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whiskeyghoul · 22 days ago

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Father Figure (1/2)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer becomes an unlikely source of comfort after his son breaks up with you. (PART 1 of 2) Category: Mature (18+) Content: Adults w/age gap, perv!Spencer strikes again, masturbation, drinking, kissing. Word Count: 6.2k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Pushing the hot old man agenda once again, I'm not even sorry about it. Smut will be in Part 2, which I'm almost done with--I just have to workshop the end a little bit. And remember, pals: If he wanted to, he would. And if he won't, then his dad will (AKA the quote I saw on TikTok that inspired this fic lmao) Also, I apologize if adding a real song with real lyrics in the middle of this is cringey, but I had A Vision, and I needed it to be realized, okay? Let a girl have some fun!!!

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...THE COFFEE SHOP

Spying on his son was never exactly a pastime of Spencer's, even less so now since the kid is not really a kid anymore. Still, when that kid breaks up with his long-term girlfriend of four years and then goes on a first date a day later, a father is left to wonder...

He feels bad especially for the ex-girlfriend, who had been nothing but an absolute joy; always bringing gifts and snacks to the house, celebrating the Reid boys' birthdays with extra love and care, and bringing a warm and happy energy that demanded love and care right back.

He can't imagine how you must be feeling.

Your face dances in flashes behind his eyelids as he pokes around the corner of the coffee shop, wondering what could possibly be so enticing about this other woman that his son would throw away something so extraordinary.

Even as he spots Cameron, beaming and eagerly listening to the beautiful young woman in front of him, it pains Spencer to imagine the other side of the coin.

He sighs and turns away, wondering what could have changed his son's mind, but understanding that ultimately it's not any of his business. From what he knows about the breakup, Cameron had been kind and forthright through all of it, offering his father the simple explanation of, "I don't dislike her at all, she's a nice girl... I just don't love her anymore. That's all."

That's all...

When you've spent the first half of your young adult life with the same someone, that logic isn't impossible; Inevitably you'll meet new people and feel bright, new feelings, and old feelings can dissipate just as quickly.

On every logical level, there's nothing inherently wrong with this situation, and still, Spencer can't fight off the uneasy tension in his chest as he sits with it.

As he turns the corner and begins to try and place where exactly that feeling might come from, a loud gasp stops him in his tracks.

His eyes take a moment to look you over, looking to anyone else like he might need some time to process that it's you, but really, his brain knows it right away. Admittedly, he's just glad to see you. Though right now you're visibly shocked and perhaps a little embarrassed, you still radiate that undeniable warmth that brings a slow smile to his face. The tension he feels doesn't fade so much as it shifts, from uneasy to something more electric. More problematic.

What the fuck is your problem? his inner-voice barks, so loudly he almost thinks he's said it out loud.

Spencer shifts direction quickly, reminding himself how to act like a normal human being, and more importantly, how to act when faced with his son's ex-girlfriend, who is clearly doing the same thing he's doing.

"What a pleasant surprise," he beams reaching forward to offer a hug, which you take. Perhaps a dumb move considering the funk he just had to snap himself out of, but if he can carefully guide you in the other direction to save you the spiral of spying on your ex-boyfriend's new date, then so-be-it.

You pull away and he does too, his hands lingering but not touching you. Still, he feels you just as vividly.

"Doctor Reid, what are you doing here?" you ask, trying to hold his eye contact but ultimately succumbing to the urge to glance at the window behind him.

He sighs, offering a sympathetic smile. "The same thing as you, I'm afraid..."

The horror on your face makes his stomach churn, but then it's gone in an instant, replaced by an eye-crinkling laugh that takes him by surprise.

"What? I don't know what you're talking about!"

You're trying so hard to convince him, and probably yourself as well, and it unfortunately amuses him. Your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes, not bright and genuine like he's always known, but it's still beautiful. His gaze lingers a little too long on it before he meets your eyes again, watching them flash with something petrified as he grins.

"Clearly..."

You cross your arms, jutting your chin out and attempting a new tactic. "Look, I'm not that pathetic, okay? I don't like what you're implying. Besides, why are you spying on Cam, huh? It's not like he broke up with you to be with your best friend..."

The smile slowly disappears from his face as you speak, that sharp sense of unease creeping back into his system and curling up through his lungs like cigarette smoke. "What?"

You don't bother trying to hide it anymore, a sad shrug weighing down your body as your face softens into something melancholic and distant. Your voice is barely there when you speak, the sound of nearby traffic nearly drowning you out. "Guess he didn't tell you that part, huh..."

"No, he didn't."

You sigh and tighten your arms, seemingly holding yourself together as not to fall apart at the seams. "Did you see them? Did they look happy?"

Spencer's stomach churns again, and he shakes his head incredulously. "Hon, maybe you should—"

"Did they?" you ask again more desperately, your voice cracking between words. He can hear the sadness in it, the devastation and the confusion, the need to understand...

An irrational anger starts to brew somewhere in the depths of his being, even though he knows he doesn't have the whole story. But he firmly decides that he can grapple with Cameron and his choice of a girlfriend at a more appropriate time, and probably even have a man-to-man conversation with him about the whole thing... He also firmly decides that the arrival of these indescribable tense feelings should also be dealt with, though preferably in his next therapy session and not right this second.

Because right now, there's a bright young woman on the verge of tears right in front of him, her sparkle dulling with each passing second, and the best thing to do is to get her away from the problem at large—Not to do anything that will only make it worse.

Spencer rushes to you and gently scoops you into another hug, your body nestling into his with an exhaustion that he fears he knows all too well. As you squeeze his shirt and start to cry, he leads you away from the building and down the sidewalk, wondering if you can hear how loudly his heart is breaking for you.

Eventually he leads you away from public eye, a small clearing about three blocks away and beyond some trees. Being late August, they've started to change color, but not by much. By now you've removed yourself from his full embrace, but still cling to his arm as you find the room to calm down, looking up at the trees.

He walks silently beside you, giving you the space to breathe and think. To rest. The sun is high in the sky, bright beams poking through the leaves and limbs, and when you finally stop walking, one of them catches your eye. It glistens with tears that haven't fallen yet, and when you stare up at the sky and close your eyelids, a small droplet finally strolls down your cheek.

Your arms tighten around Spencer's and he fights the urge to wipe the tear from your face with his free hand.

"I'm so sorry," he says instead. "I wish I knew what to do."

You open your eyes then, a small breeze picking up and rustling the trees. He can hear wind chimes in the distance, he thinks, or maybe it's just a figment of his imagination—a manifestation of the dulcet, melodic comfort you've brought to his life over the years. In a strange way, he supposes you do somewhat feel like home to him. Normalcy. Softness. Beauty.

He hadn't even realized it until your sadness had overwhelmed him.

"Thank you," you tell him, pulling away finally to look him dead-on. You smile again, and though it's sad, and still beautiful, this time it finally reaches your eyes. "You're a good man, Doctor Reid."

He certainly doesn't feel like a good man.

Not when you reach up and hug him with your arms draped over his shoulders. Not when his hands feel right at home at the small of your back. Not when he can hardly breathe as your mouth murmurs another, "thank you," into the crook of his neck. Not when you start to pull away, sliding your soft hands down over his shoulder blades and tilting your head. Not when your thankful lips make contact with his cheek, featherlight and heavy all the same. Not when, even after you pull away completely, your presence is still with him, making him warm and fluttery and stupid.

Not when he misses you, hours later, still buzzing from your touch...

And when Cameron comes home that evening, practically walking on clouds and beaming with lovesick stupor after his day out with your best friend, that tension and irrational anger starts to grow stronger, muddled with confusion.

No. Spencer Reid is convinced that he is not a good man.

If he was, he wouldn't be laying awake at night, absentmindedly caressing his face where your lips had been hours before, staring at the photo on his bedside table of the three of you just a year ago.

Right after you and Cam had graduated college, you all took a road trip to the Grand Canyon and a stranger offered to take your photo. You were happy and in love, holding on to Cam's arm the same way you held onto Spencer's earlier today. The sun was shining on your face, though back then it wasn't illuminating drying tears. Your smile reached your eyes, but it wasn't masking profound sadness.

If Spencer Reid was a good man, he would be letting it go and moving on instead of vowing to spend eternity trying to mend a heart he didn't break. He wouldn't be exacting his own twisted form of vengeance under the covers, stroking himself to the thought of you—to the thought of treating you right.

If he was a good man, he certainly wouldn't be staring at your photo on his bedside table as he did so, calling out your name in a hushed whisper—a prayer.

And yet, here he lays, the thought of you bringing him to completion.

"He didn't deserve you, sweet girl," he confesses breathlessly, right at the precipice. He comes in hot ropes over his bare stomach, visions of your bright eyes and warm, beautiful lips helping him right along.

His first exhale of breath as the high subsides comes out as a form of maniacal laughter; Not only is he now stuck with a mess he has to clean at almost two in the morning, but he's also devolving, clarity smacking right into him like a freight train.

Spencer swears, wishing he'd simply ignored the feeling that urged him to follow Cameron on his date earlier that day. He wishes he'd let it go.

He looks at your picture again and sighs, laughing to himself. "I don't deserve you either."

...THE BAR

Two weeks and two therapy sessions later, and Spencer doesn't feel any better, really.

He hasn't seen you since that day at the coffee shop, but it's like he sees you every day anyway. You're there when he sleeps, mostly. He meets you in dreams, wiping your tears and kissing you better. Each time, you gladly return the favor, kissing him back and subsequently healing some deep part of him he hadn't even realized was ailed.

But obviously that's just a product of this strange, pathetic, fucked-up obsession he's spiraled into, and not anchored to the truth in any way.

That's what he tells himself, at least... no matter how badly he wants there to be truth in it.

Still, it's hard when even the time and distance between you can't seem to shake your effect on him.

Though, perhaps Cameron's role in all of this could be the key to this lingering feeling. He is a common denominator, after all, and the knowledge that he'd chosen to be with your best friend instead of you so soon after breaking it off still rubs him the wrong way. Which, in all honesty, is a conversation he doesn't want to have just yet; It would probably be best if he had a clear mind, one not constantly plagued by daydreams of railing you under the trees in the clearing where you last touched him.

Spencer sighs and takes his glasses off, tossing them aside. He presses his palms into the sides of his face, squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he can until he sees stars, and promptly decides that he needs to leave the house.

Fresh air usually does the trick, but for whatever reason, this long walk to the park is not doing him any favors. The way the leaves rustle in the wind only brings him back to that fateful moment with you in his arms, seeking comfort, and quite frankly, the August heat is making him more irritable.

So, he wanders off to uncharted territories: a random bar that should be pretty dead on a random Wednesday mid-afternoon. He's not exactly sure what it is he hopes to find, but as long as it's a good enough distraction, or even some peace and quiet, he'll gladly take it.

The place isn't very busy, or bright. Neon signs and dim table lamps are about the only sources of light, but compared to the sun outside, Spencer finds it more than comfortable. Some Country duet he doesn't recognize booms over the speakers, low-tempo and sad, but not horrible. The melancholic melody swims nicely through his brain, setting the scene as he sits down at a random table somewhere near the back.

A hostess is quick to ask him what he wants to drink and offers a menu, but all he orders is a glass of water. Whether she questions it or not, he doesn't pay attention. But when she returns about a minute later with his glass, he does notice that the song has finished and started over.

"Hope you don't mind the song," the hostess says with a sigh, noting his quiet curiosity. "Poor thing over there requested it on a loop until she got drunk enough to forget about it..."

Spencer's eyes follow her head-nod towards the corner of the room, where a girl sits slumped over the table with her chin in her hand, the other hand tearing at a napkin.

His heart sinks and skips at the same time as recognition strikes him like lightning.

The hostess has walked away by now, and his still gaze can't seem to wander anywhere else. The odds of him going somewhere random to distract himself from thought of you, only to be graced with your presence, feels too coincidental. It's too good of an excuse to just ignore, consequences be damned.

Right?

Should he say hello? Should he offer to get you home before you truly do become too drunk to be aware of your surroundings?

Regardless of how he feels about you, that would be the responsible, parental thing to do, right?

Jesus fucking Christ, he sighs to himself, downing his water before getting up to see you.

As he gets closer, he hears you humming along to the song, sighing dramatically in between breaths, until you look up to finally meet his eyes and it becomes a gasp.

"Doctor Reid!" you exclaim, sitting straight up and thrusting your arms out in welcome. Your smile is tired, but life has ever-so-slightly begun to creep back into your features. The thought of being a familiar face, and a pleasant one at that, to bring you that life does more to him than he should admit out loud.

A warmth settles into him as your eyes rake over his figure, half-like you can't quite decide if he's real and half-like you might be checking him out.

Don't be weird, he scolds himself, though he's still unable to keep the amused grin from his lips as he greets you gently. Cautiously. "Hello again, sweetheart."

"I'm not spying on Cameron this time, what's your excuse?"

It doesn't entirely make sense, but he understands what you mean. Still, it's not like he can tell you that he was trying to distract himself from thinking about you, so he simply shrugs. "Felt like a change of scenery. I don't get out much."

You giggle a little and slump back down, resting your chin against your hands, still smiling. "Yeah, I know. Are you sad about something, too?"

Spencer shakes his head. "No... Just... bored, I guess."

"Well, you're welcome to join me! I'm not much fun like I used t'be, but the company'd be nice."

How could he deny your invitation, when you're exaggerating a toothy, tipsy smile and batting your eyes like you want something? It charms him almost as much as it scares him.

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true," he tells you, pulling up a chair across from you and sliding in. His leg accidentally bumps into yours, and it sends a chill through him. He tries to keep himself calm and collected, but wonders if he looks spooked, because you give him a look.

Turns out, it's just an inebriated look of disbelief. "No, I really am pathetic these days... You don't have to be nice to me, I know it's the truth."

He knows better than to argue with a woman, especially on a subject so sore, so he takes a different approach. "Well, pathetic or not, I still care about you anyway. So I'm more than happy to sit with you for however long you need the company."

You consider his words and then pout, finishing off your drink before you loudly wave your desire for another drink. "And bring one for my new best friend, too!"

Spencer can't help the laugh that leaves him, though you're too caught up in your own little world to notice it.

The same hostess brings over two drinks, eyeing him suspiciously, but before she walks away, you laugh. "It's okay, Anna! That's Doctor Reid, he's my best friend now. My old best friend is out screwing my ex-boyfriend."

"Who happens to be my son," he offers as a more clear explanation as to why he's taken to 'befriending' this drunk woman in a near-empty bar.

Anna looks between you two and nods, amused but not questioning the drama. "Gotcha. If you need anything, just holler."

The song has started over again by this point, and though Spencer's had a bit more excitement than anticipated, it's not enough to forget about it. He recalls Anna's words and the pitying tone in her voice, and tilts his head, watching as you take another sip of your drink. "How many times have you heard this song today?"

"Dunno," you sigh. "Lost count. Cam and I used to sing it together all the time. Not very well, but it was our thing..."

"Hmm, I didn't know that... I don't think I've heard it until today."

"Yeah, well you don't get out much."

A laugh bubbles up out of him involuntarily once again, your charm—even influenced by alcohol and misery—a natural harbinger of joy. The fact that you probably don't even know it only adds to the experience.

Even the way you laugh at his laughing is infectious, until the two of you are mutually giggling and sipping your drinks, and while the song is not forgotten, it's at the very least drowned out by the sound of laughter. Alcohol still may be involved, sure, but where you'd been tired and lost before, the weariness has been lifted by his hand, if only for a moment, and so for now that would have to do.

Eventually, there's a rather quiet moment between you, a lull in conversation that isn't driven by awkwardness or boredom, but by something else that Spencer can't quite put his finger on. He's not entirely convinced that you've sobered up at all, but the hazy look in your eyes isn't so much drunkenness as much as it is mystified. By what, he doesn't know, but it's making him warmer inside than a singular ounce of any alcohol could ever accomplish.

The thought makes him set down his glass; Perhaps he's had enough.

"What's that look for, sweetheart?" he asks quietly, a little too afraid that he should have omitted the nickname. Where it'd been intended innocently before, this time it comes out entirely different, his enamored, lust-drunk curiosity getting the better of him before he can think differently.

His stomach twists.

Still, that look on your face intensifies, and your head tilts thoughtfully, eyes studying him again. Their trail winds everywhere, from his mouth to his hands to his neck... When you finally meet his gaze again, you lean back in your chair. A smile unlike any other he's ever seen adorns your face and sends a jolt through his nervous system.

"I like when you call me that, you know..."

"Yeah?"

Stop it, Spencer...

You nod slowly, never taking your eyes off of him.

If he were a good man, he'd blame it on the drinking and tell you to get home safe, being on his merry way, considering the fact that you're probably just hurting and desperate to get back at Cameron somehow, and that he's a convenient means to a sweet, revengeful end.

He lets the moment hang in the air for a while, holding your stare and feeling his resolve start to crumble beneath the weight of it. That damn song still drawls out beneath the sharp, distant clatter of dishes and late-lunch conversation, and your pretty eyes are easily the brightest source of light in the whole place, begging him to make a move and singing just as loudly, too. They're waiting. Eager. Hungry... All of it is almost too much to take at once.

And then...

"Let me take you home, sweetheart."

He knows it's mean. He also knows that it's going to hurt. But if he doesn't, he knows he'll end up regretting it.

Spencer helps you out of the building and gives Anna a twenty-dollar tip on the way out.

You're more stable than he thought you'd be, walking in a straight line and not stumbling at all as he takes you to your car. He holds his hand out for your keys, to which you oblige without problem, letting your touch linger. As he helps you in the passenger seat and buckles your seat belt, he notices your eyes are closed, but that you're smiling.

"Something funny?" he asks, getting the buckle in place. Still he remains there, arms trapping you into the seat.

You shake your head and open your eyes, searching the features of his face and sinking further into the upholstery. Your smile softens, but doesn't waver in its genuine joy, which is why it breaks his heart when you reply, "Nope." The word is quiet. Serious. The moment is everything he wished it could be, your eyes swimming with some form of devotion that calls to him like a sirens' song.

Only, he can still smell the inebriation on your breath, potent and grounding him to reality, and so he must continue to be mean.

He smiles at you before pulling away and closing your door, then walking to the drivers' side while taking the deepest breath of his life. It's courage and disappointment and humor all in one fucked-up intake of oxygen, but it gives him the push he needs to finally open the car door and begin your journey home.

The ride is mostly quiet, though, save for your humming. The haunting melody will stick around in his head for weeks, he's sure, just another thing to constantly remind him of you, and another thing to break his heart every time he sees his son's smiling face.

Even though he can feel the fury and confusion and lust swimming around in his body like a whirlpool, Spencer manages to walk you up the stairs of your apartment, and to your door, without losing any ounce of control. He leads you gently through your home until you've reached the bedroom, and even then he doesn't falter.

It does make him nervous though, feeling your hands on him. You're a little more unsteady now, though he attributes that to the soon-to-be broken, unspoken promise of sex. It pains him, knowing he used your influenced in-the-moment attraction to him as an excuse to get you safely home. But had he simply left you there to suffer alone, at the mercy of substances and strangers who might not have been so kind, he would have felt worse.

He helps you take off your shoes and puts your belongings on the bedside table, feeling your eyes on him and hoping you won't remember enough of this later to hate him or hate yourself after the fact.

When Spencer turns around, you're already sitting on the bed, and while the sight of it entices him more than words could accurately say, he refrains. He puts on his most fatherly face, crosses his arms, and braces himself for the blow.

"Come on. Under the covers."

"It's only like noon."

Not quite the response he was expecting, but he can work with it. He smiles, just a little. "It's almost Three-PM. You should really get some rest. You look like you haven't slept in days."

Your eyes drop to the floor, and Spencer can feel his heart drop there, too, when you say quietly, "I haven't..."

Against his better judgement, he steps forward and catches your attention again, your head lifting to meet his eyes.

"I know, sweetheart. Sleep."

Your response is a shaky breath and big, watery eyes, the last few weeks of sadness catching up to you. Watching it unfold in real-time is utterly heartbreaking, so much so that when you ask him an unexpected question, he doesn't have the heart, or the brain, to say no.

"Will you sing me to sleep?"

"Of course."

You lie down then, shuffling your way under the covers as Spencer sits down beside you, helping you settle in. His hand instinctively reaches out to gently massage your scalp, something that had always put Cameron to sleep when he'd wake up with nightmares.

Though, he never sang to him. He never was good at it...

Still, because he can't seem to resist your charms, he tries anyway, singing the only thing he can think of at the moment. A newly familiar smoky tune that he now knows every single word to.

"Every woman deserves a moment of weakness. Last night with me was yours, I guess. I must have whispered what you wanted to hear. And when I asked you, you probably said yes."

Softly, you hum along with him on the next part, a duet of desperation and longing that definitely sounds better over the bar speakers, but feels more accurate in this small, sorrowful bedroom.

"Cause it sounds like something I'd say, in the midst of lonely and the Marlboro haze. It sounds better in the dark than in the light of day, but it sounds like something I'd say."

With your eyes closed, you smile, breathing a small laugh through your nose. "You're better at it than he was."

Spencer is surprised by your words and how much they twist this serrated, beautiful knife. They only remind him of the gravity of the situation at hand—at how badly he shouldn't be here right now... He shouldn't care so much, he shouldn't revel in the fact that you're actively feeding into this fantasy where he's healing you and fixing the mistake that his son made...

He shouldn't be falling in love with you.

Of course, he refuses to even consider that possibility, even though he's feeling things around you that he's only ever felt for a few others.

Still, it rattles him enough that after you've finally fallen fast asleep and he walks home, he schedules an extra session with his therapist and takes a long, hot shower, hoping to wash away any lingering trace of you.

Naturally, no amount of scorching water, soap, or steam seems to do the trick.

He wonders if it ever will.

...THE CLEARING

Your heart pounds rapidly in your chest, and in your brain, and in your fingertips... You can practically feel it thrumming in every part of your body as you sit on a log and soak up what small rays of sunshine manage to find their way through the trees.

Thank you for bringing me home earlier... I'm sorry if I made your day weird or inconvenient.

The world around you is beautiful, bright, and lively, though something nameless is missing. You know whatever it is will appear with vivid recognition when he shows up, but there's a small lick of fear creeping up the back of your neck and finding its way into your brain that wonders if he won't... That somehow you've fabricated this whole thing—plucked out imaginary moments of warmth from a desperate place in need of comfort, and neatly placed them in the massive hole left in your heart by Cameron and Danica and their betrayal.

It's not a problem at all. I'm glad you got home safe. Rest, and remember to take your time. These things don't heal overnight.

You hadn't expected Spencer to text you back right away, given that it was just after midnight and you'd never really known him to be much of a night owl. Not to mention you probably should have deleted his phone number after the breakup in the first place. Sure, he had been kind to you after everything which was a relief and a comfort, but there had to be some unspoken rule about late-night texting your ex-boyfriend's dad and expecting a response, much less right away.

But then, your phone lit up with his message almost immediately, and there was an odd clenching in your stomach that refused to subside even long into the early hours of morning.

Your fingers moved in response before your brain had a chance to think it over.

Did you sing to me or did I make that up?

There was a bit more time after that until he responded, and you swore you'd fucked it all up. You threw up and downed a glass of water, but when you picked up your phone again, his name was there. You were suddenly nauseous again, but at the mercy of something else, something familiar and foreign all at once.

I don't know if I'd call what I did "singing"... But sure. Ha

God, you hadn't smiled so hard in... Could you even remember how long it had been? Even now, you think on it and can't even come up with a ballpark answer, which should sadden you but only makes your heart flutter once more. In that moment, reading his words, memories came flooding back. Flickers of your drunken afternoon with Spencer started to string together, feeling more like a movie and less like a silly revenge fantasy.

Without even thinking, you texted him with the truth, even if you didn't quite know what it meant yet.

Either way, I like hearing your voice. It'd be nice to hear it more often.

His response made you laugh so hard you almost threw up again.

Are you still drunk?

You weren't, and you aren't, but you may as well be. Merely the thought of him has you dizzy, and every day it grows worse and worse as you text and talk on the phone like you're best friends.

This morning's message still sings in the back of your mind as you wait for him, melodically bright and filling in the gaps of silence where the trees don't rustle.

Is it weird that I really want to see you again?

You replied, Is it weird that I don’t think that’s weird at all?

And since then you’ve wondered, is it even weirder that you’d go so far to say you’re so incredibly flattered by his words that your entire body pulsates with a violent wave of heat just thinking about seeing him face-to-face again?

The gentle breeze does nothing to cool you down, the sweet, damning effect of Spencer Reid burying you alive even hours later.

When you spot him, the world stops rotating. He’s bright smiles and warm eyes and long, fluid limbs, and as he makes his way towards you, you forget how to stand. Your ass is completely glued to its resting spot on the log, and your legs are of no help. All you can do is stare at him and feel your heart flutter rapidly in your chest. You’re not even sure if you’re smiling, though the thought of being caught just staring at him with your tongue practically hanging out is embarrassing enough to pull one from you anyway.

Only when his hand extends to help you up do you finally snap out of whatever dream-world you’ve put yourself in and clear your throat with an avoidant laugh.

“Hi,” you greet him stupidly, still too overwhelmed by him to try anything more interesting.

Spencer grins down at you, your gaze trailing softly upwards along the length of his face until you meet his eyes, and only then does he reply, “Hi.”

The word is infinitely more interesting coming from his well-spoken, experienced lips. They even go the extra mile, twitching up into a larger grin at your silence.

You’re lovesick, he’s amused, and this is entirely fucked.

“What were you up to today?”

Thankfully, even your poor attempt at small talk is merely a small embarrassment scrawled in sand and violently washed away by the tides of his voice. When he speaks, it cleanses you. Clears your mind. Offers a clean slate.

“Nothing special… Read a couple books, made some lunch… If I’m being honest, I mostly just tried to occupy my mind while I waited to come see you.”

Despite the clear setup for him to be cheeky or smug about it, Spencer’s words only exude comfortable honesty. He doesn’t tell you this to get you blushing or to take advantage of this situation. No, every word is spoken without an ulterior motive at all. Though, his sparkling eyes seem to tell a different story.

“Same,” you confess through a small laugh. “I know I joked about you being my new best friend at the bar, but these days it really does feel like it.”

“So you do remember that day…”

“Most of it, yeah. Kind of embarrassed about that to be honest…”

Spencer doesn’t say anything, only hums consideringly as he squeezes your hand. The small gesture suddenly reminds you of his physical presence, and a rush of warmth pulses at your fingertips.

“Truthfully, I am, too.”

This takes you by surprise. “How?”

He seems to regret saying anything, a quick flash of panic in his eyes before he sighs and squeezes your hand again. “Knowing it was my son who did that to you, and not understanding why… You have no idea how much I… I hate that I can’t figure it out.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s not your responsibility… I guess that’s mostly why I’m embarrassed about the whole thing. You shouldn’t have to fix something that you didn’t break.”

“Didn’t I, though? In one way or another?”

The intense emotion swirling in his eyes takes over you like a tidal wave, and suddenly you’re heartbroken for another reason entirely.

“Don’t get all philosophical on me over this,” you say firmly, squeezing his hand back. “Cameron made that decision, not you. You’re not him.”

“But he’s part of me.”

“So? You didn’t break my heart, he did. And I don’t care what you have to say about that. You are a good man and a good father, and you shouldn’t doubt that.”

You aren’t sure what you expected as a response, but it surely wasn’t the bitter laugh that tumbles from his lips.

“What?” you ask sharply in desperation, grabbing his other hand and practically begging him to listen to you. “What’s so funny?”

Spencer sighs, pulling you flush to his body and taking your breath away in one second flat.

“I doubt those things every damn second I’m with you…”

Not only is your breath gone, but now the ability to think has gone with it. All you know is Spencer. His eyes are pulling you in and daring you to look away. His hands are sliding up the expanse of your arms, and chills erupt in their wake. The world around you has faded to a nothingness that isn’t even scary. It’s just forgotten. Irrelevant.

The only thing that feels natural is the way you tilt your head to brush your lips over his. Just lightly, barely even a touch at all. Still, the intimate contact shocks you at first, bringing you to life in a way you hadn’t thought possible. Slowly, you lean into it, and he does, too. With each second that passes, this one press of your lips against his becomes stronger, the two of you drawing more and more near until it’s all there is.

And then, when his mouth parts, inviting you deeper, it’s like he swallows you whole. Your body melts into his as he welcomes you into his entire world, hugging and kissing you at the same time. Behind closed lids, your eyes flutter to the back of your head, a soft whine escaping your throat and feeding Spencer’s desire until it becomes heavy.

A slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue into your mouth and the sudden press of his erection to your thigh is what jolts a sense of reality into you, and as much as your body is screaming at you to indulge, you know there will, in fact, be consequences.

You pull yourself away from him, just enough to disconnect your lips and remove yourself from the world of lust he’s opened for you. Still, his arms embrace you, loose and comforting and ready to conform to however you see fit.

Spencer stares at you, waiting, studying your kissed-out, panting lips and the panic settling in your eyes as the reality of the situation catches up with you.

“I’m so sorry,” you gasp, still clutching onto his shirt and then letting it go to smooth it out. “I… I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

When you meet his eyes again, they haven’t changed. A vibrant chill runs through you again, but you’re still cognisant— Still worried about how fucked it is that you’ve just made out with your ex-boyfriend’s father. Still praying to whoever or whatever is listening that you didn’t just ruin this beautiful friendship you’ve started to form—the one thing that was beginning to pull you out of the darkest period of your life thus far.

You’re scared, you realize, as you stare into Spencer’s eyes, charged, unresolved need hanging thickly in the atmosphere around you.

You’re terrified, and yet something urges you forward.

Whether it’s insanity or stupidity or desperation to feel something, you don’t know, but the way he practically catches you and welcomes you back without stumbling is satisfying enough to quell the need for answers.

Besides, his lips are the only answer you want, frankly.

You lunge and kiss him with a fervor that makes you question everything about your previous relationship and this new bond you’ve started to form with Spencer after the fact, but only for half a second before his own fervor only rivals it. In fact, the way his mouth possesses yours—coaxing your submission from you with just a few meticulous strokes of the tongue—has you wondering if perhaps he’s going through a similar dilemma.

How long has he wanted this? Has he dreamt of it? He sure as fuck kisses you like he has, but how much of that is truth and how much is merely a product of your unspoken, deep-seeded desire to get Cameron back for what he did to you?

And would he actually be willing to offer you that satisfaction, if you asked?

Perhaps you’ll ask him these things another time, but at the moment, your brain is more than ready to grow numb at the mercy of Spencer’s kisses.

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