This idea was sent to me by mon amie, Graysonation, who didn't have the time nor inclination to flesh out the idea for herself and so sent me a scene and gave me the wonderful permission to use the scene and its dialogue and to expand on it. So, the original idea for this is Grayson's, and there is a scene when the boys first meet in the bedroom where some lines and dialogue came from her original scene (The smut after is all mine though, desole, lol) This story would never have been made without her. Merci, cher! I hope I did your idea justice.
Warnings: AU, slavery, slightly historical setting, dub/con
Night time had fallen on the city of New Orleans. While part of the city was going to sleep, the greater part of it was just coming to life. The casinos, bars and brothels were preparing to open their doors and welcome in their clients. All of them were preparing themselves to do the best that they could to entice their customers and bring in enough money. Inside one particular establishment, one that catered to more unique tastes, mutant boys and girls alike were being prepared for the night to come. Clothes were being changed, jewelry added, makeup put on. But this wasn't a brothel. This was the Slavers Block.
Mutant slavery wasn't uncommon in the lower class. If you were a mutant lucky enough to be born with money or status, it generally protected one from the slave blocks. But those unfortunate enough to be poor, lower classed, or to have an extremely obvious and desirable mutation, their lives were often decided for them. Slavers traveled through America and captured mutants constantly. Very few mutants could survive on the run from them unless they were able to completely hide their mutation. Most all were caught and sold on the blocks, either to brothels, or for private use.
That was what had happened to one seventeen year old young mutant. Somehow, he'd managed to make it to seventeen before his mutation was discovered. It wasn't until an accidental fire at the neighbor's house that his secret had been discovered. The house had been burning faster than it could be put out and the mother had been screaming in the yard that her children were still inside. No one saw the young man go in, but they all saw a young mutant looking to be made entirely of gold come carrying the two children out. He'd collapsed in the front yard once they were safe, coughing to clear the smoke from his lungs. That was his mistake. His thanks for saving the life of two children was to be knocked unconscious and to wake up later, chained in the cage of a slaver's wagon.
Such had changed the course of his life. Seventeen years old and he was taken to the slavers block, a large M branded into his chest to mark him as mutant, his nose and ear pierced with a slave chain linked between them, and put on display to be sold to the highest bidder.
That had been a month ago. One month in which Spencer Reid's life had changed so very drastically. One month in which he'd been living in a cage like an animal, beaten and starved in an effort to break his spirit. One month in which he'd worked desperately to plot his escape.
New Orleans was a busy city and their Slavers Block was well guarded. Nothing that Spencer had seen so far had left him with any route for escape. He watched constantly, waiting for just the right opportunity, just the right opening. Young though he may be, he was smart, far smarter than he let them see. They thought he was quiet. Docile. Why wouldn't he be? Pain and starvation were great at keeping people compliant. He'd fought pretty hard when he'd first woken up here. But he knew better now. He kept quiet, kept small, making sure they saw nothing more than he wanted them to see. He'd play along with them, play their game for now, and when the time was right, that was when he'd show them. Spencer wasn't going to live the life of a slave. He just had to survive until the time was right.
When they came for him, Spencer wasn't prepared for it. He'd seen the guards come with their needles and drug others to be taken away to the auctions. Those that went never came back. But in the entire month he'd been there, never once had they come for Spencer, so when they came for him that night, he wasn't prepared. He was mostly asleep when he heard the sound of his cage being opened. There was barely enough time for him to open his eyes before they were on him. With practiced efficiency, they had him down and his arm out and the needle in his skin in seconds. The world blurred pretty quickly after that.
He woke to the sound of voices and a bright, blinding light.
His body was just dangling there, wrists above his head and feet hanging heavy against the ground, not supporting his weight at all. Against his back he felt something that his foggy brain told him was a pole. Why was there a pole behind him? Still feeling dazed and heavy-limbed, he tried to move, to gather his feet underneath him. It took a few shaky attempts before he managed to actually plant his feet on the ground and then another few moments before he could make the shaking appendages bear any sort of weight.
There was a voice talking nearby and Spencer tried to bring himself to focus on it. A part of his brain was telling him that it was important. Struggling to hear through the haze the drug left over his mind, he furrowed his brow and concentrated.
"…new and young. Unspoiled!" The voice was saying. "Never been touched by a soul. You'll have the pleasure of being the first to put your hands on that sweet young flesh…"
Something was going on out there. Spencer rolled his head in the direction of the sound and slowly blinked open hazy golden eyes. The first bit of light blinded him, making him snap his eyes shut and whimper softly. When he tried again, he was much more careful, opening his eyes to slits first. A few rapid blinks helped clear some of the haze and Spencer saw a man standing nearby. The Boss, his memories told him. This was the guy who owned the place. The boss.
The auctioneer.
That worked better than a bucket of cold water to wake him up. Fear pushed back some of the haze left from the drug and the room snapped into sudden clarity. Spencer became aware of not only the auctioneer still talking nearby, but of the audience watching him—bidding on him.
"C'mon!" The auctioneer called out to the crowd. "Look at him! Slender, pale, he could even pass for a woman with the right clothes. And when he changes, oh, all that gold, he's like a polished statute, gorgeous and cool. A jewel worthy of a King's collection! And he could be yours to take home. You can do whatever you want with him. Keep him, use him, put him up on display."
Spencer's panic grew as the voices came from around the room, bids getting higher and higher. A small, slightly hysterical part of him noted just how high people were willing to pay for him. The rest of him was in stunned shock. He'd thought he'd been prepared for this. That he'd come to accept over the past month that this would happen. But nothing could've prepared him for this. There was nothing that could prepare anyone for the feeling of being strung up against a pole in just a pair of breeches, on display for an entire crowd to bid like you were nothing.
When the word "Sold!" echoed around him, a shiver ran down Spencer's spine.
Spencer didn't even get a chance to see who his new owner was before he was being unhooked and dragged off the stage.
He'd been through some pretty degrading things since his capture. The bath and preparation he found himself subjected to before he could be brought to his new owner ranked pretty high on the list, however. His body was scrubbed until it was pink, his iron shackles were removed—the guards growled over that, openly scoffing at what they saw as stupidity at unchaining an animal—and he was put into a fresh pair of breeches. Then he was forced down into a chair where a woman brushed his honeyed hair until it hung in loose curls to just below his shoulders, longer than he'd ever had it. He was given sandals to put on and then a collar. Spencer balked at that but he wasn't exactly given much choice in the matter. It was hooked around his neck whether he liked it or not.
Six guards escorted Spencer away from the main part of the Block and back to a set of rooms he'd never been inside of before.
One of the doors in the hall was opened and Spencer found himself thrust inside. The door was snapped shut behind him before Spencer fully regained his feet.
When he looked up, he found he wasn't alone in the room. There was someone sitting in a chair at the far side of the room, drinking a glass of wine. Spencer's eyes took in the rest of the room even as his focus went to that man. There was a simple armoire against one wall, a dresser against the other near the chair this man sat in, and most of the rest of the space was dominated by a great big bed. The room wasn't fancy, no rich man's room, but Spencer didn't care. It could've been a hovel with dirt floors for all that he cared. All of his focus was on the man sitting in the chair looking like he owned the place. So, this was his owner. The man who had bought him. He was dressed like one of the higher class. Boots, well shined, up to his knees, and clothes made of material even Spencer could tell was the finest. There was a trench coat draped over the end of the bed that he must've discarded as he came in.
Even seated, it was easy to see that he was a tall man, taller than Spencer, and well built. Muscled and in good health with warm honeyed skin. Auburn hair was pulled loosely into a warriors tail and a faint hint of it covered his face in a five o'clock shadow that gave him a rugged, rakish look. It was the eyes, though, that held Spencer's focus. The red irises and the black sclera. This man was a mutant. A mutant. And he had just bought another mutant. The shock of that cut through Spencer. This man had bought one of his own kind and yet he had the nerve, the absolute gall to sit there and smirk at him like a cat with a young bird in sight.
Spencer shivered. That analogy felt far too apt.
Something in the man's eyes sparkled as they ran over Spencer. A slow downward sweep to his toes and then back up again that felt just as intimate as a touch. When those eyes finally reached his once more, they pinned him in place. The man's lips quirked up slightly as Spencer froze. "Well aint y' a beautiful sight." He drawled the words out slow and lazy, his accent thick and heavy as molasses. Taking a drink of his wine, he watched Spencer over the top of the glass. Then he smiled again. "M' names Remy. Remy LeBeau. An what's y'r name?"
Spencer stared at the man in surprise. His name? This guy actually wanted to know his name? That hadn't at all been what Spencer was expecting. Not a single person had asked him that since he'd been captured. Mutant, they'd called him. The Golden Boy. Midas, from one guard. But no one had asked him his actual name. The shock of it spurred an honest answer out of him. "Spencer."
A wide, devilish grin curved Remy's lips. "A pleasure to meet y', Spencer." He purred over Spencer's name like it was something rich and decadent on his tongue.
The small shiver it sent down Spencer's spine scared him. He didn't understand this. Didn't understand the low, warm feeling that it put in his gut to hear this stranger say his name. Uncomfortable and unsure, he took a step back, not even realizing that he'd done it. This man was nothing like what Spencer was expecting. He didn't know how to act with him, how to react. It left Spencer off balance and unsure. "What do you want from me?" He asked, hating how his voice trembled ever so slightly
Remy laughed — a deep, throaty sound that shouldn't have sent shivers down Spencer's spine the way it did, and this time Spencer recognized the attraction for what it was. That only scared him all the more. This man, this mutant, who had felt it right to buy him didn't have any right to come off as so damn attractive. "What do I want from y'?" Remy repeated. He set his wine glass down on the small table beside him and smoothly, gracefully, pushed his way up off the chair. Their eyes locked across the room and Spencer found himself unable to move as the Cajun moved towards him with a fluid grace that only reinforced Spencer's earlier thoughts on his feline nature. "I'd t'ink what I want is obvious, cher. I want to share m' room and m' bed with y'. I want y' to pour m' wine, or whatever it be Remy's wantin' to drink. I want y' to laugh, to show me dat beautiful smile I know y' have."
He was closer now and Spencer fought back the urge to take a step in retreat. Somehow, he made his shaky limbs hold, standing his ground, absolutely refusing to acknowledge the spurt of warmth in his belly at the way Remy's smile seemed to warm with pride when the man saw he wasn't going to back away.
Coming to a stop just inches in front of him, Remy smiled down at the young mutant, his eyes sparkling with some inner light.. "I want y' to rub m' shoulders after de day I just had, and make me f'get m' troubles." Lifting a hand, he ran his fingers lightly over Spencer's cheek, his frown at the resulting flinch going unnoticed by the younger man. Spencer was too caught up in those eyes to see it. When Remy's fingers curled over his chin, tightening, he held perfectly still, recognizing the dominance display for what it was. Remy bent down so that their faces were inches apart and the red in his eyes flashed. "I want y' to have me, and only me — for y' to take no other man to bed with y' so long as I'm around. And," Dropping his voice low, he whispered, the sound as soft as silk in Spencer's ear, "I want y' to fuck me as though it's m'last night alive. De Gods be unmerciful, and it just might be."
Spencer swore his heart had to have stopped beating. It was the only possible explanation for why he couldn't draw breath, couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
He shouldn't be feeling like this. God knew that he knew that. He shouldn't be feeling anything for this man except hatred or disgust. Remy had bought him. He'd bid on him and bought him and now was openly telling Spencer that he planned to take him to bed like he was no more than some whore. Do whatever you want with him, the auctioneer had said, and now, it seemed that collection was due. Despite his promises to himself to remain strong, to be brave, to not break, Spencer couldn't help the coil of dread in his stomach, the quivering of his fingers as he struggled not to break eye contact with this Remy. He would not be cowed before him. He wouldn't break for any of them. Quiet and docile he may have been so far, it did not mean that he didn't have a spine. "And if I don't?"
Spencer flinched when the hand was removed from his face, certain that he was about to be struck for back-talking. Only, to his surprise, Remy didn't look angry. If anything, his smirk grew. "If? Dere aint no if here, cher. I t'ink y'll find dat Remy has ways of gettin' what he wants."
There was a pause, and a flash of emotion seemed to fill the air, for just a second — it was gone before Spencer could fully identify it, the last traces of feeling obliterated and razed when the other man spoke again.
"But when y' give me dese things, petit, I'll make it well worth y' while. I give y' my protection, to start—as long as y'r mine, dere aint nobody dat's gonna be dumb enough t' lay a hand on y'." He reached out again, fingers once more stroking lightly over Spencer's cheek, brushing against the cheap silver slave chain that hung from nose to ear. His eyes moved over the chain and then back up to Spencer's eyes and the heat in them was so bright Spencer wondered how he wasn't burning from it. "I'll give y' de pleasure of m' company, which I'm told is exceptionnel." Spencer flushed as the words and their meaning sunk in, and Remy grinned. "I'll make sure dat y' have money, too, f' y' and f' any family y' had to leave behind. I don't believe dat money is everythin', but I'll make sure y' have more dan y' could ever spend in a t'ousand lifetimes if t'night goes well."
This man really was the devil. He whispered his tempting promises with honey on his lips and sin in his eyes.
The practical part of Spencer, the cynic that had been born at the hands of the bastards that took him, shouted at him to not believe a word he said. There had to be other options. He could run. There was always the chance of escape, when the night was late and his new owner plied with wine. Especially if he used his powers….No. No. Spencer gave a mental shake of his head. The people who'd taken him had no idea how strong his abilities were or what he could do with them. He wasn't going to give that away now. He would wait. This wasn't the time to show his hand.
A shudder ran down him. Submitting to Remy here wasn't a choice. It was the only thing left to do.
Still, the knowledge of his helplessness made the words taste no less bitter on Spencer's tongue when he finally responded. Gathering bravery from who-knew-where, the younger man looked up, meeting the gaze of hismaster with what he hoped was a sanguine look. "When tonight goes well," he corrected softly.
The Cajun gave a low, almost involuntary growl, arousal clouding his eyes for only a second, and there was that hint once more, the brief look that left Spencer feeling like the man enjoyed his bravery, the small sparks of life he was showing. It was as if he wanted Spencer to show some spine. As if he wanted more than just a simple slave to warm his bed. It was almost enough to almost give Spencer hope again, though he clamped down on the feeling before it could grow.
"Den we have an accord?" Remy asked, raising a single brow.
This was it. One word and he would be committing himself to tonight and many more nights, until he could find a way to get free.
Lifting his chin, Spencer met his eyes and tried to show the bravery that so far had impressed his man, injecting every inch of pride he had into that one single word.
"Yes."
A warm hand cupped Spencer's face and drew him in and up those few inches between them and Spencer's breath caught in his throat at the first press of warm lips against his that sealed their devil's bargain.
Remy's kiss was just as overpowering as the rest of him. He kissed with a skill that showed his earlier words might not be the simple boasting Spencer had assumed. His hand held Spencer's head in place, thumb pressing against Spencer's jaw even as his tongue traced over the younger man's lips, pressing for entrance that he couldn't deny. With fingers and lips and tongue he ravaged Spencer and dominated him, taking and tasting and stealing his very breath away. His other hand curled over Spencer's hip, drawing him in, pressing their bodies flush together. Spencer gasped as he felt the obvious arousal pressing up against him. He hadn't….he'd never…this was all so new to him. New and terrifying and thrilling in ways that should've bothered him. Yet under Remy's kiss, under the heat of his touch, he didn't have enough left in him to care. His fingers curled into Remy's shirt and he held on as he was devoured.
When they broke apart, Spencer was slumped against him, his chest heaving as he sucked in air. Remy looked down at him with a smile that was smug and just slightly amused. There was a dark edge of possession there that sent yet another shiver down Spencer's spine. "Y' taste so sweet." Remy murmured, nipping at his bottom lip and then swiping over it with his tongue. "Later, when I've got y' back at m' place and spread out on m' silk sheets, I'm gonna taste every inch of dat gorgeous skin."
A low whine built in the back of Spencer's throat. Embarrassed, he tipped his head forward, burying his face against Remy's collarbone. He felt the man's chest vibrate as he let out a husky laugh. The hand on his face slid back into his hair and cupped the back of his head. "So sweet." He teased, his other hand moving off Spencer's hip and into the small of his back, pressing warm against the bare skin there. "So innocent. And mine. Y'r mine now, mon bijou, an I'm gonna enjoy every second of dat sweetness."
Spencer had no idea what he was doing here. He'd never done this before; not with a woman and definitely not with a man. He'd never felt anything like the heat that chased over his skin at Remy's touch.
Those hands both came up to his face, cupping it and drawing him away from his hiding spot, holding him in place as Remy claimed him with another kiss, this one gentler than the last. When they broke apart, Remy's smile was softer. Then he let go, hands dropping off Spencer's face. "Go on an grab m' wine f' me, cher."
He was halfway across the room before he realized that he'd responded to the order immediately and without thought. That realization made Spencer shudder. What had he gotten himself into here? This man was proving to be dangerous in more ways than one. The least of which was his ability to seemingly destroy any defenses Spencer put up with just one single kiss. One kiss and he had Spencer panting like a bitch in heat and following his orders without hesitation. How much worse would it be once those hands were on him again?
He couldn't afford to lose sight of what he needed to do. Getting caught up in this man was dangerous. When it came time to run, there could be nothing stopping him, nothing holding him back. He wasn't going to spend the rest of his life as a slave.
Yet when he turned around, wine glass in hand, and found Remy seated in the bed, reclining back against a mound of pillows and dressed down to just his breeches with all that golden skin out on display, Spencer was afraid it wasn't going to be as easy as he'd hoped.
His legs shook only slightly as he brought the wine over to Remy. When he went to hand it over, Remy took the glass, but he also took Spencer's hand, giving a tug that left no doubt just what he wanted. He pulled until Spencer had little choice but to climb onto the bed and, with another steady tug, right up to Remy's lap. His hand was let go then, only for Remy to settle his grip on Spencer's thigh and use it to actually tug him into place, moving him until he had Spencer seated just the way he wanted, on his knees straddling Remy's lap. The intimacy of the pose brought the heat back to Spencer's cheeks. Embarrassment and nerves had a faint gold hue flickering over his skin, almost like a blush.
Remy's free hand was settled on Spencer's thigh while his other brought his wine glass up. He took a sip, his eyes running over all the exposed skin in front of him. "Gorgeous." He murmured huskily. His hand slid up Spencer's thigh, up to his hip to pull him in, pressing them together in a way that had Spencer gasping lightly. Judging by Remy's chuckle, the reaction pleased him. "Have y' ever done dis b'fore, Spencer?"
Truth or lie? Something told him the truth would be best suited here. "No."
"Mm." The sound Remy made was most definitely pleased. His finger tapped against Spencer's hip and he murmured "Hands on m' shoulders."
Spencer obeyed, a little bit grateful with the direction. He hadn't been sure what to do with his hands, what to do with any of it, really. But putting his hands on Remy's shoulders—firm muscles, soft skin, like silk under his fingers—gave him something to hold on to. A sort of anchor. It was a good thing, too, as Remy's hand was moving now, sliding over his stomach and burning a path up his chest. He couldn't stifle his gasp when a nail scraped over his nipple and pleasure zinged through him, electricity running through his veins and straight to his cock.
"No one's ever touched y' b'fore, have dey?" Remy asked. He scraped his thumbnail over Spencer's nipple again, drawing another gasp from him. "Y'r not just a virgin; y'r truly untouched. All dis gorgeous, pale skin, an I'm de first to get to touch it. To get dese pretty little sounds out of y'."
A shudder ran through Spencer and his hands clenched unconsciously against Remy's shoulders. His cheeks were burning with embarrassment and he found he could only whisper a soft "Yes"
"Bon." Remy said, his tone just a little dark, his gaze openly possessive. He moved his hand up until he could cup the back of Spencer's neck and then he was drawing him in for another of those heart-stopping kisses that took the air right out of Spencer's lungs. This kiss was just as dominating as the last, overpowering him and demanding complete surrender. All Spencer could do was open his mouth to the insistent tongue and let himself be devoured in the heat that Remy brought. He never heard the man set his wine glass down but he felt as Remy's other hand joined in, gripping at his hip an yanking him impossibly closer. Remy shifted under him and then drew his knees up, dropping Spencer even more into the cradle of his lap, pressing the hard length of him against Spencer's most secret places, places he had only imagined touching when it was dark and he was alone in his room late at night. He tried to move, to pull away from the intimacy of it, but Remy's hand on his hip held him in place and he could only kneel there, gasping as Remy's tongue traced over his teeth and his hips pressed up firmly in a maddening, sensual rub.
Their kiss broke apart when air became an absolute necessity. Spencer was gasping, chest heaving as he panted for air. The heated glow in Remy's eyes took away what little air he managed to gain.
"Lean back and grab m' knees." Remy ordered him in a low, husky voice that demanded immediate compliance.
Spencer leaned himself back, letting go of Remy's shoulders to reach back and wrap his hands around the man's knees, bracing himself unsteadily against them. It pushed his chest out and put him on display in a way that would've mortified him at any other time. Right then, he could only continue to gasp, unable to feel ashamed as Remy looked at him like he was the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen. "Mine." The Cajun growled out. He leaned in and Spencer couldn't stop his moan when teeth sank into his neck.
It was an overload of sensation. Spencer couldn't think, couldn't even remember what he was supposed to be thinking about. Remy played him like an expert, unraveling him with teeth and tongue and hands. Biting, sucking kisses over his neck and collarbone. Firm sweeping touches over his stomach and his back, fingers pausing to pinch and twist at his nipples only to be replaced with lips and teeth until Spencer was writhing and moaning with all the enthusiasm of a cheap whore. Remy seemed to delight in those sounds, repeating things just to get the same sound again, driving Spencer out of his mind with all the things he'd never felt before.
"Look at y'." Remy said against his skin, tongue flicking out to follow a bead of sweat along the sweep of his neck. "S'sweet and responsive. Aint no one ever made y' feel like dis, have dey? Just Remy. Dieu, Spencer, de sounds y' make. Y' was made f' dis. A body like dis was made f' pleasure."
When a hand curled into the laces of his breeches, his whole body jerked, an instinctive protest that was almost immediately silenced by the firm press of Remy's lips.
Spencer was in a haze of pleasure like he'd never known. The shy touches he'd indulged in during the bath, the only pleasure his body had known, were nothing compared to this. This was a wildfire that burned its way through him, reducing any protests, any reservations to ash. And when that hand finally slipped into his breeches and wrapped around his cock with a firm grip, he threw his head back and moaned, hips jerking up into that sinful touch.
"Gorgeous." Remy breathed out. He drew Spencer out of his clothes and stroked over him with a touch that wasn't the least bit hesitation. This wasn't his first time. Spencer didn't care about that, though. He couldn't bring himself to care about anything. Remy was stroking him at the same time that his own hips were rolling up, pressing against Spencer, and it was so good, so damn good!
Remy leaned back against the pillows once more, watching Spencer coming alive under his touch. "I could watch y' like dis f' hours." He told him. "I knew y'd be gorgeous. When I saw y' up dere on dat stage, I could picture what y'd look like stretched out underneath me while I rode y' f' all dat y'r worth. I wanted to feel it." His fingers curled just a little tighter around Spencer's cock, smirking at the whimper it brought. "I wanted dis gorgeous cock buried in me. But now, I'm t'inking dat can wait. I t'ink I want to keep y' like dis instead, f'now. Open and wanting like dis, writhing f' it here in m' lap, begging me with dose pretty lips and dose big eyes. Y' want to come, don't y', Spencer? Y'r just aching f' it."
Words wouldn't come. Spencer's hands tightened on Remy's knees and his hips pushed up into that tight grip.
"Dat's it, cher. Let y'rself go. Y'r so gorgeous like dis. Show me how y' want me. Fuck y'rself on m' fist, yeah, just like dat." Remy encouraged him as Spencer's hips started to pump.
Remy's other hand moved from his hip and Spencer felt it reaching down under him, between their bodies. When he looked down, he moaned at what he saw. Remy had pulled himself free of his own breeches and he was just as hard as Spencer, a little pearl of fluid leaking from the tip of his cock. He brought them together and Spencer moaned loudly at the heated feel of it as Remy wrapped a hand around both their cocks together and started to stroke once more. "Oh." Spencer breathed out, long and low. "Oh!"
The heat inside of Spencer grew. His hips were moving now without his control and he couldn't keep the moans inside. Each clench of Remy's fist, each sinful word that dripped from those honeyed lips, only pushed him higher and higher. "C'mon, Spencer." Remy encouraged him so husky and deep and absolutely wrecked. "Let me see y'. Let me watch y' fall apart. Come f' me, cher. Now, now, now." The last word was bitten off in a dark growl full of command and Spencer was helpless under its sway. His body tightened and he threw his head back, coming with a loud cry that echoed around them. Remy was right behind him, the feel of Spencer pulsing in his hand, the sight of him falling apart in his lap just too much to handle.
Pleasure whited Spencer's world out briefly. When he came to, he was slumped against Remy's chest, his whole body limp. Remy was holding him with one arm snugly around his waist, anchoring Spencer's slender body to him.
Remy nuzzled in against his hair and Spencer swore he could feel the happy satisfaction radiating off of the man. The low "Mine" that was breathed against his hair had Spencer closing his eyes on a shaky sigh. God, he was in so much trouble here. He was pretty sure liking the person who bought you wasn't a good idea. For now, he did the only thing he could and he pushed away those fears. Here, in this moment, he gave Remy what he knew he wanted, and the consequences could be dealt with later. Snuggling in, he breathed out the word he knew Remy wanted to hear. "Yours"