His head was pounding as he regained consciousness. Groggily, he rolled over onto his side and made an alarming discovery. His hands were bound together, it appeared to be with strips of soft cloth. They were secured to the post ends of the bed in which he lay. He had no recollection of how he came to be in this bed, and his muddled brain was confused by the seemingly contradictory clues he was gathering. The bed, larger than the one in his own apartment he noted, was situated in the center of the room, directly under a skylight in the ceiling above. He could see daylight through its glass. Looking around, he saw a small desk and chair in the corner to his left and two doors to his right. The decor had a distinctly homey look to it. Three of the walls were painted a muted soft yellow and patterned paper graced the wall in front of him. Five feet behind the bed was a floor to ceiling bay window, currently shuttered with light blinds. An array of cushions were scattered on the floor in front of it. On each side of the window hung a cloth covered wicker basket, both filled with numerous stuffed animals. Bears in one, he noticed, and dogs in the other.
His brow furrowed as he tried to think of the events leading to his current situation. But his 187 IQ and his eidetic memory weren't helping him. FBI Supervisory Special Agent Spencer Reid drew a blank. Frustration mounting, he tugged against his bonds and promptly stopped when he realised it was fruitless. Although they were cloth bindings, they were deceptively strong and he only managed to tighten them by pulling against them. He decided to try to sit up and as he did so, he noticed clothes on the floor next to the chair. A pair of Converse runners, a pair of dark trousers, a light purple shirt and a familiar looking purple scarf. It was that very moment he made another disconcerting discovery. Those were his clothes. And he was now sitting up, naked, and tied to a bed.
For a moment, he was reminded of the awful encounter in school, where he'd been tricked by Alexa Lisbon and humiliated by the entire football team. Despite his pounding head, his mind registered that whatever was currently happening, it likely didn't involve any intention to humiliate him. He'd been partly covered by a luxurious quilt which had slipped off when he'd sat up. And, he noted wryly despite the apparent gravity of his situation, that his feet still bore their customary mismatched socks.
One of the two doors to his right opened. A dark haired young woman wearing a short white sundress entered the room and smiled when she saw he'd awakened. His face registered recognition and they made eye contact, he smiled and tilted his head, indicating his bonds. She made her way to his bedside and ran her hands across his bare chest. It was that moment his memory returned. They'd gone out, he recalled. And he'd apparently had too much to drink—
"Spencer, do you like to play games?" Her hands moved from his chest down towards his abdomen.
"I do." His breath caught in his throat.
"Do you win?" One hand ventured further south until it found its target. His eyes widened and his head was starting to clear.
"Always," he managed. She smiled before she bent her head down level to his, and captured his lips with her own. Her free hand moved to untie the scarves around his wrists, releasing them. He brought one hand up to stroke her cheek and smiled when she spoke.
"I win."
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