Criminal Minds Fic #8: The One Where Rossi and Reid visit Caltech
Title: The One Where Rossi and Reid visit Caltech
Author: myrna1_2_3
Pairing: Rossi/Reid
Rating: R-ish
Summary: Rossi and Reid visit Caltech
Word count: ~10,000
The open palm of desire. Wants everything. It wants everything. ~Paul Simon
It was a rare case that ended with Aaron Hotchner’s Behavioral Analysis Unit in joking high spirits, but then again, it was rare that they were called in to profile a non-violent unsub. Quantico housed a BAU that specialized in white collar crimes, but that group was currently working a high profile case of securities fraud, and a sense of urgency had started to develop about a series of bank robberies in the northeast. These particular thieves had amassed close to two million dollars in less than a year, and given the esteem (or lack thereof) with which banks were held these days, there were mounting concerns about a Robin Hood aura attaching itself to the heists. On three separate occasions, homeless people panhandling outside a burglarized bank had been given upwards of $5,000 by the unsubs and in each instance, the public outcry was so severe when law enforcement tried to return to the money that the banks allowed most of it to remain with the fortuitous homeless people. Fears were starting to mount that the robbers’ increased notoriety was going to ratchet up the chance of violence-either from the unsubs’ growing sense of invincibility or a passerby’s wish to insert himself in the action.
Dave was particularly pleased about the assignment, because as soon as they delivered their profile and returned to DC, he and Spencer were heading to California for a long weekend, and their trip was going to be that much more enjoyable without having to decompress from a nasty case.
Of course, no case was without its dangers, and the closest they came to bloodletting was the morning they were prepping to present their completed profile.
The presence of the FBI was a pretty big deal for most of the small town sheriffs and officers in attendance, and there was a bit of a festive mood in the air. The Bridgeport PD had provided enough coffee and danish to feed a small army, and most of the members of the BAU, long accustomed to grabbing a bite whenever and wherever a bite was offered, were enjoying the spread.
Prentiss; however, was slumped in a chair, a cup of black coffee in front of her and eating what looked like a tree branch. The rest of the team was keeping a respectful distance--it was a well known fact that Prentiss was not, under any circumstances, a morning person. She wasn’t really even an afternoon person-she hit her stride in the evening, and not even Morgan could keep up with her after that. She watched Reid with a frown as he refilled his coffee cup and helped himself to a doughnut. “How many doughnuts is that?” she asked, clearly irritated.
“Three,” Reid said, mouth full of doughnut and eyes wide in surprise, not so much at her tone, but at the fact that she was talking to him so early in the morning.
“Three,” Prentiss echoed. “That’s your third doughnut? You just put half a pound of sugar in your coffee, and now you’re on your third doughnut.”
Confused, Reid rechecked the contents of the bakery box. “There’s still a lot left,” he said helpfully. “You want a chocolate…”
“Of course I want a chocolate one! And a glazed one and a vanilla cream one.”
Reid’s eyes slid toward Morgan, but Derek’s protective streak only ran so wide, and he hopped up to refill his half-filled coffee cup. Spencer knew better than to even look Rossi’s way. Rossi usually partnered with Prentiss, so she and Reid had to be at Defcon 2 or below before he’d even consider stepping in.
“Why don’t you have one?” Reid asked, his tone hesitant, as if they’d been over this before, and he shouldn’t really have to ask.
“Because there’s 300 calories and 15 grams of fat in that doughnut and if I eat it I won’t be able to haul my fat ass through the obstacle course come September.”
Having no sense of self-preservation, Reid gamely continued, “But you’re as thin as I…”
“Because I don’t eat doughnuts!” Prentiss said. She stood up to take her leave, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You should be fat!” she said,
JJ cast a sympathetic look Reid’s way, but stopped short at brushing off Emily’s words because everyone knew Reid really should be fat.
“You always score better on the obstacle course than I do…” Spencer called after Emily, but judging from the one-fingered solute she tossed over her shoulder, the words were not well received.
By the time they were boarding the plane for home, Emily’s pique was forgotten. Morgan was on the phone recounting for Garcia the number of clumsy pick-up attempts both Emily and JJ had to endure and settling up the pool on how many phone numbers Rossi had been slipped. As usual, Reid won the pool with his on-the-nose pick of three. Morgan was trying to convince the team that really he’d won because he’d guessed two, and everyone knew Rossi worked it if he had to so he could lay in the win for Reid.
Prentiss was paging through a magazine, not evening trying to refrain from gloating over Rossi letting her take Muchie while he and Reid were gone. As soon as Rossi had mentioned the trip, she’d chimed in, using the time-honored tradition of “dibs,” to get her mitts on the dog. Morgan hadn’t really stood a chance, even as he groused about dibs hardly being an appropriate means of deciding who took care of your dog.
The talk turned to Reid and Rossi’s upcoming trip. They were visiting some friends of Spencer’s who taught at Caltech, and the team started speculating about what they were going to do during their weekend.
“So what’s first on the agenda when you get to Pasadena?” JJ asked Spencer as the plane took off. “A beer from your favorite bar?”
“I was underage the majority of the time I was in school,” Reid reminded her.
“A beer from the bar you always wanted to get into?” Prentiss amended.
“Revisit your favorite library cubby,” was Morgan’s guess. “What do you wanna bet there’s a bronze plaque commemorating the spot where the brilliant Dr. Reid first set out on his educational blitz!”
“A haircut?” Hotch suggested. When everyone turned to look at him in confusion, he added with cloying innocence, “What? Reid’s hair was a lot shorter when he was in college.”
“You want me to get a haircut?” Reid asked, his hand immediately moving up as if to check if his hair was still there.
“No!” Dave answered irritably from across the aisle, and studiously ignored the amused looks flying between Morgan, JJ, Prentiss and Hotch. So he had a fucking thing about Reid’s hair. God damn it, he’d spent half his life mired down in the absolute worst aspects of humanity; a man learned to take his pleasure where he could find it, and these yokels didn’t have to ride him about it.
“The Bureau doesn’t have written regulations about hair length,” Hotch said by way of non-answer. Rossi knew his slight emphasis on the word ‘written’ was no accident. The bastard.
Okay, so maybe, maybe, Hotch was trying to get a little of his own back because maybe, and again, the maybe couldn’t be stressed enough, maybe Rossi had been tormenting Aaron for the last week or two with subtle hints that Caltech was once again pestering Spencer into accepting a teaching position. But really, the obfuscation was harmless and only because it amused Rossi to watch a cunning Hotch try to weasel non-existent information out of a clueless Spencer. Hotch may have been unbeatable coaxing a confession from an unsub, but he was no match for a Spencer Reid who had no idea what they were talking about.
Which was absolutely neither here nor there when the point was this: planting the seed that Reid should consider cutting his hair was nothing short of cruel.
“That’s true,” Reid was saying, sounding uncertain. “Still, implied regulations are sometimes more readily adhered to than written ones.”
Hotch nodded thoughtfully at Reid. “And I suppose one could argue that personal appearance…”
“Aaron,” Although he’d interrupted Hotch, Dave’s tone was a model of gentility.
“Yes, Dave?” Hotch answered in kind.
Rossi leveled a steely gaze at his friend and said, “Before you continue this line of discussion, I’d just like to say February, 2000; Biloxi, Mississippi, Lawanda De La Belle Nuit.”
Aaron studied him with a bland expression, then slowly let his attention drift back to the files on his lap. He was fighting a smile as he carefully rearranged the pages in front of him. “Touché,” he said, respect evident in his tone.
It was silent for a beat, then Morgan said, “Aw, no, man! No, no, no way do you dangle that in our face and just leave it. Details.”
Hotch refused to look up from his file, and Dave just stared at Morgan with wide, innocent eyes.
Morgan popped Reid’s shoulder. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”
“I don’t even know if Hotch really wants me to cut my hair,” Spencer said with a hapless shrug.
Morgan slumped back in his seat with a long, desolate sigh. “First Prentiss gets the dog, then there’s the bogus ruling on the pool, and now this. I’m starting to get a complex here.”
Rossi studied Morgan with pursed lips, then said, “This might be…no, no, this is against my better judgment. But following some intense lobbying on your behalf, the physical component of which I have to tell you was the..”
“Dude!” Morgan fired off a TMI warning.
“Sorry,” Rossi lied. “So, the gist of it is,” he continued, pulling his car keys from his pocket and ignoring the sound from Morgan that, had Rossi known who the Jonas Brothers were, he would have identified as something similar to a 14 year-old unexpectedly meeting one of said brothers. “I’m prepared to offer you, on an extremely probationary basis, during the course of our absence only, the use of the finest automobile you will ever have the privilege of driving.”
Morgan licked his lips like a starving man offered a sizzling t-bone. “Gimme,” he said, motioning to Rossi’s car keys.
Rossi snatched the keys back. “If I come back and find so much as a hint of a thought of a suggestion of a scratch, I will kill you,” he said.
“Understood,” Morgan answered quickly. It was, after all, only fair.
Rossi held up his hand, not finished with his warning. “If I kill you, I will go to jail. If I go to jail, the care and feeding of Dr. Reid falls on Emily’s shoulders, and he will be dead within two weeks, maybe three.”
“Hey!” Prentiss said, and at the same time, Spencer chimed in with the ridiculous, “I do not need a keeper!” and even JJ weighed in, saying, “Did Prentiss call dibs on Spencer too?”
Rossi’s helpless shrug said he was just reporting the facts. He dangled the car keys just out of Morgan’s reach. “Do you understand the monumental responsibility with which I am entrusting you?”
“I do,” Morgan said solemnly.
JJ shook her head at their foolishness. “I now pronounce you man and car,” she said dryly.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Rossi was glad for the opportunity to take a break, even if it was a short one. Spencer had been on a bit of an emotional rollercoaster since the case that brought him back in touch with his father.
In the direct aftermath of that case, Spencer had been subdued-embarrassed at how ardently he’d pursued his father as the perp, confused and lost at the odd explanation of what really happened.
The night they’d returned home, he’d said little until they were laying together in bed, waiting for sleep. “Everyone will be watching me now,” Spencer said glumly. “Making sure I’m okay, making sure I don’t fall apart, making sure I don’t start using again…”
“They care what happens to you,” Dave said.
“I know, and from the team, I guess I don’t mind it so much.” Spencer said. “Sometimes it feels like everyone is looking at me, and I just… I hate the staring. I hate it!” The sudden vehemence in Reid’s voice startled Dave.
Rossi cupped the back of Spencer’s head and held him firmly, closing his eyes and seeing a genius child trying to block out the curious gawkers; seeing the son of the crazy lady trying to pretend like she wasn’t making a scene, like everything was okay, like there was nothing to see, nothing out of the ordinary; seeing the too-young agent who’d skirted protocol at every juncture pretending he didn’t notice the jealous, cynical stares of his peers, seeing the agent-cum-victim nearly crushed by the overbearing curiosity of those who knew only enough to be titillated but not concerned.
But Dave also had an idea that, nowadays anyway, the stares had just as much to do with Spencer’s appearance. He was… different looking. His long hair and delicate features made him look curiously androgynous; his clothing choices were decidedly off-beat; the dark circles under his eyes were peculiar; he was usually one of the tallest people; certainly the skinniest in every room he entered.
God knows Dave spent the first few months that they worked together with his neck permanently craned in Reid’s direction trying to figure out what in the hell was so intriguing about the kid. Dave once overheard his niece talking with her mom about the first time she saw Spencer, and she kept having an internal debate with herself about whether or not he was attractive. She decided he was, then rethought, then decided he was, then wasn’t sure. Then Spencer smiled and how could there be any doubt after that?
Dave stared down at him, studying Spencer’s face. He looked tired and worn. Sad. Dave let his thumb brush across Spencer’s cheek bone down across his lips, then he carefully kissed the path he’d just traced. “I want to take your picture,” he whispered.
It was a request Dave had made often enough, but Spencer always brushed him off with an exasperated eye roll.
Before Rossi settled in on writing, photography had been a hobby of his. He’d even built a make-shift dark room into the house he bought between wives two and three. The advent of digital cameras had simplified life for the amateur photographer, but in the last decade or so, Rossi had been concentrating so steadily on writing books that he hadn’t kept up with the technology.
Their trip to Italy had reawakened his interest in the art, though. Garcia had helped him pick out a good digital camera before they left, and Rossi had felt a little guilty at Garcia’s incredulous reaction to his callous reply when she asked him how much he wanted to spend. “Money’s no object,” he’d said with a shrug, impatient to review the cameras already on Garcia’s screen.
“Seriously, money’s no object?” she kept saying as they paged through cameras. “Like, Between 500 and 1,000 dollars is an object and between 1,000 and 5,000 dollars is an object and between 5,000 and 7,500 dollars is an object, and you’re like, None of those are objects!?”
“Penelope, pick me out a camera!” Dave had barked, but it was a testament to how far their relationship had come the she didn’t even jump.
She did look at him from over her pink, bejeweled, cat eye glasses and say, “Just for that, I’m spending 500 dollars more on the camera than you have to.”
It was also a testament to how far their relationship had come that Rossi was fairly certain she didn’t really gouge him on the camera.
He’d grown to love the camera they found after a few weeks. It was light years from the old Nikon he’d last used-just getting used to the lack of heft took a few days--but after he got the hang of it, he loved the crisp pictures, the painless redo when the photo wasn’t quite what he wanted, even the retouching he could do later on the computer.
Reid had been happy enough to pose for pictures during their Italian vacation, happier still, when a fellow tourist or obliging native would snap the two of them together, but Dave hadn’t been able to get him to budge when it came to taking a risqué picture or two in bedroom.
“What, naked?” Reid had said, eyes wide in disbelief the first time Dave asked him if he could take his picture. They were lying in bed, sweaty and sated, and even Spencer couldn’t mistake Dave’s question for anything other than what it was.
“Mmm, naked,” Dave had answered, paying more attention to kissing Spencer’s sweaty chest than the conversation. He knew Spencer’s agreeing was a long shot, but every once in awhile he liked to throw a suggestion out there to see what might stick. Spencer was actually pretty adventurous in bed, he just had to work up to whatever it was-ruminate about it for a bit, maybe do a little research.
But thus far, Spencer had always demurred when Dave suggested taking boudoir shots. Yet, there must have been something different about his time-a more beseeching look in Dave’s eye; more supplication in his tone than Spencer was used to hearing.
“Let me take your picture,” Dave whispered.
Instead of giving Dave a half-hearted push and refusing, Spencer looked up at him, searching Dave’s face for something. His eyes slid away from Dave’s for a beat, but then returned, and he licked his lips and very slowly nodded his head.
Moving with careful deliberation, Dave retrieved his camera, flipping the switch to black and white. Dave wanted the shots to have a timeless feel; plus Spencer’s smooth, alabaster skin would look especially fetching in black and white. Dave took the first few pictures without arranging anything, just letting Spencer get comfortable with the idea. Dave was grinning in spite of himself at the sheet Spencer had pulled up to just under his neck.
The first few photos he snapped, Reid refused to look at the camera, but Dave didn’t mind. In profile his delicate features and angular bone structure were highlighted nicely. He asked Spencer to turn his head to the left then the right, made a teasing show of fanning Spencer’s hair across the pillow; he kissed Spencer’s lips, insistent, almost bruising, so that when he pulled back they were lush and swollen; his pupils dilated.
“You’re beautiful,” Dave said.
Spencer looked skeptical. “You’re kind of a lunatic,” he said.
Dave shrugged. “Lunatics can still recognize beauty,” he said. He tugged experimentally at the sheet and slid it down past Spencer’s collarbone, chuckling when the barest hint of a nipple appeared from under the soft cotton. Spencer made a grab for the sheet and stopped it from revealing anything more.
“Come on,” Dave coaxed, leaning in and kissing the spot just beneath Spencer’s Adam’s apple. “Just a little more,” he said. “Your chest is gorgeous… you know how much I love it; how much time I spend appreciating it…”
Spencer licked his lips again and released his hold on the sheet, watching it slip further down his chest. “Ohh, yeah,” Dave sighed. He sat on the corner of the bed, leaning over and kissing the newly revealed skin, sucking a nipple into his mouth and biting down until Spencer groaned and arched up off the bed. Dave stood back up and took several more pictures.
“Should you really be this aroused by taking photographs?” Spencer asked with a pointed stare at the erection Dave was sporting.
Dave laughed. “Don’t judge me, Dr. Reid,” he said. “Besides, arousal of this sort is entirely your fault.”
Dave slid the sheet a little lower, then lower still. Reid seized the sheet as it brushed over his thigh and threatened to leave his cock exposed. He blushed clear to the roots of his hair, the vulnerability in his face hitting Dave with a flood of tenderness and affection.
“This is just for me,” Dave reminded him softly. “My eyes only. Just for me…”
Reid looked troubled as his teeth cut in to his lower lip. “But I’m…”
“Beautiful,” Dave finished for him.
Spencer’s voice took on a vaguely scolding tone. “Dave…”
Dave gently tugged the sheet out of Reid’s fist and pushed it down to pool at Spencer’s ankles. “Let me,” he said, but paused, seated on the corner of the bed, determined not to move until Spencer gave the okay.
Spencer chuffed a breath from his nose, a brief smile of self-deprecation flashing over his face. Then he nodded, that careful, serious nod of his. “Thank you,” Dave said, pressing a chaste kiss to Spencer’s cheek.
He stood up and took several more pictures. “I can’t imagine having to retouch a single one of these when I get them loaded on the computer,” Dave said chattily, then nearly jumped out of his skin when Spencer’s face suddenly morphed into one of dreadful horror, and he bolted upright in the bed.
“You are not allowed to ask Garcia to help you with these pictures! If she picks up on the slightest possibility of the existence of…”
“I’m not going to ask Garcia for help,” Dave said, irritated at Spencer’s lack of confidence in his skill. Spencer knew damn well that Dave had been in complete charge of their vacation photos because he’d bitched the whole two weeks that Dave was using his computer to clean up the shots, to organize them and publish them for friends and family to view. God forbid he have to wait five minutes (two hours) to do whatever the hell he did on the computer every night.
“You accidentally put an email in the trash icon, and you flip out and make her drop everything to drag it back to your inbox,” Spencer said.
Dave rolled his eyes at the exaggeration. “I don’t make her.”
“You totally make her!” Spencer said, mouth gaping in disbelief at Dave’s audacity in suggesting otherwise.
“Penelope likes to be useful. I’m simply affording her that opportunity.”
“You know, when I can see right through you, you are really, really translucent.”
“Hush,” Dave said, pushing him back down on the bed. “Be beautiful.”
The photos turned out lovely, if Dave did say so himself. Granted, his subject was exquisite, but Dave was pleased with the lighting and composition too. Spencer’s smooth skin, the angles of his face, the soulfulness in his eyes had all been captured admirably, enhanced just as Dave anticipated with the use of black and white film. And his hair. Jesus. That hair.
The next evening, he paged through them with Spencer whose frown deepened as they moved from one picture to the next. “I don’t look like that,” Spencer said, his face a furious shade of red. It was an uncharacteristically illogical thing for Reid to say, but he was completely serious.
Dave paused on the full length shot of Spencer laid out on the bed; the one where Dave had finally wrestled the bed clothes from Spencer’s clinched fists. Rossi let his finger trace the outline of Spencer’s body, over his naked chest, down past his cock, across his leg. “You do to me,” he said.
Spencer continued to stare at the photo, brows furrowed as if trying to work through a puzzle. “Are you going to masturbate to these when we’re apart?” he asked finally.
“Well, I’d certainly hope so,” Dave answered, and quirked a smile at the flash of amusement on Spencer’s face.
“Is it weird if I masturbate to the idea of you masturbating to these picture?” Spencer asked.
“Yeah,” Dave answered, then loudly oofed! when Spencer elbowed him in the gut. “I mean, no, not at all.”
Spencer chuckled, turning in Dave’s arms and hiding his heated face in Dave’s neck. “O brave new world,” he said, voice muffled.
Dave chuffed in Spencer’s ear. “How many goodly creatures are there here,” he said, and chuckled when Spencer reflexively tightened his hold.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
There seemed to be little additional consequence following Spencer’s reunion with his father. Dave wasn’t aware of any contact between the two nor any conflict on Spencer’s behalf because of it. Cases came and went as they did; Spencer received yet another college degree as he did. Life hummed along at its usual clip.
Five, maybe six weeks after the Vegas case that reacquainted Spencer with his father, they returned home from a case in Florida. The case was mid-range on the grueling scale, but they’d had precious little sleep in the last five days, and both of them were running on fumes. Dave would have just as soon tumbled in to bed, but Spencer could never unwind that easily, so Dave offered to make some sandwiches while Reid took the pile of mail to the study to sort through.
“Hey, are you keeping that mayo for an experiment or…” Dave’s inane question died on his lips as he stepped into the study. Reid was standing stock still, head bowed over a piece of mail, but there was something about his demeanor that immediately told Dave something was terribly wrong.
“No!” Spencer said, furiously. “No, no, no, no!” His voice rose to a shout, and as he turned he gave a roar of pure rage and angrily swept everything off of the top of his desk. “He doesn’t get to be proud of me!” Spencer yelled, waving a greeting card in front of a bewildered Dave. “My mom can be proud of me and you can be proud of me, but not him! He walked out on that right, do you hear me? He walked out on it!”
With concern edging its way to anxiety, Dave managed to take the card away from Spencer and open it. It was a generic Congratulations On Your Graduation card and inside, Bill Reid had written, “So proud of your achievements, Spencer. Love, Dad.”
“I was ten years old!” Spencer shouted, pointing at the card. “How was I supposed to know how to… to pay the bills and-and-and cook the meals and keep social services away and make sure she took her meds and followed the doctor’s instructions and-and-and keep skipping grades and jumping through all their hoops just keep jumping and jumping and jumping! How was I supposed to know all those things!”
Rossi said nothing, merely watched Spencer with a thundering heart and aching throat as he paced from end to end, hands tugging at his hair.
“How could he leave me like that?” Spencer asked him, eyes beseeching Rossi to explain the inexplicable. “How he could he leave everything to me? It wasn’t fair! I was 10 years old! Just because I could… I could remember things and… and… take their tests and pass their classes, I didn’t know how to take care of everything, and he didn’t care! Why didn’t he care?!”
Dave could only shrug helplessly. He’d never seen Spencer raise his voice beyond a snide, snippy bark now and then, and though he itched to pull Spencer to him, to stop the manic pacing and hair pulling, he wanted Spencer to understand that he could fall apart in his presence, and everything would still be okay.
“He knew it would fall on me! He knew I’d have to make the call!” Spencer yelled. He was crying, his face red, wet with tears and mucus. “I was 18 years old, and I had to make the call to commit her and for months after that, for months, she called me a traitor and a killer and everything was my fault! Everything!” He was shrieking now. “It was my fault the meds made her sick! It was my fault the orderlies were too rough! My fault there were scrapes all over her arms and legs! My fault she was bleeding, always bleeding! My fault she was dying! My fault they were killing her! It was my fault! It was all my fault!”
Dave couldn’t stand it any more. He reached for Spencer and pulled him into a bear hug, more forcefully than he intended. “No!” Rossi instantly denied. “You did what you had to; you did the only thing you could!”
“No, no, no,” Spencer groaned, burying his head against Rossi’s neck and gripping Rossi’s shirt in his fists. “I should have tried harder,” Spencer said. “I should have… I was 18, an adult, I could’ve… I could’ve done something else, something more, I didn’t know what else to do or who to…who to talk to… I didn’t know what else to do!”
“You did what you could!” Dave whispered urgently in his ear.
“I read everything I could find! I read and read and read and I still didn’t know what else to do!” Spencer pushed away from Rossi, but his energy was mostly spent. He looked like he was struggling to remain standing as tears continued to course down his cheeks. “She wouldn’t…she wouldn’t eat and the house was…it was filthy and she’d go weeks, she’d go weeks without bathing and I didn’t…every time the phone rang I thought she was dead, every single time, and I didn’t know what to do anymore!”
Spencer helplessly shook his head at Rossi, eyes begging for understanding and forgiveness that he was too upset to see were already his. He turned miserably away, forehead pressed to the window. “I was selfish,” he said brokenly. “I was so tired of it. I couldn’t do it anymore.”
Rossi hesitantly moved closer. “You did everything you could,” he said.
“I should have tried harder,” moaned Spencer, covering his head with his arms, trying to block out his thoughts. “I didn’t know what else to do, and I was so tired of trying.”
“You did the only thing you could,” Dave assured him. “You’re a good son, Spencer. A good son.”
“Don’t say that, I’m not!” Spencer said
“You are,” Dave said, and gently brought his arms around the shaking man. “You’re good; decent and fair and gentle and loving. You don’t take the easy way out of anything; you do what’s right and just, and I’m so proud of you; I’m so glad I get to be proud of you. I love you. Ti amo sempre.”
“No,” Spencer moaned.
“Yes,” Rossi whispered back. “A thousand times yes.”
He gently turned Spencer in his arms, anchoring him to his chest, one hand cradling the back of Spencer’s head. Spencer shuddered violently in Dave’s arms, and Dave thought he was going to push Dave away, so he eased up on his grip, but Spencer made a frantic sound and burrowed his wet face against Rossi’s neck, chanting, “Don’t let go, don’t let go, don’t let go.”
“Never,” Dave promised.
“I’m not crazy,” Spencer whispered, the terror in his voice suggesting he wasn’t convinced.
“No, you’re not.” Dave said simply, and Dave was pretty sure his heart couldn’t break any further until they settled into bed a little later, and he spooned up behind Spencer, holding him fiercely against his chest.
Spencer shuddered in his arms, and whispered so softly, Dave wasn’t sure he was even supposed to hear the words, “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Jesus.
Spencer was a little remote for a few days. He kept to his own head, though the minute they were alone, he was reaching for Dave-an anchoring hand on Dave’s knee or his forearm. Rossi imagined it as a slow reboot; regaining his equilibrium after a shocking-to Spencer at least-emotional outburst.
Their lovemaking had been slow and careful those few days; sometimes nothing more than exchanging wet, lazy kisses in bed. Late one night, Dave had Spencer on his back in bed; they were making out, but neither one seemed interested in taking it any further, and when they paused for a minute, Dave found himself smiling down at a contented-looking Spencer. Spencer reached up and brushed his fingers through the hair on Rossi’s chest. His eyes intently followed his fingers, then softened when he met Dave’s eyes. His hair was spread out on the pillow beneath him, his lips were swollen from Dave’s kisses. And then he licked those beautiful lips and took a deep breath and whispered, “Take my picture.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It was shortly after the second set of pictures were taken that Spencer shyly asked Dave to come with him to Pasadena for a long weekend.
There was something so vulnerable, so open about the request-Dave couldn’t even identify what, but sometimes his feelings for Spencer overwhelmed him, stole the breath right from him. “I’d like that,” Dave said and was rewarded with Spencer’s delighted smile.
Spencer said he wanted to show Dave the other place he’d been happy, and he was finally ready to introduce Dave to Alan and Max.
Alan Klein had been Spencer’s guardian when he was attending Caltech as a minor. He and his boyfriend Max had provided Spencer with what he referred to-with that self-deprecating huff of his-as his only respite of normalcy in an otherwise extraordinary life.
There had been a falling out of sorts when Spencer joined the BAU. Gideon had rubbed Alan the wrong way from what Spencer said and neither Alan nor Max had wanted Spencer to pursue a career working for the government, particularly in law enforcement. Spencer had been so overjoyed that Jason Gideon was willing to bend Agency rules for him that he admittedly overreacted to Alan and Max’s disapproval.
The rift had resolved itself shortly after Reid’s experience with Tobias Henkel, and Rossi couldn’t help wondering if the thaw had something to do with Spencer’s beginning to think maybe Alan had been right about Gideon. And law enforcement.
“So this is going to be my big weekend meeting the in-laws, isn’t it?” Dave said leaning against the desk in their study as Spencer booked their airline tickets. “Why now?”
Spencer smiled, a private, self-conscious smile that found him ducking his head and shrugging. “Now there’s you,” he said softly.
“Yeah?” Rossi said, matching his soft tone. “But what’s so great about me?”
Spencer laughed. “I hardly think we have time for me to list everything,” he said, head still bowed.
“Well, not everything,” Dave agreed, trying to catch Spencer’s eye and laughing at how successfully Spencer avoided it. “No reason why we can’t start a small list, though.”
“I don’t want to embarrass you,” Spencer said, but it was his own cheeks tinged with a blush.
“I can take it.”
Spencer made a show of thinking to himself, then said, “You think you can do anything.”
Dave appreciated the irony that number one on his list of faults coming from anyone else, was a trait Spencer valued above just about all others. “I can,” he said, matching Spencer’s instant smile with his own.
The smile faded into Spencer’s most earnest face. “You think I can do anything.”
Dave took Spencer’s soft earlobe into his mouth and gently sucked, then whispered, “You can,”
“Oh,” Spencer sighed, breathless.
“What else?” Dave asked.
“Um… the skin behind your knees is really soft.”
“Everybody’s skin is soft there,” Dave said. “What else?”
“But I can’t lick everyone else there,” Spencer pointed out.
“And isn’t that a lesson some of us learn the hard way,” Rossi said. “What else?”
Reid pulled back and gave Rossi a knowing look. “Your cock,” he said, chin lifted in defiance. “That’s what you want me to say, isn’t it? Your cock in my mouth. Your cock in my ass. Your cock in my hair…”
Rossi chuckled in lewd appreciation. “There’s something about filthy words coming out of that pretty mouth of yours,” he said, thumb running across those lush lips. “Makes me crazy.”
“You love to come in my hair,” Spencer said enticingly.
Rossi hummed in appreciation at the idea. “One of these days some brilliant SOB is gonna market come-scented shampoo and I’ll never let you out of bed.”
“Who needs a middleman?” Spencer said, dropping to his knees.
Dave stepped out of his pants while Spencer leaned forward, gathering his hair in his hands and then waiting, an offering to Dave who gently coaxed him forward so he could wrap his cock around Spencer’s thick, beautiful hair and produce his very own come-scented shampoo.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
“What have you told Alan and Max about me anyway?” Dave asked. He hadn’t actually thought to ask that question until they were sitting on the plane, and he was pulling out Sunday’s crossword. Spencer frowned at him when he saw what Dave was doing, but Rossi refused to feel guilty. If he didn’t hide the damn crossword, Spencer had it filled out before Rossi could track down a pen.
“I told them I was coming to Pasadena and bringing you with me.”
“And you told them I was an agent with the FBI? An author? Divorced three times… what?”
Spencer shook his head at Dave’s guesses. “It’s not like I have to tell them about you,” he pointed out.
“How do you figure that?” Dave asked.
“Google,” Reid said, as if the answer was obvious.
“You left their impression of me up to Google?” Rossi said incredulously.
Spencer shrugged. “There’s no reason for you to be concerned. All of your books have been well received, and your appearances on CNN and the other news shows are nothing to be ashamed…”
“Well let’s hope they didn’t end up surfing at DeathToGovernment.org because my favorability ratings aren’t quite as high there.”
Reid settled in to the book he was reading. “I imagine that much like the judging in diving or ice skating, they throw out both the highest and the lowest score to come up with their composite.”
“Great, the East German judge doesn’t get to weigh in,” Dave muttered. “How comforting.” Reid smirked into his book and Rossi sighed. “Did you at least mention the age thing?”
“They know how old I am,” Spencer said, grinning at Rossi’s huff of irritation. “It never came up,” he said with a defensive shrug. “When someone tells you they’re seeing someone, the first question isn’t how old are they?.”
“Given your track record, I can’t imagine why not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s supposed to mean that you have a track record for dating geezers. Didn’t Alan threaten to have some professor fired and thrown in jail when he found the two of you…”
Reid’s frown suggested he regretted sharing that story with Rossi. “He was a TA, and I was eighteen, well over the age of consent in California.”
“Eighteen is the age of consent in California.”
Spencer glared at him, but leaned in closer, only to say, “Seventeen across is ministrant.”
He smiled in satisfaction at Rossi’s irritated, “God dammit!”
Dave got back at Spencer by leaving a third the puzzle unfinished and refusing to let Spencer complete it, which lasted until Spencer had the ludicrous idea that he was going to drive the rental car, and Dave negotiated driving by agreeing to let Spencer finish the puzzle in the car.
Dave plugged their destination into the navigation system and headed out toward Pasadena. It only took Spencer five minutes to tidy up the crossword, then he avidly began to look out for landmarks. “There’s DiPaoulo’s!” he said excited as they passed a strip mall. “We’ll go there for breakfast in the morning. Best pastry in the city, hands down.” He sighed happily. “Mm, we have to have crepes at Red Door and a sandwich…”
“Crepes?” Rossi said incredulously. “Your fond college food memory is of crepes?”
“They put Nutella in them,” Reid said, as if this was something everyone knew (or should). “Grilled cheese at Pie n Burger. And peanut butter pie. And pecan. And maybe strawberry. Of course, you’re partial to apple, so we should probably get that too.”
Dave thought it a good thing Prentiss wasn’t with them or she would have thwacked Reid upside the head on general principle.
By the time they pulled in to the driveway at Alan and Max’s, Spencer was thrumming with excitement and he slid out of the car almost before it had come to a complete stop. Dave couldn’t remember ever seeing him so animated as he rushed toward the front door, which opened before he reached the front stoop.
Dave recognized the two men from a photo Spencer had shown him. Alan was a big, bear of a man. Well over six feet tall with a round belly and full bushy beard, he looked more Unabomber than professor of Integrative Neuroscience and with a whoop, he pulled Spencer into an engulfing hug. His partner Max was more polished; certainly more fitting of the image of a college professor Rossi had rolling around in his brain. Max was good-looking in a generic California way; a decade or so younger than Alan and with enough of a paunch that Rossi could at least stop sucking in his gut and take a few breaths.
“Jesus Christ, you keep growing,” Alan said to Spencer as Dave joined them on the lawn. “Upward anyway.” He shook his head reprovingly, but left off any remark about Reid’s weight or lack thereof. Reid heard the unspoken criticism anyway.
“You seem to be covering the outward for both of us,” Spencer said, patting Alan’s ample belly, looking pleased at his own humor.
Max stood back and gave Spencer and exaggerated once over. “Oh my God, did you develop fashion sense or is this just what turns up at the DC Goodwill stores?” He pulled Spencer close for a hug, still talking. “God forbid you wear last year’s Armani to this year’s thousand dollar a plate fund raiser for fund raising. Our tax dollars at work, am I-” Max’s voice trailed off when his hand brushed against Reid’s pant leg. “Jeez Louise, these pants are like butter,” he said.
Rossi gruffly cleared his throat when Max chose Reid’s ass as the best place to enjoy the softness of the fabric. Max spared him a glance over Spencer’s shoulder. “And you are?” he said.
“The only one who gets to do that to Spencer,” Rossi answered, indicating the two should move apart.
“Aw, how provincial,” Max said, but duly backed away.
“Alan, Max, I’d like you to meet my…” Reid stumbled at bit, then shrugged his shoulders and said, “M-m-my Dave.”
“Well how precious,” Max said. “Spencer’s got his very own Dave!” He gave Dave a slow measuring once over. “I used to have a Davis years ago, and he was for absolute shit.”
“Dave’s really great,” Spencer said happily.
“Mm,” Max answered, obviously withholding judgment for the moment. He turned his attention back to Spencer. “I’ve been holding on to my Plagence paper for you. The deadline’s Tuesday, so you’ve got to blow through it. You read the prelim work, right?”
Reid made a face of displeasure. “Of course I read the prelim work, but I’ve told you a hundred times, I am not going to waste my breath if Towers is the basis of your research. He’s been discredited by every reputable…”
Obviously Reid hit a button. Max rolled his eyes, his entire body heaving in exasperation. “When will you realize that just because you can read and synthesize a billion words a minute, you’re still shackled by the same prejudices and blind spots of any scientist…”
Spencer coughed in disbelief. “You are not still pushing this ridiculous ‘blind spot’ argument! The refutations of Tower’s findings are not the result of blind spots, but over 15 years of concentrated, dedicated…”
Alan glanced at his watch. “Six minutes,” he said, sounding surprised. “Don’t think they’ve ever held out that long before.” He shrugged at Rossi. “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” he said.
“And I’m on vacation,” Dave answered.
In a few minutes, Dave and Alan were sitting in the warm sunshine out on the back deck. Rossi chafed a bit at the feeling of the grownups breaking off from the children, but he was nursing an exquisite Sangiovese that reminded him of an afternoon he and Spencer had spent at a charming outdoor cafe in Pastena-Lone, and Reid would find him soon enough.
“I almost thought we’d get Spencer back after his mentor left the FBI,” Alan said, relaxing back in his chair.
“Why?” Rossi asked.
“Isn’t Jason Gideon the father of all things BAU?” Alan said snidely.
Dave offered him an easy smile. “No,” he said. “That would be me.”
Alan coughed and laughed in the same breath. “Jesus Christ, that kid goes for type,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Dave snorted, part acknowledgement, part amusement. As his father always said, ‘Facts is facts.’
Alan motioned over Dave’s shoulder. “You know, these double doors weren’t an aesthetic choice-it was the only way we could move in Max’s ego.”
“Max’s ego,” Rossi said with an understanding nod.
“It’s an age old story,” Alan said with a grin. “Unassuming, unappreciated genius hooks up with egotistical center-of-attention type. Power behind the throne and all that.”
“Mmm,” Rossi said. “I am unfamiliar with that scenario,” he said, feigning regret.
“Mmm,” Alan echoed. “Spencer said you met his mom not long ago,” he said. “How’d it go?” It wasn’t exactly a smooth segue.
“I’m not sure,” Rossi admitted. “My overall impression is that she thought I was old.”
Alan shrugged. “Crazy ain’t blind,” he said, with a knowing nod.
Rossi just snorted into his wine glass.
“Diana and I taught together at Berkeley before she was married,” Alan said. “She was brilliant. Phenomenal teacher. Her passion had this kind of energy to it…you’d walk into her classroom, and the students were buzzing with it. She’d take some bonehead frat boy who was taking a freshman intro class because he had to and three weeks down the line he’d be red-faced and bellowing that if Isolde was innocent of her actions then dammit, Tristan was too!”
Rossi chuckled. “Her sense of humor was certainly intact when I met her.”
Alan chuckled too, but the smile on his face slowly faded until he sadly shook his head, reflexively craning his neck to see if Spencer was within earshot. “She went off her meds when she was pregnant, and they never could get it right again,” he said quietly. “Now and then there’d be this glimmer, and we’d all think, maybe it’ll be okay now, but it never lasted very long.”
Rossi nodded slowly, an image of Bill Reid flashing through his brain. Perhaps some latent resentment at Spencer’s birth precipitating Diana’s long, slow decline fed into his ability to walk away and never look back. It wasn't a theory he’d pose to Spencer, but it felt like a significant piece of the puzzle. “Mental illness is tragic whenever it strikes, but schizophrenia seems to take down more than its fair share of brilliant, promising people,” Dave said.
Alan nodded sadly. “She and Bill tried to outrun it for awhile-Diana transferred from Berkeley to Stanford to UC Sacramento, finally to UNLV, but it was never about location. There was a… family of sorts when we were all at Berkeley, ragtag as all hell, but I still wonder if it wouldn’t have been better-for Spencer at least-if they’d just stayed put in California.”
Laughter sounded from inside the house and both Alan and Dave turned toward the sound. “He was supposed to be mine you know,” Alan said wistfully.
Rossi tamped down an internal burst of temper, forcing himself to remain slouched in his seat, when the impulse was to sit up straight. “What do you mean?” he asked mildly.
Alan sighed, his thoughts far away for a moment. “If something happened to Bill and Diana, Spencer was supposed to come to me. But, by the time I found out Bill had left, Diana was so far gone… The only way I was going to get Spencer would be to have her declared unfit and she would have fought me with everything in her and…” Alan’s voice trailed off, and he heaved another sigh. “I’d moved on to Caltech by then, still in the closet; AIDS was the black menace…” he shook his head at his excuses. “She would have outed me in a heartbeat, and I was a coward,” he said bluntly.
It struck Rossi that this wasn’t so much a grilling of him by an erstwhile in-law but rather a confessional. He bowed his head, unsure whether or not to voice the opinion that, to be equally blunt, Spencer was fucked either way--life with a schizophrenic mother or be torn apart by a court battle that saw his surrogate father committing his mother to a mental institution. Bill Reid might have inserted himself in the drama then and who knows what kind of damage would have been inflicted on Spencer. In any event, Spencer would have been left with different scars, but it was hard to say they’d be any less painful.
“Spencer’s turned out to be a pretty amazing guy, Alan,” Dave finally said. “Don’t live with regrets.”
Dinner that night, in honor of Spencer’s visit, was his old favorite from when he lived with Alan and Max-Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. “The bread’s homemade,” Alan said apologetically to Dave.
Rossi shrugged. “It’s not from a vending machine,” he said. “This is more upscale than we usually get.” He really didn’t care what they ate, Dave was enjoying watching Spencer interact with Alan and Max. It was the most comfortable Dave had ever seen him outside of their home. Spencer was so guarded with his mother that Dave couldn’t see a suggestion of anyone other than the Reid he knew, but here, sitting around Alan and Max’s kitchen table he could imagine a very young Spencer, momentarily freed from the drowning responsibilities of caring for his sick mom. How endless the possibilities had been for that kid.
Alan teased Spencer about the campus tour he had planned for the following day. Aside from the mathematics building and the chemistry labs, he was sure Spencer would have a hard time recognizing anywhere else on campus.
Spencer lifted his chin in that haughty way of his and said he’d had the tour planned for some time and it was going to be fantastic.
Dave wasn’t sure what he expected from Spencer’s tour of his old stomping ground, but it turned out to be less a tour and more a rewrite of the dating life Spencer would have liked to experience had he had a boyfriend when he attended school and had he attended school circa 1850.
They started with breakfast at Reid’s favorite bakery I never thought I’d be eating breakfast with my boyfriend at DiPaoulo’s! he’d whispered excitedly to Dave as they nursed cups of coffee and watched students coming and going.
They surreptitiously held hands during an observatory presentation clearly aimed at elementary school children; as they roamed around the main mathematics building, Dave was demurely presented to several of Spencer’s former professors as if Reid was seeking their permission to allow the man to court him. Spencer dragged Dave to nearly half a dozen “sparking” areas on campus--Sparking? Rossi had asked incredulously. Is that you talking or the campus. An entire campus of young people cannot be that nerdy, can they?.
Reid hypothesized that yes, it was possible, and seemed slightly disappointed that the locations which had taken on mythic proportions in his adolescent imagination turned out to be rather lame.
They stopped for drinks at a favorite deli of Spencer’s. Dave found a table outside while Spencer fetched the drinks. As Dave watched in mounting horror, Spencer walked back to their table carrying a single drink and two straws. Even though he knew it was cruel, Dave nonetheless made the split-second decision to fake a heart attack if Spencer suggested they share the drink between them.
His concern was only mildly assuaged when Spencer put the drink down squarely in front of Dave. “You’re not having anything?” Dave asked warily.
Spencer motioned toward the counter. “Mango smoothie,” he said. “She’s bringing it out in a second.”
“Of course she is,” Dave said dryly.
Spencer just wrinkled his nose at him and sat back in his chair, face turned up toward the sun. Dave cocked his head to the side and studied him for a beat, grinning when Spencer realized Dave’s eyes were on him. “What?” he asked, recognizing Dave’s measuring look.
Dave shrugged and shook his head, still smiling. “I thought you’d blend in a lot more around here, but…” He continued shaking his head in amusement. “Too much junior G-man in you now.”
Spencer chuffed in amusement. “The last time I failed my arms qualification, I complained that I looked like a teacher’s assistant.”
Dave’s look turned dubious. “You failed your arms qualification?” he said, not believing it for a minute.
“I told you about that,” Spencer reminded him. “It was at the same time as the LDSK case.”
Dave nodded, remembering now. “You’re not wearing your piece today, though. And I can pick you out of the crowd no problem.”
“I’d like to think my service revolver is hardly a defining identifier for you.”
Dave gave him a sly grin. “There are other things,” he agreed. He looked around for a beat, watching the students coming and going, admiring a young lady or two in flimsy, little tank tops. “You tempted at all by any this?” he asked. “The way those math professors were salivating over you it seems like you could name your terms, and they’d set you up.”
“Looking for more ammunition you can use to torture poor Hotch?” Spencer asked slyly.
Dave laughed in surprise. “You’re on to me, aren’t you, Babe?”
Spencer just primly pursed his lips at Dave and gave an exasperated shake of his head. He, too looked around, but quickly shook his head in answer to Dave’s question. “I’m not tempted at all,” he admitted. “You?”
Dave gave a snort of derision. “Like I’d push you to a stateside college.” He settled back in his chair with a sigh. “Nope, I’m holding out for a universitari in Napoli.”
Spencer leveled his own measuring gaze on Dave. “Would you really be happy with that?”
Dave made a show of thinking it over. “Well, let’s see,” he said. “Little apartment overlooking the Amalfi coast; get up when the sun wakes me; write a little somethin’ as I’m sittin’ on the balcony watching the sea gulls fight over scraps; walk down to the square to meet my beautiful young lover for lunch and maybe entice him into an illicit tryst before he heads back to his safe, comfortable classroom where murder and mayhem are as real as a fairy tale.” He nodded approvingly at the idea. “Yeah, I’d be happy with that.”
Spencer smiled and reached for his hand. “Ti amo,” he said softly.
Dave kissed his hand and chuckled at the furious blush. “So have we completed the Spencer Reid Magical Mystery Tour?” he asked.
Spencer spared a smile for the delivery of his drink by the counter girl who was eying their joined hands with a smirk that said-to Dave at least--figures.
Sorry, Sister, Dave thought. All the good ones are gay or married. Sometimes both.
Spencer took a sip of his smoothie and sighed happily. “Just like I remember,” he said. He stood up, pulling Dave with him. “A few more stops, then we’re done,” he promised.
Dave motioned for Spencer to head out. “Lay on, Macduff ,” he said and Spencer grinned at him over his shoulder, pleased that Dave correctly cited the quote.
“Act Five, Scene Eight,” Spencer said approvingly.
“Rowr,” Dave replied with a leer that made Spencer laugh.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Several days later-well, two hours really, it just felt to Dave like several days--Reid breathlessly tugged him through the hotel door, holding tightly to Dave’s hand. Laughing in spite of himself Dave could only shake his head and say, “You are out of control.”
Spencer laughed too, his face flushed, eyes shining with an unrestrained delight Dave had never seen before. “I can’t help it!” he said, “I never thought I’d get kicked out of the Caltech library for making out between the bookshelves!”
Dave pulled Spencer to him, offering his neck which Spencer promptly began kissing. “How come you put the kibosh on me every time I suggest a little alfresco dining, hmm?”
Spencer chuckled. “Because you won’t stop at kissing, and we’ll get thrown in jail for public indecency.”
“Almost be worth it to see Hotch’s face when he has to come bail us out.”
Reid pulled back, looking appalled. “We are not calling Hotch to bail us out.”
“Why not?”
Incredulous that he would have to elucidate, Reid sputtered, “He’s our boss!”
“It’s not like he won’t be privy to the knowledge when he’s fillin’ out your performance review. He might as well do the legwork.”
“I’m beginning to think you have a lot more on Hotch than a single February 2000 incident in Biloxi, Mississippi or he would never have agreed to welcome you back to the BAU.”
“Perhaps instead of making fun of my note taking when I’m on a case, you should be more appreciative.”
“Perhaps I should.”
“Mmm, you’re being especially agreeable today. Perhaps you should remove your clothes, lube your ass, stretch a bit and see what it’s like to get fucked in a hotel on the Caltech campus.”
“What if I told you,” Spencer whispered between haphazard kisses that landed on Dave’s cheek and chin, just teasing the corner of his mouth before Spencer drew away to finish speaking, “That some of those steps have already been taken?”
“I would insist that you elaborate,” Rossi answered.
“What if I told you,” Spencer continued, unbuttoning Rossi’s shirt and kissing the skin as it was exposed. “That I spent the day slick and stretched and waiting for you, wanting you, all day, every step. What if I told you that?”
Realization dawning on him, Dave slid his hand into Spencer’s pants, under his boxers, fingers trailing down until the breath was shoved from his lungs when he felt lube leaking out from behind the butt plug in Spencer’s ass. Dave stumbled, momentarily losing equilibrium in the explosion of need-want-take-mine. He quickly rid Spencer of his pants and nearly shot his load at Spencer’s wanton groan that met the removal of the plug. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” Dave muttered reverently, forehead resting against Spencer’s for a beat. “Jesus, Spencer, it kills me when you do this.”
Spencer laughed. “That’s why…I do it…sparingly,” he said, then moaned into Dave’s mouth when Dave’s finger sought entry to his tender ass. “No, you,” Spencer said, shaking his head when Dave worked in another finger. “I want you.”
“Always me, only me,” Dave said, manhandling Spencer to the bed.
“Yes,” Spencer whispered. “You…inside me…you.”
Dave was more than happy to comply.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
“Jesus,” Dave sighed breathlessly, a little later. “You’re gonna have to sell a kidney for the tip we need to leave the cleaning staff,” he said.
“We can’t sell your car?” Spencer said.
“Mazlow’s hierarchy, babe. Kidneys are way before the car.”
“My kidneys,” Spencer clarified.
“Well,” Dave scoffed at such quibbling.
Spencer placed a few soft kisses on Dave’s chest and lazily rubbed his cheek against the hair there. “Let’s leave for the airport with enough time to stop at DiPaoulo’s. They’ll box up doughnuts so they travel well, and we can take them in to the office tomorrow.”
“After the way Emily barked at you, you wanna risk that?”
“I think she was just having a bad day.”
Dave smiled to himself. “No, I’m pretty sure the number of doughnuts you eat makes her really, really mad.”
“I guess I usually miss the social cues that indicate an appropriate amount of food to consume when in a public venue.” Spencer said with a sigh.
“Well, at least you know now that around Emily it’s three doughnuts.”
“It’s all so arbitrary,” Spencer said.
“Mmm,” Rossi said. “Remind me to grab a real estate brochure from the lobby before we go,” he said.
“Why?” Spencer asked around a yawn.
“I want it to sit on the corner of my desk for a couple of weeks,” Dave answered.
“Why?”
“If Hotch is gonna mess with me about your hair, then I’m gonna mess with him about his one and only genius profiler relocating to Pasadena.”
Spencer sighed and shook his head, clucking a little at Rossi’s juvenile behavior. “I hope there’s room in that Italian class Georgetown offers.”
Now it was Dave’s turn to ask why.
“Because, I have a feeling I’m going to be teaching at that universitari in Napoli a lot sooner than later.”
* The End *
Author: myrna1_2_3
Pairing: Rossi/Reid
Rating: R-ish
Summary: Rossi and Reid visit Caltech
Word count: ~10,000
The open palm of desire. Wants everything. It wants everything. ~Paul Simon
It was a rare case that ended with Aaron Hotchner’s Behavioral Analysis Unit in joking high spirits, but then again, it was rare that they were called in to profile a non-violent unsub. Quantico housed a BAU that specialized in white collar crimes, but that group was currently working a high profile case of securities fraud, and a sense of urgency had started to develop about a series of bank robberies in the northeast. These particular thieves had amassed close to two million dollars in less than a year, and given the esteem (or lack thereof) with which banks were held these days, there were mounting concerns about a Robin Hood aura attaching itself to the heists. On three separate occasions, homeless people panhandling outside a burglarized bank had been given upwards of $5,000 by the unsubs and in each instance, the public outcry was so severe when law enforcement tried to return to the money that the banks allowed most of it to remain with the fortuitous homeless people. Fears were starting to mount that the robbers’ increased notoriety was going to ratchet up the chance of violence-either from the unsubs’ growing sense of invincibility or a passerby’s wish to insert himself in the action.
Dave was particularly pleased about the assignment, because as soon as they delivered their profile and returned to DC, he and Spencer were heading to California for a long weekend, and their trip was going to be that much more enjoyable without having to decompress from a nasty case.
Of course, no case was without its dangers, and the closest they came to bloodletting was the morning they were prepping to present their completed profile.
The presence of the FBI was a pretty big deal for most of the small town sheriffs and officers in attendance, and there was a bit of a festive mood in the air. The Bridgeport PD had provided enough coffee and danish to feed a small army, and most of the members of the BAU, long accustomed to grabbing a bite whenever and wherever a bite was offered, were enjoying the spread.
Prentiss; however, was slumped in a chair, a cup of black coffee in front of her and eating what looked like a tree branch. The rest of the team was keeping a respectful distance--it was a well known fact that Prentiss was not, under any circumstances, a morning person. She wasn’t really even an afternoon person-she hit her stride in the evening, and not even Morgan could keep up with her after that. She watched Reid with a frown as he refilled his coffee cup and helped himself to a doughnut. “How many doughnuts is that?” she asked, clearly irritated.
“Three,” Reid said, mouth full of doughnut and eyes wide in surprise, not so much at her tone, but at the fact that she was talking to him so early in the morning.
“Three,” Prentiss echoed. “That’s your third doughnut? You just put half a pound of sugar in your coffee, and now you’re on your third doughnut.”
Confused, Reid rechecked the contents of the bakery box. “There’s still a lot left,” he said helpfully. “You want a chocolate…”
“Of course I want a chocolate one! And a glazed one and a vanilla cream one.”
Reid’s eyes slid toward Morgan, but Derek’s protective streak only ran so wide, and he hopped up to refill his half-filled coffee cup. Spencer knew better than to even look Rossi’s way. Rossi usually partnered with Prentiss, so she and Reid had to be at Defcon 2 or below before he’d even consider stepping in.
“Why don’t you have one?” Reid asked, his tone hesitant, as if they’d been over this before, and he shouldn’t really have to ask.
“Because there’s 300 calories and 15 grams of fat in that doughnut and if I eat it I won’t be able to haul my fat ass through the obstacle course come September.”
Having no sense of self-preservation, Reid gamely continued, “But you’re as thin as I…”
“Because I don’t eat doughnuts!” Prentiss said. She stood up to take her leave, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You should be fat!” she said,
JJ cast a sympathetic look Reid’s way, but stopped short at brushing off Emily’s words because everyone knew Reid really should be fat.
“You always score better on the obstacle course than I do…” Spencer called after Emily, but judging from the one-fingered solute she tossed over her shoulder, the words were not well received.
By the time they were boarding the plane for home, Emily’s pique was forgotten. Morgan was on the phone recounting for Garcia the number of clumsy pick-up attempts both Emily and JJ had to endure and settling up the pool on how many phone numbers Rossi had been slipped. As usual, Reid won the pool with his on-the-nose pick of three. Morgan was trying to convince the team that really he’d won because he’d guessed two, and everyone knew Rossi worked it if he had to so he could lay in the win for Reid.
Prentiss was paging through a magazine, not evening trying to refrain from gloating over Rossi letting her take Muchie while he and Reid were gone. As soon as Rossi had mentioned the trip, she’d chimed in, using the time-honored tradition of “dibs,” to get her mitts on the dog. Morgan hadn’t really stood a chance, even as he groused about dibs hardly being an appropriate means of deciding who took care of your dog.
The talk turned to Reid and Rossi’s upcoming trip. They were visiting some friends of Spencer’s who taught at Caltech, and the team started speculating about what they were going to do during their weekend.
“So what’s first on the agenda when you get to Pasadena?” JJ asked Spencer as the plane took off. “A beer from your favorite bar?”
“I was underage the majority of the time I was in school,” Reid reminded her.
“A beer from the bar you always wanted to get into?” Prentiss amended.
“Revisit your favorite library cubby,” was Morgan’s guess. “What do you wanna bet there’s a bronze plaque commemorating the spot where the brilliant Dr. Reid first set out on his educational blitz!”
“A haircut?” Hotch suggested. When everyone turned to look at him in confusion, he added with cloying innocence, “What? Reid’s hair was a lot shorter when he was in college.”
“You want me to get a haircut?” Reid asked, his hand immediately moving up as if to check if his hair was still there.
“No!” Dave answered irritably from across the aisle, and studiously ignored the amused looks flying between Morgan, JJ, Prentiss and Hotch. So he had a fucking thing about Reid’s hair. God damn it, he’d spent half his life mired down in the absolute worst aspects of humanity; a man learned to take his pleasure where he could find it, and these yokels didn’t have to ride him about it.
“The Bureau doesn’t have written regulations about hair length,” Hotch said by way of non-answer. Rossi knew his slight emphasis on the word ‘written’ was no accident. The bastard.
Okay, so maybe, maybe, Hotch was trying to get a little of his own back because maybe, and again, the maybe couldn’t be stressed enough, maybe Rossi had been tormenting Aaron for the last week or two with subtle hints that Caltech was once again pestering Spencer into accepting a teaching position. But really, the obfuscation was harmless and only because it amused Rossi to watch a cunning Hotch try to weasel non-existent information out of a clueless Spencer. Hotch may have been unbeatable coaxing a confession from an unsub, but he was no match for a Spencer Reid who had no idea what they were talking about.
Which was absolutely neither here nor there when the point was this: planting the seed that Reid should consider cutting his hair was nothing short of cruel.
“That’s true,” Reid was saying, sounding uncertain. “Still, implied regulations are sometimes more readily adhered to than written ones.”
Hotch nodded thoughtfully at Reid. “And I suppose one could argue that personal appearance…”
“Aaron,” Although he’d interrupted Hotch, Dave’s tone was a model of gentility.
“Yes, Dave?” Hotch answered in kind.
Rossi leveled a steely gaze at his friend and said, “Before you continue this line of discussion, I’d just like to say February, 2000; Biloxi, Mississippi, Lawanda De La Belle Nuit.”
Aaron studied him with a bland expression, then slowly let his attention drift back to the files on his lap. He was fighting a smile as he carefully rearranged the pages in front of him. “Touché,” he said, respect evident in his tone.
It was silent for a beat, then Morgan said, “Aw, no, man! No, no, no way do you dangle that in our face and just leave it. Details.”
Hotch refused to look up from his file, and Dave just stared at Morgan with wide, innocent eyes.
Morgan popped Reid’s shoulder. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”
“I don’t even know if Hotch really wants me to cut my hair,” Spencer said with a hapless shrug.
Morgan slumped back in his seat with a long, desolate sigh. “First Prentiss gets the dog, then there’s the bogus ruling on the pool, and now this. I’m starting to get a complex here.”
Rossi studied Morgan with pursed lips, then said, “This might be…no, no, this is against my better judgment. But following some intense lobbying on your behalf, the physical component of which I have to tell you was the..”
“Dude!” Morgan fired off a TMI warning.
“Sorry,” Rossi lied. “So, the gist of it is,” he continued, pulling his car keys from his pocket and ignoring the sound from Morgan that, had Rossi known who the Jonas Brothers were, he would have identified as something similar to a 14 year-old unexpectedly meeting one of said brothers. “I’m prepared to offer you, on an extremely probationary basis, during the course of our absence only, the use of the finest automobile you will ever have the privilege of driving.”
Morgan licked his lips like a starving man offered a sizzling t-bone. “Gimme,” he said, motioning to Rossi’s car keys.
Rossi snatched the keys back. “If I come back and find so much as a hint of a thought of a suggestion of a scratch, I will kill you,” he said.
“Understood,” Morgan answered quickly. It was, after all, only fair.
Rossi held up his hand, not finished with his warning. “If I kill you, I will go to jail. If I go to jail, the care and feeding of Dr. Reid falls on Emily’s shoulders, and he will be dead within two weeks, maybe three.”
“Hey!” Prentiss said, and at the same time, Spencer chimed in with the ridiculous, “I do not need a keeper!” and even JJ weighed in, saying, “Did Prentiss call dibs on Spencer too?”
Rossi’s helpless shrug said he was just reporting the facts. He dangled the car keys just out of Morgan’s reach. “Do you understand the monumental responsibility with which I am entrusting you?”
“I do,” Morgan said solemnly.
JJ shook her head at their foolishness. “I now pronounce you man and car,” she said dryly.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Rossi was glad for the opportunity to take a break, even if it was a short one. Spencer had been on a bit of an emotional rollercoaster since the case that brought him back in touch with his father.
In the direct aftermath of that case, Spencer had been subdued-embarrassed at how ardently he’d pursued his father as the perp, confused and lost at the odd explanation of what really happened.
The night they’d returned home, he’d said little until they were laying together in bed, waiting for sleep. “Everyone will be watching me now,” Spencer said glumly. “Making sure I’m okay, making sure I don’t fall apart, making sure I don’t start using again…”
“They care what happens to you,” Dave said.
“I know, and from the team, I guess I don’t mind it so much.” Spencer said. “Sometimes it feels like everyone is looking at me, and I just… I hate the staring. I hate it!” The sudden vehemence in Reid’s voice startled Dave.
Rossi cupped the back of Spencer’s head and held him firmly, closing his eyes and seeing a genius child trying to block out the curious gawkers; seeing the son of the crazy lady trying to pretend like she wasn’t making a scene, like everything was okay, like there was nothing to see, nothing out of the ordinary; seeing the too-young agent who’d skirted protocol at every juncture pretending he didn’t notice the jealous, cynical stares of his peers, seeing the agent-cum-victim nearly crushed by the overbearing curiosity of those who knew only enough to be titillated but not concerned.
But Dave also had an idea that, nowadays anyway, the stares had just as much to do with Spencer’s appearance. He was… different looking. His long hair and delicate features made him look curiously androgynous; his clothing choices were decidedly off-beat; the dark circles under his eyes were peculiar; he was usually one of the tallest people; certainly the skinniest in every room he entered.
God knows Dave spent the first few months that they worked together with his neck permanently craned in Reid’s direction trying to figure out what in the hell was so intriguing about the kid. Dave once overheard his niece talking with her mom about the first time she saw Spencer, and she kept having an internal debate with herself about whether or not he was attractive. She decided he was, then rethought, then decided he was, then wasn’t sure. Then Spencer smiled and how could there be any doubt after that?
Dave stared down at him, studying Spencer’s face. He looked tired and worn. Sad. Dave let his thumb brush across Spencer’s cheek bone down across his lips, then he carefully kissed the path he’d just traced. “I want to take your picture,” he whispered.
It was a request Dave had made often enough, but Spencer always brushed him off with an exasperated eye roll.
Before Rossi settled in on writing, photography had been a hobby of his. He’d even built a make-shift dark room into the house he bought between wives two and three. The advent of digital cameras had simplified life for the amateur photographer, but in the last decade or so, Rossi had been concentrating so steadily on writing books that he hadn’t kept up with the technology.
Their trip to Italy had reawakened his interest in the art, though. Garcia had helped him pick out a good digital camera before they left, and Rossi had felt a little guilty at Garcia’s incredulous reaction to his callous reply when she asked him how much he wanted to spend. “Money’s no object,” he’d said with a shrug, impatient to review the cameras already on Garcia’s screen.
“Seriously, money’s no object?” she kept saying as they paged through cameras. “Like, Between 500 and 1,000 dollars is an object and between 1,000 and 5,000 dollars is an object and between 5,000 and 7,500 dollars is an object, and you’re like, None of those are objects!?”
“Penelope, pick me out a camera!” Dave had barked, but it was a testament to how far their relationship had come the she didn’t even jump.
She did look at him from over her pink, bejeweled, cat eye glasses and say, “Just for that, I’m spending 500 dollars more on the camera than you have to.”
It was also a testament to how far their relationship had come that Rossi was fairly certain she didn’t really gouge him on the camera.
He’d grown to love the camera they found after a few weeks. It was light years from the old Nikon he’d last used-just getting used to the lack of heft took a few days--but after he got the hang of it, he loved the crisp pictures, the painless redo when the photo wasn’t quite what he wanted, even the retouching he could do later on the computer.
Reid had been happy enough to pose for pictures during their Italian vacation, happier still, when a fellow tourist or obliging native would snap the two of them together, but Dave hadn’t been able to get him to budge when it came to taking a risqué picture or two in bedroom.
“What, naked?” Reid had said, eyes wide in disbelief the first time Dave asked him if he could take his picture. They were lying in bed, sweaty and sated, and even Spencer couldn’t mistake Dave’s question for anything other than what it was.
“Mmm, naked,” Dave had answered, paying more attention to kissing Spencer’s sweaty chest than the conversation. He knew Spencer’s agreeing was a long shot, but every once in awhile he liked to throw a suggestion out there to see what might stick. Spencer was actually pretty adventurous in bed, he just had to work up to whatever it was-ruminate about it for a bit, maybe do a little research.
But thus far, Spencer had always demurred when Dave suggested taking boudoir shots. Yet, there must have been something different about his time-a more beseeching look in Dave’s eye; more supplication in his tone than Spencer was used to hearing.
“Let me take your picture,” Dave whispered.
Instead of giving Dave a half-hearted push and refusing, Spencer looked up at him, searching Dave’s face for something. His eyes slid away from Dave’s for a beat, but then returned, and he licked his lips and very slowly nodded his head.
Moving with careful deliberation, Dave retrieved his camera, flipping the switch to black and white. Dave wanted the shots to have a timeless feel; plus Spencer’s smooth, alabaster skin would look especially fetching in black and white. Dave took the first few pictures without arranging anything, just letting Spencer get comfortable with the idea. Dave was grinning in spite of himself at the sheet Spencer had pulled up to just under his neck.
The first few photos he snapped, Reid refused to look at the camera, but Dave didn’t mind. In profile his delicate features and angular bone structure were highlighted nicely. He asked Spencer to turn his head to the left then the right, made a teasing show of fanning Spencer’s hair across the pillow; he kissed Spencer’s lips, insistent, almost bruising, so that when he pulled back they were lush and swollen; his pupils dilated.
“You’re beautiful,” Dave said.
Spencer looked skeptical. “You’re kind of a lunatic,” he said.
Dave shrugged. “Lunatics can still recognize beauty,” he said. He tugged experimentally at the sheet and slid it down past Spencer’s collarbone, chuckling when the barest hint of a nipple appeared from under the soft cotton. Spencer made a grab for the sheet and stopped it from revealing anything more.
“Come on,” Dave coaxed, leaning in and kissing the spot just beneath Spencer’s Adam’s apple. “Just a little more,” he said. “Your chest is gorgeous… you know how much I love it; how much time I spend appreciating it…”
Spencer licked his lips again and released his hold on the sheet, watching it slip further down his chest. “Ohh, yeah,” Dave sighed. He sat on the corner of the bed, leaning over and kissing the newly revealed skin, sucking a nipple into his mouth and biting down until Spencer groaned and arched up off the bed. Dave stood back up and took several more pictures.
“Should you really be this aroused by taking photographs?” Spencer asked with a pointed stare at the erection Dave was sporting.
Dave laughed. “Don’t judge me, Dr. Reid,” he said. “Besides, arousal of this sort is entirely your fault.”
Dave slid the sheet a little lower, then lower still. Reid seized the sheet as it brushed over his thigh and threatened to leave his cock exposed. He blushed clear to the roots of his hair, the vulnerability in his face hitting Dave with a flood of tenderness and affection.
“This is just for me,” Dave reminded him softly. “My eyes only. Just for me…”
Reid looked troubled as his teeth cut in to his lower lip. “But I’m…”
“Beautiful,” Dave finished for him.
Spencer’s voice took on a vaguely scolding tone. “Dave…”
Dave gently tugged the sheet out of Reid’s fist and pushed it down to pool at Spencer’s ankles. “Let me,” he said, but paused, seated on the corner of the bed, determined not to move until Spencer gave the okay.
Spencer chuffed a breath from his nose, a brief smile of self-deprecation flashing over his face. Then he nodded, that careful, serious nod of his. “Thank you,” Dave said, pressing a chaste kiss to Spencer’s cheek.
He stood up and took several more pictures. “I can’t imagine having to retouch a single one of these when I get them loaded on the computer,” Dave said chattily, then nearly jumped out of his skin when Spencer’s face suddenly morphed into one of dreadful horror, and he bolted upright in the bed.
“You are not allowed to ask Garcia to help you with these pictures! If she picks up on the slightest possibility of the existence of…”
“I’m not going to ask Garcia for help,” Dave said, irritated at Spencer’s lack of confidence in his skill. Spencer knew damn well that Dave had been in complete charge of their vacation photos because he’d bitched the whole two weeks that Dave was using his computer to clean up the shots, to organize them and publish them for friends and family to view. God forbid he have to wait five minutes (two hours) to do whatever the hell he did on the computer every night.
“You accidentally put an email in the trash icon, and you flip out and make her drop everything to drag it back to your inbox,” Spencer said.
Dave rolled his eyes at the exaggeration. “I don’t make her.”
“You totally make her!” Spencer said, mouth gaping in disbelief at Dave’s audacity in suggesting otherwise.
“Penelope likes to be useful. I’m simply affording her that opportunity.”
“You know, when I can see right through you, you are really, really translucent.”
“Hush,” Dave said, pushing him back down on the bed. “Be beautiful.”
The photos turned out lovely, if Dave did say so himself. Granted, his subject was exquisite, but Dave was pleased with the lighting and composition too. Spencer’s smooth skin, the angles of his face, the soulfulness in his eyes had all been captured admirably, enhanced just as Dave anticipated with the use of black and white film. And his hair. Jesus. That hair.
The next evening, he paged through them with Spencer whose frown deepened as they moved from one picture to the next. “I don’t look like that,” Spencer said, his face a furious shade of red. It was an uncharacteristically illogical thing for Reid to say, but he was completely serious.
Dave paused on the full length shot of Spencer laid out on the bed; the one where Dave had finally wrestled the bed clothes from Spencer’s clinched fists. Rossi let his finger trace the outline of Spencer’s body, over his naked chest, down past his cock, across his leg. “You do to me,” he said.
Spencer continued to stare at the photo, brows furrowed as if trying to work through a puzzle. “Are you going to masturbate to these when we’re apart?” he asked finally.
“Well, I’d certainly hope so,” Dave answered, and quirked a smile at the flash of amusement on Spencer’s face.
“Is it weird if I masturbate to the idea of you masturbating to these picture?” Spencer asked.
“Yeah,” Dave answered, then loudly oofed! when Spencer elbowed him in the gut. “I mean, no, not at all.”
Spencer chuckled, turning in Dave’s arms and hiding his heated face in Dave’s neck. “O brave new world,” he said, voice muffled.
Dave chuffed in Spencer’s ear. “How many goodly creatures are there here,” he said, and chuckled when Spencer reflexively tightened his hold.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
There seemed to be little additional consequence following Spencer’s reunion with his father. Dave wasn’t aware of any contact between the two nor any conflict on Spencer’s behalf because of it. Cases came and went as they did; Spencer received yet another college degree as he did. Life hummed along at its usual clip.
Five, maybe six weeks after the Vegas case that reacquainted Spencer with his father, they returned home from a case in Florida. The case was mid-range on the grueling scale, but they’d had precious little sleep in the last five days, and both of them were running on fumes. Dave would have just as soon tumbled in to bed, but Spencer could never unwind that easily, so Dave offered to make some sandwiches while Reid took the pile of mail to the study to sort through.
“Hey, are you keeping that mayo for an experiment or…” Dave’s inane question died on his lips as he stepped into the study. Reid was standing stock still, head bowed over a piece of mail, but there was something about his demeanor that immediately told Dave something was terribly wrong.
“No!” Spencer said, furiously. “No, no, no, no!” His voice rose to a shout, and as he turned he gave a roar of pure rage and angrily swept everything off of the top of his desk. “He doesn’t get to be proud of me!” Spencer yelled, waving a greeting card in front of a bewildered Dave. “My mom can be proud of me and you can be proud of me, but not him! He walked out on that right, do you hear me? He walked out on it!”
With concern edging its way to anxiety, Dave managed to take the card away from Spencer and open it. It was a generic Congratulations On Your Graduation card and inside, Bill Reid had written, “So proud of your achievements, Spencer. Love, Dad.”
“I was ten years old!” Spencer shouted, pointing at the card. “How was I supposed to know how to… to pay the bills and-and-and cook the meals and keep social services away and make sure she took her meds and followed the doctor’s instructions and-and-and keep skipping grades and jumping through all their hoops just keep jumping and jumping and jumping! How was I supposed to know all those things!”
Rossi said nothing, merely watched Spencer with a thundering heart and aching throat as he paced from end to end, hands tugging at his hair.
“How could he leave me like that?” Spencer asked him, eyes beseeching Rossi to explain the inexplicable. “How he could he leave everything to me? It wasn’t fair! I was 10 years old! Just because I could… I could remember things and… and… take their tests and pass their classes, I didn’t know how to take care of everything, and he didn’t care! Why didn’t he care?!”
Dave could only shrug helplessly. He’d never seen Spencer raise his voice beyond a snide, snippy bark now and then, and though he itched to pull Spencer to him, to stop the manic pacing and hair pulling, he wanted Spencer to understand that he could fall apart in his presence, and everything would still be okay.
“He knew it would fall on me! He knew I’d have to make the call!” Spencer yelled. He was crying, his face red, wet with tears and mucus. “I was 18 years old, and I had to make the call to commit her and for months after that, for months, she called me a traitor and a killer and everything was my fault! Everything!” He was shrieking now. “It was my fault the meds made her sick! It was my fault the orderlies were too rough! My fault there were scrapes all over her arms and legs! My fault she was bleeding, always bleeding! My fault she was dying! My fault they were killing her! It was my fault! It was all my fault!”
Dave couldn’t stand it any more. He reached for Spencer and pulled him into a bear hug, more forcefully than he intended. “No!” Rossi instantly denied. “You did what you had to; you did the only thing you could!”
“No, no, no,” Spencer groaned, burying his head against Rossi’s neck and gripping Rossi’s shirt in his fists. “I should have tried harder,” Spencer said. “I should have… I was 18, an adult, I could’ve… I could’ve done something else, something more, I didn’t know what else to do or who to…who to talk to… I didn’t know what else to do!”
“You did what you could!” Dave whispered urgently in his ear.
“I read everything I could find! I read and read and read and I still didn’t know what else to do!” Spencer pushed away from Rossi, but his energy was mostly spent. He looked like he was struggling to remain standing as tears continued to course down his cheeks. “She wouldn’t…she wouldn’t eat and the house was…it was filthy and she’d go weeks, she’d go weeks without bathing and I didn’t…every time the phone rang I thought she was dead, every single time, and I didn’t know what to do anymore!”
Spencer helplessly shook his head at Rossi, eyes begging for understanding and forgiveness that he was too upset to see were already his. He turned miserably away, forehead pressed to the window. “I was selfish,” he said brokenly. “I was so tired of it. I couldn’t do it anymore.”
Rossi hesitantly moved closer. “You did everything you could,” he said.
“I should have tried harder,” moaned Spencer, covering his head with his arms, trying to block out his thoughts. “I didn’t know what else to do, and I was so tired of trying.”
“You did the only thing you could,” Dave assured him. “You’re a good son, Spencer. A good son.”
“Don’t say that, I’m not!” Spencer said
“You are,” Dave said, and gently brought his arms around the shaking man. “You’re good; decent and fair and gentle and loving. You don’t take the easy way out of anything; you do what’s right and just, and I’m so proud of you; I’m so glad I get to be proud of you. I love you. Ti amo sempre.”
“No,” Spencer moaned.
“Yes,” Rossi whispered back. “A thousand times yes.”
He gently turned Spencer in his arms, anchoring him to his chest, one hand cradling the back of Spencer’s head. Spencer shuddered violently in Dave’s arms, and Dave thought he was going to push Dave away, so he eased up on his grip, but Spencer made a frantic sound and burrowed his wet face against Rossi’s neck, chanting, “Don’t let go, don’t let go, don’t let go.”
“Never,” Dave promised.
“I’m not crazy,” Spencer whispered, the terror in his voice suggesting he wasn’t convinced.
“No, you’re not.” Dave said simply, and Dave was pretty sure his heart couldn’t break any further until they settled into bed a little later, and he spooned up behind Spencer, holding him fiercely against his chest.
Spencer shuddered in his arms, and whispered so softly, Dave wasn’t sure he was even supposed to hear the words, “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Jesus.
Spencer was a little remote for a few days. He kept to his own head, though the minute they were alone, he was reaching for Dave-an anchoring hand on Dave’s knee or his forearm. Rossi imagined it as a slow reboot; regaining his equilibrium after a shocking-to Spencer at least-emotional outburst.
Their lovemaking had been slow and careful those few days; sometimes nothing more than exchanging wet, lazy kisses in bed. Late one night, Dave had Spencer on his back in bed; they were making out, but neither one seemed interested in taking it any further, and when they paused for a minute, Dave found himself smiling down at a contented-looking Spencer. Spencer reached up and brushed his fingers through the hair on Rossi’s chest. His eyes intently followed his fingers, then softened when he met Dave’s eyes. His hair was spread out on the pillow beneath him, his lips were swollen from Dave’s kisses. And then he licked those beautiful lips and took a deep breath and whispered, “Take my picture.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It was shortly after the second set of pictures were taken that Spencer shyly asked Dave to come with him to Pasadena for a long weekend.
There was something so vulnerable, so open about the request-Dave couldn’t even identify what, but sometimes his feelings for Spencer overwhelmed him, stole the breath right from him. “I’d like that,” Dave said and was rewarded with Spencer’s delighted smile.
Spencer said he wanted to show Dave the other place he’d been happy, and he was finally ready to introduce Dave to Alan and Max.
Alan Klein had been Spencer’s guardian when he was attending Caltech as a minor. He and his boyfriend Max had provided Spencer with what he referred to-with that self-deprecating huff of his-as his only respite of normalcy in an otherwise extraordinary life.
There had been a falling out of sorts when Spencer joined the BAU. Gideon had rubbed Alan the wrong way from what Spencer said and neither Alan nor Max had wanted Spencer to pursue a career working for the government, particularly in law enforcement. Spencer had been so overjoyed that Jason Gideon was willing to bend Agency rules for him that he admittedly overreacted to Alan and Max’s disapproval.
The rift had resolved itself shortly after Reid’s experience with Tobias Henkel, and Rossi couldn’t help wondering if the thaw had something to do with Spencer’s beginning to think maybe Alan had been right about Gideon. And law enforcement.
“So this is going to be my big weekend meeting the in-laws, isn’t it?” Dave said leaning against the desk in their study as Spencer booked their airline tickets. “Why now?”
Spencer smiled, a private, self-conscious smile that found him ducking his head and shrugging. “Now there’s you,” he said softly.
“Yeah?” Rossi said, matching his soft tone. “But what’s so great about me?”
Spencer laughed. “I hardly think we have time for me to list everything,” he said, head still bowed.
“Well, not everything,” Dave agreed, trying to catch Spencer’s eye and laughing at how successfully Spencer avoided it. “No reason why we can’t start a small list, though.”
“I don’t want to embarrass you,” Spencer said, but it was his own cheeks tinged with a blush.
“I can take it.”
Spencer made a show of thinking to himself, then said, “You think you can do anything.”
Dave appreciated the irony that number one on his list of faults coming from anyone else, was a trait Spencer valued above just about all others. “I can,” he said, matching Spencer’s instant smile with his own.
The smile faded into Spencer’s most earnest face. “You think I can do anything.”
Dave took Spencer’s soft earlobe into his mouth and gently sucked, then whispered, “You can,”
“Oh,” Spencer sighed, breathless.
“What else?” Dave asked.
“Um… the skin behind your knees is really soft.”
“Everybody’s skin is soft there,” Dave said. “What else?”
“But I can’t lick everyone else there,” Spencer pointed out.
“And isn’t that a lesson some of us learn the hard way,” Rossi said. “What else?”
Reid pulled back and gave Rossi a knowing look. “Your cock,” he said, chin lifted in defiance. “That’s what you want me to say, isn’t it? Your cock in my mouth. Your cock in my ass. Your cock in my hair…”
Rossi chuckled in lewd appreciation. “There’s something about filthy words coming out of that pretty mouth of yours,” he said, thumb running across those lush lips. “Makes me crazy.”
“You love to come in my hair,” Spencer said enticingly.
Rossi hummed in appreciation at the idea. “One of these days some brilliant SOB is gonna market come-scented shampoo and I’ll never let you out of bed.”
“Who needs a middleman?” Spencer said, dropping to his knees.
Dave stepped out of his pants while Spencer leaned forward, gathering his hair in his hands and then waiting, an offering to Dave who gently coaxed him forward so he could wrap his cock around Spencer’s thick, beautiful hair and produce his very own come-scented shampoo.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
“What have you told Alan and Max about me anyway?” Dave asked. He hadn’t actually thought to ask that question until they were sitting on the plane, and he was pulling out Sunday’s crossword. Spencer frowned at him when he saw what Dave was doing, but Rossi refused to feel guilty. If he didn’t hide the damn crossword, Spencer had it filled out before Rossi could track down a pen.
“I told them I was coming to Pasadena and bringing you with me.”
“And you told them I was an agent with the FBI? An author? Divorced three times… what?”
Spencer shook his head at Dave’s guesses. “It’s not like I have to tell them about you,” he pointed out.
“How do you figure that?” Dave asked.
“Google,” Reid said, as if the answer was obvious.
“You left their impression of me up to Google?” Rossi said incredulously.
Spencer shrugged. “There’s no reason for you to be concerned. All of your books have been well received, and your appearances on CNN and the other news shows are nothing to be ashamed…”
“Well let’s hope they didn’t end up surfing at DeathToGovernment.org because my favorability ratings aren’t quite as high there.”
Reid settled in to the book he was reading. “I imagine that much like the judging in diving or ice skating, they throw out both the highest and the lowest score to come up with their composite.”
“Great, the East German judge doesn’t get to weigh in,” Dave muttered. “How comforting.” Reid smirked into his book and Rossi sighed. “Did you at least mention the age thing?”
“They know how old I am,” Spencer said, grinning at Rossi’s huff of irritation. “It never came up,” he said with a defensive shrug. “When someone tells you they’re seeing someone, the first question isn’t how old are they?.”
“Given your track record, I can’t imagine why not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s supposed to mean that you have a track record for dating geezers. Didn’t Alan threaten to have some professor fired and thrown in jail when he found the two of you…”
Reid’s frown suggested he regretted sharing that story with Rossi. “He was a TA, and I was eighteen, well over the age of consent in California.”
“Eighteen is the age of consent in California.”
Spencer glared at him, but leaned in closer, only to say, “Seventeen across is ministrant.”
He smiled in satisfaction at Rossi’s irritated, “God dammit!”
Dave got back at Spencer by leaving a third the puzzle unfinished and refusing to let Spencer complete it, which lasted until Spencer had the ludicrous idea that he was going to drive the rental car, and Dave negotiated driving by agreeing to let Spencer finish the puzzle in the car.
Dave plugged their destination into the navigation system and headed out toward Pasadena. It only took Spencer five minutes to tidy up the crossword, then he avidly began to look out for landmarks. “There’s DiPaoulo’s!” he said excited as they passed a strip mall. “We’ll go there for breakfast in the morning. Best pastry in the city, hands down.” He sighed happily. “Mm, we have to have crepes at Red Door and a sandwich…”
“Crepes?” Rossi said incredulously. “Your fond college food memory is of crepes?”
“They put Nutella in them,” Reid said, as if this was something everyone knew (or should). “Grilled cheese at Pie n Burger. And peanut butter pie. And pecan. And maybe strawberry. Of course, you’re partial to apple, so we should probably get that too.”
Dave thought it a good thing Prentiss wasn’t with them or she would have thwacked Reid upside the head on general principle.
By the time they pulled in to the driveway at Alan and Max’s, Spencer was thrumming with excitement and he slid out of the car almost before it had come to a complete stop. Dave couldn’t remember ever seeing him so animated as he rushed toward the front door, which opened before he reached the front stoop.
Dave recognized the two men from a photo Spencer had shown him. Alan was a big, bear of a man. Well over six feet tall with a round belly and full bushy beard, he looked more Unabomber than professor of Integrative Neuroscience and with a whoop, he pulled Spencer into an engulfing hug. His partner Max was more polished; certainly more fitting of the image of a college professor Rossi had rolling around in his brain. Max was good-looking in a generic California way; a decade or so younger than Alan and with enough of a paunch that Rossi could at least stop sucking in his gut and take a few breaths.
“Jesus Christ, you keep growing,” Alan said to Spencer as Dave joined them on the lawn. “Upward anyway.” He shook his head reprovingly, but left off any remark about Reid’s weight or lack thereof. Reid heard the unspoken criticism anyway.
“You seem to be covering the outward for both of us,” Spencer said, patting Alan’s ample belly, looking pleased at his own humor.
Max stood back and gave Spencer and exaggerated once over. “Oh my God, did you develop fashion sense or is this just what turns up at the DC Goodwill stores?” He pulled Spencer close for a hug, still talking. “God forbid you wear last year’s Armani to this year’s thousand dollar a plate fund raiser for fund raising. Our tax dollars at work, am I-” Max’s voice trailed off when his hand brushed against Reid’s pant leg. “Jeez Louise, these pants are like butter,” he said.
Rossi gruffly cleared his throat when Max chose Reid’s ass as the best place to enjoy the softness of the fabric. Max spared him a glance over Spencer’s shoulder. “And you are?” he said.
“The only one who gets to do that to Spencer,” Rossi answered, indicating the two should move apart.
“Aw, how provincial,” Max said, but duly backed away.
“Alan, Max, I’d like you to meet my…” Reid stumbled at bit, then shrugged his shoulders and said, “M-m-my Dave.”
“Well how precious,” Max said. “Spencer’s got his very own Dave!” He gave Dave a slow measuring once over. “I used to have a Davis years ago, and he was for absolute shit.”
“Dave’s really great,” Spencer said happily.
“Mm,” Max answered, obviously withholding judgment for the moment. He turned his attention back to Spencer. “I’ve been holding on to my Plagence paper for you. The deadline’s Tuesday, so you’ve got to blow through it. You read the prelim work, right?”
Reid made a face of displeasure. “Of course I read the prelim work, but I’ve told you a hundred times, I am not going to waste my breath if Towers is the basis of your research. He’s been discredited by every reputable…”
Obviously Reid hit a button. Max rolled his eyes, his entire body heaving in exasperation. “When will you realize that just because you can read and synthesize a billion words a minute, you’re still shackled by the same prejudices and blind spots of any scientist…”
Spencer coughed in disbelief. “You are not still pushing this ridiculous ‘blind spot’ argument! The refutations of Tower’s findings are not the result of blind spots, but over 15 years of concentrated, dedicated…”
Alan glanced at his watch. “Six minutes,” he said, sounding surprised. “Don’t think they’ve ever held out that long before.” He shrugged at Rossi. “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” he said.
“And I’m on vacation,” Dave answered.
In a few minutes, Dave and Alan were sitting in the warm sunshine out on the back deck. Rossi chafed a bit at the feeling of the grownups breaking off from the children, but he was nursing an exquisite Sangiovese that reminded him of an afternoon he and Spencer had spent at a charming outdoor cafe in Pastena-Lone, and Reid would find him soon enough.
“I almost thought we’d get Spencer back after his mentor left the FBI,” Alan said, relaxing back in his chair.
“Why?” Rossi asked.
“Isn’t Jason Gideon the father of all things BAU?” Alan said snidely.
Dave offered him an easy smile. “No,” he said. “That would be me.”
Alan coughed and laughed in the same breath. “Jesus Christ, that kid goes for type,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Dave snorted, part acknowledgement, part amusement. As his father always said, ‘Facts is facts.’
Alan motioned over Dave’s shoulder. “You know, these double doors weren’t an aesthetic choice-it was the only way we could move in Max’s ego.”
“Max’s ego,” Rossi said with an understanding nod.
“It’s an age old story,” Alan said with a grin. “Unassuming, unappreciated genius hooks up with egotistical center-of-attention type. Power behind the throne and all that.”
“Mmm,” Rossi said. “I am unfamiliar with that scenario,” he said, feigning regret.
“Mmm,” Alan echoed. “Spencer said you met his mom not long ago,” he said. “How’d it go?” It wasn’t exactly a smooth segue.
“I’m not sure,” Rossi admitted. “My overall impression is that she thought I was old.”
Alan shrugged. “Crazy ain’t blind,” he said, with a knowing nod.
Rossi just snorted into his wine glass.
“Diana and I taught together at Berkeley before she was married,” Alan said. “She was brilliant. Phenomenal teacher. Her passion had this kind of energy to it…you’d walk into her classroom, and the students were buzzing with it. She’d take some bonehead frat boy who was taking a freshman intro class because he had to and three weeks down the line he’d be red-faced and bellowing that if Isolde was innocent of her actions then dammit, Tristan was too!”
Rossi chuckled. “Her sense of humor was certainly intact when I met her.”
Alan chuckled too, but the smile on his face slowly faded until he sadly shook his head, reflexively craning his neck to see if Spencer was within earshot. “She went off her meds when she was pregnant, and they never could get it right again,” he said quietly. “Now and then there’d be this glimmer, and we’d all think, maybe it’ll be okay now, but it never lasted very long.”
Rossi nodded slowly, an image of Bill Reid flashing through his brain. Perhaps some latent resentment at Spencer’s birth precipitating Diana’s long, slow decline fed into his ability to walk away and never look back. It wasn't a theory he’d pose to Spencer, but it felt like a significant piece of the puzzle. “Mental illness is tragic whenever it strikes, but schizophrenia seems to take down more than its fair share of brilliant, promising people,” Dave said.
Alan nodded sadly. “She and Bill tried to outrun it for awhile-Diana transferred from Berkeley to Stanford to UC Sacramento, finally to UNLV, but it was never about location. There was a… family of sorts when we were all at Berkeley, ragtag as all hell, but I still wonder if it wouldn’t have been better-for Spencer at least-if they’d just stayed put in California.”
Laughter sounded from inside the house and both Alan and Dave turned toward the sound. “He was supposed to be mine you know,” Alan said wistfully.
Rossi tamped down an internal burst of temper, forcing himself to remain slouched in his seat, when the impulse was to sit up straight. “What do you mean?” he asked mildly.
Alan sighed, his thoughts far away for a moment. “If something happened to Bill and Diana, Spencer was supposed to come to me. But, by the time I found out Bill had left, Diana was so far gone… The only way I was going to get Spencer would be to have her declared unfit and she would have fought me with everything in her and…” Alan’s voice trailed off, and he heaved another sigh. “I’d moved on to Caltech by then, still in the closet; AIDS was the black menace…” he shook his head at his excuses. “She would have outed me in a heartbeat, and I was a coward,” he said bluntly.
It struck Rossi that this wasn’t so much a grilling of him by an erstwhile in-law but rather a confessional. He bowed his head, unsure whether or not to voice the opinion that, to be equally blunt, Spencer was fucked either way--life with a schizophrenic mother or be torn apart by a court battle that saw his surrogate father committing his mother to a mental institution. Bill Reid might have inserted himself in the drama then and who knows what kind of damage would have been inflicted on Spencer. In any event, Spencer would have been left with different scars, but it was hard to say they’d be any less painful.
“Spencer’s turned out to be a pretty amazing guy, Alan,” Dave finally said. “Don’t live with regrets.”
Dinner that night, in honor of Spencer’s visit, was his old favorite from when he lived with Alan and Max-Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. “The bread’s homemade,” Alan said apologetically to Dave.
Rossi shrugged. “It’s not from a vending machine,” he said. “This is more upscale than we usually get.” He really didn’t care what they ate, Dave was enjoying watching Spencer interact with Alan and Max. It was the most comfortable Dave had ever seen him outside of their home. Spencer was so guarded with his mother that Dave couldn’t see a suggestion of anyone other than the Reid he knew, but here, sitting around Alan and Max’s kitchen table he could imagine a very young Spencer, momentarily freed from the drowning responsibilities of caring for his sick mom. How endless the possibilities had been for that kid.
Alan teased Spencer about the campus tour he had planned for the following day. Aside from the mathematics building and the chemistry labs, he was sure Spencer would have a hard time recognizing anywhere else on campus.
Spencer lifted his chin in that haughty way of his and said he’d had the tour planned for some time and it was going to be fantastic.
Dave wasn’t sure what he expected from Spencer’s tour of his old stomping ground, but it turned out to be less a tour and more a rewrite of the dating life Spencer would have liked to experience had he had a boyfriend when he attended school and had he attended school circa 1850.
They started with breakfast at Reid’s favorite bakery I never thought I’d be eating breakfast with my boyfriend at DiPaoulo’s! he’d whispered excitedly to Dave as they nursed cups of coffee and watched students coming and going.
They surreptitiously held hands during an observatory presentation clearly aimed at elementary school children; as they roamed around the main mathematics building, Dave was demurely presented to several of Spencer’s former professors as if Reid was seeking their permission to allow the man to court him. Spencer dragged Dave to nearly half a dozen “sparking” areas on campus--Sparking? Rossi had asked incredulously. Is that you talking or the campus. An entire campus of young people cannot be that nerdy, can they?.
Reid hypothesized that yes, it was possible, and seemed slightly disappointed that the locations which had taken on mythic proportions in his adolescent imagination turned out to be rather lame.
They stopped for drinks at a favorite deli of Spencer’s. Dave found a table outside while Spencer fetched the drinks. As Dave watched in mounting horror, Spencer walked back to their table carrying a single drink and two straws. Even though he knew it was cruel, Dave nonetheless made the split-second decision to fake a heart attack if Spencer suggested they share the drink between them.
His concern was only mildly assuaged when Spencer put the drink down squarely in front of Dave. “You’re not having anything?” Dave asked warily.
Spencer motioned toward the counter. “Mango smoothie,” he said. “She’s bringing it out in a second.”
“Of course she is,” Dave said dryly.
Spencer just wrinkled his nose at him and sat back in his chair, face turned up toward the sun. Dave cocked his head to the side and studied him for a beat, grinning when Spencer realized Dave’s eyes were on him. “What?” he asked, recognizing Dave’s measuring look.
Dave shrugged and shook his head, still smiling. “I thought you’d blend in a lot more around here, but…” He continued shaking his head in amusement. “Too much junior G-man in you now.”
Spencer chuffed in amusement. “The last time I failed my arms qualification, I complained that I looked like a teacher’s assistant.”
Dave’s look turned dubious. “You failed your arms qualification?” he said, not believing it for a minute.
“I told you about that,” Spencer reminded him. “It was at the same time as the LDSK case.”
Dave nodded, remembering now. “You’re not wearing your piece today, though. And I can pick you out of the crowd no problem.”
“I’d like to think my service revolver is hardly a defining identifier for you.”
Dave gave him a sly grin. “There are other things,” he agreed. He looked around for a beat, watching the students coming and going, admiring a young lady or two in flimsy, little tank tops. “You tempted at all by any this?” he asked. “The way those math professors were salivating over you it seems like you could name your terms, and they’d set you up.”
“Looking for more ammunition you can use to torture poor Hotch?” Spencer asked slyly.
Dave laughed in surprise. “You’re on to me, aren’t you, Babe?”
Spencer just primly pursed his lips at Dave and gave an exasperated shake of his head. He, too looked around, but quickly shook his head in answer to Dave’s question. “I’m not tempted at all,” he admitted. “You?”
Dave gave a snort of derision. “Like I’d push you to a stateside college.” He settled back in his chair with a sigh. “Nope, I’m holding out for a universitari in Napoli.”
Spencer leveled his own measuring gaze on Dave. “Would you really be happy with that?”
Dave made a show of thinking it over. “Well, let’s see,” he said. “Little apartment overlooking the Amalfi coast; get up when the sun wakes me; write a little somethin’ as I’m sittin’ on the balcony watching the sea gulls fight over scraps; walk down to the square to meet my beautiful young lover for lunch and maybe entice him into an illicit tryst before he heads back to his safe, comfortable classroom where murder and mayhem are as real as a fairy tale.” He nodded approvingly at the idea. “Yeah, I’d be happy with that.”
Spencer smiled and reached for his hand. “Ti amo,” he said softly.
Dave kissed his hand and chuckled at the furious blush. “So have we completed the Spencer Reid Magical Mystery Tour?” he asked.
Spencer spared a smile for the delivery of his drink by the counter girl who was eying their joined hands with a smirk that said-to Dave at least--figures.
Sorry, Sister, Dave thought. All the good ones are gay or married. Sometimes both.
Spencer took a sip of his smoothie and sighed happily. “Just like I remember,” he said. He stood up, pulling Dave with him. “A few more stops, then we’re done,” he promised.
Dave motioned for Spencer to head out. “Lay on, Macduff ,” he said and Spencer grinned at him over his shoulder, pleased that Dave correctly cited the quote.
“Act Five, Scene Eight,” Spencer said approvingly.
“Rowr,” Dave replied with a leer that made Spencer laugh.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Several days later-well, two hours really, it just felt to Dave like several days--Reid breathlessly tugged him through the hotel door, holding tightly to Dave’s hand. Laughing in spite of himself Dave could only shake his head and say, “You are out of control.”
Spencer laughed too, his face flushed, eyes shining with an unrestrained delight Dave had never seen before. “I can’t help it!” he said, “I never thought I’d get kicked out of the Caltech library for making out between the bookshelves!”
Dave pulled Spencer to him, offering his neck which Spencer promptly began kissing. “How come you put the kibosh on me every time I suggest a little alfresco dining, hmm?”
Spencer chuckled. “Because you won’t stop at kissing, and we’ll get thrown in jail for public indecency.”
“Almost be worth it to see Hotch’s face when he has to come bail us out.”
Reid pulled back, looking appalled. “We are not calling Hotch to bail us out.”
“Why not?”
Incredulous that he would have to elucidate, Reid sputtered, “He’s our boss!”
“It’s not like he won’t be privy to the knowledge when he’s fillin’ out your performance review. He might as well do the legwork.”
“I’m beginning to think you have a lot more on Hotch than a single February 2000 incident in Biloxi, Mississippi or he would never have agreed to welcome you back to the BAU.”
“Perhaps instead of making fun of my note taking when I’m on a case, you should be more appreciative.”
“Perhaps I should.”
“Mmm, you’re being especially agreeable today. Perhaps you should remove your clothes, lube your ass, stretch a bit and see what it’s like to get fucked in a hotel on the Caltech campus.”
“What if I told you,” Spencer whispered between haphazard kisses that landed on Dave’s cheek and chin, just teasing the corner of his mouth before Spencer drew away to finish speaking, “That some of those steps have already been taken?”
“I would insist that you elaborate,” Rossi answered.
“What if I told you,” Spencer continued, unbuttoning Rossi’s shirt and kissing the skin as it was exposed. “That I spent the day slick and stretched and waiting for you, wanting you, all day, every step. What if I told you that?”
Realization dawning on him, Dave slid his hand into Spencer’s pants, under his boxers, fingers trailing down until the breath was shoved from his lungs when he felt lube leaking out from behind the butt plug in Spencer’s ass. Dave stumbled, momentarily losing equilibrium in the explosion of need-want-take-mine. He quickly rid Spencer of his pants and nearly shot his load at Spencer’s wanton groan that met the removal of the plug. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” Dave muttered reverently, forehead resting against Spencer’s for a beat. “Jesus, Spencer, it kills me when you do this.”
Spencer laughed. “That’s why…I do it…sparingly,” he said, then moaned into Dave’s mouth when Dave’s finger sought entry to his tender ass. “No, you,” Spencer said, shaking his head when Dave worked in another finger. “I want you.”
“Always me, only me,” Dave said, manhandling Spencer to the bed.
“Yes,” Spencer whispered. “You…inside me…you.”
Dave was more than happy to comply.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
“Jesus,” Dave sighed breathlessly, a little later. “You’re gonna have to sell a kidney for the tip we need to leave the cleaning staff,” he said.
“We can’t sell your car?” Spencer said.
“Mazlow’s hierarchy, babe. Kidneys are way before the car.”
“My kidneys,” Spencer clarified.
“Well,” Dave scoffed at such quibbling.
Spencer placed a few soft kisses on Dave’s chest and lazily rubbed his cheek against the hair there. “Let’s leave for the airport with enough time to stop at DiPaoulo’s. They’ll box up doughnuts so they travel well, and we can take them in to the office tomorrow.”
“After the way Emily barked at you, you wanna risk that?”
“I think she was just having a bad day.”
Dave smiled to himself. “No, I’m pretty sure the number of doughnuts you eat makes her really, really mad.”
“I guess I usually miss the social cues that indicate an appropriate amount of food to consume when in a public venue.” Spencer said with a sigh.
“Well, at least you know now that around Emily it’s three doughnuts.”
“It’s all so arbitrary,” Spencer said.
“Mmm,” Rossi said. “Remind me to grab a real estate brochure from the lobby before we go,” he said.
“Why?” Spencer asked around a yawn.
“I want it to sit on the corner of my desk for a couple of weeks,” Dave answered.
“Why?”
“If Hotch is gonna mess with me about your hair, then I’m gonna mess with him about his one and only genius profiler relocating to Pasadena.”
Spencer sighed and shook his head, clucking a little at Rossi’s juvenile behavior. “I hope there’s room in that Italian class Georgetown offers.”
Now it was Dave’s turn to ask why.
“Because, I have a feeling I’m going to be teaching at that universitari in Napoli a lot sooner than later.”
* The End *