Picasso || Spencer Reid

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗

Spencer's hand is gentle on my waist, tightening his grip ever so slightly, with the other moving to the back of my neck. We part slightly, only to take a short breath and look in one another's eyes for a second before he pulls me back in for another blissful moment. As he moves his hand at my neck to meet the one at my waist, my own arms wrap themselves around the back of his neck. His soft touch tightens again, pulling me flush against his body, meaning I could feel his excitement with the situation grow, emotionally and physically, through something pressing hard into my abdomen. I pull away from the kiss, smirking slightly.

"I knew you like me Spence, but I didn't realise this much." His face shows confusion for a split second before turning a bright red. He moves out of my arms and towards his bedroom, not saying a word. While he's gone the music stops, and rather than putting on a new piece, I pack it back into its paper sleeve, placing it back in its original spot.

I take a seat on the couch, unsure of what to do. I check my phone, seeing if I have any texts from Mrs. Bennet, but there wasn't a single message. I hear Spencer's door creak open and my head turns to follow the sound. He moves towards me, but sits on the other end of the couch. He looks embarrassed.

"I'm er- I'm sorry." He barely meets my eye. I scoot closer to him, taking his hand in my own.

I smile at him. "Hey, I don't know why you're apologising, I shouldn't have made a joke." He pulls his lips into a thin line; his eyes meet mine for a second, trailing down to our entwined fingers, squeezing slightly.

He meet's my eye once again, "It's just... been a while, I guess, since I've done... anything with a girl." I lift my head slightly, letting my lips softly press against his. I try to give him an encouraging look.

"Spencer, I like you, we can go at any pace that you're comfortable with." His eyes look grateful at my comment.

"I like you too, Picasso." My minds goes back to our late night conversation, and how I fell asleep before I got the answer to my question.

"Spence?" He hums, waiting for me to continue. "I feel bad, but... I asked you a question the other night, but I don't really remember the answer... I think I fell asleep."

"Oh, erm, what was it?"

"I think I asked about why you always call me Picasso? You never call me Faye."

He removes his grip from mine and rubs his hands over his face, he has a nervous look on his face, but also with a sense of relief. "God, this is so embarrassing, er," My eyes tell him to continue, "I didn't actually know your name, until you just said it. You never told me when we first met and I-I thought it was too late to even ask you. I'm so sorry." I burst out laughing, my eyes tearing up from his little ramble.

He looks discouraged with my reaction, I grab his hand once more, with him relaxing with my touch, "Spencer, it's okay I promise, I probably should've thought about it a little bit more. But I do like the nickname, that can stay if you want." He wraps his thin arms around me, both of us enjoying the silence that comforted us. "What about pizza rather than a fancy restaurant?" He gives my body a small squeeze before standing, pulling on my hands to encourage me to join him. One of his hands move to my lower back, the other resting against my cheek as he leans in and his lips meet mine again, the feeling makes me warm and excited.

As he pulls away, his hand drops to join the other at my waist as he shakes his head, "No, I'm taking you to an amazing restaurant because that's what you deserve." My hand moves to his face, my fingers brushing against his bottom lip to rid the leftover chapstick that has once been on myself. He holds my hand in place, resting a gentle kiss on my fingertips. He was always so gentle, so sweet. "Can we dance again... before we go?" I nod. He turns the record player back on, playing another of his favourite composers. He takes me in his arms, him taking the lead and swaying us to the music. "Did you know that your name is derived from the Middle English language meaning 'fairy', ultimately from Latin 'fata' meaning 'the Fates'. It's also sometimes used as a nickname for 'faith'."