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residentreid · 5 months

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Helping Hand

Only you can give Spencer what he needs.

Warnings: Sub Spencer but more like Spencer is just totally whipped for reader, handjob, whining, whimpering

WC: 1.4k

You leave early for work in the morning, knowing that Spencer has a day off and intending to give him the day to himself to relax. Spencer rarely gets to take time off and rest, and you know that he wouldn’t have chosen to stay home unless it was ordered. You know he must be exhausted, and as such, you’re surprised to get a text from him in the afternoon that reads “SOS.” Fearing for the worst, you tell your boss you have an emergency and rush home.

You’re home in record time, fumbling with your keys as you rush inside. Dropping your bags haphazardly, you slam the door shut and try to quell your panic. Spencer has never given you a cause for concern about his well-being, despite the nature of his line of work.

“Spencer?” you call.

No response.

You try again, “Spence?”

He doesn’t respond, and your heart drops. Approaching the door to your bedroom, you listen intently and register something that sounds like crying. The sight that lies behind the door isn’t one you’re prepared for.

You’re greeted by the sight of Spencer, tangled in bedsheets and propped up against several pillows, arm pumping as he strokes his cock aggressively. Resisting the urge to snort in disbelief–this is an emergency?–you take it in, the way his body glistens with a thin sheen of sweat, the broken whimper that escapes his lips as he continues to touch himself, the way his head is thrown back. Sunlight filters in through the blinds, illuminating him like a goddamned painting, and he looks absolutely fucking divine.

You take all of this in, but most importantly, you focus on how painfully hard he looks, the veins of his cock bulging and tip an angry shade of red. As you enter the room, his eyes snap open, and he gazes at you through his lashes.

“Hi,” he grins, sheepishly.

“‘Hi?’” you quip. “Spence, baby, why did you need me for this? I was at work.”

“I know, I know,” he pants, hand continuing to move at an unrelenting pace. “Just–needed you. Need you. Please.”

You raise an eyebrow, sorely tempted to give in to his pleading eyes, but he’s pulled you away from work in the middle of the day simply because he needs you so desperately. Knowing you have that effect on him is altogether intoxicating, and you intend to continue exercising that control.

“I don’t see what the problem is. You have two perfectly good hands, not to mention an eidetic memory,” you say, crossing your arms. “You could think about any time we’ve been together and replay it like it was happening right then and there.”

“But it’s not the same,” he whines. “Not just about…what we’ve done together.”

His voice cracks and he has to pause and swallow harshly.

“Need you. My hand’s not the same. I need it to be you.”

That gets to you. Your breath hitches and your thighs clench involuntarily as you think about how Spencer not only needs you so desperately that he’s called you home from work but how he quite literally can’t get off without your help.

Spencer’s voice cracks again as he whimpers again, resorting to begging, “Please…please, I need you to touch me.”

You walk closer to the bed, stooping so you can be at eye level with him. He glances at you, and he looks absolutely, completely ruined. His pupils are blown and he looks almost feral, hand moving back to his cock as he strokes himself to the sound of your voice.

“Exactly how long have you been at this?” You gesture vaguely.

He struggles for words, mouth opening and closing as he thinks.

“I don’t know,” he admits with a groan. “A while.”

“And…I assume you haven’t been able to…take care of yourself?”

Spencer shakes his head quickly, and you can see that his eyes are beginning to water. He’s visibly desperate, thighs trembling as he continues to run his hand over his length.

“Ohh, baby,” you click your tongue. “Let me take care of you.”

You can see the split-second change in Spencer’s demeanor as he sags against the bed in relief and his head tilts back against the headboard.

“Thank you, thank you,” he groans. “I’ll be good…”

Humming noncommittally in response, you clamber clumsily onto the bed and seat yourself between his thighs. Spencer’s eyes open wide as he tries to glean what you’re about to do, gaze fixed on you, chest rising and falling heavily with each breath he takes. His eyes track each movement of your body as you make yourself comfortable between his thighs and he licks his lips in anticipation.

You nudge his thighs open wider with your knee, forcing his body on display for you. His breath hitches–he feels so exposed. But for you? He can live with that.

Your hand ghosts over the tip of his leaking cock and he groans–and God if that doesn’t shake you to your core. You haven’t even touched him yet, and he’s already a mess for you. His cock is glistening with precum and you bite your lip in fascination as more spurts out the instant you graze his tip.

Glancing up, you watch Spencer’s eyes roll back into his head and he whimpers softly, chasing your touch as he thrusts his cock into your hand.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” you chide, withdrawing your hand. “I thought you said you’d be good?”

He whines dejectedly at the loss of your touch but reluctantly obliges.

You set a torturously slow pace, focusing your attention on his cockhead. He’s so wet and responsive, and it makes a downright sinful squelching noise when you tighten your grip and squeeze his length.

“Fuck…” Spencer pants, sucking in a sharp breath.

His back arches involuntarily and he moans obscenely as you run your thumb over his leaking tip.

You’ve barely touched him, yet he can feel his core tense and thighs tremble and he’s already so close. Pathetic, he thinks. But it’s no use. He’s a wreck, only for you. Always, for you.

Noticing Spencer’s growing desperation, you recognize the tells of his impending orgasm. His uneven breath, erratic movement of his hips, and unending stream of moans tell you all you need to know. Smirking, you loosen your grip around his cock and slow down.

“So close already? And here I thought you’d built up some stamina…”

Spencer’s eyelids flutter as his breath catches, clearly teetering close to the edge. He whines softly in protest as you decrease your pace, hips bucking as he fucks himself roughly into your loose grip around his cock. His voice cracks as he whimpers loudly, hands grasping frantically at the sheets when you tighten your grip again.

“Oh–I…oh–fuck…”

You smirk at the threadiness of his voice, relishing in the control you have over him. As you stroke him from base to tip he throws his head back and releases a stream of thoroughly desperate moans.

“Please…please,” Spencer groans, nearly incoherent. “Please, let me…”

His words trail off, caught in his throat and all that comes out is a needy, breathless moan. His grasp on the sheets tightens as his hips stutter, thrusting his throbbing cock farther into your grip.

His thrusts become more and more erratic, and he might as well be hyperventilating with the speed at which he’s panting.

“‘M close,” he warns.

“I know, baby, I know.”

You coax him over the edge and Spencer releases a nearly ear-shattering moan, limbs thrashing as he scrambles to grab something–anything to keep himself grounded as your touch sends him out of this world. His vision goes white, and he finally gets the relief he’s been seeking for hours.

His release spurts over your hand and coats his abdomen. It’s messy and obscene and God help you–beyond hot.

Spencer breathes heavily, chest heaving, and stares at you with a blissed-out, love-struck grin.

“Thank you, baby,” he murmurs.

He reaches out and tucks your hair behind your ear, cradling your face. He kisses you fervently, tugging lightly on your hair, and bites your lip.

You pull away slowly and smile at him. Spencer looks decidedly fucked out, hair messy and face and chest flushed–and he’s never looked more beautiful.

You whisper quietly, “You owe me one.”

“Mm…give me a couple of minutes, baby, and I promise I’ll pay you back.”

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