#he WILL go down on a pomegranate sloppy style if he feels like it

[sting-raes]

i would pay SO MUCH MONEY to see Elliott just go to town on a pomegranate like. He just goes for it like a feral animal and he's staring up at me with bright red juice dripping down his chin like a crazed man with his pupils blown wide bc he's just lost in the Sauce™️

[spencersscout]

Candlelit

WORDCOUNT: 2k

WARNINGS: smut, fluff, angst if you squint really hard, pwp, soft dom!reader/sub!spencer, takes place w season 4 spencer, nervousness, references to past sexual conduct, my immortal style outfit descriptions?, some boobie sucking, riding, unprotected sex, creampie, implied fem reader but gendered pronouns aren’t used

 “Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.” - William Shakespeare, Hamlet

***

    February is not, by far, Spencer’s favorite month of the year. It always dredges up horrible memories, ones of looking into Tobias Hankel’s glassy cornflower blue eyes and choking on his own foamy saliva. It’s only been two years since he went into that field, all alone, abandoning protocol and all common sense. It’s only been two years, but even if he doesn’t love February, he does love you. 

It’s your first valentine’s day together and Spencer is determined to make it incredible for you. He cannot afford to fall short, he must sweep you off of your feet and hopefully into his bed. He knows deep down that all he’d have to do is ask but he wants to do this romance thing properly and excite you in a way you probably haven’t been in their relationship. If you’re bothered by his inexperience, you haven’t said so and in fact, you’ve shown him over and over again that you adore teaching him how to cuddle, how to kiss, and how to make love.

You are operating under the assumption that your date is going to be low key. It will be, he knows that sparkling, dazzling restaurants with meals you can’t pronounce or pay for isn’t exactly your style. So Spencer is cooking. And it is a disaster.

Murphy’s Law states that everything that can go wrong will most definitely go wrong. So far, it has. Spencer has charred the alfredo sauce, boiled the water over onto the stove, dropped half of the pasta directly into the sink in an attempt to drain it and lightly burned his wrist for good measure. He chalks it up to his nerves. Spencer isn’t a great chef by any means, but he’s never done this badly before. Not even when you were coming over. But now it’s getting to be too late to fix it and you’re going to be here any minute and he doesn’t have any food to offer you. 

As if on cue, there’s a soft knock at his front door. He stumbles through the kitchen and flings the door open, startling you where you stand on the other side. You look incredibly gorgeous, with a silky red dress draped across your figure, really emphasizing his favorite parts of you and dipping low in the front, exposing your sternum. He takes your hand and kisses the back of it gently, as if this will make up for his shortcomings on today of all days. You smile so big that your eyes crinkle and throw your arms around his neck. He brushes his nose into your shoulder, taking a deep inhale as he takes you into his arms. Your perfume smells like his favorite candle, a mixture of pomegranate and coconut. You break away  from the embrace just enough to squish his cheeks gently between your palms. 

“Hi, handsome,” you mumble, not looking him in the eyes but at his lips and he is happy to oblige you. Kissing you feels like the first time every single time. It makes his heart stammer in his chest and his stomach do backflips and his hands get way sweatier than they should. You press your teeth gently onto his lower lip to indicate that he should open and then you swipe your tongue along the delicate skin. 

You break away and Spencer tries to follow you with his mouth, eyes still closed. He only stops when he hears you laugh, like tinkling bells, sparkling and high and pretty. You rub your thumb across his bottom lip and in response, Spencer melts into a puddle of genius goo in his doorway. 

“You gonna invite me in, Doc?”

“Oh, right, sorry,” he says, without moving an inch. 

Your left eyebrow quirks up and your right one furrows down. “You do realize that you will have to move so I can come in, yes?” 

Spencer swallows thickly and side steps so you can brush past him in a flurry of red silk, dark eyelashes and soft perfume. You slide your cardigan-is that his?-down off of your shoulders, revealing the soft skin of your back and shoulders to him. He knows there’s nothing so intimate about skin, but something about the slightly uneven bow you’ve tied to hold the dress up and the memories he has of looking at and touching you is a little much for him. 

You turn your head and catch his eye. He sees something devilish, glinting and dancing, just out of reach, and before he can say anything at all, you’re tugging on his tie and dragging him closer to you. He chose his nicest one for the occasion, burgundy, over a crisp, dark brown shirt and a cream colored vest. Penelope had helped him pick the combination out and he’s feeling a little nervous about it now, especially because it’s paired with his just-a-little-too-big khakis. He’s taller than you, even with your heels, so his neck is bent at a slightly awkward angle but he doesn’t really mind at all because your lips are brushing past his and your index finger is hooked firmly into his belt loop. 

“What do you say we skip dinner for now?” You purr, almost touching the corner of his mouth with yours. He gives an emphatic nod yes and you run your thumb over his belly before tugging by the belt loop to get him impossibly closer before running your other hand down his chest. With the tightness in his slacks increasing steadily, he latches his hands onto your waist and he kisses you again, this time even more feverishly than before. 

You gasp against his mouth as he digs his fingertips into the soft flesh of your hips, and he relishes in the sound. It’s his favorite one, soft and breathy and unmistakable and this time it’s Spencer who’s running his tongue along your lips to ask you to open without using his words. You do and he momentarily loses track of your hands until he finds them again, loosening his tie around his neck. You break away then, just to pant, “As gorgeous as you look right now, this has to come off.” 

The heat in Spencer’s belly climbs up to his chest and he knows he’s flushed pink all over from the compliment. It still leaves him entirely shell-shocked to hear that you find him just as attractive as he finds you, so his brain completely pauses every time. He starts back up when you start back to his bedroom, intertwining your fingers with his to guide him with you. 

“Wait, wait, just wait out here for just a second,” he says, as he starts to speed walk backwards. You look just a bit confused but you do as he tells you, probably more out of curiosity than anything else. Usually you’re so completely in charge of your jello-kneed boyfriend that he doesn’t even have the brain left to formulate an order. 

He only leaves you in the dark for a moment before he pokes his head out of the bedroom and beckons you in. Inside, he’s lit as many candles as he was comfortable with (four) and scattered rose petals across the floor. He gave you flowers earlier today already but there’s another bouquet on his bedside table. You jut out your lower lip just a little and give him those puppy eyes just before you all but tackle him to the bed. His back thumps against his bed just hard enough to wind him a little and your mouth is on his before he can catch his breath again. 

He lets out a whine that is higher pitched than he’d care to admit as your core grinds against the crotch of his pants. Your dress has ridden up your thighs and he can see just a peek of your panties, lacy and white and sheer and he’s trying to reach up to untie the dress so he can fully see but you pin his hands down. 

“You first, Doc.” He’s fumbling to undo his buttons-why are there so many buttons?- and somehow even though you’re both tugging at his clothes, they aren’t coming off nearly fast enough. And you’re getting a little impatient so you reach up to untie the back of your own dress and tug the front down to expose your breasts. He abandons his own clothing, vest off, shirt half unbuttoned and pants halfway down in favor of taking one of your breasts into his mouth and sucking at your nipple just to hear the sounds you make. He takes the other one in his palm to knead at the soft skin and rests his other hand on the small of your back to pull you as close as physically possible. 

You pull away just enough to tug your dress the rest of the way off and he whimpers at the sight of you, naked except for panties clearly damp with arousal, your nipples flushed. You rest your palm on his exposed chest, digging your nails into his skin just hard enough to sting but not hard enough to hurt. 

“I-I, I need you. Now. Please?” Spencer breathes and even though he normally would take his time warming you up, getting you stretched, he knows he can’t handle it right now. It’s too good and it’ll be over before you get to the main event. You tug your panties to one side and tug his waistband down to allow his cock, aching and drooling, to peek out. It hits his stomach with a light thwick but he doesn’t even have time to acknowledge it before you’re sinking down on him, hissing at the stretch.

Spencer pulls you in for another kiss, this one sloppy and breathy as you both gasp against each other’s mouths. You roll your hips and he hangs onto you for dear life, groaning so loudly that he feels sorry for his neighbors. It won’t be long. He’s close. 

“I’m close, please-” Spencer chokes out. 

“I am too, baby, it’s okay, come on,” you groan as you steady yourself even more firmly against his chest. The sounds your bodies are making together are obscene, skin slapping and sliding together. 

“I don’t, I’m gonna, we didn’t-” Spencer is trying to tell you that it’s now and he can’t stop it from happening but he’s not wearing a condom but the words keep getting lost from him, his voice thick and heavy. 

“It’s okay, I’m on the pill just,” you grab his hand, guiding him to your panties. He knows what you want, so he pulls them even farther, probably stretching them so bad you won’t be able to wear them again, and clumsily thumbs at your clit in that not quite circular motion you like. He feels your orgasm first, pulsing and fluttering around him but then he can’t pay attention to you anymore because he’s spilling over inside of you and stopping you from moving so he can hold you as tightly as he possibly can. He lets his head fall back with his eyes closed for just a moment and you take the opportunity to slide off of his now spent cock and curl into his side, placing a gentle hand on his cheek and stroking it with your thumb. 

“I love you,” he mumbles, eyes still closed.

“I love you too.”

“I burned dinner.”

“I know. Do you wanna call in some pizza while I pee?”

“Yeah, sure.” He opens his eyes to look at you, pupils blown, mouth swollen and makeup smeared, and he never ever wants to let you go. You seem to see it in his face, so you kiss his knuckles and say, “I’ll be right back. Then I’m all yours.” 

***

“We loved with a love that was more than love.” - Edgar Allen Poe, Annabel Lee