The Shadows We Dance With

Ch34: The Fall of Spencer Reid

The room was silent, save for the faint echoes of water dripping somewhere far away, the rhythmic sound blending into the background like a distant heartbeat. Spencer Reid—no, not Spencer, Angel—lay on the hard cot, his half-naked body shivering slightly in the damp, cold air. The sweatpants Valentino had given him were soft against his skin, a stark contrast to the rough, unforgiving concrete beneath him. Angel's mind was eerily calm, his thoughts quiet and subdued, as if this was where he belonged, as if he had never truly left this place, this life.

Valentino Marino was all he knew, had always been all he knew. Pain was familiar, comforting in a twisted way, like a well-worn blanket wrapped tightly around his soul. Angel found solace in that pain, a sense of peace that he hadn't felt in years. Spencer's voice, once so strong and resilient, was nothing more than a faint whisper now, struggling to break through the thick walls that Angel had constructed around himself.

When the door creaked open, Angel turned his head slightly, his eyes catching the light as it flickered from the hallway into the dim room. Valentino stepped inside, his movements slow, deliberate, as if savoring every second of this reunion. Angel's lips curled into a sly, flirtatious smile, a reflex he hadn't lost even after all these years. He knew what Valentino wanted—he had always known—and he was ready to give it to him, no matter the cost.

Valentino's eyes roved over Angel's body, a predatory glint in his gaze as he approached. In his hands, he held something that made Angel's breath catch—a familiar black leather ensemble that had once been a part of his very identity. His mouth went dry as he recognized it, memories flashing through his mind like a slideshow of torment and twisted affection. Where had Valentino found that? Everything had been taken as evidence years ago, locked away in some cold, sterile room far from where Angel could see it. But now, it was here, in Valentino's hands, and there was no escape.

But escape was the last thing on Angel's mind. As Valentino walked toward him, that predatory smile spreading across his lips, Angel felt an unsettling mixture of dread and anticipation. Spencer screamed from somewhere deep within, his voice echoing against the walls of the prison that had become his mind, but Angel paid him no heed. He knew what Valentino was going to make him do, and he would do it. He had to.

Valentino set the outfit down on a chair in the middle of the room, each piece laid out with care: the leather bodysuit, gloves, boots, collar, the tights he wore underneath, and the specially designed underwear that would make any man look like a Ken doll, even in an outfit as tight as that. The sight of it all made Angel's heart race, a mixture of fear and something darker, something he couldn't quite name.

After placing the items on the chair, Valentino turned and left the room, only to return moments later with a small mirror, a bucket of soapy water, and a makeup bag. He placed the mirror and the bucket on the floor near the cot, then handed the makeup bag to Angel with a quiet, almost affectionate smile.

"Clean yourself up, Angel," Valentino instructed, his voice soft yet commanding. "Make yourself look pretty for me. After all I've done for you, it's the least you can do, right? No one wants to see you looking like this."

Angel nodded obediently, his movements fluid as he accepted the makeup bag. Valentino leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to Angel's forehead, his lips warm against Angel's cool skin.

"I'll be back soon," Valentino murmured, his voice sending a shiver down Angel's spine. And then, thankfully, he was gone, leaving Angel alone to prepare himself.

Angel stood slowly, his legs wobbly beneath him, the concussion still making his movements unsteady. He stripped off the sweatpants, letting them pool on the floor at his feet, and then dipped the rag into the soapy water, squeezing out the excess before he began to clean himself. The soap stung the cuts on his body and face, the sharp pain a welcome distraction from the dull ache that had settled deep in his bones.