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Spencer Reid did not believe in God. He was a man of science, of course. He had seen too many horrors of the world for him to believe that there was someone out there who knew it was happening, and did nothing. Not to mention that religion wasn’t exactly a topic of his childhood. Who would even answer his questions? Not his mother, and surely not his father. This doesn’t mean he hasn’t read the Bible, of course he has. He just doesn’t see it as factual. As stated, he’s a man of science. He didn’t believe in religion.
Then he saw you.
There was something about you that made him question. When Spencer first saw you in the bullpen, he couldn’t look away. The way your hair cascaded down your shoulders. The way the light hits your eyes. The way you carried yourself with such certainty. He’d never had any want or need to get on his knees and pray, but he’d do it if you asked him. He’s quite positive he’d do anything if you asked him to in your cherry sweet voice.
Spencer has stepped foot in churches before, but never before for a Sunday mass. It was often when it related to a case, which also meant that you frequently entered beside him. The sun would cast through the stained-glass windows and light you up in a plethora of colors. Spencer knew he talked a lot. He knew that people often wished he’d just shut the hell up. When he looked at you, he was often speechless. His mind was still racing, but he would be too tongue-tied to spit out what he wanted.
He didn’t need to. Something in your eyes told him that you knew. The kind of high you gave him was something uncomparable to the previous highs he’s known. And you were not something he could possibly build a tolerance to.
When he first kissed you he was positive he had learned what Heaven was. He could’ve died happy with his lips pressed to yours. With his tongue dancing in your mouth. He couldn’t get the taste of you off his mind, not that he’d ever want to. He knew then, his soul wouldn’t settle until he had tasted all of you. He was so greedy for a taste of you. It’s a good thing he didn’t believe in Hell, he knew his greed would’ve landed him a firm place down there.
Between your thighs his mind was silent. There was nothing more to think about than your taste and the way you cried. Your fingers in his hair, your thighs squeezing his head, the way you gasped and fucking whimpered when you were close. This was all he needed in life. This was all he needed from life. He didn’t need a church when he could fall to his knees and pray and worship all the same.
He wouldn’t need another altar, there was a perfect one nestled between your plush thighs. That thought alone would definitely land him in Hell, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a damn with his tongue buried in your cunt. His nose rubbed against your clit, his breath fogged his glasses that he hadn’t cared to remove. Why would he? Without them he can’t look up and see your heavenly face.
“Spencer,” you cried in a breathless moan, yanking at his brown locks.
He moaned, his face still buried between your thighs, the vibration of it making you practically sob in pleasure. He moved his mouth to wrap his lips around your clit, his fingers taking his tongue’s place when you whined at the empty feeling. His tongue swirled around your clit, his fingers curled inside you. Above him you trembled, your back arched, your mouth fell open.
The way your body moved as your orgasm hit you was divine. Just as divine as your taste on his tongue. When you came and your thighs clenched around his head he felt holy.
Spencer Reid does not believe in God. He doesn’t have to. He has you.