Spencer's eyes roll back as you move against him, hips rotating, lifting off him and sinking back down at a pace that is criminally slow, and so, so delicious. There are nights where Spencer must have you, nights where you're pulled together like magnets, taking what you need without a single thought. Then there are nights like this one. The sun is setting outside the window, the room is pleasantly warm, all heat generated by the connection of your bodies. His hands never leaving your skin, roaming the peaks and valleys of your body like a sensory dream. If he really, really focuses through the fog of pleasure radiating through his abdomen, he can feel the stretch mark at your side, the pad of his thumb moving back and forth across it. You're so perfect to him, he lets out a soft moan at the thought alone. Adoration sets his heart alight, and he becomes tender so quickly that he tugs at your arm gently, prompting you down for a kiss. When your chest presses against his, he relishes in the warmth, taking the new angle in stride as he plants his feet on the mattress and begins thrusting into you, deep and slow. The sound you make makes his chest feel warm, makes him let out a soft, breathy chuckle as a smile graces his lips. His eyes are half lidded, and so are yours, cheeks reddened, face covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He knows you don't like how you flush, but he loves it. Physical evidence of your arousal, of what he is doing to you. When his lips meet yours, he gently bites at your lower lip, and it prompts you to kiss him harder, forcing his head back down against the pillow. He could do this forever. Cock sliding in and out of you, pleasure thrumming mutually between you both, unrushed and full of love.
From the moment you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, he knew he wouldn't last long. He could have cum with just the visual of you undoing his belt, pulling the zipper down with your teeth. Never in his entire life has be paid closer attention to the details of your hands, fingers gently pulling him out of his boxers, your lips, tongue... your tongue, the tip of which is currently sliding just under the head of his cock, skillfully stimulating all the nerve endings on the underside of his length, spots that pulse pleasure through him that he didn't know was even possible. The quiet moans spilling from his lips, muffled by his own fist, are music to your ears. You'd want him to be louder, if only the others wouldn't hear on the other sides of the walls. Your nails dig into his hips where they're slipped into his waistband, and the feeling makes his back arch. He sacrifices some of the stimulation in favor of lacing his fingers through yours, his impending orgasm causing him to need the grounding. His eyes roll back as he approaches the edge, and the feeling of his cock twitching inside your mouth as you take in every drop of cum that pulses out of him is astronomical. It rolls through his body, licking through him, vibrating hot. You continue your ministrations until he's to the precipice of overstimulation, hips twitching with each pass of your lips, your tongue, cleaning him up. "L-let me help," he offers, wanting to be useful despite how limbless he feels. You chuckle, mouth closed, slowly crawling your way up until youre hovering above him. You smile, something devious and all beautiful. You tap his chin, and he raises it, expecting, maybe, a kiss. He parts his lips and you grip his chin before spitting his cum back into his own mouth, an action that has his eyes widening, cheeks burning red, and cock twitching again unexpectedly. You smile, laugh, and press your lips to his. The makeout is hotter, sticker than hes ever experienced and he doesnt have time to think about hygiene when all he wants is to be inside, inside, inside you.
Spencers pain tolerance is very high, actually. With everything he's been through, he has developed a thick skin. But here, laying in your lap, arms wrapped around your midriff, he cries softly, sound muffled where he buries his mouth against your shorts. You hush him, soothing a hand through his curls as you pour a little more of the hot body-safe wax along his spine. Every time it hits, he inhales, and you feel him stiffen before he eases, breathing in heavily. You scratch gently against the base of his skull, murmuring a soft "So good for me. My good boy." Letting him breathe for a moment as you let more wax pool under the flame. "Big breath," you comment softly, and he inhales, fist already tightening its grip against your shirt when you pour a bigger amount on his skin, and he lets out a choked off moan, partially a grunt, partially pleasure, but all release. There was something special about letting him turn his brain off, rewiring it to trust the safety of activities like these with you, relearning this little pain as something that could be therapeutic. You let him settle, and after some time he sniffles, raising himself ever so slightly, eyes glittering as he quietly asks for water. You bring the straw to his lips and he thanks you. "Enough?" You ask, pushing his curls back. He nods. You kiss his nose. Wipe away the tears streaks, kissing his cheek, then his forehead as you help ease him back down, beginning the ritual of removing all the wax, and massaging a soothing lotion into his skin. Later in the night, when youre moving in tandem, when he's repeating your name like a prayer, begging you to cum at the same time as him, you know you've made him feel safe, made him feel loved. You look into his eyes that night as you share your high, and Spencer knows that this high is the one he wants to chase for the rest of his life.
"No! No, please, ple-hngh!" Spencers please are silenced when you bring the lube soaked gauze back around the head of his cock. You've edged him at least four times already, breaking past his prior record of two. The tip is red, angry, leaking. Spencer is sensitive as it is, but from the first drag of the gauze, his whole body contorted, eyes going wide as he looked at you, utter confusion, amazement and a little terror in his features. Theoretically, he thought hed know what it would feel like, but nothing could have prepared him for this. You grip the head of his cock firmly, your other hand coming down to massage at his balls gently, causing him to arch his back as an involuntary sigh escapes his lips. You've gotten him beyond sensitive, where every erogenous zone on his body is lit up, reactive at the slightest contact. His chest is still heaving, and you decide to give him a little break before you work him up to the edge again. You remove the gauze, causing a whimper to rip through him. You wipe your hands on the nearby towel before leaning down against him. You'd been perched between his thighs, keeping his legs open with your knees. He lets out a sound at the feel of his cock being trapped between your bodies, and you reach up to push his sweat damp curls out of his forehead as you latch your lips onto his nipple. His chest pushes up, and you carefully and affectionately trace the hardening bud with the tip of your tongue. He attempts to look down at you, but his eyes roll back when you suck, letting your teeth brush delicately prod at the bud. You feel his cock twitch against your skin. " 'm gonna cum." He murmurs, letting out a harsh breath as you suck hard enough for the bud to follow you as you pull back, letting it out of your mouth with a pop. "Who gave you permission?" You ask, gently moving your body to stimulate the pleasure. "Wan' you. Please, my face-" he begs, your hand reaching for the gauze again as you drag yourself upward. "What was that?" You ask, cruel as you round the head of his cock with no warning, the gauze ripping a strangled sound out of him. His eyes open suddenly and meet yours, and you already know. "Okay, okay. No more gauze. You've been very, very good. Ask for what you want and you just might get it, pretty boy." He breathes a sigh of relief, hips pushing upward into your hand now that the gauze has been removed. "Want you," he repeats, "please. Dont wanna cum without you here." You smile "You're such a good boy." You praise, moving yourself up the bed, removing your underwear. You straddle his chest, leaning down so you can lick a stripe up his cock while you push yourself into his mouth. His tongue laps at you desperately, his body shaking with the effort as his cock begins to pulse violently, and it only takes one stroke as you place him against your tongue for him to start cumming. You moan against him dramatically, stroking him gently through it as you rub the head against your tongue. By the time he finally comes down from his high, you look back to see the tears in his eyes, you feel the whine he lets out when you lift yourself off his face, and his neck raises to follow. When youre next to him, his pupils are blown out, mouth wet. You kiss his forehead, his cheek, his nose, and he lets you. He lets you because his whole body is buzzing with the leftover hums of pleasure, resonating throughout his cock, his abdomen, his stomach, his chest.
I JUST WROTE A WHOLE THERAPUTIC CLOTHED GRINDING WITH WRIST BONDAGE WITH SPENCER AND I WENT TO SAVE IT AS A DRAFT SO THAT I WOUDLNT LOSE IT, AND TUMBLR IMMEDIATELY SAID ERROR AND DELETED IT. AFTER I SPECIFICALLY WENT TO SAVE AS A DRAFT.
It was so good and so poetic too, guys Im done for im genuinely devastated, this has given me an instant headache
Spencer's curls are soft in your hand, his eyes fall closed as you scratch against his scalp, lips falling open before he presses his cheek into the flesh of your thigh. "So, so pretty." You coo softly, as his hips keep up their grinding against your leg. "Thank you," he murmurs, fingers digging into your flesh as he chases his high. You hum, press your leg a little firmer against the pulsating tent in his pants. It makes his head spin. "Thank you," he moans, pressing as much of a kiss as he can to your skin. "So polite, too." You reply, tilting your head and smiling as you fist some of his hair, giving it a light tug. He cries out softly, body shuddering as his eyes roll back. "Such a good boy. You gonna cum for me, too?" He looks up at you, half lidded eyes already glazed over, "Please?" Its barely audible. His thighs are shaking with the effort, now, body aching for release. You push your hand through his hair again, and his eyes almost fall closed. You lean down, pressing a warm kiss to his forehead before whispering "Cum for me." Like magic, his hips buck wildly. A few hard thrusts is all it takes for his body to seize, fingers digging into your skin as his mouth falls open, curses, gratitude, and your name spilling from his lips. When he finally comes down from his high, he collapses into your lap, nose nudging at your zipper as he breathes in. "Thank you," he whispers one more time. You smile, "I love you," you reply softly, hand pushing through his curls, again. He presses his nose a little further into your zipper, arm wrapping around your waist. He was so good, so he's hoping maybe you'll indulge him just a little more.
"You're still tense." You comment softly to spencer, who is laying on his back in front of you. "Sorry." he murmurs, hands fidgeting. You chuckle softly, and he let's his eyes flicker to your lips. You tilt your head a little to the side. "Lets begin, hm?" He swallows, adams apple bobbing as he does. His nervousness is making your heart do flips. "Here, this should help." You say as you lean down over him, cupping his cheek as you bring your lips closer to his. You feel him tilt his head up, his body showing off his desire before his brain can catch up. You smirk, but then press your mouth to his, open and hot. A few minutes of kissing does wonders to his nerves, his body now tilting slightly towards you. Every time you slightly back up, he chases, lost in the feeling, desperate to be with you. His hand on your thigh grips tighter as you trail a hand down his chest, slipping your hand into his shirt to let your thumb brush past his nipple. You're surprised when your hand brushes over his pants, only to find him rock hard.
A few minutes of kissing and you can guarantee if you peeled away the dress pants, youd find a wet patch well established in his underwear. You break away from the kiss to trail your lips down his jaw, nipping until you find a spot that makes his breath catch in his throat. You use that as an opportunity to suck gently, while flattening your palm against the bulge in his pants. "Dont," he murmurs out quietly. "Hm?" You ask, raising your head to check on him. You kiss his chin, his jaw, his cheek, his nose. "Don't do what? This?" You ask, pushing your palm against him again, fingers slightly wrapping around the outline of his cock. His whole body shudders, " 'm gonna cum if you do that." his voice is breathy, desperate and somehow a little pathetic. You smile. "don't you want to cum?" "Yes, but-" "then cum. let me see what you look like," you begin adding more pressure as you work him up and down through his dress pants. "what you sound like," you lick a gentle stripe along his jaw. "wanna feel it pulsing against my hand," his body trembles, "wanna taste it," and just like that, he let's out a huge breath, like he'd been holding it in the whole time, his body tenses and you feel his hips push up into your hand as he gasps and whimpers, hands reaching for anything they can grab as his orgasm hits him, a wet patch soaking its way through his pants as his cock twitches beneath your hand. "Good boy," you murmur gently into his ear, and he whimpers again, cock twitching at the praise. When he finally comes down from it, you're pleasantly surprised that his cock is still somewhat hard. "Let's clean you up, pretty boy." You kiss his cheek before shifting onto your knees between his legs, fingers working deftly against the button, tongue ready to lap him up. He thinks, if it were possible, the image of you there would rip a second orgasm from him.
"You're still tense." You comment softly to spencer, who is laying on his back in front of you. "Sorry." he murmurs, hands fidgeting. You chuckle softly, and he let's his eyes flicker to your lips. You tilt your head a little to the side. "Lets begin, hm?" He swallows, adams apple bobbing as he does. His nervousness is making your heart do flips. "Here, this should help." You say as you lean down over him, cupping his cheek as you bring your lips closer to his. You feel him tilt his head up, his body showing off his desire before his brain can catch up. You smirk, but then press your mouth to his, open and hot. A few minutes of kissing does wonders to his nerves, his body now tilting slightly towards you. Every time you slightly back up, he chases, lost in the feeling, desperate to be with you. His hand on your thigh grips tighter as you trail a hand down his chest, slipping your hand into his shirt to let your thumb brush past his nipple. You're surprised when your hand brushes over his pants, only to find him rock hard.
A few minutes of kissing and you can guarantee if you peeled away the dress pants, youd find a wet patch well established in his underwear. You break away from the kiss to trail your lips down his jaw, nipping until you find a spot that makes his breath catch in his throat. You use that as an opportunity to suck gently, while flattening your palm against the bulge in his pants. "Dont," he murmurs out quietly. "Hm?" You ask, raising your head to check on him. You kiss his chin, his jaw, his cheek, his nose. "Don't do what? This?" You ask, pushing your palm against him again, fingers slightly wrapping around the outline of his cock. His whole body shudders, " 'm gonna cum if you do that." his voice is breathy, desperate and somehow a little pathetic. You smile. "don't you want to cum?" "Yes, but-" "then cum. let me see what you look like," you begin adding more pressure as you work him up and down through his dress pants. "what you sound like," you lick a gentle stripe along his jaw. "wanna feel it pulsing against my hand," his body trembles, "wanna taste it," and just like that, he let's out a huge breath, like he'd been holding it in the whole time, his body tenses and you feel his hips push up into your hand as he gasps and whimpers, hands reaching for anything they can grab as his orgasm hits him, a wet patch soaking its way through his pants as his cock twitches beneath your hand. "Good boy," you murmur gently into his ear, and he whimpers again, cock twitching at the praise. When he finally comes down from it, you're pleasantly surprised that his cock is still somewhat hard. "Let's clean you up, pretty boy." You kiss his cheek before shifting onto your knees between his legs, fingers working deftly against the button, tongue ready to lap him up. He thinks, if it were possible, the image of you there would rip a second orgasm from him.
Summary: Teasing your virgin boyfriend was all fun and games, until heâs too worked up to function. When the layers of clothing fall off, youâre in for a delightfully large surprise.
Content: 3.2k words, virgin!Spencer, kinda sub undertones, heâs hung af and really fucking whiny, fingering, hand jobs, raw p in v but reader is on the pill, multiple orgasms, Spencer cries because he needs it so bad, reader wears lip gloss, dacryphilia (lemme know if I missed anything)
a/n: Truly just 3.2k words of filth. I wrote this instead of the next chapter for my thesis and I have no regrets. Also, a lot of my italicized words got lost because formatting on the app truly is the bane of my existence, but I reached a personal milestone and wanted to celebrate! So yay, here's a fic as a thank you for supporting my blog and writings â¤ď¸
BUD Chronicles
Sometimes dating Spencer Reid meant throwing subtlety out the goddamn window; the man wouldnât know subtext if it hit him square on his beautiful, perfectly sculpted face. All your subtle attempts to seduce him have all been entirely unsuccessful, and you're beginning to wonder if he even wants you that way.Â
In your defense, you've been dating for over two months now and he still hasn't initiated anything beyond making out. Itâs been making you antsy. Of course, his hesitation is nice. It comes from a place of respect after all, and thereâs something endearing about his gentle touches, large hands ghosting over your body. You appreciate this easy, steady pace you've set for the relationship.Â
But after a particularly busy week for both of you, you've been left aching and needy for something more.Â
When you finally found a time that works for both of your schedules, you decided it would be time to make your move. Fuck waiting for him to initiate. You can do it yourself. You'd been subtle about it at firstâa hand on his thigh, a few inches higher than where you'd normally place it, lips running over his jaw.Â
The man had simply laughed nervously, and returned with a kiss to your forehead.
Briefly, you wondered if it truly is because he's not into you that way. However, that thought flits right out of your pretty head when you see the unmistakable tent slowly forming in his pants.Â
So youâd upped your actions, nibbling at his earlobe in the middle of dessert, fingers trailing up his inner thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. Screw subtlety. (And hopefully, him too.) By the time you two sat in the back of the cab, heâs a squirming mess.
âS-stay the night?â heâd been so shy about it you debated teasing him a little more. Maybe if you werenât so horny, you would have, but relief had simply flooded your veins. Finally. So you nod, teased him a little more in the back of the cab until he had to grab your wrists and hold them in place, because he swore heâd probably come in here just from one more brush of your palm. The lightest pressure and heâd be a goner, a pathetic mess, and you hadnât even really done anything.Â
There had been no build up once you got into his apartment. Simply an exchange of quick, sloppy kisses, Spencer pushing you deeper into his house until the couch hits the back of your knees and both of you came tumbling down. Heâs already rutting his hips against your thigh, his erection hot even through his slacks. Clumsy fingers strip off fabric and shoes, leaving them strewn haphazardly on his living room floor.
You had pushed him away then, grinning enticingly as you went to straddle his lap. You ground your hips in circular motions against his still clothed crotch, gasping as the obvious bulge gives you even more traction to rub on.Â
âNo fair,â he whines, fingers leaving crescent shaped indents on your hips, âP-please stop teasing, youâve been doing it all night.â
Heâs so tightly wound itâs almost pathetic. Heâs lucky youâve some semblance of mercy left in your body, because you could probably come undone just from the friction that came by dry humping him. But you relent, sitting back on his thighs as you tug at his underpants.Â
âAll right baby, since you asked so nicely.â
Thus exposing whatâs going to be the small issue of the night.
Rather, the large issue.
His cock springs free and for a moment you just stare at it. Red, veiny, pulsing and huge. Larger than anyone youâve been with, larger than even the toys that hide in that one drawer in your bedroom closet.
âW-whatâs wrong?â
âNothing.â
âYou paled a little.â
A shaky laugh escapes your lips, âYou didnât tell me you were hung.â
His eyebrows scrunch, so ridiculously adorable you have to bite your lip to stifle another giggle.
âHung?â
âYeah, like, your dick is huge.â
Red blooms across his cheeks, âItâs - itâs certainly above averageââ
âYou know what the average length is?â
âI-in North America, yes.â
âI didnât know you swung that way, baby.â
He groans, moving to hide his face into the crook of your neck, âThatâs not what I meant.â
âI know, I know, Iâm kidding.â You manage to shift and catch his head before he has a chance to press it to your neck. Your lips land on his, and heâs pushing his tongue inside your mouth sloppily. When you pull away for air, you add, âYouâre just bigger than what Iâm used to.â
âIs that bad?â
Is it? One hand wraps around the base of his cock, stroking up delicately, testing out the girth and the weight of him. He shudders, muscles tensing. His fingers dig into your hips. With a grin, you reply, âOn the contrary, I think itâs exciting.â
You position yourself over him then, letting the blunt tip run up and down your slick folds. The friction makes you both shiver. Every single ridge and vein of his cock catches on your sensitive flesh, and you canât help but start moving your hips up and down, rubbing your folds over the length of him.Â
âYouâre - ah - so wet.â his tone is wretched with desire and awe.
âAll for you baby.â You continue your ministrations, letting his length part your folds, the tip hitting your clit at certain angles. His cock is covered in your slick within moments and your poor boyfriend looks like heâs about to combust. You feel the twitch of his cock, the shift in the way he moves his hipsârocking up desperately against youâand you know heâs close. So you stop.
Youâre rewarded by another whine.
âPlease,â his grip is hurting you now, palms clutching handfuls of your ass. You donât think heâs even aware of how tightly heâs doing it. âPlease, Iâm soââ
âSpence, do you really want to cum without even being inside me?â That shuts up his whining. âMhm, didnât think so.â
âCan Iâ please, justââ
âWhat?â
âWanna touch you.â
Your lips tug into a smile. At your nod of assent, one of his hands let go of your ass to move to your pussy, the pads of his fingers quickly locating your clit.
âFuck, Spence,â your head falls forward, forehead meeting his, âFaster, baby.â
He obeys, tilting his head forward to capture your lips. Your mouth opens to him, muffling your moans as you begin to move, shamelessly riding his hand. His finger finds your entrance, dipping shallowly, hesitantly, but youâre so wet that, with a quick thrust of your hips, the digit slips all the way in.Â
Spencer pulls away from the kiss to watch, the pupils of his eyes nearly eclipsing the ochre irises as your pussy swallows his finger greedily. Transfixed, he adds another finger and itâs your turn to squeeze and mark up his alabaster skin with crescent marks.Â
âYes,â you groan, gasp, writhe in his lap as his fingers curl and find the sweet spot inside you, âOh god, Spencer, yes!â
Heâs entranced as he pumps his fingers in and you, mouth hanging open as your pussy parts and accepts his fingers so prettily. To reciprocate, your handsâplural, yes both handsâwrap around his cock, starting a slow, lazy pace. That throws his rhythm off, fingers stilling inside you.
âKeep going,â you urge him, hands slowing to a stop as well, âSpencer.â
He whines, hips bucking up into your palms, but something in your voice seems to set him straight. Fingers thrust in and out of you again, long and elegant and stretching you for whatâs about to come. Satisfied, you pump your hands over his cock again, twisting them every time you motion up, and squeezing as you go down. It doesnât take long for him to fall apart, his cock twitching before cum shoots from the tip. Because youâre straddling his lap, it makes a mess and lands on both of youâhis stomach, your chest, some even on your hair.Â
You silence him with a kiss, still stroking him, as your hips move over his hand. His brain manages to work, curling inside your fluttering walls. The movements are messy, uncoordinated as you chase your orgasm and he struggles to catch up. A whine leaves your lips, soft and needy. Something about it must trigger the neurons in his beautiful brain, make him remember you have the perfect bundle of nerves being neglected and he has more free fingers.Â
With a slight shift, he presses his thumb to your clit.Â
âFuck, baby, yes!â you cry out breathlessly, head falling forward on his shoulder.Â
âGood?â he asks, increasing pressure on that sensitive nub. Small, quick circles. You wonder when he became so dexterous.
You nod, thighs clenched and quivering as your climax nears, the pleasure in your stomach building and coiling into something white-hot andâ âOh, Spencer!â
His other arm wraps around your waist, crushing you to him as he helps you through your orgasm. In the steady comfort of his arms, the rocking of your hips slow to a stop. You feel his lips at your temple, not really kissing the spot, just resting there. Heavy breaths rifle strands of your hair.Â
âOh god,â he sighs, fingers slipping out of you with a pop, âAngel, that was amazing.â
You straighten up, grinning, âWe're not done yet.â
âNo?â
Eyes dart down suggestively, and his gaze follows to his own lap. Still completely erect, his cock lays flat against you, heavy and pulsating. âNo, I think I need to take care of you a little more.â
âY-you don't haveââ
But you've already lifted yourself to your knees, fighting through the quake in your thighs, in order to position the tip of him at your slick entrance. His hands return to your thighs, nails clamping down on your skin.
âBut I'm notâ condomââ
How cute, he can barely speak. You grin, press a chaste kiss to the dimple on his cheek. âI'm clean. And on the pill.â
âYou sure itâs okay?â
It's more than okay, actually. You're too shades shy of being desperate for his cock to split you open, but you're not sure if he'd survive hearing that sentence so you say, âOf course it is baby. Unless⌠you want me to stop?â If he catches the hint of insecurity in your voice, he doesn't show it.Â
Instead, his head is shaking no, vigorously, lower lip jutting out in a pout.Â
You smile, and kiss it away, âOkay then. I'll go slow, okay?â
You'd meant it as an empty warning. Really, there's nothing more you want than to impale yourself down on him and ride him like there's no tomorrow. However, as you slowly lower yourself onto his cock, as the blunt tip breaches your entrance and spreads your walls, you realize that going slow is probably more of a necessity.Â
He's big. Almost uncomfortably so.Â
One sharp exhale from your lips and he's suddenly looking at you in concern, âAre you all right?â
âFine,â you gasp, although the furrow in your brows suggest otherwise.Â
âYou don't have toâ"
âHush, baby, I just need a moment.â You say, forcing yourself to relax and take more. The broadest part of his head pushes through, stretching you wider than you've ever been. Soft, keening sounds fill the air. It's hard to know which came from you, or from him.
You look up, and laugh when you realize Spencer's skin is dappled with large red splotches. He's staring at where the two of you are connected, his cock barely fitting inside you. With a deep breath, you roll your hips around, trying to get used to the feeling. He whines again, his torso falling back onto the cushion, âOh my god,â he gasps, lower lips trembling, âOh my god, please.â
âNeed you to be patient for me, Spence.â you mutter, dropping down a little more. You place one hand on his thigh for balance, while the other wraps around the base of his cock, stroking him to give him some relief. The greedy bastard bucks up, involuntarily, and you hiss as another inch pushes into you before you're ready.
âSpence!â
âSorry, I'm sorry! Just - oh god, oh god, please, oh did I hurt you?â
And then it happens. Something glimmers on his cheek as it catches the light. And then another. And again, this time on the other cheek. Your hand leaves his thigh to grasp his chin, tilt his head up.
Your boyfriend is crying. Splayed out on the couch, cushions embedded by the sharp joints of his elbows from where he's propped himself up. He's looking up at you with glimmering liquid gathered on the rims of his lashline. Dripping down his cheeks, only to be replaced by another bout.Â
âBaby,â You sigh, pouting as you lean down. Soft lips catch his tears, leaving sticky residue on his cheekbones from the remains of your lip gloss, âIt's okay.â
Another sob. Large teardrops crawl down his chiseled face.
Knowing that itâs your fault makes a feeling of power surge through you. âYouâre so pretty like this, Spence.âÂ
âAngel, pleaseââ
The sight of his tear streaked face does something to you, your walls relaxing and fluttering as you manage to accept another inch down. His reaction is instantaneous, nails sinking into your hips, head falling back. âNo, no,â you say, hand coming to the back of his head, tilting his head forward again, âLook at me.â
Tear streaked and hazy eyed, he manages to keep his head steady in order to maintain eye contact. Itâs a little sick, the way this turns you on, but it allows you to sheath his cock further in.Â
You lift yourself up, until only the tip remains notched inside you, and his cock gleams with the evidence of your arousal. With a smile, you sink down again, walls fluttering as you take him deeper, until you have about three fourths of his length buried inside you and heâs little more than a puddle.Â
A hiss escapes your lips, brows knitting from the stretch. It isnât just that his length is impressive, itâs that heâs thick too, splitting your pussy open. But now he's buried more than halfway through, giving you enough room to lift yourself up, and sink down again.
You count that as a victory.
He groans, muscles tensing, and you know he's desperately trying not to buck up and meet your movements. With a small smile, you lean close, forehead resting on his. Large, honeyed eyes stare back up at you, still glassy with tears. You repeat the same motion of your hips, moaning as you feel every single ridge and vein of his cock straining inside your walls.Â
âFeel good?â you murmur, swiping a stray teardrop with your thumb.Â
âMhmm,â he nods, breath hitching as your movements grow steady. The sting remains, but it's grown dull now that youâve gotten more used to the size of him.
âOh god, baby, why haven't we done this sooner?â you whine as you rock on top of him, enjoying the fullness of having him inside of you. The question is rhetorical, but he's in absolutely no state of mind to answer. His hands grip your hips tightly as he sniffles, unable to do anything else except enjoy the ride you're giving him.
Praises leave your lips, murmured in tones cloyingly sweet and half mocking.Â
âCrying over sex, you're so lucky I'm so into you.â
âYou look so pretty with tears in your eyes baby."
âNever had pussy this tight, haven't you?âÂ
That last one rips another sob from him, because you know this is his first, that you're making a mockery out of something significant for him. So you soothe with a kiss, and whispers of âI'm sorry, it's okay, you're doing so good, you feel so good.â
You punctuate it by moving faster, your pussy thoroughly comfortable and so wet that there's barely any struggle to bounce on his dick. However, you're still careful, still unable to take him all the way in. You figure it's something you both can work up to, something for the future. The thought makes you smile.Â
Besides he doesn't seem to mind, moaning beneath you as you ride him. He seems to have lost all ability to articulate himself, instead just staring at you with red, tear filled eyes and a slack jaw. It makes you giggle, the way he looks so utterly fucked out.Â
You clench around him, walls tightening sharply, sending sensations that make the two of you gasp.Â
âI-I'm so close.â He manages to say, his hands now helping you, guiding your body as you impale yourself over his cock again and again, âPlease, I'm soââ
âI know, baby, I know, you can come.â
His eyes squeeze shut, and his voice is especially strained when he asks, âInside?â
You tug his hair teasingly, and his kids flutter open again. With a grin, you confirm, âInside.â
A few more thrusts and he's gone, crying out, squirming desperately beneath you as spurts of his cum paint your walls. You don't stop, riding him continuously as you chase your own release. Thick, creamy liquid drips from your pussy and down the base of his cock with every movement.Â
He sobs even more.Â
âTouch me,â You whisper, pleading, âSpence, please baby, I'm so close.â
His fingers are at your clit in an instant, rubbing hasty circles as your pace grows erratic and sloppy.Â
âPlease,â He gasps, looking up at you with glassy, imploring eyes, âPlease I wanna feel you come.â
Your body seems attuned to his desperate pleas, because as soon as those words leave his lips, your pussy clenches around him so tightly you both yelp in surprise. He doesn't stop his ministrations on your clit, helping you through your orgasm until you're panting. For the second time tonight, you collapse against him, face buried at the crook of his neck.Â
âMy god.â
He laughs, breathless, âMy god indeed.âÂ
He shifts, moving slowly so he doesn't jostle your boneless frame too much. There's a hiss from you as he slowly pulls out. You find yourself clenching around nothing, feeling oddly empty after such an intense fullness.Â
Silence wraps around both of you, heady and languid. His fingers in your hair, scratching your scalp. Soft intimacy after a whirlwind of lust.
And then he breaks it, so achingly sweet it almost makes you cry, âI'm sorry that I hurt you.â
âMhm?â
âEarlier,â He clarifies, lips finding your shoulder and staying there. His voice becomes muffled and sheepish, âWhen I thrust up.â
âI didn't think you'd remember that.â You tease, fingers tangling into his hair and tugging at his curls.
âI've an eidetic memory, remember? I remember everything.â He laughs too. Relief makes his voice sound lighter. âI never want to hurt you.â
âYou didn't,â You reassure him, âWell - okay, a little bit, but it's fine. I don't think you meant to.â
âOf course not,â He hums, lips traveling up your neck, âBut I'll be more careful next time.â
âNext time huh?â
âMhm,â Teeth on your jaw. Playful, teasing. âNext time.âÂ
It sounds like a promise. You know he intends to keep it.Â
This was a request by @mggslover lol I forgot to add up top oh well
Hotch sends you and Spencer to Iowa to conduct a death row interview with an inmate. Thing is, there's not much to do in Iowa but fuck.
pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader
tags/warnings: 18+, wc: 5.9k, whew, smut, porn w plot, piv sex, unprotected sex, drunk sex, oral sex (both receiving), fingering, soft-dom spencer ish, biting, praise kink, this is so self-indulgent muahahaha, discussions of a case, but nothing too bad it's canon typical stuff, iowa hate idgaf!!, drinking/getting drunk, i think that's it!
notes: this is likeeee. one of my first times writing longer smut. also i did in fact say i would re-upload old re-worked fics before posting anything new but alas! i am a liar! here is something brand new! i spent like. 9 straight hours on this yesterday. and it is currently almost 8 am and i just spent all night finishing it up instead of sleeping. ALSO i am in fact a philosophy major (future barista moment) and my fics get soooo. philosophy-esque. like. every single time. i'm sorry... i am who i am.
If you had to remove one state from the contiguous union, it would be Iowa.Â
Youâre standing in a rusty hotel room, which, according to Hotch, is the best they could do to accommodate you. And Spencer. Heâs one room over. Your feet vibrate against the rug. You tell yourself itâs the thought of him, one wall over â thinking, sitting, reading, whatever heâs doing â and not some rare kind of bacteria youâre going to catch from the stink of this place.
Hotch sent you and Reid here for a death row interview. One of the inmates, having spent the past seventeen years as a self-proclaimed monk, decided he was done with silence. He answered the bureauâs request for an interview in a letter addressed to Hotchâs desk, written in red ink. Itâs your first prison interview â you usually wear the bad guys down before theyâre locked away forever â but Spencer has done one or two, he said. You think it might be more.
Youâd never been to Iowa, never had a case here. Youâre not great with time off, even worse with real vacations. You donât look out your window for fear the corn fields have gotten closer since you last peeked through the curtains. You swear you can see twenty miles out; the flatness makes it easy to mistake the horizon for something that never, ever ends.Â
Youâre picking at the skin of your fingernails, toes curled as they still rest but resist against the carpet, when thereâs a knock at your door. You donât check, because youâre not really fearful. It might make you a shitty FBI agent, but you doubt anyone is tracking you down in Iowa. (Iowa. It gets worse each time you think it.)
âHi,â Spencer says, lips pulled flat. Flat. You think of fields. Corn. Emptiness. Your stomach churns then lurches when you think of your own bed in your own home in a state that has real hills and mountains and trees.Â
âHi.âÂ
âThought you might want to look over the file before tomorrow?â He frames it like a question, and you offer a soft smile at his hesitancy before opening the door to let him in. He turns his body to the left to avoid making contact with you as he accepts the invitation and walks on through.
Your bed is still made, your suitcase resting on top of it. He scrunches his nose before recovering.
âIâm not a germaphobe, like someone we both know,â you mock.
âMaybe you should be.â You laugh. Youâve been his teammate for three years now, and it still gets you when he decides he can lighten up and make a joke.
He looks around, still awkward in the yellow tint of the hotel lamp, then decides to sit in the desk chair in the corner.
âYou look so ominous,â you say, shaking your head as you pull the file out of the nightstand.Â
âWhy is your casefile in there?â
âWhere do you keep yours?â
âI never put it away.â
âChecks out,â you say, raising your eyebrows and sitting criss-crossed on the edge of your bed, facing him.
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âGary Foster,â you read off the top of the page, ignoring his bait. âKilled twenty-three women in his basement. His wife never knew.â
âOr claims she didnât know,â Spencer corrects.Â
âYou think she did?â
He shrugs. âIt doesnât really matter what I think.â
You glance up at him to find him staring intently at the file in his hands. Heâs gripping onto it like itâs all he knows. You store your observations away in your head under a tab titled Perhaps Ask Later.Â
Youâve gone over this file a dozen times. Itâs virtually seared into your memory. Still, you let him tack off the rest of the information to you, compile the intensive profile Hotch gave you into a bullet point list.Â
âHeâs gonna focus on me,â you say once he reaches a lull in speech.
âBecause youâre a woman?â he confirms. You nod. âMaybe.â
You tap the file a few times with your fingers as a yawn creeps up your throat, threatening to escape. Spencer seems to get the hint before you even let it out.Â
âWeâve got a long day tomorrow,â he says before standing. He takes a step forward before turning around and tucking the chair back into the desk. You smile at the politeness. âSee you tomorrow?â
âIs that a question?â you tease as you lead him to the door. âI promise I wonât jump out of the window.â
âThereâs not much out there.â
âNo, there isnât.â He fumbles with the key for the door across the hall. You wait for him to open it before you start to close yours, the way you would after driving a friend at home. âNight.â
âNight,â he says, though the latter half of the word is muffled by the shut of the door.Â
The room is barren again. You open the curtains now that itâs nearing total darkness outside.
It takes six more hours for you to drift off into sleep.
âÂ
Your hand is immediately on your temple when you awake, rubbing at the budding headache you know will consume you once you get up. This is the punishment you get for allowing yourself only three hours of sleep.
The sunlight hits your bed in fluttering intervals of perfect warmth and scorching heat. This time, when the hindmost rolls around, you force yourself up and place your feet on the ground. You hold your tongue to refrain from releasing a long string of fucks and shits and realize your hand is still refusing to move from its spot rubbing circles in your face. When you make your way to the bathroom, you realize the bed is so hard youâve left no indent.Â
The sting of the shower is pelting, boiling enough that it feels purifying. After a night spent in sheets youâre sure dozens have sweat through, itâs more than welcome. The heat is the perfect substrate for the anticipatory dread of todayâs interview. Speaking to monsters as if thereâs a hint of human behind the stitching has never pulled at you in the right way.Â
If anything, itâs slowly pulled you apart.
The outlet in your bathroom is broken so youâre forced to dry your hair sitting on the carpet of the room, right next to that window that stares out into nowhere. You feel itchy just sitting on it. You swear the fibers are pressing into your skin, merging with your skin.Â
The file is open on the floor in front of you, and you use your thumb to wipe the water falling from your damp hair. The pages already begin to curdle like the feeling in your stomach.Â
You put your hair in a ponytail, then worry itâs too sexual â because youâve absorbed the profile and you know what earns a check on this guys list â- so you take it down and let it rest on your shoulders again. Your knees crack when you stand up and your hip tenses up like it might, too, when you slip your legs into your pants.Â
Thereâs a knock on your door and you mutter fuck as you balance your time between finishing the rest of the buttons on your blouse and stumbling to the door.
âI need a couple minutes,â you say, before you say hello. You leave the door open as you retreat farther into the room. âYou can wait in here.â
You squeeze your feet into your heels â half a size too small, and in your head you call the saleslady who insisted on that being necessary for this brand a word that would make your grandmother sour â and peripherally watch him step into the room, hands stuffed in his pockets.Â
âYou ready?â he asks. You can feel his eyes on your unmade bed.Â
âMhm.â You glance in the square mirror facing the bed and smooth out your clothes.Â
âI mean for the interview,â he says after clearing his throat.
âMy answer remains.â
âCool.â He says it in the way that feels fraudulent, but is really just the way he speaks, youâve come to realize.
âAre you ready?â you ask back, muffled by the file placed between your teeth as you fumble around your desk for your car keys and room card. You make eye contact with him as you head for the door.
âDonât really have much of a choice, do I?â
âStand up straight,â you say, holding the door open for him as you both step into the hallway.
âWhat?â he mutters. He does it anyway.
âHeâs gonna zero in on you if you seem to lack confidence.â
âRight.â
Itâs silence between you two in the hallway, the elevator, the lobby, and until youâre pulling out of the parking lot. Thereâs overgrown wheatgrass in the field to your left and plowed corn crop to your right. The furrows stretch on until the curve of the earth swallows them up.
The sky is dull, slate-colored, and bears striking resemblance to something that could wipe you clean. Grain silos whir by every couple of minutes. These people really own a lot of fucking land. Every few miles, a new one, along with a rusting tractor or collapsing barn or crop that looks about ready to dry up and blow away. It gets predictable after mile seven.Â
The prison doesnât appear so much as it settles into your vision. Itâs low to the ground, sprawling, gray. A scar pressed into the ground.Â
You feel like Spencer the way youâve completely memorized the profile. You flash your badge at the gate, sign some kind of form and drive into a parking lot that feels as far from the prison as your hotel was.
Spencer lingers in the car two seconds after you get out. Heâs nervous, and heâs trying not to show it. You donât want to mention it, but you need to be on the same page, so you donât stop your lips from unfurling.
âYouâre doing that thing again.â
âWhat thing?â
âThe anxious math,â you say. âYouâre calculating the probability of saying the wrong thing before we even walk in.â
âThatâs-â He seems to think better than arguing and redirects his sentence. âThatâs not entirely inaccurate.â
You give him one of those closed lip smiles. âHeâll spot it in five seconds. He feeds on nerves like that. First, heâll comment on your hands, because you fidget when youâre trying not to.â
âYou sound like Hotch.â
You scoff out a half-laugh and choose to ignore the comment otherwise. âAnd heâll ask how long youâve known me. If weâre sleeping together. He wonât say it like that, of course. Heâll be crude. He wants to gauge what version of you shows up when youâre off-balance.â
âWhy would that knock me off balance?â he asks. The hesitancy has stolen his tone again.
âYou fluster easily.â
âDo I?â
âMhm. You blink three times, touch your collar, and then deflect with statistics. You did it the first time I challenged you during a case.â
He tuts then holds the door of the prison open for you. âYouâre profiling me.â
âOf course I am,â you say, then turn your head over your shoulder, waiting for him to walk back up beside you again. Heâs close behind you, so close you can almost feel his breath on you. It makes you feel warm. âSo will he.â
You greet two more guards inside before shaking hands with the warden. He thanks you for coming with that grim look on his face that everyone in this field seems to have permanently etched into the creases of their skin. The prison is colder inside than it has any right to be, as if the concrete has learned to hold onto every winter itâs ever survived.Â
âStill nervous?â you whisper to Spencer.Â
He smiles, shakes his head no.Â
Good, you mouth.
You pretend not to notice his eyes fixate for a beat longer than necessary on your lips. You lick them in response. When he meets your eyes again, you pretend not to notice that something undecipherable is hidden behind his lids, too.Â
â
Foster smiles when you walk in. He doesnât look at Spencer. You let Spencer pull your chair out for you, which immediately catches the guyâs attention. You think of still water, use it as a guide for being calm.
âWell,â Foster says. He hasnât dropped the smile from his face. âThey sent a good-looking one.â
âWe, the FBI, are really grateful you chose to cooperate with us,â you say. âYou know, in your final days.â
âHm.â He turns to Spencer, finally. âShe yours?â
You donât look at him, and you will him to ignore him, to start asking him the standard questions. Whatâs your name? What year were you born?Â
âSheâs her own,â he says instead. It comes out even and flat.Â
âYou hesitated,â Foster says. His smile shows his teeth, now. âI suppose thatâs not a crime.â
âNo,â you agree. You open your file and lay a picture of his mugshot on the table. You can tell he was expecting photos of one of the women whose life he stole away. âBut murder is.â
Spencer clears his throat and nudges your ankle with the tip of his shoe. You give him no reaction, but the next time you reach for the file, you let your fingertips brush against his wrist.Â
â
âThat wasnât awful,â Spencer says when you step out, though he says it like heâs releasing one big breath born out of a collection of accumulated air trapped in his lungs.Â
Foster did say something crude. Youâd prefer not to repeat it, mostly because youâre not sure if Spencer was blushing or if he was just hot.Â
The prison was freezing, you remind yourself. Then you shove the thought back down.Â
âIt wasnât great,â you say. âI wish Iâd pushed him further aboutââ
âStop,â he says. His hand is on your bicep now. âDonât overthink it, you did great.â
âOkay,â you say. âDonât profile me, now.â
âWouldnât dream of it.â
The walk back to the car leaves you sticky and hot. You note, aimlessly, that Iowa gets hot enough if you let it â if you stay long enough to let it swelter.
âOur flightâs not till the morning,â you groan, slamming the car door shut.
âNot a fan of Iowa?â
âIn how many languages do you know how to say fuck no?â
âTwelve," he says. His eyes flit to the ceiling. âNo, fourteen.âÂ
âRidiculous.âÂ
â
You crash as soon as you get back to your hotel room. You sleep for what feels like two hours but you know is way longer than that, and when you finally peel your eyes open youâre sweating. Youâre clinging to your sheets, and you consider yourself bed-ridden as you roll over and check your phone. Hotch has sent you three messages asking for updates. Your stomach twinges with guilt for not answering, though you figure he probably moved on and texted Spencer.
Spencer.
You feel bad. You had ditched him, retreating to your hotel room the second you guys got back. You wonder what he did, if he got food, though thereâs not much to do in Iowa. In fact, thereâs nothing to do in Iowa.Â
You slip out of your clothes and take a quick rinse-off in the shower. Your hair is still wet when you adorn yourself in a gray t-shirt and sleep shorts and creep over across the hall. Your fist raps against the door three times, then twice more for good measure.Â
âHi?â
âHi,â you say, inviting yourself in as you push past him. Itâs identical to yours, but everythingâs on the opposite side. âNice room.â
âMuch nicer than yours.â
âOh, for sure.â You clap your hands together, then flop down on the bed. âSo, whatcha been up to?â
He nods his head at a book on the nightstand. You stretch over and pick it up. The History of Iowaâs Small Towns.
âLittle on the nose, isnât it, doctor?â
âItâs interesting.â
âYour mind amazes me,â you whisper, then place it back on the nightstand.
âHave you eaten?â he asks.
âIâm not really hungry,â you say. When he quirks his eyebrow, you add: âReally, I canât eat for, like, at least two hours after I wake up.â
âYou were asleep?â
You nod. âCouldnât last night. You didnât think I just ditched you, did you?â
He shrugs. âI wouldnât have minded.â
You place a hand over your heart. âWell, doctor, Iâm just plain offended.â
He smiles, real, genuine. âI didnât mean it like that.â
âHowâd you mean it?â you ask. You move up on the bed, as if itâs your own, making space for him to sit next to you.Â
He sighs, like he really doesnât want to indulge in this conversation, but his lips pry open and you know he will. âMorgan always says I ramble too much.â
You shrug. âWhatâs much, anyway?â
âWell, if youâre not hungry,â he starts, lifting himself off the bed and over to the mini fridge, âare you thirsty?â
âMy, my.â You smile, teeth and all. âI didnât know you drank on the job.â
âNot technically on the job anymore, am I?â He holds up a little bottle. âItâs not exactly a martini, but itâs all Iâve got unless you want lukewarm ginger ale.â
You accept the bottle with mock ceremony and open it the second itâs in your hands. âGuess federal per diems only cover motel whiskey. Honestly, this is probably the classiest thing happening in Iowa tonight.â
He laughs softly, twisting open his own cap. âFrom what Iâve read, and seen, thatâs a low bar.â
You raise yours. âTo meeting the bar.â
He tilts his head, scrunches his nose. âTo stepping over the bar with minimal effort.â
You both take a sip. Itâs terrible. You make a face.
He sees it and raises an eyebrow. âToo refined for hotel whiskey?â
âJust surprised it didnât come with a warning label,â you say, setting the bottle down on the nightstand. âOr a tetanus shot.â
âDonât worry,â he says, taking another sip of his. âIâm sure the Iowa Department of Health is on it.â
You nod solemnly. âTheyâre probably just as fast as the Wi-Fi.â
That gets a small smile from him. He sits on the edge of the bed, a little closer than before, but still careful. Heâs always so careful.
Thereâs a lull, full of quiet until the nighttime air-conditioning kicks on and youâre too tired to pretend anything really matters for a while.
âYou ever drink from the mini bar before? Like, during a case?â you ask eventually.
âOnly when I expect to be stranded somewhere like this.â
âSmart,â you say.Â
He glances at you, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. âCanât profile your way out of a cornfield without it.â
You hum in agreement. âIâm not sure if thatâs depressing.â
He shrugs, taking another sip. âProbably.â His hand falls to his side, dangerously close to your thigh.
You accept another one. And then another one. Youâre sure heâs going shot for shot with you, but you canât really tell because your head is full and everythingâs hazy and suddenly this bed is so, so comfortable.Â
You lie back, legs still dangling off the edge, and stare up at the popcorn ceiling like it might reveal state secrets. âDid you know Iowa had one of the highest populations of covered bridges?â
Spencer blinks. âIowa doesnât.â
You squint. âIt doesnât?â
âNo,â he says, amused. âThatâs Madison County. Which is in Iowa. But itâs a specific â actually, nevermind. Iâm not sure either of us are in a state for nuance.â
You wag a lazy finger at the ceiling. âI knew that.â
âSure,â he says, and leans back beside you with a soft thud, hands crossed over his stomach. âNext youâll tell me Iowa invented jazz.â
âIt didnât?â You cant your head to the side, a smile playing at your lips.Â
âGod, no.â
You sigh dramatically. âAnd here I thought this trip was educational.â
He turns his head just slightly toward you. His breath is hot, hotter than it was earlier, and his words are all slurred. You think you might sound the same but donât keep yourself in line long enough to actually check. âYouâve learned a lot. For example, youâve learned not to trust the minibar.â
âAnd that your idea of a good time is reading municipal histories.â
âI sensed you were captivated.â
You pull an arm over your face. âDo you always get this cocky after drinking?â
He tilts his head like heâs genuinely thinking about it. âI think I just feel safe knowing Iâm not the only one embarrassing myself.â
You haul a leg up to bend into the bed with you and nudge him with your knee. âYouâre not embarrassing. Youâre weird. Like, in the good way.â
He doesnât say anything for a moment, but you can hear the smile in his voice when he finally says: âThanks. Youâre weird too.â
âWeird and drunk.â You repeat the word drunk a few more times, drawing out a different syllable each time. âSpencer?âÂ
âHm?â
âDonât let me fall asleep here.â
âYou say that like I have any control over you,â he murmurs. Your breath catches. Neither of you move.
You peek at him from under your arm. âAre you flirting with me?â
âWhat?âÂ
âWhatever. Then donât speak with thatâ that tone. Or Iâll start to think youâre flirting with me.â
âIâm not really flirting with you.â
You let the arm drop, but not to the mattress; it finds its way to the sleeve of his shirt, playing with the fabric. âNot really or not yet?â
âThat depends,â he says, voice dropped low to a whisper. âWould yet be a problem?â
You roll onto your elbow, looming over him. âGuess weâll have to find out.â
It lands like a match.
âWhat are you doing?â he asks. Your lips are the closest theyâve ever been.
âI donât know.â Your eyes move to where his hand has started to creep onto your thigh. âWhat are you doing?â
He moves first, but only barely. His head tilts up, lips parting like heâs about to ask a question.Â
He gets his answer in the shape of your lips.
Your hand finds the edge of his jaw, fingers skimming up the side of his face. Heâs warm. Still flushed from the whiskey or maybe just from you.
Youâre kissing, you think. You. Spencer. Kissing. It should make you pull back. You work with him. This is strictly forbidden â that should definitely make you pull back.
But then his fingers press into your hips, grounding you, and you shift, and youâre straddling him before youâve thought it through. Itâs automatic, desperate, like the tension finally cracked open and all thatâs left is the pull.
âStill not on the job?â you murmur between kisses, breath brushing his lips.
He shakes his head. âNot even a little.â
He starts to kiss you deeper, like he wants to memorize it. You wonder if he is. Your hands move up under his shirt, and his breath slips, just for a second. Just long enough to make you smile into his mouth.
Thereâs nothing quiet about any of this. Just heat. And want. And finally.
You roll your hips once as a test. When he tightens his grip on you, you have half the mind to do it again, and again, and again.Â
Suddenly, all you can think of are your clothes on the ground and him inside you.Â
âFuck,â he mutters. You release his lips from yours.
âFuck?â
âShh,â he hushes, trying to silence you, but youâre already laughing.
âOh my god, Dr. Spencer Reid, esteemed supervisory special agent, holder of three PhDs, just said fuck.â You whisper the last part, hand clutching at your chest. Â
âWill you please resume what we were just doing?â
âMy fucking pleasure.â
âJesus,â he squeezes out. Your hands remove themselves from where they were resting under his shirt and head to the waist of his pants. You watch his chest rise a little quicker, fall with a little more readiness. His hands release your hips and come up to grip your wrists. âI say fuck one time and Iâll never hear the end of it.âÂ
âMaybe we can put it in another context.â You unhook your legs from their desired place around his hips and scooch yourself down his body. Your fingers, which were just barely, ever so delicately toying with his waistband, curl into both the cotton of his pants and his boxers and tug down at once. He helps you, hips coming off the bed just enough for you to drop them both to his ankles.Â
Heâs already hard, and your mouth is already hollow, already anticipating something to fill a long-lasting void. You say his name, but it sounds off, because your mouth is already imagining itself wrapped around something far less innocent than words.
His hand comes up to your face, brushing your cheekbone, and the feeling is too soft to name but impossible to ignore. You feel as though all the heat in the room has gotten sucked between your legs, and it pools low, desire biting at the edges of restraint.
âYou donât have to,â he says, watching you spit in your hand. You roll your eyes before wrapping the newly wet hand around him.Â
âIâm going to. Just stay like that.âÂ
You stroke him softly, just a few times before spitting on the tip and working it back down. He whispers your name like its wax, made to melt. Youâre not thinking and your voice is velvet when you ask him how long itâs been since heâs been touched like this, the way he deserves to be. Too long, comes his response, and you vow to yourself to show him what heâs been missing.
The next time you bring your lips up to release more spit, you reach down and kiss it. Just the tip, and just ever-so-slightly. Youâre not sure he noticed at first, so you do it again, this time more pronounced, and then heâs removing his hand from your face and bringing it up to your hair. His grip is firm enough to anchor, not enough to command.Â
When you open your lips more, he tightens his grip. When you make your way down, syrup-slick and mouth dripping of sin, he coils his want at the nape of your neck and pulls. You moan around him, which earns you another tug.Â
âThat feels good,â he whispers. âSo fucking good.â
Youâre drunk enough that the praise feels more than trembling and temporary. You take it for more than it probably is and pick up your pace.
He lasts not a minute longer before heâs guiding you off of him, and you couch as you come up for air.Â
âI donât want to finish yet,â he mumbles.
âNo?â
âNo.â He pulls you up off the ground, one hand on your wrist and the other still in your hair. âWanna take care of you too. Do you want that? Yeah? Lie down for me.â
You do as you're told, nodding along the way, agreeing fervently and with little free will. Youâre drooling, enough that it slips past your lips. He brings his index finger up to your face, collecting it on the pad of his finger and pushing it back into your mouth. Instinctively, you suck. He groans, low, a noise you never would have expected to hear from him, and it makes you shut your legs, thighs rubbing together slightly as you try to fight the feeling festering around your limbs.
He kneels before you, the same way you had with him. âIs this what you want?â You nod. âNo, use your words.â He pries your legs open, blows between them.Â
Your back is coming up off the bed, enough for him to bring a hand up and grab your waist again. âYes.â
He wastes little time attaching his mouth to you, tongue everywhere, while his fingers leave bruises in your side. One of your hands is gripping the sheets so hard you can feel your fingernails digging into your palm even through it. This canât be real, you think, because nothing real feels this good. And this feels so, so good.Â
You feel fucked out and he hasnât even put anything inside of you. Itâs just his tongue swiping against you, swirling around your clit, sucking your clit, kissing your clit. You canât think. At some time you stop being aware of what heâs doing and just let him do it.
His hand leaves your hip and you feel it pulse, throbbing at the loss of harsh connection. Then, he forces your fist to open, to release the white fabric, and he locks your fingers together. It feels intimate, more intimate than his mouth on you, and if you were sober you might have shrugged him away. But youâre not. Youâre drunk. Very drunk. So instead you hold his hand harder.
His free hand is trailing along your thigh, and when you glance down at him his eyes are closed, and he looks content, satisfied, and youâre not sure you ever want to unfold from this position. He uses his other hand to trail up and down your thigh before his errant fingers find their way farther up your legs.Â
When he slips two inside you, both at once, no warning, you mewl.
He detaches his mouth from you, like he wants to focus solely on finger fucking you. When you glance down at him again, he gives you a perfunctory smile before focusing back at the task heâs chosen to take up. Heâs practically gift-wrapping your orgasm.Â
âRight there,â you choke out when his fingers curl at the exact right moment in the exact right spot. You donât announce that youâre coming, but Spencer is a genius. Youâre sure he can figure it out. Everything comes undone in waves, the way seafoam spits back into the sand before dissipating, carrying itself back out into a vaster part of the water.Â
âGood job,â he says. He kisses you. You can taste your slick on his lips.
âSpencer.â
âYouâve said that already.â Youâd laugh if you werenât so unraveled. âIâm gonna fuck you now, okay?â
âMhm.â
âWhat did we say about using our words?â
âTo⌠use them?â
âYouâre so smart,â he says, and you can hear him breathing in the way that means heâs trying not to laugh as he presses scattered kisses across your cheek, jaw, lips. âCan you speak up and show me how smart you are?â
âI want you to fuck me.â
âKnew you had it in you.â One of his hands is pressed into the mattress next to your head, and the other is absent from your body. When you finally open your eyes, you look down to see him lining himself up with you.
Thereâs a pinch in your throat as you feel him ease himself inside, slowly, deliberately, like heâs scared you might crumble and break beneath him. You wonât, which you assure him by using one hand to grab onto his bicep and the other to rest on his hip, guiding him all the way inside of you.Â
"I got so mad, earlier," he says. "When he was talking about you like that."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize," he whispers. "Don't fucking apologize."
The heat is back, swirling in your stomach, rushing up your chest like every vein you have has replaced blood with feverish fire. Spencer throws more gasoline on it when he slides almost all the way out, then pushes himself back in. Youâre quiet, and even the air around you seems to have hushed itself.Â
When he finds a rhythm, he takes advantage of it. Fucks you a little harder, just enough that you canât close your mouth, canât quiet yourself even when you try. Youâre trying to tread carefully, but you donât have it in you to not tip your chin up and search for a kiss. You move your other hand to wrap around his forearm, the one right next to your head, and you canât stop yourself from digging your nails into the skin when he gives you one particularly hard thrust.
âDo that again,â you whisper.
âThis?â he asks, though itâs more of a mock. He does it again, this time a little slower. You feel like crying, because you have no other outlet for what exactly it is youâre currently feeling. When he does it again you have no choice but to squeeze your eyes shut. He kisses you again, idly, like youâve got all the time in the world. Youâre not sure you have more than five minutes in you before you pass out. âYou feel so good.â
âNeeded you.â
âYeah?â he says. Your words seem to have made him snap his hips against yours a little harder.Â
He uses one of his hands to grab under your thigh, then pushes your leg up. You let out a broken moan you donât even register as your own until he stretches you farther apart and you do it again. Youâd be embarrassed if you werenât clawing at an indescribable edge. You feel ripe. Nothing holy is coming for you. You arch your back like it might.Â
"Mine." He says it while looking down at you. He says it with his chest. He says it like it's an absolute.
You bring your hand to the back of his neck and make him kiss you. Once for the thrill, twice just to feel the burn of it really settle in.Â
Then you come. And everything else does, too. Itâs unraveling. Not fingers but friction, not skin but static, not breath but flood. The room is slipping sideways, hips first, mouth second. you forget your name or maybe you give it away. There's no shape to anything, to the sting between your legs, only pulse â wet, reckless, existing in the hollows of your thighs. When he bends down and lets out a sound that sounds suspiciously like your name, your teeth catch on his shoulder like a warning. He doesnât flinch. You bite down harder.
Nothing makes sense for a while except the sound of the air-conditioner.Â
Spencer says something. Then again. Then, he taps your cheek twice, says your name until you come to.
âHm?â
âYou okay?â
ââm okay. Are you okay?â
He laughs. Itâs quiet and hoarse and still warm. âYes maâam.â
âHmmmm.â
âHmm what?â
âI like that. Weâll use that ânother time.â You let out a heavy sigh as he chuckles. He slips out of you and you suck in a breath that catches in the pockets of your teeth, cold and shocking against the roof of your mouth.
âSorry.â You shake your head and hope it conveys that he has nothing to apologize for. He rolls over next to you. âYou should pee.â
âPee schmee.â
âI think Iâm gonna retract my previous statements about your high level of intelligence now.â You smack him with your hand and laugh, hearty and probably too loud.
âIâm still drunk,â you say after a few more moments of silence.
âI think thatâs how that whole drinking thing works, yeah.â
âDo you regret it?â
âNo.â His answer comes quicker than you were expecting.
âOkay. Me neither. Just checking.â You blow hair out of your face, and when that doesnât work you bring a palm up and use the strength of four fingers to wipe it away from the sweat gathering in satin sheets across your skin. âI hate this room.â
âMe too.â
âI donât hate you,â you whisper.
âWell,â he whispers back. âI donât hate you either.â
âDo you wanna maybe⌠I donât know. Not be on the job tomorrow morning?â
It might just be the alcohol, but his expression is soft and lush, like when dawnâs light shudders through early morning fog.Â
in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs
18+ (smut)
warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while sheâs sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex!
a/n: I donât think Iâve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you maâam like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!
You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like heâs got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there.Â
How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you canât say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that.Â
So does the lack of teasing, of beggingâat least, a lack up until this point. Right now, thereâs only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, youâre not usually responsible for.Â
He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. âYou got it. Slowly.â
You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencerâs breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips.Â
âFuckâI said slow.â
You canât think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking youâre doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.
Spencerâs breath is ragged. âDonâtâŚÂ do not move.â
âFuck,â you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. âOh my god.â
âMy lovely girl, please⌠please donât move,â Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. âI need a minute.â
âItâs too much,â you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. âPlease.â You donât know what youâre asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he canât offer you. Maybe more.Â
Spencer is undone by youâthe way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way youâre so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it.Â
âBaby,â he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but itâs the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. âBaby,â he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling.Â
Itâs going wellâfor a moment, before your back is arching.Â
âSpence, I need to move, I canâtââ
âOkay, okay.â He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. Heâs desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. âGo ahead. Move, honey. Please.â
By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencerâs lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut.Â
âFuck,â he groans. âOh, angel, I missed you.â
You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air.Â
âI missed you so much,â you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense itâs a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. âOh, fuck, Spencer.â
Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isnât just about the physical.
âMy girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.â
Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kissâonly to know that you want the contact.Â
âPlease can I go faster?â
Spencer almost doesnât realize youâre speaking to him heâs so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesnât know if he canât take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out.Â
âYeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.â
You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as itâs clearly more sensation than youâd been prepared for.Â
Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional CsĂĄszĂĄr polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spineâanything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating heâd leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch youâ
âOhââ you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. âSpencer, oh my fucking god.â
âI know, baby,â he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now youâre trying to explain it because you want him to be part of itâas if he doesnât know exactly what youâre feeling already. âThat feels good, huh?â
âMmâfâeelsââ you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down thisâll be over too soon.Â
âYouâre so good,â he breathes, âyouâre perfect.âHe hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. âGonna cum?â He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion.Â
Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like youâre going to try and evade the feelingâself-sabotage, you always do thisâand he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it.Â
âYouâre okay, Iâm gonna get you there.â
âFuck!â You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changesâyou get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm.Â
âGood girl,â Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. âShh. Youâre okay. Relax, baby.â
And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until youâre once more slack on top of him.Â
âYouâre incredible,â he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline.Â
So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way youâre still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. âWhat do you need, angel?â
âIâm sâposed to be taking care of you,â you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits.Â
âAccording to who?â
âAccording to⌠I was on topâŚâ
âYeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.â
You whine softly. âNo theyâre not.â
His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles.Â
âNo? No Bambi legs for me this time?â
You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. âSpenceâŚâ
âIâm teasing you, honey,â he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. âYouâre cute.â
âHm.â
âLook at me,â he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweetâeyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. âWow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?â
And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss thatâs worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time.Â
Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest.Â
âIâm sleepy.â
âSo go to sleep,â he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment.Â
âI canât.â
âWhyâs that?â
ââCause you just got home ând I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.â
âWe have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, weâll actually get more time together tomorrow.â
âBut itâs more about, like, how it feelsâhow much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, itâs gonna feel like less time, andâbasically youâre just not understanding my math.â
âWhat math?â He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buckâa very visceral feeling when heâs still inside of you. âWhat? What hurts?â
âYou tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,â you grumble.Â
âTender?â
âMhm.â
âIâm really sorry, angel. Tylenol?â
âMm-mm. Can you kiss me better?â Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself.Â
âYeah?â
âMhm.â
âLie down.â
Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling.Â
âSpencer?â You whisper as he cups the top of your knees.Â
âHm?â
âI love you.â
He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. âI love you. So much.â
âGlad weâre on the same page.â
He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you donât seem to mind.Â
The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlierâfeels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobodyâs ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. Heâll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as youâll let him.Â
Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway.Â
âWas that on purpose?â
âI dâknow what you mean. Iâm so sleepy,â you slur, and he believes the second half of your statement to be fact.Â
Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and youâre completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, youâre lacing a hand in his hair.Â
âPlease, SpenceâŚâ you murmur, and he canât argue with that. He especially canât argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs.Â
He hums, trailing more kisses up until heâs setting the softest one yet against your clit. âBeautiful girlâŚâ
The following gasp is so tiny he couldâve missed it if he wasnât so attuned to your noisesâand then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesnât want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance youâre in, either, sensing that if he does youâll fight all over again to stay up.
And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.
Your back arches as much as youâre capable of in this state, and he canât help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need themâhe draws it out. For he doesnât know how long.Â
The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ahâs, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now youâre so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe heâs being unfair, but you donât seem to mind.Â
In fact, youâre slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencerâs never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving.Â
You donât know how long itâs been, or how many times heâs made you cum when he finally retreatsâyou half-wake just as heâs finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved.Â
âHi, sleeping beauty,â he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed.Â
You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles.Â
âShaky?â
âStop,â you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. âThatâs not my fault.â
âItâs nobodyâs fault. Itâs sweet,â he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, âSoâdo you think weâve spent enough time together for tonight?â
âNo.â
He sighs good-naturedly.Â
âYouâre gonna wear me out, you know that?â
ââF you⌠canât handle the heatâŚÂ get outta the kitchen.â
When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice.Â
âGo to sleep, Bambi. Letâs see if you can walk in the morning.â
"pretty boy," you softly murmur into spencer's ear, your hand sliding along his length at an agonizing pace. theres not a single thought in his head as you pump him, pressing kisses into his neck and jaw that only make the hot length of him twitch into your hand as it twists around the head. his hips jump, push upwards into your fist. one of your legs rests just over his, the wet patch on your underwear growing as you rock against his side every now and again. the soft breaths, gasps, gentle moans that spill from his mouth are music to your ears. hes so pretty like this, when he lets go completely, and lets you see every reaction, hear every noise. you nip at a sensitive part of his jaw, just as the movement of your hand comes to a stop around the head of his cock. he whines, but tries not to move as you feel the pulsing against your fingers. you know hes ready, and so you give him what he wants, giving a little extra attention to the head before pumping your fist down his length, and it takes no time for him to choke out a delicious sound, just before his cock pulses even harder, covering his own chest and your hand in his cum. your name spills from his lips as his hands reach for you, unable to even grip as hes held at the mercy of his orgasm taking over his body. you suck a gentle mark into his neck, and as you work him through his orgasm, he grunts, pulling your face up as he kisses you, still groaning as you work him past his pleasure and into something more twisted and delicious.
"pretty boy," you softly murmur into spencer's ear, your hand sliding along his length at an agonizing pace. theres not a single thought in his head as you pump him, pressing kisses into his neck and jaw that only make the hot length of him twitch into your hand as it twists around the head. his hips jump, push upwards into your fist. one of your legs rests just over his, the wet patch on your underwear growing as you rock against his side every now and again. the soft breaths, gasps, gentle moans that spill from his mouth are music to your ears. hes so pretty like this, when he lets go completely, and lets you see every reaction, hear every noise. you nip at a sensitive part of his jaw, just as the movement of your hand comes to a stop around the head of his cock. he whines, but tries not to move as you feel the pulsing against your fingers. you know hes ready, and so you give him what he wants, giving a little extra attention to the head before pumping your fist down his length, and it takes no time for him to choke out a delicious sound, just before his cock pulses even harder, covering his own chest and your hand in his cum. your name spills from his lips as his hands reach for you, unable to even grip as hes held at the mercy of his orgasm taking over his body. you suck a gentle mark into his neck, and as you work him through his orgasm, he grunts, pulling your face up as he kisses you, still groaning as you work him past his pleasure and into something more twisted and delicious.
the first time steve sees your boobs he's over the moon. he's like a child being taken to a candy store; he can't look away, doesn't want to look away. he knew how you felt about your body, how you covered yourself up, but with him... you felt safe. you were wearing a sweater, one of his, and had removed your bra through the sleeve. this amazed steve. it was like witchcraft. watching you take it off without showing so much as a glimpse of skin. he stares, bewildered. he could see how nervous you were, your fingers playing with the hem of the sweater as you try to stall him, but he pulls you close, hands wrapping around your waist, "it's me, baby. it's just me." the sweetness in his voice surely convinces you and matched with the softness of his dewy brown eyes, how could you say no? heaving a sigh, you slowly begin to pull the material up your tummy, revealing more skin than steve had ever really seen of you, and the second your breasts are free, he stiffens in his seat. his eyes are immediately drawn to your nipples, the small cherubs of skin hardening and he swallows hard. his hand instinctively lifts to touch them but he stops before looking to you for confirmation, which you give through a shy nod. his thumb rolls over the bumps, soft against your breasts as he encapsulates them in his hands. "don't know what you were so nervous about, baby" he pulls his gaze away from them to look at you, "they're so pretty."
"Oh, god-" you moan, hand gripping the flesh of Bucky's thigh as you lean back, hips still rutting against him. His hands against your hips help you ride him, and suddenly a higher moan rips from your throat, forcing his attention back up to you. Your cunt squeezes around him, pulsating as you buck harder, nudging the head of his cock right where you need it the most. "Fuck, fuck, fuck-" your voice gets a little higher each time. Bucky's pupils dilate, his lips falling open as he watches you cum on his cock. Your body spasms, shaking, uncontrolled sounds of pleasure spilling from your lips as you desperately grind your clit against pubic bone. Through his shock and awe, he feels his own orgasm beginning, and his body kicks back into action as you lean forward, hands bracing against the thick of his chest. It only takes a few thrusts for his cock to twitch, filling every inch of you with hot cum. As you collapse against his heaving chest, he presses a kiss to your temple, burying his nose into your hair to inhale you as he tries to catch his breath. He feels himself softening inside of you, but can't help but twitch as he replays your orgasm in his mind. It must have been one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen. And maybe the only thing he'll be able to think about for the foreseeable future.
The pace at which you rocked your hips against Steve's was enough to drive anyone absolutely crazy. You lean back, palms making contact with the flesh of his thighs as you try to maneuver your hips a little differently. Steve was so fucked out, muttering quietly to himself. Through your pleasure, you heard it, the little, "Please," slipping past his lips. It prompts you to readjust, hands resting against his chest as you grind a little harder than before. His whole abdomen quivers as he inhales shakily, "please, please, god, please-" he's so far gone he doesn't even know what hes begging for at this point. You lower yourself, hand trailing up his sweaty neck and into his damp hair, "Steve," you murmur gently into his ear as the desperate pleas continue to spill from his lips. "You have me. Im yours. You don't need to beg. But you sound pretty when you do," you strain to speak, pressing a kiss to his jaw, to the spot below his ear. You feel his stomach jump, his hips pushing upwards into yours. You slide your hand up to his jaw, gently guiding his head to the side to look at you. His pupils were blown wide. You smile and he squeezes his eyes shut like its painful. "what?" You ask, feeling yourself tipping closer to the edge of your orgasm. "I cant," he strains, hips moving. "Cant what?" You inquire, teeth nipping at his neck. "If I look at you, Ill-" he shudders out a breath, eyes opening and landing on your face before his orgasm rips through him, his hips jumping as you follow him over the edge. You both keep moving through the pleasure. When his body finally goes lax, you relish the high, startled whine that rips through his throat as you rotate your hips again slowly, the threat of overstimulation too tempting to resist when he reacts like this, immediately a mess, hands using the last of their strength to grip at your thighs.
