PROGRESS • S. REID X READER
semi-specific spoilers for 2 x 15 and the aftermath (specifically 3 x 16), hurt-comfort, tiny bit of smut (a handjob), probably incorrect information (mention of arousal being different but similar to adrenaline, i have no idea if this is true and refuse to do research), mentions of marriage, ~1.5k
Spencer was strong. You knew that.
You’d been with him every stop of the way through rehabilitation: through the relapses; held his hand and kissed away his tears as he fought the urges and ideas that he was worthless; told him he was stronger than anything and more resilient and beautiful than anyone you’d ever known.
One of his personal choices in his journey to get clean made sex harder — he was trying to learn how to temper all desire and urges, filter through what he deemed wouldn’t hurt or threaten his sobriety before making any impulsive decisions.
You hadn’t minded, content with the soft kisses and tickle of his eyelashes and beard against your skin as he silently thanks you for your care.
You loved his beautiful mind that ran a million miles a minute far more than you loved the pleasure from his body, and you knew you’d wait forever if that’s what it took. You wouldn’t have even cared if it was off the table.
You just wanted Spencer.
It’d been a few months since he decided to get clean, and as much as seeing him sob and writhe as he convinced himself he wasn’t irredeemable for slipping up crushed you every time, you knew it wasn’t about you.
Today was a hard day for him.
“Spence, baby,” you whisper, wiping his tears as he tells you about a recent case — the victim used, and the amount of himself Spencer saw in her terrified him —, lip quivering. “You’re okay. You have that coin, right? The one John gave you?”
He nods, leaning into your palm. He presses a kiss to your wrist and closes his eyes.
“You’ll get there. But struggling is okay. You know that, don’t you?”
Shuddering sobs wrack his body, breaths catching in ways that twist your heart, and you know he’s trying his best to calm down. “But what if I can’t?”
“You will, Spence,” you promise. “It’s worth it. We both know it. And we both know you’re strong enough to make it through this and come out better on the other side,” you kiss his forehead. “Besides, I’m here right alongside you. I won’t ever leave,”
Spencer sobs again, breathing ragged.
“I promise.” You answer his silent question, and he nods.
“I love you,” Spencer whispers out, voice scratchy. “You know that?”
“Well, out of the two of us, I’m not the one with the eidetic memory…” you trail off playfully, just for a moment, not long enough to make him worry. “I could never forget, baby.”
“I miss you,”
“We live together,”
“Not like that,” Spencer sighs. “I miss touching you. Feeling you.”
“You can have me whenever you want,” you promise him, brushing his curls out of his eyes. He was due for a trim, but you thought it was cute. “I’m yours.”
Spencer sighs, pushing past your hands and dropping his head to your shoulder.
“We go at your pace.”
“And if I think I’m ready?”
“Then we do what you’re comfortable with, and if you tap out, we stop. Your pace.”
Spencer nods, almost determined. It’s cute, and you have to fight back a laugh.
You smile despite your efforts, and the first kiss is more you two grinning against each other than a kiss. He takes the lead and slowly deepens it, careful and awkward like the first time you two ever tried to do more than steal pecks and hold hands.
His muscles are tense under you as you ghost your hands to his shoulders, and you gently work them as you kiss him.
“Are you giving me a massage?” He asks, confused and a little breathless.
“If I have to.” You smile, kissing his nose. “Relax, sweetheart. The second you wanna stop, just tap me two times. Nothing you don’t want.”
“Am I that tense?” Spencer tries to focus on muscles and force them to relax, but he’s too tightly wound.
“Would it be better if I give a massage first?” You ask, leaning down and peppering kisses to the side of his neck down to his collarbone. “Let you chill and then I ask before anything progresses?”
Spencer looks down, cheeks burning, and nods.
You don’t comment. He’s embarrassed enough, and you’re just happy to see him opening back up.
Tobias had left scars beyond the dots — that look more like freckles than any lasting trauma now — on his elbow. Though you suppose that was Tobias’s way of saving him from the worse scars from Rafael and Charles. Semantics. None of it mattered when your pretty boy was aching and worried under you.
“Lay down,” you urge, “take off your shirt if you’re ready. I’ll get your lavender lotion,”
It’s his favorite, a gift from his mom. You don’t tell him that he used up the one she gave him, since you dutifully rebuy and refill sneakily enough he doesn’t notice the volume shifting.
When you come back from the bathroom, he’s shirtless, fingers locked together and bracing his head.
“Gonna sit right above your thighs, sweetheart. Lotion’ll be cold,” you warn, and wait until he nods.
Then you settle and gently work through cords and muscles, slowly, patiently, methodically, a whispered warning and praise with every big move or change in pressure.
He melts under you, soft moans falling from his lips as you release pain he didn’t even know he had.
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” Spencer breathes. “Can you… can you kiss me? Before we do anything,”
He’s curled in on himself a little, and you murmur an “of course” as he sits up and tugs the blanket over his chest. You know he’s never liked the bruises from field-work, but this is something more.
“You know I always find you pretty, right, Spence?” He tilts his head at you. “I don’t care about the ugly moments. You’re my pretty boy. You don’t have to hide anything.”
You stress that last word, and you see it click for him, and he slowly lets the blanket fall.
You kiss a bruise on his shoulder.
“Kiss me, Spencer,” you urge, and he smiles, leaning in and softly melding to you, fingers curling on your waist with practiced movements.
His body remembers, and it makes your heart flutter.
He sighs into your mouth, sweet and gentle. You can feel his pulse racing, his movements getting more excited and clumsy as he kisses down your neck.
“You’re so good, make me feel so, so good.”
Spencer smiles against your skin. “You make me feel good too.”
You know he means it more than physically, but that’s what he needs right now.
And you want to give it to him.
“Can we take your boxers off, Spence?”
He nods eagerly, and you carefully slide his pants off with them, avoiding another bruise on his hip from a tackle on the recent case.
“So pretty,”
And he is. Lean muscle, freckles and moles, tan and pale skin in equal parts, wrinkles, bruises, everything.
His cock, too, weeping pre-cum and a pretty pink at the tip.
“Thank you,” he sighs, gasping as you grasp him and stroke, slow and wet. He sets the pace, fucking into your grip and kissing you sloppily to it.
He’s lost technique, having avoided more intimate touch for so long, but the eagerness and anxiety means more to you than it being perfect.
He tenses again as he gets close, and you know it’s the adrenaline, the high. It feels too much like what he’s been fighting.
“Okay?”
Spencer swallows. “I don’t know,”
“What’s the difference between sexual arousal and adrenaline, baby?”
It distracts him, and it also guides him exactly where you want — that the bodily response may be similar, but the centers it lights up are different; the cause is different; he hasn’t done anything to jeopardize himself, he’s okay. He can let go of some of the control he had to regain, can slowly ease back up.
He’s safe.
He cums, gasping breaths tearing through him. As soon as you work him through it, you pull off and clean him.
“You did so good,” you praise, brushing his curls with your clean hand and stroking the skin on the nape of his neck. “You’re okay,”
Spencer nods and kisses you, no urgency, just the depths of his feelings. “I missed you,”
“I missed you too, Spence,” you try not to let the tears prick your eyes, but you know you fail when he furrows his brow at you. “I’m happy,” you reassure.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You breathe out. “I just… I’m glad you feel safe enough to try. You know? It’s hard to watch you struggle.”
“It’s hard for me too,” he laughs, kissing your tears, a reversal of just an hour ago. “But I know what you mean. I’m sorry if it makes it hard for you.”
“No. It doesn’t,” you’re quick and firm in your reassurance. “I mean it when I say I will always be here for you. Good and the bad. In sickness and in health — though, maybe I should keep that unofficial until you put a ring on me.”
He laughs, boyish and free. The happiest he’s been in months. “Soon,”
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