Title: Triggers and Ties, Part 4: Rains and Pours
Author: Kuria Dalmatia
Rating: FRAO/NC-17, sexual and adult situations, frank discussion of sex, profanity
Series: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Summary: It wasn't fair to Reid to compare to Haley - something Aaron told himself every time they were together - but he found himself unable to stop.

Thanks to pabzi for the beta and encouragement. Any mistakes left are mine. Feedback always welcome.

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.
"Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured."
- Mark Twain

Aaron always liked storms. As a child, he used to stare out the bay window of his parent's house for hours, watching the lightening dance across the sky and counting hippopotami until the thunder clapped. He wondered if Spencer did the same as a kid. Or was Spencer like Sean, sleeping on the floor of his parents' bedroom, shaking from fear that the lightening would strike too close, too fast?

He sipped his wine as he slouched in the beanbag chair in front of the French doors to the backyard. Television really held no interest. Infomercials, sports highlights, and reruns of procedural dramas that he hated because juries nowadays expected all the evidence to be presented like on TV.

He'd steadily worked through half a bottle of rioja, a heavy Spanish red. He'd selected it to go with the pathetic "meal to go" from the grocery. Aaron wondered what the hell he had been thinking when he bought the store-made paella. Honestly. Questionable rice with mussels and clams?

He should have ordered take out from that little mom and pop restaurant that Dave frequented. All he had to do was mention Dave's name and Mama Bianchi herself would come out from the kitchen with Pasta O Furnu Catanisa and Mele Cotte Ripiene. She would insist on the wine to go with the meal, ask who he was sharing it with, and then fuss over him because Aaron was "too skinny".

God only knew what she would do if she ever saw Spencer.

Rossi. Bianchi.

Red. White.

Aaron supposed he was blue nowadays.

Lightening flash.

One hippopotamus. Two hippopotami. Three hippopotami.


The heart of the storm was three miles away.

He glanced at his cell phone: 9:47 p.m. Thursday. Chinese takeout night. At least, that's what Aaron had decided to call it in his mind. The NA meetings were something Spencer simply didn't talk about; Aaron never pushed.

But the fact it was Thursday bothered him because he wasn't with Spencer. After that first time, Aaron began showing up at Spencer's apartment after 9:45 p.m. They'd share whatever take out Spencer brought home with a few cups of Nespresso coffee; Tsingtao beer was reserved for milestones. Then, they would celebrate. Funny that for the first time in his life, sex was truly a joyous occasion.

Yet since that discussion on the plane after the Cyrus case, Aaron hadn't had any contact with Spencer outside of work. Five weeks and counting. Spencer staunchly turned down every offer to drive him home, to have dinner together, to do something even if it wasn't sex. He had made it blatantly clear that Aaron wasn't welcome at his apartment. Hell, the man even hung up on Aaron once a conversation turned from work to personal.

Aaron knew that, technically, Spencer was a rebound. Those relationships were never supposed to last. Aaron had seen so many of his colleagues get burned by them. Dave fully admitted that Wife Number Two had been a pity fuck and an attempt to maintain some sort of accepted social normalcy for a man in his mid-thirties.

Aaron thought he would never fall for it. He was too smart. Too selective. Too Aaron Hotchner to even think about it. After all, Haley was supposed to be until death did they part.

He sipped the wine. He wondered what the name of Haley's lover was. It wouldn't be that hard to find out, not even requiring a favor from Garcia, just the cell phone bills. He just never bothered to. Wasn't worth the effort. He didn't want to know because then he'd automatically profile the person based just on the name.

Another lightening flash.

One hippopotamus. Two hippopotami.


The heart of the storm was two miles away.

He didn't want to think about the conversation with Dave this morning, but it wouldn't go away. Dave had been his typical blunt self, almost too omniscient if Aaron really thought about it. Then again, Aaron had been around for the collapse with Wife Number Two and had endured the pub crawl when the divorce papers had been signed. He'd never puked so much in his entire life; that had also been the last time Haley had allowed him out with "the boys". Maybe this had been Dave's way of repaying that old debt.

Dave had closed the door behind him and had sat on the corner of Aaron's desk. "You're miserable." Bold. Arrogant. Classic David Rossi. "So is Spencer. He's just doing a better job at hiding it. Else, we're cutting him a helluva lot more slack nowadays."

He had wanted to be surprised at Dave's frankness, to be angry that Dave would dare bring the subject up at the office. His tone had been reproachful, icy. "This, coming from the man who..."

"This is not about me, Aaron. It's about you. You being stupid. Spencer doesn't know any better. He's confused. Unsure of himself. Christ, do you have any idea how many times in the past month that he's gone up to your office but turned around half-way there?"

"No." Surprise had made the answer slip out too quickly. He had tried to cover it with: "And how does that involve me?"

"You gave up after your little one-on-one with him after the Cyrus case."


"You're sitting in here, thinking that he's rejecting you when out there, he just wants acknowledgement that he stood up for himself."


"The man kicked Morgan in the balls about Greenaway. Sure, he apologized for it - something I think he shouldn't have done but it shows he doesn't necessarily subscribe to conventional or profiler wisdom." Dave had crossed his arms, staring down at him like he was a rookie.

Anger had made Aaron spit out, "I did admit I was wrong about Elle."

"That wasn't what he was looking for."

"And suddenly, the man with three ex-wives suddenly has all the insight?"

Dave had actually smiled. "I know where I went wrong. And I know a damn good thing when I see it. Whatever the hell is going on with you, Aaron, he's got it figured out. He just doesn't know what to do."

Aaron had glared. Finally, he had spit out, "Like I know what the hell I'm doing," because maybe the guy with three ex-wives actually did know something useful and was willing to share.

Dave's smile had grown bigger. "I know that you don't have to be Unit Chief SSA Aaron Hotchner when you're together. Working long hours and being called away is no longer a factor. You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to make all these promises about being somewhere, doing chores, or God knows what else. You make mistakes and he doesn't crucify you for it."

His gaze, he was sure, had turned lethal.

Dave had shrugged before delivering, "You have to fight for what you want, Aaron."

A sucker punch. Bastard. If it had been anyone else, he would have said "fuck off". Instead, he had met the gaze of the one man in the place who would understand. His words had been forced because it had hurt to admit. "I didn't fight for Haley."


He had narrowed his eyes.

Dave had bared his teeth a little. "Rumor has it that you resigned from the Bureau to make her happy. If that's not fighting for something, I don't know what the hell is. You did everything you could to make things work. You need to admit to yourself that it takes two to tango and Haley stopped dancing a long time ago. She had a plan, Aaron. She wanted to be the wife of a district attorney who would run for political office. While else would she have bitched so much about not having to throw dinner parties?

"Spencer? He's that shy guy in the corner convinced that no one will ever ask him to dance, much less keep him out on the floor for the more than one pity song."

"That's pretty clichéd, Dave."

"Clichéd, yes. But true." He had let out a long sigh before shaking his head. "Look, I can't tell you what the rest of the team has figured out. Right now, the bets are that you're doing the whole 'Gideon-father figure-mentoring' thing and Spencer's torn up because he's disappointed you somehow. I happen to think it's a little more. A lot more. Then again, I've known you longer."

"And when the rest of the team figures out? Fraternization..."

"Damn. You really are blind." Dave had laughed. "You remember what Morgan said before all this mess. They just care that Spencer's happy. That you're happy. The girls?" Only David Rossi could get away with referring to three female agents that way and not get slapped. "They're not judgmental. As for Morgan... he spilled his coffee in his lap when Spencer corrected him on gender but hasn't pressed the issue since."

"This is exactly why..."

"Morgan will get over it. More than anything, he'll appreciate your discretion." Dave had then moved from the edge of his desk to the door. "Although he has said that he will put the head of the man who breaks Spencer's heart on a stick. I'd hate to lose our SAC that way." He had opened the door. "It's Thursday, Aaron. The only day of the week you leave precisely at 6:45 p.m. and offer Spencer a ride home. Friday is the only morning your two arrive in tandem with coffee from the same shop and you have a smile that doesn't look forced. Think about it."

Now, Aaron stared out the French doors as the rain pummeled the outdoor furniture, soaking the flowered seat cushions that he absolutely despised.

Another lightening flash.

One hippopotamus.


The heart of the storm was one mile away.

Aaron pushed himself out of the chair, glass tipping over and spilling the red wine on the pale beige of the carpet. It was after Jack's bedtime. Haley would have accused him of being drunk, quietly of course because she feared waking the baby. She would have cursed him as she sprinkled baking soda in a pathetic attempt to remove the stain.

Two glasses of wine over two hours? Barely even a buzz.

He buttoned his collar, tightened his tie, and slid on his suit coat as he made his way to the door. Gun. Credentials. Wallet. Keys. To hell with the umbrella because he liked the rain.

It only took fifteen minutes to get to Spencer's apartment. Aaron debated on stopping at the Cantonese place along the way but realized how late it was. Spencer would have already gotten his order. And his can of Tsingtao beer.

Spencer wasn't the only one who could work the numbers.

He knocked.


Without fear.

One hippopotamus. Two hippopotami. Three hippopotami. Four hippopotami.

"Hotch?" The pitch was one of surprised confusion, with the unspoken, Why are you here? hanging in the air.

Aaron had no offering except himself. He should have brought flowers. Chocolates. A Stephen Hawking novel. Something.

Softly, he said, "One year. Six months. Three days. You don't like celebrating alone."

Christ, he hoped he wasn't wrong.

"Um. Oh." Spencer's face reddened as he cleared his throat a few times. "Uh. A minute, please?"

The door closed in his face.

Aaron had been on the receiving end of a bullet before. It was not as excruciating as this.



To think he was the only one Spencer entertained. All that experience had to come from somewhere, and the strategic placement of condoms and lube throughout the apartment hadn't escaped his notice.

Humiliation rooted Aaron to the spot. It overrode the coward that wished to run away. It also brought a haze that swirled in Aaron's mind.

The door opened again. Spencer ushered him in, hands fluttering from nerves. Non sequiturs fell steadily like the rain outside.

Aaron's instincts took over. Scan. Catalogue. Analyze. Find what the fuck was out of place in the apartment, besides the motherfucking son of a bitch sitting on Spencer's couch and eating - of all the goddamned things - Ma Yi Shang Shu covered with some electric orange goo that screamed "Mall Chinese" instead of gourmet.

Fucking heathen.

A heathen attempting to eat with chopsticks.

Aaron knew how to kill someone using chopsticks. Not the bullshit, Hollywood version, but the honest to God, "I worked a case where the UnSub killed his victims using chopsticks" kind of way.

Spencer was in 'I'm trying hard not to be spastic' mode. Chatting about Nikola Tesla, telegeodynamics, the Bremsstrahlung process... and didn't Aaron - Christ! Did Spencer actually use his first name in front of this bastard? - want to take off his suit coat that was soaking wet or at least want a towel to dry off?

"I'm fine." Except that Aaron wanted to frog march the intruder to the curb and along the way, treat him to a personal profile that would leave scars for years.

Thirty-five to forty-year-old man. Male-pattern baldness with the typical comb-over in a pathetic attempt to mask it. Law enforcement, the shield clipped to his belt indicating he was a detective from Alexandria. Shoulder holster on the end table but not within reach to distance himself from his job. Obviously, barely holding on to his rank from the look of the badly scuffed shoes, faded dress shirt straining over a paunchy stomach and rumpled khakis; successful cops always dressed more respectably, gut or no gut.

This guy... he had hoped that law enforcement would make him the man he thought he should be but failing. His father had been abusive, domineering - probably a beat cop - while his mother had been passive aggressive. Former junkie. Cocaine by the way he swiped his nose constantly. Probably picked up the habit on the narc beat as a way to escape his failing marriage and flagging career. Divorced but still not used to it by the way he absently rubbed where his wedding ring should be.

Trying to appear worldly by wielding chopsticks - probably because Spencer offered them - but was definitely a fork and knife man. He had to have connections somewhere because why else would that hard ass Alexandria unit chief put up with such a pathetic sack of shit? Was he like Cal McGee from Kansas City, a legacy cop who people only kept around out of respect for the father?

"Hungry?" It was that specific Spencer squeak of uncertainty. The fact it wasn't a full sentence meant something, but Aaron wasn't sure quite what.


"Tsingtao?" and the word tinged with that special panicked Spencer tone.

He stared at the mug by the intruder's plate. "Nespresso. Black."

"Uh. Yeah. Sure. I have..."

"The arpeggio." More of a sentimental choice since it was the first kind that Spencer had ever served him and it just happened to be Spencer's preferred blend.

"Uh. Yes. Arpeggio. Okay." There was a painful pause. "Aaron. Ben. Ben. Aaron." Then, Spencer retreated to the kitchen. A few seconds later, cups crashed unexpectedly followed by a short dissertation on Kopi Luwak, the palm civet cat, and the world's most expensive coffee. Spencer then apologized that he didn't have any to share because it was $300 per pound and he'd spent his money on a first edition Elements of Euclid by Euclid published by Charles Wittingham in 1847.

Aaron stood next the worn chair by the couch, right hand casually in his trouser pocket. Ben had stopped eating and was now eyeing him warily. It had dissolved into a staring contest, but it was the type that Aaron could easily win.

Spencer came back, handing him mug of coffee before bending as if to sit on the floor. "No," Aaron said as he touched the back of Spencer's upper arm. "Here." He gestured towards the chair.

Spencer stared at him, confusion in his eyes. He could tell Spencer wanted to ask questions, but held back. Aaron wondered if the intruder could read Spencer as well as he could.

"I'm not going to sit here and be judged by one of your FBI buddies, Spencer," Ben suddenly snarled as he got to his feet. His plate clattered on the coffee table. "Assholes like him think they're better than us."

"It's a common reaction by someone with low self-esteem," Aaron shot back coolly.

"Aaron!" Spencer grabbed his upper arm, squeezing hard, "Ben is a friend. It's Thursday."

He knew that was supposed to mean something, but he smelled blood in the water and was debating what kind of kill to make. Swift and precise or long and excruciating. He was currently leaning toward the latter.

He hated losing. Fighting for what he wanted. He could do that. Easily. This guy wasn't even a challenge.

"Thursday," Spencer repeated but Aaron's rational thought had never made it past the front door. With an authoritative edge that he had never heard before, Spencer added, "I don't want to ask you to leave, but I will if you continue acting like this."

"Don't bother," Ben said as he picked up his holster and slid it on. "This was all a fucking mistake. Like a Fed could possibly fucking understand what the hell it's like to be a real cop!" He put on his coat with jerking motions. "God help you if this bastard is part of your support because he clearly doesn't fucking get it."


"Good night, Spencer." With that, the other man stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

"Who is he?" Aaron demanded, tone deadly even.

"He's a friend." Spencer went to the door and locked it.

Not good enough! Aaron wanted to shout. Instead, he asked frostily, "How do you know him?"

"It's called 'Anonymous' for a reason, Aaron," Spencer fired back. He then picked up Ben's discarded plate and coffee cup and took them to the kitchen.

Aaron frowned but followed, setting his own mug on the counter.

"You're drinking that Arpeggio, and you're buying the refills." Spencer's angry parental tone should have made him laugh, but it barely registered. After dropping the plates in the sink, Spencer turned, arms firmly across his chest. "What the hell is with you? You show up at my apartment after 10, soaking wet. Intimidate the hell out of friend of mine for no reason. You look one step away from completely losing it. I should know. I deal with insanity on a regular basis."

"You don't like celebrating alone."

"That's not an answer, Aaron. If you're going to be like this, then I think me being alone is a much better option than you staying here."

Aaron took a step closer, heart suddenly hammering in his chest as a flood of memories hit. Dave was wrong. Horribly wrong. Fighting for what he wanted? What the fuck had he been thinking? It was desperation that forced him to say the one thing guaranteed to not get him kicked out of Spencer's apartment: "I don't know how to do this."

Spencer's brow furrowed. He tilted his head slightly as his eyes darted from Aaron to the couch to the door several times before his mouth dropped open. His tone was incredulous. "Wait... What? Huh? You… Ah... You think...?"

Aaron shut him up with a kiss. Hard. Possessive. Perhaps the most passionate he'd ever delivered. Hands pressed against his chest but didn't push him away. One last hurrah, Aaron thought. It was early enough for a pub-crawl with Dave. The son of a bitch who gave him craptastic advice owed him that much at least. Drunk, it would also make it much easier for Morgan to put his head on a stick.

Something, he had a feeling, he fully deserved.

He wasn't expecting Spencer to wrap himself around him, pushing the soaking material from his shoulders until Aaron dropped his hands and the jacket fell to the floor. That was encouragement, yes? And then something took over Aaron's body, because he began maneuvering them towards the couch. It took two tries to get that stupid sweater vest off of Spencer and Aaron flung it somewhere in the apartment. He went to work on Spencer's tie next.

He kicked the coffee table out of the way, books spilling on the floor as he pushed Spencer down onto the couch. He pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, waiting for the slight nod that Spencer gave before resuming. Lips. Jaw. Neck. Earlobes. Spencer's shirt was at his mercy as he popped buttons as he removed it. He trailed kisses down Spencer's chest, alternating with sharp bites that earned gasps.

He pulled at Spencer's belt buckle, undoing it along with the trouser button and zipper. He barely noticed that Spencer was plucking at his clothing but not having much success. When he yanked Spencer's trousers and boxers down, he forced the other man to break contact. It took a few moments and required Aaron pulling off Spencer's right shoe so that the clothing bunched around only one ankle. He pushed his own trousers and boxers to mid-thigh, gun and cell phone dull thuds on the hardwood floor.

Aaron mouthed the pale skin of Spencer's inner thighs, working his way from knee to crotch. When he took Spencer's semi-hard cock in his mouth, he went down until he felt the tip hit the back of his throat. The gag-reflex kicked in and he swallowed. Spencer gasped, clutched the back of his head, and bucked.

Aaron had been doing his own research, after all.

"Oh… Ah! Yes, Aaron," Spencer breathed, fingers digging into his skull.

He blindly reached behind him, knowing the drawer in the coffee table had all the things they needed. He found the lube and condom without too much effort, never once stopping his assault on Spencer's now rock hard cock.

His lashes were wet with exertion but he knew it was totally worth it. Aaron then pulled Spencer forward until his ass was half hanging off the couch and coated his fingers with lube. He stopped just long enough to say, "I want you, Spencer."

He was rewarded with, "Yes."

Yet instead of the slow teasing Aaron had always done in the past, he jabbed his index finger into Spencer, perhaps a bit too hard from the sound Spencer made. He didn't stop with his hands or his mouth. Spencer wasn't going to break. Spencer would tell him to stop if it was too much.

"Yes. Aaron. Ahh. Fuck."

Methodical. Ruthless even. One finger. Two fingers to crook and hit the prostate. Spencer writhed.

He used his left hand to roll the condom on. Awkward, but he was ambidextrous despite his mother's best efforts. Those who where left-handed were agents of the Devil.

Perhaps it was the Devil who possessed his soul now.

"Aaron!" Spencer's head was thrown back, exposing his throat.

"I want you." Growled. Fiercely. "I'm going to take you."


"I'm not fucking stupid." Complete with a third finger to emphasis his point.

"Ahh! Aaron."

"Yes or no?"


He withdrew his fingers. He thrust up, cock pressing hard against Spencer without breaching. "Look at me."

Spencer opened his eyes, which were fully dilated, and his chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath. He'd never looked so open, so wanton, so damn sexy.

Aaron wasn't sure what possessed him to say and do these things. There was a part of him cowering in a corner of his mind, telling him to stop. It made him pause, hold Spencer's gaze, and demand, "Do you want me?"

Spencer's left hand gripped Aaron's collarbone, thumb against his throat and blunt nails digging into his shoulder. "Yes," forcefully said between clenched teeth. "I want you to fuck me, Aaron."

Instinct took over. Tight. Hot. Trying to take it slow so to adjust but... Awkward angles. Stress on his hips and thighs that Aaron had never experienced before.

Primal. He licked and bit Spencer's chest as the other man curled one hand around the back of his head. His own hands were digging to Spencer's hips as he tried to keep himself from pounding his lover into the furniture. Spencer's erection had flagged, though, and it made Aaron more edgy because this wasn't just about him.

He fumbled for the lube, dripping some haphazardly on Spencer's genitals because his coordination was suddenly shot to hell, but Spencer continued to hold the back of his head while his other hand clutched the cushions.

It was as if every nerve of his body was on fire as Aaron ordered, "Stroke yourself."

Slowly, Spencer let go of the couch and tentatively curled those long fingers around his dick. Unlike before, this time the affirmation was almost a whimper. "Yes."

He watched the way Spencer ran his hand along his shaft, as if unsure of what to do. Gone was the sexually confident Spencer who had once given him a hand job in the SUV because they where stuck in traffic and Spencer was in a daring mood. Instead, here was this shy man who seemed intimidated by touching himself.

That wasn't what or who Aaron desired. Sex with Spencer was adventuresome, the younger man pushing Aaron's boundaries with each encounter. There was one "experiment" that had been particularly successful.

Aaron increased his pace, earning a gasp from Spencer. He then met Spencer's eyes as he commanded, "Stroke yourself like you do when I'm fucking you from behind and you're watching yourself in the mirror."

Spencer's entire body shuddered as he gasped out, "Nrgh." He became bolder, working and squeezing and twisting.

"That's it. Faster."

"A-aaron." The name dragged out between sharp breaths.

"God, yes." He tightened his grip he continued to fuck Spencer. "You're mine." And where the hell had that come from? But Aaron didn't care. "Mine."

"Aaron." Spencer's hand increased the pace "Yes."

"No one else."

"Of course, Aaron."

"Mine." The rhythm was aching. Difficult to kept in sync. Lanky limbs sharp against his own. The tops of Aaron's thighs burned, as if he'd been bench-pressing an ungodly weight.



"So good."

Aaron couldn't reply. His quads threatened to give out. He stretched, maneuvering until Spencer's long legs were draped over his shoulders and he grabbed the back of the couch with both hands. He shifted until his glutes kicked in. The sound Spencer made was between surprise and pain.


It was meant as a question but he sunk his teeth into the soft flesh, earning a yelp that sounded sort of like a "yes". Aaron knew he should pause. Knew he should look Spencer in the eyes. Knew he should have some sort of permission for this brutality. But his gaze was on Spencer's cock, mesmerized by how he fisted it.

"Mine. You're mine." He growled the words, unsure of where they were coming from.


The pace was driving, faster than he'd ever dared before. His body was pulsing as he continued, everything focused on the hot tight heat, Spencer's lustful gasps, and his own grunts of exertion. He could feel his body wound tight, his mind caught up in the feel… the feel of it.

When the climax hit, he bit down on Spencer's shoulder, muffling his yell of release. Spencer hissed but his hand never slowed. Aaron's mind clouded even more, his dick still hard and balls aching and he didn't know why. His pace slowed, he leaned back just enough so that Spencer's legs fell on either side but Aaron was determined to keep going until Spencer hit his release. He wanted to have those muscles clench around him, just like the third time Spencer had ridden him.

"Come for me," he coaxed. "I want to feel you. I need to feel you."

Spencer's hand paused for just a second.

Aaron's tone immediately to a harsh bark. "Come for me."

Spencer shuddered as Aaron rolled the younger man's nipple between thumb and forefinger. Spencer's muscles twitched as he whispered, "Yes."

"That's it. Work your cock. Stroke it for me. You like this? You're mine, Spencer. You're going to come for me."

"Y-yyes." Stuttered. Breathless.

"I'm still hard for you. You feel it?" Aaron shifted slightly, earning a choked howl from Spencer that meant he was hitting that sweet spot. "I am going to fuck you until you can't walk."


"You do this to me."


"You're close aren't you? You're going to come with my hard cock deep in your ass. You do this to me. You're mine."

Spencer's moans hit a crescendo before he convulsed twice as the orgasm hit. It was Aaron who bayed and arched as Spencer pulsed around him. It was Aaron who sunk his teeth into the sinewy muscle of Spencer's neck. Aaron finally slowed when his body refused to continue.

Someone breathed, "Yes, finally" but Aaron wasn't sure whom.

Aaron dropped down, heels against his own ass. Spencer followed, his weight pressing down.

"Finally." Breathed against his neck.

"Spencer." He lifted Spencer's cum-covered hand. He took each finger in his mouth, bathed each with his tongue until he suckled the palm and earned a shiver.

"Yes." Spencer was blinking rapidly, as if trying to process everything.

He kissed him again, long and deep, trying to taste every bit of Spencer. His Spencer. He then latched onto Spencer's neck, biting and swirling his tongue, feeling the still rapid pulse. "Spencer."

"Shhhh. Shhhh." Aaron was pushed back a little, but he threaded his hands in Spencer's hair and pressed into another kiss. It only lasted a few moments before Spencer turned his head slightly to break contact. His fingers brushed Aaron's lips - "Shhhh". He then curled his arms around Aaron's shoulders and rested his forehead against Aaron's.

"You're mine," Aaron breathed.

"I know."

/End Part 4/