The Birds & The Bees | S.R.

Ch. 5 | First Taste

Summary: Spencer wonders if her lips could really make him better somehow.

Content Warning: Alcohol, scars (not related to self-harm), canon-consistent trauma, kissing, heavy petting

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It was one of those days. The kind where the rain against the window was more anxiety-inducing than comforting. A day of wet socks in scuffed shoes and a heartbeat only kept alert by the sixth cup of coffee.

I was having a bad day, and I didn't understand how. By all means, it should have been impossible to be this sullen when I wasn't alone.

A small flower was perched in her usual spot in my office, reading and marking through rough drafts until they were covered in more red than black. She'd moved out of my immediate line of sight in favor of the harsh beating of soft droplets against the old, mossed-over windowpane.

It wasn't until there was a particularly bright bolt, an equalizing charge tearing through the sky, that I realized she was watching me stare at her instead of the storm outside.

"Is everything okay?"

"Hm?" I asked, finally breaking myself from her spell and returning my attention to the papers in front of me, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You're usually... More smiley."

The question itself seemed to lift my spirits from their prone position.

"Am I?" I teased, trying to trick her by adding a tilt to my timbre, but it failed. Though it produced a smile, it remained a cautious one.

"Around me, yeah, you are," she said.

"You're a cocky little thing. Have I ever told you that?"

"But I'm right," she giggled, and I couldn't even bother to correct her. I couldn't fight it, even if it meant sacrificing a bit of my dignity. I would have given her so much more than that.

Still, she seemed let down by my lack of argument. She'd told me herself that she loved our spirited debates on things like the best flavor of frozen ice and whether Tuesdays or Thursdays were more frustrating. And just as she had failed to realize that those two days would never be anything but brilliant to me, knowing that I would see her, she failed to understand why I failed to fight. That I was trying to protect both her and me from the terrors peeking their heads out every time I closed my eyes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, and both of our smiles fell, hung down with feelings that we kept locked away behind tight lips.

"No. I'm alright," I promised, knowing she wouldn't believe me, "But thank you. You are, as always, very sweet."

"Okay," she sighed with resignation before she stood from the chair. I put my pen down, turning my attention to her once she assumed the power pose that she'd been working so hard on. She noticed my watching, the playfulness appearing in my eyes and my tongue caught between my teeth.

She didn't let it intimidate or dissuade her from commanding, "Lose the jacket."

"Excuse me?" I laughed, because there was really no other reasonable reply.

At least, I thought there wasn't. (Y/n) clearly disagreed. With hurried hands, she waved them like a bird's wings over my shoulders. She cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes with something that actually resembled confidence so closely, I felt compelled to follow.

I did continue laughing the whole time, though.

"I feel like I should be nervous you're asking me to strip."