Something Other than a Question
Title: Something Other than a Question
Pairing: Reid/Nathan Harris
Prompt: Nathan Harris/Reid, Preferably Nathan on top, but anything would make me happy. (via the CM kink meme) & sex (via my crimeland prompt table)
Rating: NC17
Words: 1372
Warnings: Semi-public sex, unplanned choking/breathplay
Notes: Reid/Harris is my OTP forever and ever amen, and this prompt made me orgasm repeatedly. Uhh... the end.
It's been five years since Spencer has seen Nathan Harris, but he knows him immediately. It has nothing to do with his eidetic memory -- he sees Nathan first from behind, and his hair has been cropped close and he has grown at least four inches. No. He knows Nathan from the energy slinking off him and from the way his own body responds to it: an icy clench in his stomach that presses back against his spine and makes it arch up like a dog's hackles.
They're in the library at the center of the city on a Friday evening. Nathan is hunched over a book in a back corner -- the spot that Spencer always seeks out for himself -- with his knees bouncing nervously against the underside of the table. He stops short when Spencer steps around a shelf behind him, and Spencer has the odd sense that Nathan knows who he is before their eyes meet; that Nathan can feel him, too.
Everything pauses and hangs suspended for a moment. Nathan turns in his seat just as Spencer turns on his heel to walk away, and the familiar voice -- still that desperate-sounding tenor, only now it's undercut with exhaustion -- hits him like a blow to the back of the neck.
"Dr. Reid?"
_______________
The book Nathan is reading is an anatomy textbook. He makes no effort to hide it when Spencer approaches and hovers anxiously over his shoulder, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
There is more silence between them than words, spaces opening up between sentences like sinkholes. They are both treading cautiously.
Spencer notices the nicotine stains on Nathan's fingers and is surprised. He would have never profiled him as a smoker. Too clean. Too fussy.
He would have been wrong.
What else doesn't he know?
______________
"I think about you a lot," Nathan says, shutting his book and staring up into Spencer's face with his strange, strange eyes,
"You knew I'd be here," Spencer says suddenly. "You've been watching me." He wonders, for a moment, how this could be possible; how he could have been followed without knowing. Without feeling it.
"Just sometimes," Nathan says, and he averts his gaze, looking more like the boy he was than the man he has become.
"Enough to know I'd come to this table." Spencer feels his body retreat a little, almost without his knowledge, and his hand presses against his hip, where his gun is hiding beneath his jacket.
Nathan shakes his head. "No. That was just a guess. I never followed you in."
It is five years gone, and Nathan knows him well enough to pick out the table he would sit at. The idea makes Spencer's knees weak and his heart pound. His fingers close around the back of the chair and his knuckles turn white.
He would have picked this one as Nathan's favorite, too.
He would have been wrong about that, as well.
Nathan points to a table across the room, hidden in the opposite corner and without a view of the door. "I like that one better, usually."
_______________
Spencer excuses himself after a moment and heads for the bathroom. He stands at the sink and splashes water over his face. He loosens his tie. He stares intently at the dark circles under his eyes, the shadowy hollows between the bones of his neck.
He is staring at himself so hard -- trying so hard to figure out who the hell he is -- that he almost doesn't hear Nathan come in.
Almost.
But he does, and he knows it's him before the heavy door swings shut and Nathan appears behind him in the mirror.
"Dr. Reid," he says. "You saved my life. I never thanked you."
"You don't have to," Spencer says, and he means it.
"Yes, I do," Nathan answers and steps closer. "Thank you."
Their eyes gazes lock. Nathan's pupils are round; they're black holes in his skull; they are full of so much gravity that Spencer feels his balance start to waver. When he looks back at himself, he watches his own dilate with fascination and revulsion and compulsion, and he knows that Nathan sees it, too.
They are pressed against the sink before Spencer can even draw his weapon. If he'd wanted to. If he'd thought about it.
_______________
Nathan's body is hard and angular like Spencer's own. He's made of precise lines, acute bones, flat planes. They are like two knives sharpening one another when they touch.
Nathan takes a long time to get hard, but he isn't tentative. He bites and he pulls and he wraps Spencer's tie around his neck without loosening it, yanking his neck sideways and jamming his thigh between Spencer's legs.
Since he was an adolescent, Spencer's brain has confused danger with desire, and he responds with shameful enthusiasm. There is something in him that tells him that he possesses this boy -- man, now -- because he saved him from himself, because he knows him, because he understands him.
They have been lovers in this peculiar, possessive way since they met, and although he knows that this is stupid -- being this close, this aroused, this vulnerable to someone who has fantasies about bleeding people dry -- he cannot stop.
He cannot stop.
He cannot.
_______________
"Let me suck you," Nathan says.
Bells go off, sirens whirl and shriek and scream, alarms flash, but Spencer doesn't tell him no. He imagines Nathan's teeth, even and perfect and sharp, scraping against him; he imagines what a bite would feel like; he imagines what he would do if he was stripped of his badge.
He gasps anyway and grinds his hips forward -- permission -- and then undoes his own belt. His gun sways in its holster and bumps the side of his thigh.
Nathan's mouth is small and hot. He doesn't use his teeth, though he threatens to a couple of times, working his jaw but pulling back at the last second, and Spencer finds himself rocking his hips, fucking Nathan's mouth holding on to the sink, squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn't have to see.
"Don't come," Nathan says, and it's the first time his voice has sounded like something other than a question. He stands up.
Spencer doesn't open his eyes, just turns around.
_______________
"Look," Nathan says. Spencer squints into the ugly bathroom light, the image in the smudged mirror blurry and impressionistic. It's better that way. Softer.
"All the way," Nathan says.
Spencer opens his eyes and watches.
They are both paler than death. Gaunt in their faces. High-cheekboned and sickly looking. Nathan's eyes are twin storms, tornadoes gathering force.
He runs one hand up Spencer's chest and closes it around his throat. Spencer's eyes go wide as Nathan presses hard against his back. With his other hand, Nathan opens his own pants and shoves his erection -- hard now, so hard -- against Spencer's ass.
His hand squeezes. Spencer watches Nathan's knuckles grow ashen, watches his own gaze go heavy and eerie and wanton, feels his breath constrict.
Nathan bites hard into the back of Spencer's neck like a dog and grinds furiously against him. Spencer pushes back, feels his cock bumping against the sink, feels himself getting light and dizzy and dreamy, thinks he might die without ever reaching for his weapon, thinks he wouldn't mind all that much, thinks about Nathan's hands and his mouth and his cock...
_______________
Nathan comes and squeezes hard when he does, and Spencer chokes and gasps and then all of the noise inside him dies and the world starts to spin.
Nathan lets go just in time.
Breath and blood and life rush in like a flood. Spencer slumps forward and comes all over himself. Belly, pants, jacket.
His whole body is wet and sticky.
Nathan runs a finger through his own come, then works the slick tip of it into Spencer's ass. Spencer tenses and makes a noise he has never heard himself make before, startled and ecstatic and terrified.
"Oh," he says. "Ohhh, ohhh..."
_______________
"Look at yourself," Nathan says.
Spencer looks.
He is mottled, pale, panting, sweating, confused, filthy.
He is beautiful.
He lets Nathan kiss his mouth before he leaves.
Pairing: Reid/Nathan Harris
Prompt: Nathan Harris/Reid, Preferably Nathan on top, but anything would make me happy. (via the CM kink meme) & sex (via my crimeland prompt table)
Rating: NC17
Words: 1372
Warnings: Semi-public sex, unplanned choking/breathplay
Notes: Reid/Harris is my OTP forever and ever amen, and this prompt made me orgasm repeatedly. Uhh... the end.
It's been five years since Spencer has seen Nathan Harris, but he knows him immediately. It has nothing to do with his eidetic memory -- he sees Nathan first from behind, and his hair has been cropped close and he has grown at least four inches. No. He knows Nathan from the energy slinking off him and from the way his own body responds to it: an icy clench in his stomach that presses back against his spine and makes it arch up like a dog's hackles.
They're in the library at the center of the city on a Friday evening. Nathan is hunched over a book in a back corner -- the spot that Spencer always seeks out for himself -- with his knees bouncing nervously against the underside of the table. He stops short when Spencer steps around a shelf behind him, and Spencer has the odd sense that Nathan knows who he is before their eyes meet; that Nathan can feel him, too.
Everything pauses and hangs suspended for a moment. Nathan turns in his seat just as Spencer turns on his heel to walk away, and the familiar voice -- still that desperate-sounding tenor, only now it's undercut with exhaustion -- hits him like a blow to the back of the neck.
"Dr. Reid?"
_______________
The book Nathan is reading is an anatomy textbook. He makes no effort to hide it when Spencer approaches and hovers anxiously over his shoulder, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
There is more silence between them than words, spaces opening up between sentences like sinkholes. They are both treading cautiously.
Spencer notices the nicotine stains on Nathan's fingers and is surprised. He would have never profiled him as a smoker. Too clean. Too fussy.
He would have been wrong.
What else doesn't he know?
______________
"I think about you a lot," Nathan says, shutting his book and staring up into Spencer's face with his strange, strange eyes,
"You knew I'd be here," Spencer says suddenly. "You've been watching me." He wonders, for a moment, how this could be possible; how he could have been followed without knowing. Without feeling it.
"Just sometimes," Nathan says, and he averts his gaze, looking more like the boy he was than the man he has become.
"Enough to know I'd come to this table." Spencer feels his body retreat a little, almost without his knowledge, and his hand presses against his hip, where his gun is hiding beneath his jacket.
Nathan shakes his head. "No. That was just a guess. I never followed you in."
It is five years gone, and Nathan knows him well enough to pick out the table he would sit at. The idea makes Spencer's knees weak and his heart pound. His fingers close around the back of the chair and his knuckles turn white.
He would have picked this one as Nathan's favorite, too.
He would have been wrong about that, as well.
Nathan points to a table across the room, hidden in the opposite corner and without a view of the door. "I like that one better, usually."
_______________
Spencer excuses himself after a moment and heads for the bathroom. He stands at the sink and splashes water over his face. He loosens his tie. He stares intently at the dark circles under his eyes, the shadowy hollows between the bones of his neck.
He is staring at himself so hard -- trying so hard to figure out who the hell he is -- that he almost doesn't hear Nathan come in.
Almost.
But he does, and he knows it's him before the heavy door swings shut and Nathan appears behind him in the mirror.
"Dr. Reid," he says. "You saved my life. I never thanked you."
"You don't have to," Spencer says, and he means it.
"Yes, I do," Nathan answers and steps closer. "Thank you."
Their eyes gazes lock. Nathan's pupils are round; they're black holes in his skull; they are full of so much gravity that Spencer feels his balance start to waver. When he looks back at himself, he watches his own dilate with fascination and revulsion and compulsion, and he knows that Nathan sees it, too.
They are pressed against the sink before Spencer can even draw his weapon. If he'd wanted to. If he'd thought about it.
_______________
Nathan's body is hard and angular like Spencer's own. He's made of precise lines, acute bones, flat planes. They are like two knives sharpening one another when they touch.
Nathan takes a long time to get hard, but he isn't tentative. He bites and he pulls and he wraps Spencer's tie around his neck without loosening it, yanking his neck sideways and jamming his thigh between Spencer's legs.
Since he was an adolescent, Spencer's brain has confused danger with desire, and he responds with shameful enthusiasm. There is something in him that tells him that he possesses this boy -- man, now -- because he saved him from himself, because he knows him, because he understands him.
They have been lovers in this peculiar, possessive way since they met, and although he knows that this is stupid -- being this close, this aroused, this vulnerable to someone who has fantasies about bleeding people dry -- he cannot stop.
He cannot stop.
He cannot.
_______________
"Let me suck you," Nathan says.
Bells go off, sirens whirl and shriek and scream, alarms flash, but Spencer doesn't tell him no. He imagines Nathan's teeth, even and perfect and sharp, scraping against him; he imagines what a bite would feel like; he imagines what he would do if he was stripped of his badge.
He gasps anyway and grinds his hips forward -- permission -- and then undoes his own belt. His gun sways in its holster and bumps the side of his thigh.
Nathan's mouth is small and hot. He doesn't use his teeth, though he threatens to a couple of times, working his jaw but pulling back at the last second, and Spencer finds himself rocking his hips, fucking Nathan's mouth holding on to the sink, squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn't have to see.
"Don't come," Nathan says, and it's the first time his voice has sounded like something other than a question. He stands up.
Spencer doesn't open his eyes, just turns around.
_______________
"Look," Nathan says. Spencer squints into the ugly bathroom light, the image in the smudged mirror blurry and impressionistic. It's better that way. Softer.
"All the way," Nathan says.
Spencer opens his eyes and watches.
They are both paler than death. Gaunt in their faces. High-cheekboned and sickly looking. Nathan's eyes are twin storms, tornadoes gathering force.
He runs one hand up Spencer's chest and closes it around his throat. Spencer's eyes go wide as Nathan presses hard against his back. With his other hand, Nathan opens his own pants and shoves his erection -- hard now, so hard -- against Spencer's ass.
His hand squeezes. Spencer watches Nathan's knuckles grow ashen, watches his own gaze go heavy and eerie and wanton, feels his breath constrict.
Nathan bites hard into the back of Spencer's neck like a dog and grinds furiously against him. Spencer pushes back, feels his cock bumping against the sink, feels himself getting light and dizzy and dreamy, thinks he might die without ever reaching for his weapon, thinks he wouldn't mind all that much, thinks about Nathan's hands and his mouth and his cock...
_______________
Nathan comes and squeezes hard when he does, and Spencer chokes and gasps and then all of the noise inside him dies and the world starts to spin.
Nathan lets go just in time.
Breath and blood and life rush in like a flood. Spencer slumps forward and comes all over himself. Belly, pants, jacket.
His whole body is wet and sticky.
Nathan runs a finger through his own come, then works the slick tip of it into Spencer's ass. Spencer tenses and makes a noise he has never heard himself make before, startled and ecstatic and terrified.
"Oh," he says. "Ohhh, ohhh..."
_______________
"Look at yourself," Nathan says.
Spencer looks.
He is mottled, pale, panting, sweating, confused, filthy.
He is beautiful.
He lets Nathan kiss his mouth before he leaves.