slow stripe up your core, swirling around your clit. Your back arches as he begins sucking and kissing on your most sensitive nerves and he brings a large hand up to your stomach to push you back down to the couch. One of your thighs fly up to the side of his head, but the other is pinned down by Spencer’s other hand. You yelp out his name and he hums in response, sending an uncontrollable shiver up your spine.
Your hands grip the couch beneath you so hard you think you’ll break the fabric. Spencer’s head is still covered by your shirt, but you finally pull it off and your met with his pussy-drunk eyes staring right at you from above his fogged up glasses.
“Holy fucking shit, Spence, don’t stop! You better not fucking stop!” Spencer responds with more humming and by moving the hand on your stomach to now meet with your slick entrance.
He traces his index in a circular motion around your hole, coaxing sweet noises from your pretty mouth. He enters you with ease, thanks to your arousal. It’s just one finger, but you swear you’re already seeing stars as he begins curling it inside you. Spencer’s fingers are twice the girth of your own, but just the fact that it’s Charles Spencer Agnew who is currently eating you out and fingering you makes it feel out of this plane of existence.
“Spencer, faster please, more, please, please!”
As he promised, he is at your beck and call. He does what you say, adding a finger and picking up the pace. You break eye contact, throwing your head into the couch cushion. Tears start to prick and fall from your eyes from the pleasure and your moans morph into wet sobs and the heat of the coil in your lower stomach turns bright red. Your grip moves from the couch to Spencer’s hair, urging a groan. He can tell you’re getting desperate; he moves his hand pinning your thigh and lets you squeeze his cranium between your legs. His eyes roll back, giving you head feels just as good to him as it does to you, but his movements don’t falter.
The heat is starting to turn white. Spencer’s fingers curl just right every time, and his tongue moves fast with perfect pressure. The noises he’s making are so erotic. The slight tickle and scratch of his facial hair only makes it better. And, oh god, you can’t believe this is your boss 9 years your senior. You don’t think you can hold this back.
The heat is pure white. You manage to let out a strangled warning of what’s coming, and you feel Spencer huff out his nose and groan. The vibrations on your clit from his groan were the last straw, and the coil breaks.
The noise that comes out of your mouth were unhuman. The grip your thighs have on Spencer’s skull only tightens as your legs spasm with your orgasm. He can feel your walls flutter around his fingers and hums satisfactorily against you, egging your pleasure on. Your chest heaves and your mind is completely blank, overwritten by your orgasm.
There’s a long beat where you both sit in that position, with occasional kitty licks from Spencer that cause you to twitch. Finally he pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand whilst he admires your blissed state through lidded eyes. He leans over you, kissing your forehead, cheek, and neck as you sigh in content.
When you eventually come back to earth the low music fills the quiet space, your eyes flutter open and you lift your head to meet Spencer's eyes with a languid smile. He reciprocates your facial expression and lands a soft kiss on your mouth, ending it with a bump of your foreheads together. You remembered something.
"Shayne drunk texted me tonight. He said you left early cause you missed me," You smile and Spencer shakes his head with unserious disbelief, "so, it's true?"
There's a small sigh from the man, "Yeah. Yeah, it's true."
You beam from under him, basking in the confirmation as he rolls his eyes with faux annoyance.
“Can I do you now?” You ask, under your breath.
Your request makes Spencer’s face waver. You pull back and raise an eyebrow.
“Well… about that…”
You push his shoulder, signalling him to sit up and he begrudgingly lifts himself up onto his knees. Your eyes drop to his crotch and in place of his hard imprint is a large wet spot. You gasp and he shrinks into himself sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Sorry… I was thinking of your picture all night and all day but never did anything about it and I guess it all just came.”
You look up at him from your position and he’s relieved to see an open-mouthed smile.
“That is so hot, Spencer.”
He muffles his laugh with the back of his hand, trying to hide his blush.
“Seriously, my higher up just gave me the best head I’ve ever had and he came in his pants? That's the hottest thing to ever happen to me.”
“So, does this mean I can take you out on a proper date?”
