You looked forward to Room 405 each week.
Sitting at work, you would pout to yourself and lightly drag your pen up and down your thighs, thinking of all the wondrous things you two got up to in that hotel room.
Chains, whips, spankings, anything cou...
Summary: Spencer and Reader speak a truth to one another they haven't before... and decide to prove just how much they trust and love one another
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You woke up alone.
It took you a moment to realize where you were, sitting up and wrapping the comforter protectively around you. Streams of carmel flowed through the curtains, pouring over you and bathing the dark room in a foggy glow.
"Spencer?" you asked quietly, but no reply came.
Frowning, you whipped off the covers and padded into the living room. The place was a mess, covered in books mostly, but there were a few piles of vinyls and tables filled with Doctor Who and Star Trek knicknacks all over them as well.
You called out his name again, jumping when you heard a gurgling noise. Stepping carefully down the hallway, you peeked into his small kitchen. The warmer on the coffee pot read 90 minutes, so he had to be around here somewhere.
Light came through a set of french doors at the end of the hall, and you walked toward them and peeked through the windows.
Spencer sat on the balcony in a fold out chair, his feet settled on the iron ledge as he read from a book in his corduroy covered lap. He bit at his cuticles with one hand, the other palming a coffee mug on a little table.
Knocking softly on the window, you opened the doors and stepped out. Spencer's head shot up from his book, and when he laid eyes on you he smiled softly. He snapped the book shut and set it on the table, standing and scooping you up into a big bear hug.
His naked chest was cold against your skin through your slip as your feet left the ground, and you couldn't help but giggle as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. Spencer grunted in satisfaction as he gave you another big squeeze before setting you down.
He kissed your forehead and then your lips, and your hands moved to cup his jaw as you moaned into his mouth. When he pulled away his cheeks were tinged a light pink, "Good morning, sweetheart."
"Good morning," you said quietly, still a bit embarrassed at your dramatics last night. "Thanks for letting me come over."
Spencer made a face like, of course I let you come over, "You're welcome anytime. C'mere."
He beckoned you over to one of the chairs, kissing the top of your head before he went back inside. You peeked at the book he was reading, The Narrative of John Smith by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and shook your head in amusement. You wondered how quickly it'd take him to read this one.
You'd never read it before, so you opened the front cover to see if the synopsis was on the inside, and were instead confronted with a woman's handwriting and a quote.
