Spencer Reid | Oneshots

Vienna 🔥 (E)

Summary: Spencer is a bona fide 40-year-old virgin. After a few months of dating Reader, he finally decides he wants to change that. Based on "" by Billy Joel. 

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Content Warning: Virgin!Spencer, Spencer POV, established relationship loss of virginity, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex

——————————————————

I'd often wondered whether my preternatural love for autumn was part of why my life had turned out the way it had. As if my love for late-blooming flowers was built into my biology. Something innate in me that carried with it a promise for a lonely youth.

For a long time, I thought my state of waiting might be fated. Eternal celibacy seemed inevitable. As I watched the years pass by, I'd even started to find some comfort in knowing that there was still a part of me left untouched. Something that could be truly mine in a way things so rarely are.

I was resigned to a life filled to the brim with platonic intimacy. It had been a good life; a happy life. I had a family, albeit not in the ordinary sense of the word. But deep within me, in that 21 ounces that pseudoscience claims to constitute a soul, the longing never ceased. It persisted for nearly forty years.

And then I found her.

She walked into my life with little fanfare. Meeting her felt like finding the answer to an impossible equation after lifetimes of searching.

There had never been a dull moment with her. There was never a lapse in the conversation to permit for any awkward misunderstandings.

The first time that she kissed me, it felt nothing like the times before. It was soft and unassuming, like she were a natural extension of myself.

If one must fall into love, she caught me before my brain could even comprehend it was happening. There was no nauseating sunken stomach, no breathless anxiety of whether or not I was making a mistake.

The first night we were alone, she'd held my face in the dim light. I thought then that my lifetime of waiting had finally come to pass.

She'd only needed a moment of vulnerability to read my soul with the highest proficiency.

With an unrivaled tenderness, she'd told me that she had sensed my innocence the first day we met. That night, and every opportunity since, she had assured me that her love was not conditioned on a physical intimacy. Our life would be beautiful regardless of what it looked like, and she saw no need to fuss over something as simple as sex.

Her assurances had been unnecessary. It had hardly been a month before I found myself eager to give away what I'd once held dear.

Even without a faultless memory, I would always remember the first time she touched me without inhibition. I would forever cherish each of the times that I found myself through an exploration of her.

I had always heard the time-old adage, 'when it's right, you'll know,' and the skeptic in me doubted whether it could be true for someone like me.

But it was. Because that night, I knew. The same as I knew that the sky appears blue when it is closer to violet and that the color of grass depends on a multitude of factors, I knew that my waiting had come to an end.

I knew because it felt right when she walked into my room with faded lipstick and yet another wonderful memory. That quiet moment felt as fated as the first time I met her. That heaviness in my chest lifted when she turned to look at me, as if my soul had finally found its other half.