(no subject)
just a little, tiny ficlet that's pretty much straight sugar. honest to goodness. i just really, really, really like reid and lila together. i think they're adorable to the nth degree. seriously, so cute.
never never ever never
reid/lila, nc-17, 1644 words
Her voice is soft over the telephone. Lila always sounds like she has a cold. It makes her seem more human, more like Spencer. Call times (five in the morning and eleven at night). Managers (another Michael). Eating chocolate and watching TV (semi-dark, nothing with anyone she knows). The feel of her next to him. The soft miles between them.
No case-talk! None! She makes a loud, screeching noise. He laughs. Lila asks him all of the mundane questions (Did you do laundry yet? What channel are you watching now?) that everyone else forgets to ask. And Reid’s honest when he answers her. She sighs. Always going to be.
Dancing. Tonight I went dancing. Her hair falls down her back. Spencer can hear its quiet swing. It’s not as fun when you’re not there to make it awkward. Her smile / his smile. I went out, too. Girls’ night. Elle drank way more than me. And she was still standing! Definitely the Man of the Night. He scratches the warm skin at the base of his throat.
You’re still my man, Lila says, high on champagne.
(He’s kissed Lila more than once. Up her neck. Down her spine. She kept her bra on. All different shades of pale. Skin, hair, silk. The veins underneath her surface were powder-blue. She held his hand in the bath afterward. Humming something sweet. Pop.)
Morgan’s hand on his neck. Squeezing too tight. C’mon, tell me.
Shakes his head. Haircut. No.
It’s that actress? Lila, right? He thinks he has Reid cornered.
Of course.
I miss you. No one believes me when I say I have a boyfriend. Mr. FBI. You should come visit. Twirling her hair around her fingers. Chewing gum in her mouth. A sundress and cotton panties. Lila is simple. All light.
Reid’s desk is all files. He and Elle have a bet. First one to… make a dent has to get the coffee. His shirt is stiff. Cuffs unbuttoned. He forgot to wash his hair this morning. He’s himself and he’s his job. I miss you, too. Elle’s mouth twitches.
You can’t miss me. You’re super-human. Bites her lip. What exactly do you miss about me? Not here, Lila. (The collective BAU interest.) I didn’t ask for everything. Her world tilting upside-right as she sits up. Just what you like. I mean, remember.
All of it, okay? Her tongue between her teeth. Is that right? They’re the same sometimes. It’s okay, Spencer, I like all of you, too.
Liar, liar.
When? When? Okay, I’ll try my best to not get called out of the state. Spencer doesn’t need to write it down, but it would make it official. He does. Ink on his hand.
All of that time on airplanes. This is different. She’s just in jeans and a t-shirt. Hair messy across her shoulders. The black night makes her seem brighter. She’s wearing slippers and socks. Her arms around his neck are tight. Pinched skin.
She doesn’t kiss him. Their noses brush. Less cheesy, she says. Her smile is his smile. No, I think this is still pretty cheesy. Very John Hughes. Her pink mouth. No, I don’t think you could lift me up quite like that. The blonde air surrounding him. Recycled. Her skin is warm where he’s touching it.
Everywhere.
Oh no, you’re paying for a taxi. I’m not going on the train. Her suitcase in her hand. A bottle of water tucked under her arm. Standing in the line at the newsstand for way too long. Tongue to the back of his teeth. Chin tipped down. They stand on the sidewalk, the airport quietloud all around them. The navy taxi waiting for them.
She drops her suitcase onto the floor by her shoes. Her socks slip on the floor, but she finds Spencer. Hard and insistent. He lets Lila dance them across the room. The bookcase. The chesterfield. The doorway. His shirts and sweaters and the dust in their pockets. She bites the corner of his mouth. Nip. Her fingers digging into Spencer’s shoulders. Finds the buttons leading away from his throat.
Lila’s shirt, worn and pilled at her waist. Wrinkles in his hands. Mouth away from his. C’mon. And she lifts her arms up, loose towards the ceiling. Inches of her muscles and bones. Spencer’s cardigan and shirt off of him. Their clothes together. All of them.
Floral and plaid bedsheets. Her back in their net. Smells like an asleep boy. Him. Spencer presses his fingers into her ribcage. She laughs, arches her back. Lila’s neck. The curve of her breasts. Reid kisses her sternum and hears her heartbeat. Small hands in his hair. She just lets it happen. No one to impress.
He rubs two fingers against her clit. Oh, god. Shaky breaths. It’s partly surprise. Sliding into her. There’s this other place in Lila’s eyes. Trust. Spencer doesn’t know why people let him see them like this. She’s a blush everywhere. He licks around his fingers.
It’s just you see so much, you know? The fire escape. She’s not the type to smoke. Her bare feet. I don’t know how I’m worth it. I can’t keep up with stuff like that. Her lower back. His sweater wrapped all around her. Spencer holds her to him.
The part of her hair. That’s actually kind of what I need. No sociopaths or serial killers. You aren’t my job. Well, you were, but I mean. I’m not anymore. I know. The crown her head. Resting between his shoulders. I know.
Spencer goes to work. Lila stays in bed. There aren’t any girls that look like her in his files. Whispers thank you out of the corner of his mouth. Her lazy arms around him in the dark. Have a good day, Spence. Butterfly kiss.
She bites his stomach. Flat. Spencer lets out a laugh. All tumbled air. Lila’s warm mouth on his cock. Tongue sliding across the head. Spencer doesn’t have things like this. Just getting him ready. The hot slide of him into her. Lila’s hips moving. His hands there.
She flushes pink all down her neck. He traces it with his fingers. Out of breath. The inside of Lila’s thighs are wet. Hands braced beside his waist. His on her forearms. Her not-quite smile. Holding the sheets tightly. Spencer breathes into her neck.
Lila lies beside him. Sweaty and sticky. The relaxed length of her spine. Her red-painted fingernails and his much too long. You got a shirt I can borrow? she asks. Pillow against her cheek. She just wrinkles her nose when he pulls one off of the floor.
Don’t look so smug, Morgan says.
Elle raises her eyebrow. Says, just because you’re not getting any, Morgan. Besides, it is only Tuesday. Her open-mouthed smirk that doesn’t really look like a smirk.
Reid fixes his collar. The broken skin underneath it.
You wanna watch CNN? MSNBC? She’s being sarcastic. He laughs into her hair. The TV remote is dusty. I read BBC online, thanks. We can watch whatever. Popcorn bowl on her stomach. Channel-flipping. How familiar are you with The Thin Man series? he asks. William Powell’s face. She tips her head back. I could be a little more familiar.
The rise and fall of her Lila’s stomach. How it tightens under Spencer’s hands when she finds something funny. No one she knows on-screen. Classics. A break from this day and age. She needs that, too. He forgets. Hold fast.
A week and her time is up. Interviews, appointments, an audition. Lila doesn’t stop. They work too hard for one another. Her skirt barely makes it up over her dry knees. One last night, she says, taking Spencer’s hand in hers. Where do you like to go?
Spencer’s legs brush hers. All this pure light from the windows. Crowded together beside the bookcase. A walk, maybe? The pavement will still be hot even after dark. Lila watches the birds in the sky through the glass. Their soft wings. Spencer watches her distracted eyeline. Yeah, she says. Her head tips back.
Spencer kisses her chin. Two magazines, one online taping, routine check-up, an audition for a minor role in a small movie. Spencer kisses her neck.
They stay up by accident. Lila barely moving against him. The radio’s set to some jazz station. It’s warm around them. Why does this work? She asks. Voice like a croak. Small and unused. Looks down the length of her. Feet under blankets. Eyes dry with sleep.
Alienation, he says. Two worlds that are hard to inhabit. We’re a different kind of people. Just the way it is. He stares across her, into all of his apartment’s space. It’s true and now he’s said it. The notes through the radio. All comfort. Sad music on saxophones. Spencer’s inhale moves her. Lila alive against him.
That makes a lot more sense than it should. Clicking of her tongue and a hand through her hair. They’re just quiet together. Alone with each other’s thoughts. He’s still not used to it. Well, with someone he knows, anyways. It’ll be gone tomorrow. Today. He holds onto Lila a little less tightly. Distance. Acceptance.
Spencer stands, hands in his coat pockets. The windows are dark and the lights on the runway are bright. He can’t watch Lila’s flight leave (work), but he stays for as long as he can. The airport is too artificial. Spencer smells burnt coffee.
She go home today? Elle asks, looking over something in her hands. Reid can’t see what it is over their desk divider. He nods. They don’t look at each other. Elle’s nails tap against the glass.
It’s not that bad, being away from Lila. They distract one another. A yield where there should be a stop. No, it’s fine. Reid swears. Her red kiss on the back of his neck.
never never ever never
reid/lila, nc-17, 1644 words
Her voice is soft over the telephone. Lila always sounds like she has a cold. It makes her seem more human, more like Spencer. Call times (five in the morning and eleven at night). Managers (another Michael). Eating chocolate and watching TV (semi-dark, nothing with anyone she knows). The feel of her next to him. The soft miles between them.
No case-talk! None! She makes a loud, screeching noise. He laughs. Lila asks him all of the mundane questions (Did you do laundry yet? What channel are you watching now?) that everyone else forgets to ask. And Reid’s honest when he answers her. She sighs. Always going to be.
Dancing. Tonight I went dancing. Her hair falls down her back. Spencer can hear its quiet swing. It’s not as fun when you’re not there to make it awkward. Her smile / his smile. I went out, too. Girls’ night. Elle drank way more than me. And she was still standing! Definitely the Man of the Night. He scratches the warm skin at the base of his throat.
You’re still my man, Lila says, high on champagne.
(He’s kissed Lila more than once. Up her neck. Down her spine. She kept her bra on. All different shades of pale. Skin, hair, silk. The veins underneath her surface were powder-blue. She held his hand in the bath afterward. Humming something sweet. Pop.)
Morgan’s hand on his neck. Squeezing too tight. C’mon, tell me.
Shakes his head. Haircut. No.
It’s that actress? Lila, right? He thinks he has Reid cornered.
Of course.
I miss you. No one believes me when I say I have a boyfriend. Mr. FBI. You should come visit. Twirling her hair around her fingers. Chewing gum in her mouth. A sundress and cotton panties. Lila is simple. All light.
Reid’s desk is all files. He and Elle have a bet. First one to… make a dent has to get the coffee. His shirt is stiff. Cuffs unbuttoned. He forgot to wash his hair this morning. He’s himself and he’s his job. I miss you, too. Elle’s mouth twitches.
You can’t miss me. You’re super-human. Bites her lip. What exactly do you miss about me? Not here, Lila. (The collective BAU interest.) I didn’t ask for everything. Her world tilting upside-right as she sits up. Just what you like. I mean, remember.
All of it, okay? Her tongue between her teeth. Is that right? They’re the same sometimes. It’s okay, Spencer, I like all of you, too.
Liar, liar.
When? When? Okay, I’ll try my best to not get called out of the state. Spencer doesn’t need to write it down, but it would make it official. He does. Ink on his hand.
All of that time on airplanes. This is different. She’s just in jeans and a t-shirt. Hair messy across her shoulders. The black night makes her seem brighter. She’s wearing slippers and socks. Her arms around his neck are tight. Pinched skin.
She doesn’t kiss him. Their noses brush. Less cheesy, she says. Her smile is his smile. No, I think this is still pretty cheesy. Very John Hughes. Her pink mouth. No, I don’t think you could lift me up quite like that. The blonde air surrounding him. Recycled. Her skin is warm where he’s touching it.
Everywhere.
Oh no, you’re paying for a taxi. I’m not going on the train. Her suitcase in her hand. A bottle of water tucked under her arm. Standing in the line at the newsstand for way too long. Tongue to the back of his teeth. Chin tipped down. They stand on the sidewalk, the airport quietloud all around them. The navy taxi waiting for them.
She drops her suitcase onto the floor by her shoes. Her socks slip on the floor, but she finds Spencer. Hard and insistent. He lets Lila dance them across the room. The bookcase. The chesterfield. The doorway. His shirts and sweaters and the dust in their pockets. She bites the corner of his mouth. Nip. Her fingers digging into Spencer’s shoulders. Finds the buttons leading away from his throat.
Lila’s shirt, worn and pilled at her waist. Wrinkles in his hands. Mouth away from his. C’mon. And she lifts her arms up, loose towards the ceiling. Inches of her muscles and bones. Spencer’s cardigan and shirt off of him. Their clothes together. All of them.
Floral and plaid bedsheets. Her back in their net. Smells like an asleep boy. Him. Spencer presses his fingers into her ribcage. She laughs, arches her back. Lila’s neck. The curve of her breasts. Reid kisses her sternum and hears her heartbeat. Small hands in his hair. She just lets it happen. No one to impress.
He rubs two fingers against her clit. Oh, god. Shaky breaths. It’s partly surprise. Sliding into her. There’s this other place in Lila’s eyes. Trust. Spencer doesn’t know why people let him see them like this. She’s a blush everywhere. He licks around his fingers.
It’s just you see so much, you know? The fire escape. She’s not the type to smoke. Her bare feet. I don’t know how I’m worth it. I can’t keep up with stuff like that. Her lower back. His sweater wrapped all around her. Spencer holds her to him.
The part of her hair. That’s actually kind of what I need. No sociopaths or serial killers. You aren’t my job. Well, you were, but I mean. I’m not anymore. I know. The crown her head. Resting between his shoulders. I know.
Spencer goes to work. Lila stays in bed. There aren’t any girls that look like her in his files. Whispers thank you out of the corner of his mouth. Her lazy arms around him in the dark. Have a good day, Spence. Butterfly kiss.
She bites his stomach. Flat. Spencer lets out a laugh. All tumbled air. Lila’s warm mouth on his cock. Tongue sliding across the head. Spencer doesn’t have things like this. Just getting him ready. The hot slide of him into her. Lila’s hips moving. His hands there.
She flushes pink all down her neck. He traces it with his fingers. Out of breath. The inside of Lila’s thighs are wet. Hands braced beside his waist. His on her forearms. Her not-quite smile. Holding the sheets tightly. Spencer breathes into her neck.
Lila lies beside him. Sweaty and sticky. The relaxed length of her spine. Her red-painted fingernails and his much too long. You got a shirt I can borrow? she asks. Pillow against her cheek. She just wrinkles her nose when he pulls one off of the floor.
Don’t look so smug, Morgan says.
Elle raises her eyebrow. Says, just because you’re not getting any, Morgan. Besides, it is only Tuesday. Her open-mouthed smirk that doesn’t really look like a smirk.
Reid fixes his collar. The broken skin underneath it.
You wanna watch CNN? MSNBC? She’s being sarcastic. He laughs into her hair. The TV remote is dusty. I read BBC online, thanks. We can watch whatever. Popcorn bowl on her stomach. Channel-flipping. How familiar are you with The Thin Man series? he asks. William Powell’s face. She tips her head back. I could be a little more familiar.
The rise and fall of her Lila’s stomach. How it tightens under Spencer’s hands when she finds something funny. No one she knows on-screen. Classics. A break from this day and age. She needs that, too. He forgets. Hold fast.
A week and her time is up. Interviews, appointments, an audition. Lila doesn’t stop. They work too hard for one another. Her skirt barely makes it up over her dry knees. One last night, she says, taking Spencer’s hand in hers. Where do you like to go?
Spencer’s legs brush hers. All this pure light from the windows. Crowded together beside the bookcase. A walk, maybe? The pavement will still be hot even after dark. Lila watches the birds in the sky through the glass. Their soft wings. Spencer watches her distracted eyeline. Yeah, she says. Her head tips back.
Spencer kisses her chin. Two magazines, one online taping, routine check-up, an audition for a minor role in a small movie. Spencer kisses her neck.
They stay up by accident. Lila barely moving against him. The radio’s set to some jazz station. It’s warm around them. Why does this work? She asks. Voice like a croak. Small and unused. Looks down the length of her. Feet under blankets. Eyes dry with sleep.
Alienation, he says. Two worlds that are hard to inhabit. We’re a different kind of people. Just the way it is. He stares across her, into all of his apartment’s space. It’s true and now he’s said it. The notes through the radio. All comfort. Sad music on saxophones. Spencer’s inhale moves her. Lila alive against him.
That makes a lot more sense than it should. Clicking of her tongue and a hand through her hair. They’re just quiet together. Alone with each other’s thoughts. He’s still not used to it. Well, with someone he knows, anyways. It’ll be gone tomorrow. Today. He holds onto Lila a little less tightly. Distance. Acceptance.
Spencer stands, hands in his coat pockets. The windows are dark and the lights on the runway are bright. He can’t watch Lila’s flight leave (work), but he stays for as long as he can. The airport is too artificial. Spencer smells burnt coffee.
She go home today? Elle asks, looking over something in her hands. Reid can’t see what it is over their desk divider. He nods. They don’t look at each other. Elle’s nails tap against the glass.
It’s not that bad, being away from Lila. They distract one another. A yield where there should be a stop. No, it’s fine. Reid swears. Her red kiss on the back of his neck.