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mercy-burning · 9 months

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Icarus and the Moon (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer and Unsub!Reader have had a not-so-friendly rivalry that turns even more dangerous when they start to fall in love. A/N: Based on “One of These Nights” by The Eagles. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Unsub!Reader (art thief), Enemies to Lovers, oral sex (male and female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, discussions about pregnancy, drinking, guns, threats, drugging (male victim) Word Count: 12.3k

MASTERLIST

What if Icarus had loved the moon instead?

It was a question I first asked myself when I was twelve years old, wandering the night streets lined with neon stars. I’d since left Las Vegas, but the afterimage of sinful signs remained at the forefront of my mind. The brightness almost seemed to be a mockery of the sun, and the longer I stared with a twisted sort of wonder, the less I found appealing about the light.

Most nights in Virginia, I found myself contemplating the question. The brightest lights to be found here were trapped in rusted metal cages. They were less distracting than the kind that surrounded me in my youth. Rather than desperate, arrogant attempts at replacing the sun, these lights had a flicker about them that reminded me of the others in the sky. They were humble, trapped remnants of stars guiding me to the place I was meant to be.

Whether I would call the woman I’d come for a home, however… was another question entirely.

I stood outside of the establishment with as much confidence as I could muster. It wasn’t exactly hard to be convincing. Over the years, I’d found that the real way to frighten people was to convince them that I had nothing to lose.

It had been easier to convince them when it had been true. But that night it was a lie. There was something to lose — or perhaps something already lost to me. I could almost see her through the frosted windows. Sitting alone at the bar, but not for long. Never for long enough.

She was waiting for someone. I liked to think it had been me.

My desperation to see her must have been obvious to the man trying to keep men like me out. Just as soon as I’d stepped forward to make my intention to enter known, I felt a strong hand against my chest.

“I think you’re lost, kid.”

But if my yearning had been obvious, so was my rage. The fire flared deep in my chest. It tried to burn his hand, to rid myself of the pressure that felt like the only consistent thing in my entire life. A reminder that, no matter where I went, no matter which side of the prison bars, the message remained the same.

You don’t belong here.

Before I could open my mouth and spill the resentment towards every man that I’d ever met who held me back, someone else spoke. From the shadows behind me came a voice like velvet wrapped handcuffs and the debauchery of it all.

“There you are baby. I thought I saw you loitering,” she said through a smile. “Trying to work up your nerve to apologize after the last time I saw you?”

And just like that, the pressure was gone.

“You know this guy?”

Gone was one obstacle, but two new ones presented themselves. Her arms wrapped around my body from behind with a disturbing familiarity. I didn’t turn to her despite feeling her eyes burning into me. But I didn’t stop her, either. I allowed her to rest her head against me with a dreamy midnight sigh.

“He’s my boyfriend,” she explained.

I could tell from her voice that her smile had fallen. Her arms quickly followed. She abandoned my body with such urgency that I was convinced she had given up her facade. That she would out me just as easily as she’d lied.

But she didn’t. Instead, she joined me at my side with crossed arms that told me she was at least somewhat upset with me.

Perhaps I’d arrived too late for her liking. Either way, her scrutiny wasn’t the only one I was facing. Because the guard dog was still watching us, analyzing us in a crude and ineffective manner. He contemplated her lie a little while longer, and then settled on a follow-up that hardly seemed like a joke.

“Boyfriend… Which one?”

For a man who’d only looked at her with an average amount of care, her laugh might’ve seemed genuine. But with her head tilted back and her fingers tucking her hair behind her ear, she was nothing but a talented actress.

The murderous intent flared from her fingers as they reached forward to snatch the man’s cigarette from between his lips. Rather than bringing it to her own, she took no time bending forward and extinguishing the amber embers against soaked cement.

That time when I refused to look at her, it was not for a lack of wanting. In fact, there were few things less tantalizing to me than her. Even worse, that night she was in rare, full moon form. Ornamented with jewels and carefully tailored cloth that begged to be torn open with teeth and claws.

She was a sight to be seen and see her he did. The man in front of me was so enamored by the sight of her that I felt bile burning at the back of my throat.

She didn’t belong to me, but I hated to see her actions be entertained by anyone but me.

What we had both failed to notice, however, was how quick her hands could be. How fast she could discard tightly packed tobacco in favor of gunpowder and lead — the same one that she had pulled from my ankle holster as if it had been her own.

He was rewarded with a front row view down the barrel of my Smith & Wesson, and a smile on her face so bright that it rivaled the one that the moon borrowed from.

But she wasn’t the sun. Her darkness was always a little more inviting.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” she clucked her tongue, “You should know better than to be rude to a lady with a gun.”

For all the knowledge about her the man lacked, he certainly knew enough to believe her.

“Yeah, right. He’s your problem now,” was all he’d said before he stepped back to his place among the other, less beautiful shadows.

“Come on, Vegas,” the moon and all her splendor called to me with a wave of her hand.

When that alone hadn’t succeeded, with my eyes too busy watching my firearm settle against her hip, I saw her roll her eyes from the corner of my own. Her arm was gentler than it ought to have been when she slid it under mine. She’d locked into her place by my side with such ease and comfort that I’d started to wonder if I’d made a mistake by ever opening myself up to her again.

It was precisely that self-doubt and awareness of my own idiocy that made me state what I wanted to be obvious.

“I’m not your boyfriend,” I whispered into her ear the second we were out of his earshot.

She just gave an ungraceful little snort before she muttered, “You’re welcome, by the way.”

That dastardly darling knew better than to wait for anything resembling thanks from me. What she did instead was guide me through the lion’s den. Whether she had been flaunting her catch or trying to protect me, I couldn’t be sure. But there was an unavoidable affection in how closely her body pressed against my own. A satisfaction in the way that my steps fell in line with hers, and how I’d offered a hand to help her sit on the barstool before I took my own seat.

That parasitism was just part of our dynamic. Each time that she flashed me a smile, I would give in to her. It hadn’t mattered where, when, or how. There was simply an unearthly magnetism about the moon of her.

I knew that it was wrong for me to feel the way I did about her. I should’ve resisted it. In my own sort of way, I tried to. But there was something exceedingly indulgent about her. A temptation unlike any other.

“Here,” she offered with a glass of undoubtedly strong and expensive whiskey.

I had to resist her, I reminded myself before I told a half-truth.

“I don’t drink alcohol,” I said.

Around you, I meant. Because you make me stupid.

That woman paid no mind to my well-being. Or, in another way, cared about it in excess. Either way, she was entirely unenthused by my explanation, and wasted no time making that known.

“Honestly, are you trying to get murdered?”

Out of fear that she was slipping from my fingers — and with my gun, no less — I acquiesced to her admittedly simple request. But I was not stupid enough to take a drink as offered from her. Especially not when she’d looked so pleased with herself when I lifted the glass from the counter.

I am also a big enough man to admit that the disappointment on her face when I leaned over the bar and emptied its contents in the sink was more than worth whatever pretty penny that she’d paid for it.

That saturnine smile returned the second I’d gestured to the bartender. I didn’t allow myself to wonder if that was why I’d done it. Instead, I dedicated all efforts to maintaining a straight face. No matter how fruitless it seemed while seated next to a fallen angel herself.

With a cherry stem stuck between her teeth, she eyed me with an odd concoction of intrigue and regrettable desire. I watched her back, but I was significantly less bashful about it.

It had been a few months since I’d seen her last. She was the reason for that. It turns out, the FBI has a few questions for a man who gets his hands on the second femme fatale in his career just for her to walk away unharmed. Catherine Adams, of course, hadn’t been able to dodge the inevitable end. But she had. Again.

Unlike the last time, I hadn’t fought the suspension. I told myself it was a matter of maturing. I lied to myself that it wasn’t to chase the path of breadcrumbs she’d left me starting from the moment she kissed my cheek goodbye before bolting.

I still felt her sometimes. Most days it was a metaphor or a mere memory. But that night it would be real. If I could just reach out and touch her, I would feel the sweet sting of hellfire and the warmth at the deepest, darkest chill in my heart.

Eventually, she decided she hadn’t appreciated my ogling if it meant silence.

“So, your suspension certainly has you bored,” she suggested with something resembling pity, “Only explanation that makes any sense for why you would put this much effort into finding me.”

“It worked,” I reminded, but she rebuffed the claim almost immediately.

With a scoff and a smile, she laughed, “Spencer, I clearly wanted you to find me.”

Her confidence when she said it bolstered my own in a way that she probably hadn’t meant it to. An unfortunate byproduct of asserting her own form of dominance. An acknowledgement of the roles in this parasitic dynamic. I resisted the urge to call it a relationship. It felt wrong when I’d never been allowed to touch her the way I’d wanted to.

But then she had gone and admitted it so easily. Whether it was to save her pride or prove me wrong, I didn’t care. I just wanted to know the answer to the more important inquiry.

“… Why?”

“I missed you,” she answered just as easily. There was no heavy breath, no insult, and no pretense. There was a decent dose of sarcasm, though, when she turned the statement back on me.

“Did you miss me?”

I considered lying, but I wasn’t sure what a lie would have consisted of. The truth was more complicated than a yes or no answer. I suspect that she felt the same, although she always had been more nonchalant in her supposed vulnerability.

But there was nothing courageous about being an open book. There was nothing vulnerable in sharing your stories with everyone if it meant that you never actually allowed yourself to feel the ramifications of those events.

Unfortunately, reminding myself of this led me to a conclusion that, while it was true for her, it was also true for me. I was so eager to hide behind riddles and half-truths. It had been ages since I’d had what felt like a real conversation.

I turned to the woman eyeing me with all the luminescence of the moon, and I decided to do the brave thing. I decided to tell the truth.

“Yes,” I admitted. I turned to face her with a smirk, and reiterated, “I did miss you.”

“Oooh. Honesty… how unlike you,” she murmured just before taking a sip of her drink.

“Would you prefer I lied?”

“Maybe,” she said with a shrug. “The chase is fun, isn’t it?”

The thought shifted my smirk to a softer, sadder smile once again.

“Yet… you wanted me to catch you.”

She stopped in the middle of her drink, waving an urgent open palm in the air in front of my face until she could correct, “Find me. Not catch. Catching implies it’s over.”

“I suppose so,” I agreed, much to her pleasure.

She waited, with those ever-expressive eyes begging me to finish her thought for her. To demonstrate for her for the millionth time that the connection we shared hadn’t been imagined nor one-sided. At least, not as much as I’d made it seem.

Those universe-colored eyes got to me every time.

“It’s just beginning, isn’t it?” I finished, not a question but not a statement, either. An invitation, the same as her eyes had been.

It still wasn’t enough for that damned woman. That greedy, insatiable thing with her manicured fingers that felt like home when they slid over my wrist. Her whole body swayed closer until I could smell alcohol on her breath, until lips plump from wanting nearly ghosted over my own.

“Dance with me,” she whispered.

I pondered the offer from the devil for approximately five seconds. I listened to the gentle thrum of the music that always seemed to follow her command. I felt her hot breath wet my lips, and I imagined holding her close enough to me that we felt our lies through the hard beating of our hearts.

I considered dancing with her for less than five seconds, and then I answered, “Absolutely not.”

“I have a gun,” she so kindly reminded with a roll of her eyes. As if it hadn’t been enough of an incentive, she pulled the revolver back out of her thigh holster and let the barrel touch my chest before she continued, “I have your gun.”

My heavy sigh in return told her all she’d needed to know. That not only had I agreed, but I had done so with little resistance, all things considered.

One hand was already close enough to mine that it was she who pulled me from my seat. I followed that eager thing onto ancient creaking wood and paid no mind to the others eyeing us from their tables. The parts of us that they could see through tobacco smoke and liquor haze would be inconsequential compared to what we felt.

But still, part of me enjoyed the way they watched when I pulled her body tight against mine. I reveled in them knowing that she would place herself beside me so boldly. That she would release her lazy grip on the gun in favor of gently draping her arms over my shoulders.

I suppose a stronger man would have gone for the gun instead of her hips. I suppose I was a weak man because I hadn’t even considered the former.

Because she was the moon, and I was a lost ocean reaching for something that would remain so far out of my grasp. But I would bask in the light, nonetheless. I would worship the parts of her small enough for me to consume and torture myself forever with the wondering.

“You’re a terrible dancer, Vegas.”

Although my eyes were open and staring directly at her, I saw her again for the first time in a while. Not just the afterimage or reflection of her, but the true extent of eyes filled with mountainous terrain and extraterrestrial delight.

“God, I have horrible taste in women.”

Despite laughing, she regained her straight face before she answered, “Well, that’s rude. I’m delightful.”

She’d known what I meant. It was her way of avoiding one of her least favorite topics. The only one that I think might’ve actually compelled her to shoot me if I’d had her alone for a few minutes longer.

This woman was not the first dangerous creature I’d fallen for. Catherine had set her sights on me first. While things hadn’t worked out in her favor, though, didn’t mean that I hadn’t appreciated the time we shared before she faded back to the vitriol infested hell she’d risen from.

But this woman, the one in front of me steadily wrapping loose curls of my hair around her fingers… she was different. I just hadn’t fully grasped why, or what that meant for me.

“I’m honestly not sure which of you is worse,” I sighed for the second time since she’d touched me.

She was quick, and consistent in her reply.

“If you bring up Catherine again, I’m going to actually shoot you.”

I knew that she saw the subtle smile grace my cheeks, and I knew that it would only feed into her fervor. But even that knowledge couldn’t stop me from showcasing my satisfaction up close and personal. I would risk damnation for her to understand the extent that I’d felt for her.

As predicted, she got angrier. Her fingers tugged at the shorter hairs at the base of my scalp as she warned through clenched teeth, “It won’t be somewhere immediately fatal, either. You will suffer long and hard.”

Just like that, she’d proven my point. As soon as she saw how my eyebrows jumped and my lips began to curl, she released her hold with the same energy as a toddler might stomp their foot on the ground when they hadn’t gotten their way. She was sulking. Pouting like it might convince me to spare her from the obvious conclusion that the two of them were not nearly as different as she’d like to think.

But in another way, the way that dominated my heart and drove my hands to wander over her lower back, they were nothing alike at all.

I wasn’t going to tell her that, though.

“Come on, Spencer!” she whined, unable to recognize that the adoration in my eyes had not been sarcasm for once. With a nervous, forceful scoff, she turned to several colorful adjectives in an attempt to win me over. “Catherine was a-a cruel, pathetic, nasty, sociopathic bitch! How dare you compare us!”

Of course, the only thing I had heard was the meaning behind the words.

“You sound jealous.”

“I do not get jealous,” she lied.

There was no need for me to push it. Lies like that were fruitless to follow. I could have her naked in my bed, with her chest bared and her mouth singing my praises — and she would still swear to me that her feelings were nothing but primal.

It did feel cruel, however, to leave her in such a state. Especially when I could see the anger and insecurity gnawing at her. It was all baseless, after all. If she was meant to be jealous of another woman, it might as well be justified.

“I didn’t sleep with her, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, almost absently. Then she sighed as she muttered, “You’re too good for her.”

An odd, but understandable conclusion. I might argue it another day. I could win, too. I just hadn’t decided if it was worth it to use her as a pawn to win an argument that any woman I came to love was already doomed to disaster.

By my hand… or another.

“Besides, I would have killed her if you had,” she grumbled in perfect harmony with the thought.

I had to laugh. It was a sound unlike any other she’d heard from me. The kind of laughter more akin to a giggle than a chuckle. An undeniable, identifiable joy in how casually she’d said it. And she smiled. A bright, toothy grin that we shared for approximately five seconds before I went and ruined it with a completely correct observation.

“Oh, you’re definitely jealous.”

Her hands moved as quickly as I’d come to expect. But when the gun pressed hard against my chest, I felt no fear. Instead, there was a spark of excitement. A playfulness that I might dare call the psychological equivalent of foreplay.

“Watch it, Vegas.”

“Or what? You’re gonna shoot me?” I teased, leaning harder against the barrel until our noses brushed against one another. Until she took a step back. Then another, and another. Over and over until she was crushed between me and the wall.

Trapped. Forced to decide just how much she valued her freedom — and my company.

“Maybe,” she answered.

She might as well have said no. That she could never bring an end to our game so quickly. That, like she’d alluded to moments before, she would need something that could be savored. She was a lover of cliffs, after all. She would dangle her feet over the edge long before she leapt.

Myself, on the other hand… I hated anticipation. I had grown tired of waiting.

So, in a brief lapse of self-preservation, I took what I wanted. And just before our lips touched for the first time, I whispered through a smile, “Doubt it.”

She was sweeter than she’d had any business being. Like sugar dipped cherries. Like a sticky, saccharine shot of liqueur or syrup. I clung to the sweetness and shared my own bitterness. Our tongues, like the rest of us, found themselves tangled together in a mess of ungodly lust and a desire to win.

Just as my hand splayed on her lower back pulled her forward, she lifted her leg to accommodate me. She begged me to come closer. She accepted my brutality, and in fact savored the bruising force of our lips.

She was so busy conceding everything that when I reached down and tugged the gun in her hand, she hadn’t even hesitated to give it to me. She hadn’t even thought twice about it until she felt the tables turn; until it was the bare skin between her breasts that embraced the warm metallic embrace of the weapon.

Then, the magic was gone. For at least one of us.

She tore her lips away from mine with what almost sounded like a whimper.

“Ha-ha. You got me,” she said with a voice that trembled too much for my liking. She could barely look at me, stuck instead staring at the gun in my hand and my arm still wrapped around her waist.

There was a fear I’d never seen on her before, and contrary to every theory I’d ever had about my feelings for her, I found that I hated the sight. I hated the idea that she thought me capable of using her so carelessly before tossing her aside. Then, she spoke those fears into existence, and I hated myself even more for having tried to take the power back. To have surrendered any excuse to stay.

“Nice sleight of hand, Houdini. You gonna disappear now?”

“You’re really going to accept defeat that quickly?” I challenged, hoping that she might recognize the message behind the taunt.

Give me a reason stay.

If there was anything I could count on her for, it was that she never turned down a challenge. Never spited a beg if it was genuine in its submission.

“I hardly call convincing you to kiss me losing,” she taunted back. Her confidence began to repair itself with each word until she was back to her usual seductress methods. With her hands reaching to comb through my hair and her lips close enough to share air, she whispered, “Sounds like a win to me.”

I couldn’t make it that easy on her, though. Especially when there was such a strong undercurrent of arrogance over something as innocent as a kiss. Something that I had given to more than one woman whom I would have killed with my bare hands if I’d been given the chance.

“I kissed Catherine, too, you know.”

The look on her face told me clearly that she did not know.

“Oh yeah?” she asked, although we both knew she didn’t want me to repeat it. That she would take it as a personal sleight, an insult to what we’d just shared. She wanted more than anything for me to stop comparing the two of them, no matter the context.

Which is why I just couldn’t help but tell her the truth.

“Sure did.”

And oh, how sweet it was to be caught in crosshairs. What beautifully crafted, mutually assured destruction it was.

I sighed with relief when I felt her hands dig into my skin. I threw myself into her grasp, let her guide me into the figurative and literal darkness because I knew what euphoria awaited on the other side. Like the addict that I always would be at some level, I craved her to an unhealthy degree that I had no intention of restraining.

Not even when she forced me into a dark room filled with millions of dollars’ worth of various types of poison. I succumbed to the sharpness of her affection; let her throw me against crates full of clinking bottles of glass and said nothing when she immediately began to furiously attempt to undress me.

I didn’t ask her what she was doing because I already knew. But she took one look at a dazed, licentious libertine and felt the need to clarify the reason behind what she was about to do.

“Bet she didn’t do this.”

Without further exposition, that wonderfully wicked woman dropped to her knees. She dirtied her dress without a second thought, and her hands and tongue did the same. Before she had even fully pulled my throbbing cock free from my clothing, her tongue was already at work.

It all happened fast enough that I could get away with saying that I hadn’t thought to stop her. But the truth was that my dreams were turning to reality around me, and I had no intention of ever stopping her. I would let herself worship me in whatever way I could take.

That was, of course, assuming that I was in any way the one in charge. Which, while an adorably arrogant thought, was very, very wrong.

The moment her lips wrapped around me, I knew that I was completely and utterly fucked. Even with the risk of being caught looming through the cracks in the door, I couldn’t stop the groan that escaped me when her tongue wrapped around the tip of my dick.

“Fuck.”

I swore I saw her smile when she started to take in more of me. As I disappeared into her mouth, it almost felt like a laugh. Like she was mocking me for using such ineloquent language.

Still just a stupid man willing to do anything to get his dick wet.

That wasn’t all it was, though. Not with her. No matter how skillful she was as she slid me down her throat, it was more than the physical pleasure. But don’t get me wrong; she was talented. Enough so to make me not care about maintaining a studious facade when I could barely stand up straight.

“Shit, you’re good at that.”

She shot me a glance as if to say, Don’t sound so surprised.

My head fell back, but I didn’t allow it to stay there long. Because I wanted to look at the true source of pleasure. At her, with her mouth full and her chin dripping with still clear saliva. Not the kind of woman to leave a trace — even when she did get her hands dirty.

And they were. One dug crescent moons into my thigh and the other was wrapped around the part of me she couldn’t make fit.

Yet.

“Fuck, just like that,” I all but whined. My hand finally tangled in her hair, and I returned that ferocity and possessiveness she so clearly exuded.

I bucked my hips twice against her face. I watched how that experienced nonchalance and confidence faded away for a second and left her true self bare. I witnessed her submission for only a few seconds, and I craved it with such overwhelming need that it made me dizzy.

With a quick tug of my wrist, I wrapped enough of my fingers in her hair that it would be next to impossible for her to pull away as a matter of physics alone. I pulled her forward and felt the resistance of a hard swallow before her jaw and tongue fell limp to accommodate me.

I looked down at her, now dripping spit onto her pretty little dress and spilling tears from the corners of her eyes.

“Good girl,” I whispered. And for the second time since she’d started, I swore I saw her smile.

The praise flowed through her, reinvigorated her enough that when I started to thrust against the back of her throat, she somehow kept her eyes open and moaned against the intrusion.

I knew it wouldn’t be long. I knew I couldn’t last while she was choking on me but somehow also holding me more gently than ever before.

My hands also lost their violence, although the rest of me retained their urgency. In my own display of vulnerability, I let go of the guilt and the shame. Or, perhaps more accurately, I basked in it. I thought of how she was beautiful and clever and how I wanted her to be mine.

I did everything we were never meant to do at the same moment I begged her, “Swallow for me, sweetheart.”

The rolling waves of pleasure felt entirely new. There was a reverence about it, about feeling her tongue pressed hard against my pulse as I painted her throat with the sticky remnants of our desire. I held her against me, wishing that I could feel her come undone with such intimacy. Immediately fantasizing about how she might look when equally overcome with pleasure.

As soon as she pulled back, carefully and while assuring not a drop was spilled, I felt the urge to kiss her. I wanted to pull her up from her position below me and straight into my arms. I was not yet done drowning in her.

I was a man filled with hubris, a lovesick fool that wanted more of the moon despite the fast-approaching dawn.

She got herself up without my help. I’d offered it; she’d refused. I couldn’t say I was surprised, but I also had to admit I was devastated by the loss of her touch so soon. We both readjusted our clothing to its previous level of austere debauchery.

Then, the quiet came. The stars that had seemed so bright were starting to fade into a new palette of navy hues.

We had to decide.

“There,” she sighed. “Now I’m satisfied.”

I heard the finality in her voice, and I came to my decision.

I wasn’t ready to let her go.

“Wait.”

The request, too soft and submissive to be considered an order, nonetheless succeeded in stopping her in her tracks. Perhaps the true reason wasn’t audible at all, but instead was the way my fingers wrapped around her wrist with the little strength I retained after reading my soul for a night with the devil’s favorite daughter.

Regardless of the reason, I tried to be grateful for her eyes on mine. They took their time meeting, as she’d remained distracted by the seemingly chaste contact considering what we’d just done. The gentle hold I used. The diametrically opposed temperament when I finally spoke again.

“You win,” I said.

That damned mysterious woman just stared. With her recently plumped pout and hindered ability to regulate her own body language.

Her feet turned towards me. She eyed the state of me in her wake. She took note of flushed cheeks and still heavy breath. I felt her analyzing every aspect of me she could find.

I couldn’t be certain what it was that she’d found. But I knew with fullest confidence that it scared the ever-living shit out of her.

Her feet turned away, her hand starting to slip from my grasp. I felt her leaving — saying no, not because she wanted to, but because of how badly she’d wanted to say yes.

I grabbed her harder, but only so she wouldn’t leave. I took one step forward and I croaked with a painful vulnerability, “Please, don’t leave.”

She left her hand in mine, but she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, come on Vegas. You can’t be serious.”

We both knew I was.

“You don’t like me!” she yelled.

She was right. I didn’t just like her. I was obsessed. It had only been a few moments since we’d ever really seen each other, and she had already consumed my every waking thought.

Logically — realistically, I was aware of the barrier that remained between us. That didn’t stop her from reiterating it, however.

“I’m a criminal! You’re a cop!”

Yes! I screamed to myself. But that doesn’t change how badly I want you.

I thought about telling her but feared that admission would be too much for the fleeting woman of the night sky. I wanted so badly to tell her, though. To call her bluff and force her to acknowledge that she felt the same calling I did. That incessant magnetism drawing us together.

She’d clearly meant to take a step back. But her feet once again betrayed her, and she stepped closer to me. She opened her mouth to defend herself, to swear that she had just been playing a game and I was the idiot who fell in love. But I conceded her victory immediately. I was downright honest in my praise. I allowed my gaze to caress every aspect of her beauty in the dim lighting and I lifted my hand to do the same.

She did not stop my knuckles from brushing across the heated skin of her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered shut, her breath coming out stuttered and small as she tried to resist the inevitable.

“Please. Just for one night,” I whispered as she leaned closer. “Let me forget about it for one night, and then you can go back to hating me.”

We sat in the relative quiet, the poorly illuminated den of sin, and we thought about the future. Or at least, I did. Because I held her. With both arms hung loosely around her waist, I wondered if she would kill me for this later.

As if to answer my question, she dealt the final blow in hushed tones against my shirt.

“I don’t hate you, Spencer.”

And I realized it was the first time she’d ever really, truly been honest with me.

And maybe with herself, too.

Like cursed fairy tale creatures, we took off into the quickly fading night. We wasted no time, spared no shortcut to where we’d wanted to be. Anywhere we could be alone. Although I wasn’t concerned with who had the home advantage, I wondered if that was the reason that she’d led me to her hotel room.

Part of me wanted to pay attention to the parts of her psyche littered through the room. I spotted neatly hung clothing and stacks of books that I could only imagine were concealing less savory things. There were thousands of traps I could have fallen into. Countless opportunities to gain an advantage over her for another, rainier day.

But as soon as we crossed the threshold, I found all my attention stolen by the woman who turned to me with mischievous, sneaky stars sparkling in her eyes. When she wasn’t taking away my breath figuratively, she did so literally. She clung to me with voracious lips and even more rapacious hands.

And my god, those hands. So soft yet skilled, unassuming with their stark lack of callouses. Stained with irreplaceable remnants of ancient art and unadulterated hubris. They were quicker than they had any business being. Before I’d even located the zipper at the base of her neck, she’d had me half stripped.

Desperate to steal back any ounce of power, I tugged at the metal and practically tore the sleeves from her shoulders. Once her bare skin was exposed, I forced her body back until her head hit the wall with a gentle thud. The impact made her gasp, with her chest rising and her head rolling back to display her pounding pulse in her throat.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” she said through a dreamy laughter. Her eyes showed a similar nostalgic quality that ripped through my defenses in seconds.

“Shut up,” I ordered just before I kissed her.

She hadn’t appreciated the order. Turning her head to the side at the same time she pulled me down until my lips hit her shoulder, she continued, “Remember how you told me that you’d never touch me?”

As much as I’d wanted to linger, to feel how her heartbeat fluttered whenever it was exposed to softness, I couldn’t help the burning in my chest. The way that her words struck me to my core and revived that competitive spirit she brought out of me so often.

“Bet you’re feeling stupid now,” she laughed.

My instincts took over and my hand closed around her throat with a force I honestly hadn’t been expecting. Memories of someone else, someone that filled me with a rage unlike any other I’d met, burst through the reality. For just one second, I’d seen someone else. I saw Catherine Adams for just long enough that when she faded away again, I realized something I’d tried so hard to deny.

I didn’t hate her like I hated Cat.

I didn’t hate her at all. In fact, I was quite fond of her. There was something so effortlessly beautiful, so raw and honest in her vulnerability. That simple magnetism that kept us close made my hand clutch tighter as I tried to rid us both of the tragedy that was bursting through our rib cages.

“It’s okay, Spencer,” she said through tight, breathless cords. Her body relaxed, not at all bothered by the way I held her life in my hands. She did not move away, did not scratch at my arms, or show any fear at all.

She smiled. That same saturnine look that made my heart change its rhythm and my hand lose its grip.

Then, with teary eyes and more air to laugh, she whispered, “I feel stupid, too.”

She further sacrificed her comfort, accepting my lips on hers with the fullest enthusiasm. My hand that had been on her neck moved to cradle the back of her head like a child might hold something fragile. It was clumsy, but pure in its intention.

The not-at-all delicate woman was not offended, and possibly even flattered by the attention I paid to lead her to the bed. I spared no tenderness, sliding careful fingers under fabric that had stubbornly stayed covering her.

Inch by inch, I revealed the scarred but still stunning surface of her. I admired each aberration while I memorized them. There was no worry about whether she noticed — I wanted her to. I wanted her to see the effect she had on me so that when it was all over, she might remember the way I looked at her the same way that I will remember the way it felt to have her.

“You’re beautiful,” I explained.

When she rolled her eyes, I felt compelled to expand on the meaning of the praise.

“I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you, but… I needed you to hear it, anyway.”

Her mouth opened, out of protest or surprise, but she closed it before any words came out. Although I was sad to lose the opportunity to hear whatever clever retort or redirect that she could come up with, I was all too thrilled to see that she’d opted to kiss me, instead.

Sometimes things didn’t require talking. It wasn’t often that I was rendered speechless, but every time I saw her, I got this feeling that the words would just get in the way. Like our bodies knew what to do, like two souls that had met and already started to blend back into what they once were.

When it became too difficult for us to remove each other’s clothes, we switched to our own. Each piece of fabric less, we moved faster until there was nothing left.

I stared down at her and felt like something else had changed. No longer was I looking at her like a fantasy. She was there, flesh and blood and prepared for my consumption. Her hands almost appeared shy, almost insecure in the way they roamed her own body before they came to mine.

My eyes tried to shut, but I forced them open. I watched her as she watched me, with goosebumps rippling in her wake. It wasn’t until her fingers began tracing the line of hair beneath my belly button that I couldn’t take it any longer. I closed my eyes, dropping closer to her and taking in the sweet scent of liquor and perfume.

She pressed a chaste kiss against my temple, pulling me closer to her with one hand on the back of my head while the other formed a loose, tentative grip around my dick.

“Fuck.”

“So eloquent,” she hummed before she began to move. Just a small, gentle motion. Enough to make me want her more. To have me bucking against her hand with pathetic whimpers and heavy breath.

It felt so good — she felt so good — that I’d hardly even noticed how she positioned me against her heat. I could barely form a rational thought through the euphoria, but I forced myself to. That self-preservation, or rather fear that she was in a similar or worse state, won out in the end.

“Wait.”

She stopped. But while I sighed in relief from the way she hadn’t hesitated in the slightest, she seemed a bit confused and perhaps even anxious by the silence that followed.

“What?” she asked a little too quickly to be calm.

The fear sprouting in her eyes when I pulled back almost made me feel guilty. Or silly, I suppose. Because when I did finally voice my concerns, it all vanished and was replaced with an astounding amusement.

“We should… use protection,” I suggested.

I was immediately met with laughter. A warm, inviting sound that felt world’s away from the usual mockery. Through that loveliness, she tried to explain, “Spencer, this might come as a surprise to you, but I have absolutely zero interest in carrying some man’s bastard while on my international crime sprees. I have like three different birth control methods. Are you joking?”

That time, it was me that laughed. We both burst into giggles about how ludicrous it all was. How absolutely insane we were to have fallen into bed together and acted like we were still concerned about how it all would end. As if we had forgotten how many times that we’d narrowly escaped with both of our lives.

“Of course you do,” I sighed with a smile.

Our demise was inevitable, if not having already occurred. So imagine my surprise when the smile on her face remained genuine, and her voice pure and filled with a compassion so rare I had only experienced it a handful of times in my life. She pressed her palm against my cheek and smoothed her thumb over the stubble that had formed after a few days of boredom.

“But if you want to use it, you can,” she assured me in a way I hadn’t ever imagined would make me want to cry, “I just want to make sure before we have sex that… you know that I would never do that to you. I would never lie to you about that. I know how much family means to you. I’m not in the business of hurting you, no matter how difficult it is for you to believe that.”

That time, Catherine’s face appeared, but it strongly contrasted the woman resting peacefully below me. I saw her, but only in the way that I’d wished she had lived to see this day — where I was with a woman capable of affection and offering it to me without reservation.

I thought of Catherine because I wanted to imagine her turning in her grave when another woman, not at all like her, held me like something fragile, too. Someone who knew me. Wanted me despite the chaos of it all. Someone wonderful, all things considered, who saw me as more than a plaything.

I thought of Catherine one final time, and then I let her go for good. I threw her aside without an ounce of concern for what it meant. I was too busy, too starved for more memories of the woman already practically writhing underneath me.

She laughed when I spat into my hand because she saw how eager I had become with such little persuading. She had become so accustomed to a fight when it came to us that my submission almost seemed like a joke.

"Wow, it was easy to convince you,” she teased.

But that wasn’t an accurate representation of the truth.

"You didn’t,” I clarified as I slowly worked the saliva over my cock with a fondness that almost seemed to make her jealous. Tapping my nose against hers, I awarded her the credit she deserved. “I just realized I don't care either way."

"I hate to disappoint, but this womb definitely can't sustain life right now,” she promised once more. Then, after seeing that nothing about me changed, she pushed further. Arching her back until I bumped against her sex, she sighed, “But… maybe another day. Maybe one day."

Just like that, the both of us were transported to another reality. Another universe where there was nothing between us. Where our jobs were just titles, and our hearts were still one. My endless imagination stretched to some exhaustion of infinity as I imagined lifetimes upon lifetimes of us. Of her holding me and our child with the same tenderness I now knew her capable of.

She noticed the sentimentality in my eyes, though. She snuffed it out swiftly, but I found the smoke just as sweet.

“God, our kids would be so good at stealing stuff,” she offered with a laugh.

“Over my dead body,” I grumbled just before I kissed her. That stubborn woman hadn’t stopped though, muttering back through my attempts, “It might be. Would be terribly boring for me, though.”

I paused my efforts and took in a deep breath. I cherished each of the distinct notes in her perfume and smiled at the thought of recognizing each of them everywhere I went. I thought about how she would linger, and how I was so glad that I would never be able to rid myself of this memory.

Of that moment when I said, “You’d miss me.”

And when she answered, “Yes… I would.”

I clung to it, to her. We stayed staring at each other and daring the other to call a bluff that hadn’t existed. To prove that we were not as star-crossed as we’d wanted to believe.

But just before I said it, she proved the romantic in me correct with a few simple words.

“I almost do already.”

Crude joke or honest confession, I didn’t care. I gave in to both demands and chose to believe the latter. I positioned myself at her entrance; I pressed hard enough into slick, hot folds that I felt them begin to envelop me. There was no resistance — just her arms wrapping around my neck and her body lifting to meet me halfway.

“I’m right here,” I reassured her as best I could.

She laughed, dropping her head back as I started to enter her slowly and with enough tenderness that there was no doubting my intention.

“That you are, Vegas,” she hummed. “That you are.”

There were no other words exchanged before we became one. We hadn’t needed to say anything. We just allowed our bodies to do what came naturally to them. The moon and the tides, ebbing and flowing in perfect harmony.

A desperate moan tore through my chest. My body began to tremble, my chest heaving as it became accustomed to the burning heat of her. I fell apart in her arms already, only barely stopping myself from unleashing years of repressed passion. I hurried to make our lips meet, to taste her on my tongue like it might ground me somehow.

And it did. With her mouth still open and moans rolling in the space between our lips, she welcomed each romantic advance. She grabbed my face with her hands and sobbed in pleasure against my mouth. She made sure that every breath that I took was filled with her, and in return I loved her even harder. I thrust into her with purpose, feeling the way she slid against the sheets from the force.

I tried to place that feeling I had. The instinct of it all.

It wasn’t until she buried her face in my neck that I realized what it was.

Home, I thought but didn’t dare say aloud. You feel like home.

It was a silly thought, really, considering I’d never really had one. But like every creature and every fool, I recognized my home in her.

“Don’t let go,” I begged her without thinking. Or maybe thinking too hard. Fearing that if I hadn’t vocalized some aspect of my epiphany, she wouldn’t figure it out on her own.

I doubted her too much. She was cleverer than anyone gave her credit for. Myself included.

But when she pushed me back, she did not let go. Instead, she made me. Throwing her whole weight against me, she perched herself on my lap as I rolled onto my back. We both laughed, too. Our eyes met and we saw the desire written in every part of our expressions. We still said nothing, though.

She was much slower than I had been. She worked her way up and down my length without any hurry at all for the sunrise that would soon come looking for us.

In that time, that special space where it was just two parts of the same soul finding each other in the darkness, I looked at her. I saw the evidence of our past written on her skin. Deeply rooted scars from where we’d almost thrown away what we’d wanted most.

I could still see her there, but it hadn’t been as painful as I expected. Instead, it was a unique catharsis I’d never felt before. The recognition that we had tried and failed to let each other go.

That we were meant to be. Here, together. With her hands pressed against my chest and her hips undulating in tandem with each motion. Because if our downfall was inevitable, then so were we.

We were inevitable.

The warmth and love burned at wax wings until there was no more holding back. Until my hips started to drive into her harder, faster, and more erratic. Her hands joined mine as I propped her up so that I could fuck her freely. Each time that I bottomed out, she cried out with pleasure. Her nails found home in my knuckles, and I found myself craving more of the pain.

She was so beautiful exactly like that. Vulnerable. Defenseless by choice. She welcomed me to share her body, to come as close as humanly possible. Even as the force I exerted made her body ripple and quake, she looked at me with such devotion that I had no choice but to give her the rest of me.

Our hands came apart so that mine could wrap around her. I pulled her down one last time, calling her name before I finally let go. I thrust into her harder despite there not being any room for it. I filled her with the warmth that burst out of me. I fucked it deeper into her, thinking and dreaming of how her body would have accepted it greedily under different circumstances.

I was a foolish, selfish bastard, but I didn’t care. I wanted her to want to have me forever. And if I couldn’t have it yet, I would dream of it every chance afforded to me.

She wouldn’t know the difference. She would view my affectionate touch as nothing but a fool who’d fallen in love. She wouldn’t know just how deeply she’d touched me, nor how much I yearned for her to stay.

It was better that way. For us to stay… distant. At least to some degree.

We laid in the silence together. She looked at the relatively cheap motel art hanging on the walls, and I looked at her. I recognized something in her eyes, something so human it almost didn’t suit her.

“It’s evil, you know,” I called out, hoping to capture that empathy before it disappeared. But when she turned to me as if to ask what I’d meant, the sparkle had already faded.

“What is?” she asked like she didn’t already know.

“Stealing art,” I clarified, nonetheless. “That’s someone’s soul.”

She pondered the thought for a moment. She hummed a sad tune and tried to smile. But her lips curled down too far to be saved. They fell flat, twitching with one last attempt as she muttered, “Evil, huh? Funny. I don’t see it that way.”

I was dedicated to making her understand. I wanted her to give up on her exploits and choose me, instead. Even though we both knew that the damage was too deeply embedded in our skin to fade so easily.

“How could you think so highly of yourself? That you should get to hide it from the world like that?”

For the first time possibly ever, I saw pain in her eyes. No smile, no snark, no falsity. Her mouth dropped open and her bottom lip trembled while she tried to make sense of what I’d said. Of how I could have gotten it so fucking wrong and had the audacity to force my misconceptions onto her.

Whatever thoughts had immediately come to mind were swallowed. She glanced down at the same hand that had been wrapped around her throat, the one that had held her face gently. The one that had held a gun against her chest on several occasions.

She couldn’t look me in the eyes when she whispered, “Have you ever loved something so much, you couldn’t fathom sharing it? Because you knew that no matter what the others say, they would never love it like you do?”

I didn’t answer. I begged her to look in my eyes, instead. To notice how no matter what was happening, what wonders we were surrounded by, I had never once taken my eyes away from her.

When she did answer my call, though, there was no catharsis. No confession or ceasefire. She just took in a deep breath and found the strength to smile again. A fake, heartbroken look.

“Tell me your favorite painting,” she pleaded.

“The water lilies.”

“Which one?” she asked as she pulled herself closer. Until her head rested against my heart and my hand smoothed over her hair.

“On the pond.”

She sighed. I felt her lips twitch and I wondered if she would ever be able to smile while looking at me again.

“It suits you,” was all she said.

“What about you?”

I’d tried to hide the desperation in my voice. I hadn’t wanted her to hear just how badly I needed the answer because I knew how it would end. The same way it always did. With a joke.

“That’s too personal a question,” she sneered with feigned incredulity, “How dare you.”

But I was too tired to keep it up. I had already given her the last of my strength. I had succumbed to the comfort of her embrace and there was no more going back to the life I led before. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe that it would end that night. That I wouldn’t wake up every morning wishing that she were there and fall asleep praying that she hadn’t found another idiot to fall in love with.

“Can I see you again?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.

“I’m afraid I won’t be in town for long. I have some traveling to do.”

No, she said.

“Will you come back?” I begged her.

That goddamned infuriating, breathtaking woman tilted her head up. She pulled back and crawled up until she could hold my face in the palm of her hand. Rather than looking into my eyes and risking revealing any part of the truth, she followed the tears stinging at the corners. She tried to smile, and I saw something beautiful through the distance.

“I’ll take a picture of the water lilies,” she promised in the quiet. “Just for you.”

Maybe, she had said. And for now, that would have to be enough.

Maybe one day.

I chased after that promise. I followed the feeling when it led me to her lips once more. I kissed her hard. I pressed my whole body against hers until she was forced to her back. I didn’t stop at her lips, her jaw, nor her neck.

I was sloppy in my loving her, but I was not careless. I left a trail of broken blood vessels and saliva across her abdomen, not from haste, but my hesitance to leave her in even the most minimal manner.

She was a thing to be cherished. A creature to be marveled at. A woman to be loved. Carefully. Delicately. Lest she breaks into shrapnel too risky to remove. To prevent her from embedding herself any further into my heart.

It was already too late for me, though. I knew that. My downfall would be nothing but a warning for the next foolhardy, hubris filled man who dared to think himself worthy of her.

But it was so hard not to get a swelled head when she was so eager to push me down further. I followed her lead and sighed against heated skin still dripping from the mess I’d made of her. Before I dared to taste her, I ran my fingers through her folds. I listened to the way she begged with just her breath alone.

Then, the way she whispered, “Please.”

Dipping one finger into her, I found myself mesmerized by the way she still felt as much like a home when wrapped around my finger. Despite having only just finished, I was aching with the need to have her again. I knew that I couldn’t have her that way so soon, so I took what she offered.

I slid another finger into her and reveled in the moans that shook her whole body. I caressed the inside of her as delicately as the rest, memorizing each twitch of her muscles and how they shot through her body.

I paid special attention to the times that she would cry out my name.

“Spencer.”

I would do it again, forever chasing the way her voice sounded that night. So that the next time she pressed a knife to my throat, I would be happy to let her win. I had already won.

As soon as my tongue touched her, her legs closed around me. She shook with anticipation and pleasure that had nowhere else to go. She invited me to take her harder, for my hands to stop treating her like glass.

I acquiesced to her demands. I fed into her cries, moving my fingers faster and harder while my flattened tongue drew languid crescent shapes just under the swollen bundle of nerves. Every now and then, I would pull back and lap at the slickness around my fingers.

“Good boy, Vegas,” she purred, “Worship me.”

I would exchange any godliness I was given for her pleasure each and every time the deal was offered. There was little I would not give to feel strong thighs pressed against my ears and her nails scratching at my scalp and tugging on my hair. I wanted to be smothered with her lust, to forever taste the bittersweet evidence of our debauchery until I was nothing but stardust reaching for her across the night sky.

“Spencer,” she keened with her heels digging into my back.

I pulled her closer with my free hand digging into her hip. I dreamed of how the skin might bruise in five perfect marks of my fingerprint embedded into her skin. I wanted her to be littered with permanent reminders that we loved one another too intensely to be unscarred.

It was a metaphor, to some degree, to write my name between her legs. One of the rare few I understood. Because the closer and closer she came to oblivion, the more determined I became to ensure that every time a star died in the sky above, she remembered that moment when she let me worship her the way she deserved.

Her walls fluttered around my fingers as she reached her peak. I didn’t dare change my pattern or pressure, continuing to nurse her through what seemed like endless waves of pleasure. Although I tried not to change it, I still moaned against her each time her pitch changed. I wished so badly that I could see her then, to watch as she surrendered in the most beautiful way.

Eventually, she decided that she had allowed me to take enough of her. She tugged on my hair until I finally abandoned my begging and returned to her. I took my time, though. I traced the same path I’d taken before, laying kisses over bruises from an overly eager mouth.

When our eyes met again, though, she was the one who kissed me. There was a tenderness to her as she raked her hands through my hair. As if she was apologizing for any damage done. But I would have worn — I did wear — the marks that she left behind like a badge of honor.

I think she saw my pride, too. Perhaps even tasted it on the heady, tainted taste of our tongues. The sinful decadence that was the night when Icarus fell into bed with the moon.

“Maybe I should take you with me…” she whispered in a voice so quiet that I questioned if I had been meant to hear, “if only you were always such a good boy…”

“If you weren’t such a bad girl, I wouldn’t have to disobey you,” I answered with a smirk that was more like a smile.

Once again, she laughed, and I gave up on any thought of ruining the sound with the harsh reality waiting for us on the other side of the ornate walls. I rested my body atop hers and allowed myself to rest for the first time that night. With her hands drawing loose, loopy swirls across my back and her throat tickling my nose as she hummed, I wondered who it was that taught her softness.

I wondered if I would ever feel it again.

We were both hesitant to let one another go. We knew that the second we stopped touching, it would all come rushing back. The fear, the tension, the inevitability of our ending.

Our hands stayed together as long as they could before they broke apart. I watched her disappear into the bathroom with evidence of my having loved her still dripping down her thighs. I grabbed fistfuls of the sheets and buried my face in her pillow like it might prolong the calm before the storm.

I half expected her to disappear into thin air. To abandon me the first chance she was given. But I was pleasantly surprised to find that she returned fairly quickly. Not soon enough for me not to miss her, but enough for me to bear.

She curled up beside me without concern for that fact we really ought to stop before it became impossible. There was nothing about her that seemed wrong, nothing sharp or jagged when she handed me a sealed bottle of water and opened her own.

We raised flimsy plastic containers together in honor of what would now become the past. Of the night when we were. We drank away the bitterness but begged the sweetness to stay. My throat still felt dry, and my chest remained weighed down by the thoughts I knew she was already aware of but had never gotten the chance to hear.

“Can I tell you something?” I asked.

“Of course,” she drawled in her usual charming way, “I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

But what I had been thinking wasn’t a secret at all.

“I…”

I stopped. Not because I was suddenly unsure, but because the world started to rock as if I’d been thrown out to sea. As if the moon was hurtling toward the ocean and the angry waves were trying to pull away from the bedrock.

“I…” I tried again, but my vision followed shortly thereafter. I tried to breathe through it, tried to focus on the way she was still displaying that saturnine smile that made my heart ache. But now it just hurt.

“No…” I slurred, “Tell me you didn’t.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t move, either. Just tilted her head as she watched my eyes struggle to stay open.

“We were having such a wonderful time and you…” I warbled with the little sense I had left.

That time, I stopped because her thumb brushed over my lips. The same lips that had colored her skin with kaleidoscopes resembling my name. The ones that she had pulled closer, just to turn away from.

“I know,” she sighed.

But she didn’t.

“You…”

I forced my eyes to stay open when she brought her lips to mine, crying out to the others the inevitable tragedy of Icarus. The absolutely idiotic hubris that he held to think that the moon would ever be a safer place to him. As if she were not just the reflection of everything he swore not to covet.

You don’t understand, I screamed to myself and hoped that she would hear.

But she didn’t. All she heard was the weak, thready gasps of a man desperate to hold on. All she felt was the tired tides reaching for her, begging her not to let go.

Against my rough lips, she whispered with a tremble that told me I was not the only one reaching through the darkness for something unattainable, “You’ll forgive me, won’t you, baby?”

But she didn’t understand. I hadn’t had a chance to tell her.

You don’t understand, I cried as she faded back into the night sky.

I was going to let you go.

Why didn’t Icarus love the moon?

I never understood why romantics wrote about how they looked at their lovers as if they were the sun. I supposed it had something to do with its ability to give life, its brilliance and its seeming immortality. But the sun was a brute in its brightness. I hadn’t ever wanted to gaze upon it. Even when I emerged from the shadows of the darkest days, I never once sought the comfort of the fury of the daystar.

Perhaps that was all there was to it, I thought to myself. Perhaps what I craved wasn’t the one who would cast heavy shadows in my wake, but a companion to guide me through the others.

Perhaps I was just not an Icarus. My hubris would simply have to find another name.

All things considered it was an average morning. I woke at the same time as always and started to brew a cup of coffee before I’d even looked in the mirror. I stood there for a moment, soaking in the cleansing scent of coffee grounds before I would be forced to be anything more than myself.

I closed my eyes and I thought of the last time that I’d felt free to do just that. I traced my steps back through each monotonous repetition and I realized that it had felt like forever.

A year was a long time to be someone else. It was an even longer time to be without someone else.

As I drank a cup of black coffee, I tried to find her visage in the bitterness. I spent all the energy the warmth offered trying to remember the way she felt on my skin. The way that she lingered until the next day, despite having left long before.

I had been remembering her for at least an hour before I stepped over the threshold of my apartment and back into the real world. It was there, on my doorstep, that I found her in the form of an odd, unassuming package with only one word scrawled across the front.

“Vegas.”

The two of us stared back and forth at one another long enough for her to materialize if she’d been planning on doing so. But after a few moments of early morning silence, I realized that the brown packing paper was all that she’d planned to leave behind.

I called the bomb squad before anyone else. My eerie sense of calm must’ve disturbed them because they arrived not long after. I watched as they scanned and swept over the carefully packaged present, and I imagined how she might have critiqued the care they paid to it.

Have you ever loved something so much, you couldn’t fathom sharing it?

Because you knew that no matter what the others say, they would never love it like you do?

I wondered if she’d noticed my lack of an answer then had been my confession to the worst thing I’d ever done. The confirmation that I had fallen in love with her somewhere between the bullets and bedsheets.

I followed her package all the way to Quantico. A sick excitement twisted my stomach until the tension was almost too much to bear. I considered tearing straight through the paper, of digging my nails across it the same way I’d done to her skin. But I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to eviscerate my name as she’d written it or cherish it. To frame it forever as a reminder that we were. Once.

None of it mattered now, though. Not as I stood in front of blast resistant glass and waited for them to unveil whatever it had been that she found important enough to reveal herself again.

“It’s been over a year since we last heard from her.”

JJ’s voice was the first thing to notify me of her presence. It had been so sudden and unexpected that I’d jumped at the sound. She didn’t step closer, and neither did I.

“Yeah,” was all that I said.

Although she accepted the answer, she wondered aloud with me.

“Any idea what could have triggered this?”

My mind immediately rocketed back to that night when I shared a bed with the moon. I could smell her perfume and the liquor on her breath. I heard her crying my name, heard our breaths meet between heated, greedy mouths. I felt tears on my face the morning after, when the sun returned and shone down on a world that would never fully appreciate the brilliance of the moon until she was gone.

“Who knows why she does anything she does,” I said absently, knowing that she would never understand.

“I mean, we do to some extent,” she answered, proving my point.

“I guess so.”

Maybe. Doubt it.

After all, she was unknowable in so many ways. She kept so much of herself always hidden. With each fleeting scar and a bat of her eyelashes, the moon would do nothing but mock those that tried to claim her. I was no different. Especially not to her.

I knew that there were many men enamored with her. I wasn’t so self-deluded to think that she would throw away an empire for me.

But when the paper began to unfold, I felt the heart in my chest beat enough for the both of us. The breath filling my lungs sat heavy as I waited for what I’d felt in my heart to be true the moment I saw that nondescript gift on my doorstep.

“That painting…” JJ whispered from worlds away.

Or perhaps, I laughed to myself, as far away as Virginia was from Giverny.

‘I’ll take a picture of the water lilies. Just for you.’

I tried not to smile. I didn’t dare laugh. I just sat and stared at the stolen art of Claude Monet, and I wondered which part of her soul she’d left behind with it.

“That’s your favorite, isn’t it?” the woman behind me asked.

But I thought only of the moon when I answered, “Yeah. It is.”

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

#oh to be in love with the moon etc etc #iconic truly!#smut recs

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mercy-burning · 9 months

Text

Nude Beach

Summary: Reader finally convinces Spencer to go to the beach with her. Turns out it's a nude beach.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: (18+, minors DNI) nudity, awkwardness, teasing, fingering, handjob, semi-public sex (in a car), unprotected penetrative sex

Author's Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Summer Sunshine Challenge!

Word Count: 3.5k

Masterlist

After solving a case at this picturesque, vacation-like place, your boss decided that your team should stay for another day for some much needed time off. It was the perfect opportunity for a beach day.

When everyone started making plans for the day at the breakfast table, you realized that nobody wanted to go see the ocean with you. Half of your team decided to go to a spa while the others planned a hike. Neither of those options were particularly intriguing for Spencer but he still didn’t agree to come to the beach with you.

Spencer explained why he’d rather stay in the hotel, “Sandy food, pink skin, limited and unengaging topography, but mostly drug-resistant bacteria spread by seagull fe–”

“Reid!” Hotch interrupted him. “We’re eating breakfast.”

“Come on, pretty boy! I’m sure you’d find some engaging topography if you go with (y/n),” Morgan teased the both of you.

“That’s inappropriate,” JJ scolded her coworker before snickering, “He’s right though.”

You felt your cheeks heating up at their words. Spencer had never looked at you for longer than was necessary, so you knew your team was just joking around. However, the thought of him getting excited to see you in a swimsuit let your heart skip a beat.

Spencer looked between you and the other team members before asking, “You guys won’t stop until I agree, right?”

With the sweetest tone in your voice you practically begged him, “Please, Spencer! I don’t want to go alone.”

Defeatedly, he sighed, “Fine. Let’s go to the beach.”

A quick online search for the closest beach later you were on your way to the shore with your favorite coworker. Once you arrived it only took you a couple of seconds to make a very interesting discovery. It took Spencer a little longer than that.

He placed a blanket on the sand and sat down before he looked around. A grin had already formed on your face, curious about his reaction. You took off your shirt and shorts, revealing the bikini you wore underneath. Spencer kept turning his head before locking eyes with you again.

"I think this is a nude beach," he finally realized.

When you reached back to undo your bikini top, his eyes widened and he squeaked, "What are you doing?!"

You just shrugged and said, "When in Rome."

"What?!"

"It means that you should adopt the customs of the place you are visiting," you explained the same way he usually did.

Spencer shook his head, clearly having trouble to wrap his mind around what was happening. "N.. No, I know what it means! I just meant… don't you want to leave?"

"Nope," you chirped and let your bikini top drop to the ground.

Spencer's sight followed the piece of fabric before he made the mistake of looking up again. After getting a glimpse of your breasts, he quickly averted his eyes, already feeling overwhelmed with this situation.

You didn't think he had anything to apologize for but he did it anyway. "Sorry, I didn't mean to– "

"It's okay, you can look," you laughed. "We're at a nude beach, you won't be able to avoid seeing naked people."

"I really think we should leave," he said, his eyes glued to the floor.

"You're really gonna leave me here on my own with a bunch of strangers?” You asked and added, “While I'm naked?"

"No, of course not!” Spencer protested as he found your eyes. “I want you to come with me."

"Not gonna happen. I missed the ocean too much to just leave again. Besides, we haven't gotten a day off in months."

He stared at your face with disbelief in his eyes. You emphasized your words by reaching for the waistband of your bikini bottoms, pulling them down as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Fuck!” Spencer whined as he turned away from you.

“That bad, huh? I always thought I looked alright naked,” you said while pretending to be offended.

“What? No! It’s not that, you’re very..,” he mumbled as he turned his head to look at you again, just to regret this decision instantly. “Ugh, sorry, I… I’m just uncomfortable.”

“I would be too if I was the only one wearing clothes at a nude beach,” you snickered.

You sat down beside him, studying his facial expression while he kept looking into the distance. You reached for your bikini, ready to put it back on when he still seemed uncomfortable around you.

His sight followed your hand as it grabbed the piece of fabric before he asked, “What about adopting the customs of the place you’re visiting?”

“It’s okay, we can leave.”

The initial shock of seeing you naked seemed to have worn off for now as Spencer dared to look at you again. “We can leave if you want to but I don’t want you to go just because I’m being a little… dramatic.”

A rosy shade was covering his cheeks and you couldn’t tell if it was from the sun or from being embarrassed.

“I really want to stay but I also don’t want you to spend the whole time being uncomfortable,” you confessed.

Spencer smiled at you. He was sincere when he said, “I’m fine, I just needed a second to adjust. We can stay.”

You got excited to be able to finally have your beach day and chirped, “So… are you taking your clothes off now or what?”

With a dramatic sigh, Spencer asked, “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really. I swear I’ll behave and only look at your penis for a second.”

“As long as you don’t laugh,” he joked.

“No promises.”

Your words made him laugh and you chimed in with your own giggles. When he finally started undressing, you understood how Spencer must have felt moments before when you took your clothes off. It was impossible for you to keep your eyes on him without having your whole face heat up.

You distracted yourself by putting on sunscreen but kept watching Spencer’s movements from the corners of your eyes. You realized that you had only seen him in button-down shirts and long pants before today and now he was sitting beside you, completely bare. You had to try really hard to not let your thoughts wander to all those impure things you often fantasized about alone at night.

When you realized that you’d be needing help with putting sunscreen on your back, your eyes fell to his hands. You couldn’t stop your mind from racing to the thought of him touching so much more of your body. With a couple of deep breaths you managed to get your composure back and handed him the bottle.

He instinctively reached for it before he realized what you were asking.

You smiled at him when you wanted to know, “Could you please put some on my back?”

“Wh..What?”

You shifted your position until you were sitting in front of him so he could reach your back. He was hesitant to do what you were asking for. After a couple of seconds you finally felt his palms tentatively moving over your shoulders and back. He was carefully spreading the sunscreen over your skin and you savored every moment of feeling his fingertips against your body. Unfortunately it was over quicker than you would have liked.

When he was done, you reached for the bottle again and offered, “I can put it on your back as well.”

Spencer shook his head, “No, I’m good. I put on sunscreen back in the hotel.”

You didn’t accept his answer and moved to kneel behind him while you said, "Please don't make me recite statistics about sunburns, that’s usually your job. There’s no way you’re able to reach own back."

Spencer considered his options for a second before telling you, “Fine, you can do it.”

You took your time putting the lotion on his shoulders and back and noticed how tense he was. He was looking into the distance when you noted, "You seem distracted,”

"I just try to keep my mind occupied."

"You really need to learn how to relax a little," you snickered and began to massage his shoulders.

To your surprise, he leaned into your touch while a sigh fell from his lips.

Curious about what was going on in his head, you wondered, "So, what is it that currently occupies your brain?"

"Baseball."

You felt like you were missing some context. Spencer wasn’t into sports, so you asked, "Why would you think about baseball?"

Spencer took a deep breath before he mumbled, "I have heard other men claiming that it helps. It's not really working though."

Suddenly you understood what he was implying.

“Ah, the disadvantages of the male anatomy,” you snickered. “Okay now I really wanna know, who is it? Who got your attention?”

Spencer seemed confused about your question, almost as if it should have been obvious to you. You tried to follow his line of sight and landed on a gorgeous young woman in front of you.

"That dark-haired woman over there has a really nice body. Is it her?" You wanted to know.

Spencer closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, "Please stop."

His reaction made you laugh. “Oh it’s definitely her.”

He turned his head to find your eyes. “Do you want to go into the water? Cooling off sounds like a good idea.”

Spencer got up from the blanket and reached out his hand for you.

Raising your eyebrows at him, you wondered, “I thought you hated the ocean?”

With him standing in front of you with all the glory his body had to offer, you finally dared to actually look at him. It was only when you noticed his not-so-subtle erection that you realized that the both of you desperately needed to cool down.

“That was longer than one second,” Spencer reminded you. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Sorry!” You chirped as you reached for his hand to get up as well.

Spencer didn’t let go of your hand once you were on your feet, instead he kept pulling as he basically sprinted towards the water with you just two steps behind him. You couldn’t hold back your laughter at his odd behavior. Running was already unusual for him but heading towards the ocean? That wasn’t like Spencer at all.

He didn’t let go of your hand nor stop once the cool liquid met your feet, quickly moving further into the water until it reached your neck. Your body didn’t get a chance to adjust to the temperature and you could feel how every cell of your body was on edge because of it. However, the erratic beating of your heart might have had a different cause.

Even when you could barely stand, Spencer didn’t stop.

“Spencer, you’re taller than me. I can’t go in further,” you laughed.

He turned his head to find your eyes and let go of your hand. It seemed like your words might have gotten him out of whatever spell he was under. That was until he stepped closer to you. With a smirk spreading over his cheeks he closed the distance between your bodies to wrap his arm around your waist. Before you realized what was happening, he had lifted your toes off the sandy ground of the ocean to carry you even further in.

A surprised cry fell from your lips at the sensation and you instinctively clung your arms around his neck. Spencer didn’t stop until the beach was barely visible and the water almost reached his chin. Only when he stopped moving did you realize how close the two of you were. Your body was pressed into his side, skin on skin, and your face was close enough to his cheek that you were sure he could feel your breath against it.

“Spencer, what are you doing?” You finally dared to ask.

Before he could answer, an ocean wave came up from behind you, almost knocking the both of you over. Without thinking about it, you gripped his body even tighter and wrapped your legs around his hip while he buried his fingertips into your waist. The way you clung onto him must have resembled a spider monkey. This whole situation could have been adorably cute if it hadn’t been for the fact that the two of you were completely naked.

After the wave had subsided and he seemed sure that he had you securely held against the side of his body, he finally mumbled, “I don’t like how they look at you.”

“What?”

You leaned back slightly to be able to look at him but his sight was fixated in the direction of the beach.

“The guy on the towel beside us. He looked at you and he wasn’t the only one.”

A little confused, you reminded him, “So? You were looking at that woman.”

He turned his head to lock eyes with you. “No, I wasn’t.”

You heard his words but they didn’t make any sense at all. Before you could ask what he meant, he explained, “How could I even think of another woman when I’m with you.”

“You were thinking about me?” You muttered in disbelief.

“And baseball,” he joked.

It was almost impossible to wrap your mind around what Spencer was saying. Your lips parted several times to voice your thoughts but nothing came out. It was hard to believe that he might reciprocate your feelings, never before had he even implied that he was attracted to you.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before he looked at you again. “It’s not just because you’re naked. It’s because it’s you… and you’re naked.”

A few moments passed of the two of you just staring at each other. The gold of his irises was more intense than usual with the sun reflecting in them. It felt like you could drown in the comfort they provided but it was nothing compared to the sensation of his lips finally meeting yours.

There was no way to tell who leaned in first but you were both eager to deepen the kiss within seconds. When his tongue met yours the heat the sun provided was nothing compared to the warmth spreading through your chest. You shifted your position until you were in front of him, your chest pressed against his and your legs wrapped tightly around his hips. His hardness was pressed firmly against your inner thigh when you felt it twitch against you.

“God,” Spencer groaned against your lips, “I can’t believe this is happening in the middle of the ocean.”

You leaned back to look at him as you purred, “Maybe we should get back to the hotel?”

“Great idea,” he chuckled. “Let’s go.”

With a similar hurriedness as before, the two of you made your way back to the beach, drying off and putting on your clothes at record speed. When you arrived at the car, Spencer hesitated to get into the driver’s seat.

You walked towards him and offered, “Do you want me to drive?”

He shook his head and placed his hands on your hips. With more force than you had expected, he pushed you against the door of the car to kiss you feverishly. Your hand found the nape of his neck, grabbing a fistful of his hair to playfully pull on it.

“Spencer,” you breathed against his lips, “We’ll never make it to the hotel like this.”

“I need you right now,” he groaned. “I can’t wait.”

You pulled back to look at him. His pupils had almost completely swallowed the gold of his irises, staring at you like a man starved. There was no need to share words for you to know what he was suggesting. The van had tinted windows and it only took a few seconds to fold down the rear seats, making the trunk large enough for the two of you.

Spencer placed the blanket in the trunk to make it more comfortable (and less messy - this was a government vehicle after all) before you climbed inside to lie down beside him. His hands were on you immediately, almost ripping your shirt and shorts off as they greedily roamed over your skin. You were just as eager, your lips only ever leaving his to get rid of his clothes.

When no more fabric was covering you, he took a moment to unabashedly look at your body and coo, “You’re so beautiful. I will never get enough of seeing you like this.”

“Maybe we should go to nude beaches more often, then,” you teased him.

One of his hands snuck down your body until they met your thighs, gently spreading them while he whispered, “I’d rather have you alone.”

As his fingertips made contact with your slick folds, a moan fell from his lips. He softly kissed you while he started drawing circles around your little bud.

“You’re so wet,” he purred. “Is that all for me?”

A desperate “Yes,” fell from your lips between quiet mewls and whimpers.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he groaned when you began grinding your hips against his fingers.

“I might have a hunch, actually,” you teased him as you reached down his body.

A smirk spread over your face as your hand wrapped around his length. He felt hot and heavy in your palm as you began stroking him, his tip already leaking with desire when you brushed your thumb over it. His entire body trembled at the pleasure your touch provided, almost making him forget about his own mission to focus on you.

“Fuck!” He groaned and you accelerated the pace of your hand. “Feels so good.”

When he remembered about his hand between your legs, he continued showing his affection for you. His fingers found no resistance when they carefully began pressing into you, moving against your core until your arousal was dripping into his palm.

“Please, Spencer,” you panted against his face when the pressure became almost overwhelming.

“My sweet girl,” he cooed and slowed down the motions of his hand. “What do you need?”

Everything was somehow too much and not enough at the same time but you were certain that you might dissolve if you didn’t feel his cock inside you anytime soon.

“You. I need you, please,” you whined. “Fuck me.”

Hearing those words almost made him finish right then and there. He managed to keep his composure by gently moving your hand away from his erection. Once he was on top of you, he reached between your bodies to guide himself to your entrance. With a tilt of your hips and your legs wrapping around his body, you let him glide into you with ease.

“You feel so good,” he praised you. “So good for me.”

The intense pressure he provided made you feel light-headed. Your walls clenched around him and were answered by him twitching inside you. His lips found yours at the same time he began moving, slowly pushing into you over and over again. There was no way to tell where his body ended and yours began as you melted into one another.

When he accelerated his pace you began dancing along the brink of euphoria. Despite his weight on top of you it felt like you might begin floating at any moment now. You closed your eyes for a moment only to open them once again when Spencer slowed down.

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered.

His eyes were wide when he looked at you and muttered, “Sorry, I.. I’m so close.”

You began grinding your hips against his as you sighed, “Me, too.”

That seemed to encourage him once more, moving against you harder than before. He watched you intently as you scrunched up your face and your breath staggered, desperate to finally find relief. With one particular hard thrust you fell over the edge, a loud moan escaping your lips as your body began to tremble.

When Spencer felt your walls pulsing around him, he dared to let go himself, throbbing inside you as he shared his essence with you. When he had nothing left to give, he collapsed into your arms, his face buried into the crook of your neck. Once he had caught his breath again, he dared to separate your bodies to reach for some tissues in your bag to contain the mess of the shared evidence of your desire.

When Spencer wiped some droplets of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand you realized how hot it had gotten inside the car. Both of you were in desperate need of a shower, so you decided to go back to the hotel right away. When you were on your way back, you reached out your hand to gently brush over Spencer’s fingertips on the steering wheel.

“Thank you for coming with me today. And thanks for staying despite the surprise.”

He turned his head to smile at you and say, “I’d do just about anything for you. Besides, not all of today’s surprises were that bad.”

Smirking at him, you teased, “We should skip the beach next time, though.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

If you enjoyed reading this story you should check out the other fics in my NSFW Masterlist!

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