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love and war

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Honestly, Aria doesn't think it's fair. 

She wakes up to Spencer's ten-thirty alarm and groans, wrapping her arm across her boyfriend's waist to try and keep him where he is. Because it’s only been a few weeks since he had surgery and they should be allowed to spend another day in bed, shouldn't they?

And yet, Spencer agreed to meet a client for lunch. It's just an hour, he'd told Aria.

Maybe it's selfish, but Aria doesn't want him to go. She hooks her leg around Spencer's and snuggles up to him, willing the world away for just five more minutes. 

“Babe,” Spencer says, his voice deliciously gravelly. He momentarily stretches away from her to shut up his blaring phone, but his chest must still be a little sore because he groans. “I've got to get ready. Important meeting today.”

Aria nuzzles into his lean, bare shoulder. “It can wait,” she murmurs. “Please, Spence? Just a few more minutes.” 

Spencer turns his head to properly face her, and his smile is small and borderline sad as he pecks a kiss to her lips. His two-week-old stubble scratches against her chin. “Trust me, I wish I could stay. Honestly, there’s nothing I’d love more, but I’ve really got to go.”

But Aria’s not having it, and Spencer has made a mistake turning to look at her because she takes the opportunity to crush their mouths together. Spencer makes a defiant yet weak little noise in the back of his throat as Aria possessively tangles her fingers in his short waves of hair, licks into his mouth, and carefully climbs on top of him, straddling his waist. Spencer’s hands reach up to rub her hips as if on instinct and he melts into the kiss, but Aria hasn’t won just yet, because he tears himself away, brown eyes narrowed up at her. 

“Aria…” he warns, his lips curving into an amused little smirk. 

While Spencer speaks, Aria moves to trail wet kisses along his scruffy jawline, targeting that space below his ear that she knows will make him surrender. Spencer tries to pull away, clearly aware of her strategy, but Aria's grip finds his wrists, playfully pinning them down beside his head. 

Aria,” he moans, a rumble in his throat. “Do you—mmh fuck—want me to be late?” 

Too busy nipping at his pulse point, Aria only shrugs. “We have time,” she whispers, even though she knows that’s not exactly true. Spencer keeps a tight schedule, and although he gives himself twenty extra minutes for emergencies, he usually won’t jeopardize his punctuality. 

Keyword: usually. 

All Aria has to do is think of a loophole, something to catch Spencer's attention, and she's got just the thing. “If this meeting is so important, that means you need to be as clear-headed as possible,” she reasons, breathing the words into Spencer's ear. “So thinking about me… at home… touching myself… is really going to distract you, don't you think? But if you help me get it out of my system…” 

Aria pulls back to look him in the eye, and Spencer's grin is impish and, dare she say, proud. “You are really something else, Montgomery,” he says, shaking his head. “I see why I love you.” 

Confident that she’s got him, Aria releases his wrists, and that’s when Spencer makes his move, grabbing her waist and rolling them over so he’s on top. Aria shrieks as her head slams into the fluffy cushion of pillows, and she pouts as her boyfriend slides off of her. “Spence,” she whines. “Not fair.” 

“Love and war, babe,” Spencer teases a bit wincingly, his scars probably having tugged at the sudden movement. But he leans over to leave her with an annoyingly chaste kiss on the lips and then saunters across the room, disappearing into the ensuite, his boxer briefs clinging to him in all the right ways as he goes. For a moment, Aria considers chasing after him and getting him on his knees in the shower, but she’s too lazy—and not to mention comfortable—to drag herself out of bed. So she just lies there, sighing, watching particles swirl in the pale beams of morning light that cut in through the window. 

She drums her fingers against her bare stomach, closing her eyes as the shower starts to run, and it’s so simple to conjure up the image of Spencer, all lean muscle and flushed skin, standing under the hot spray, his body sudsy and glistening with water. It’s even simpler to slide her hand beneath her waistband. Biting her lip to contain a moan, she slips her fingers through herself, just testing, slicking her fingers up so it’s an easier slide against her clit, but any movement is a touch too difficult with the fabric of her underwear stretched tight against the back of her hand. She huffs, irritated, but takes a moment to slip them off her legs, kicking them out of the way under the covers before drawing her knees up and spreading her legs wide. 

She’s fully engulfed in her pleasure fifteen minutes later when she hears the shower cut off. A few seconds afterward, Spencer comes out in a wave of steam, a towel around his waist and his dark hair sticking wetly to his forehead. He's gorgeous; Aria wants to kiss the new scars beneath his pecs and trace the hard edges of his hip bones with her fingertips, let her mouth wander down alongside the wiry trail of hair below his navel. She wants to taste the water on his skin and then taste him, sweet and musky on her tongue, wants to take him into her mouth and make him come hard. His eyes are on her, intense and penetrating, but he doesn’t say a word, and Aria sees that smirk on his lips as he crosses to the bureau, carelessly dropping the towel as he goes. 

Spencer turns to face her as he steps into a fresh pair of briefs, his expression an unreadable mask but his eyes glistening darkly with mirth as he simply watches Aria. Frustrated, Aria looks back at him through half-lidded eyes, her orgasm beginning to coil up hot and tight and low in her stomach, and her breaths go shallow, staggered. She closes her eyes, making a real show of it—all the better to lure him back into bed—and her mouth falls open as she tumbles into the building sensation. 

She imagines him later, after he shaves, getting dressed. She imagines the familiar shuffle of him tucking his shirt into his slacks, the clink of his belt buckle, and imagines herself undoing all of it later when they have all the time in the world. She pictures him doing both of his sleeves up and then plucking a necktie from the drawer, draping it around his neck, and tying it expertly in a neat Windsor knot, probably doing that thing where he reflexively clears his throat as he tightens it, folds his collar back down. And then Aria’s there, stars bursting behind her eyelids as she squeezes her eyes shut tighter and throws her head back into the pillows, crying out. 

As she shudders through her orgasm, she feels the bed dip and automatically reaches a hand out, hooking her fingers in Spencer’s waistband as he bends to put his socks on.

“Spence…” she says, her voice low, but Spencer only glances at her, the ghost of that smirk on his face. His hair is starting to curl as it dries, and Aria knows what’s about to happen, knows that she’s only got a few seconds before Spencer bustles back into the bathroom to style his hair and shave. “Let me help.” 

Spencer shifts around a bit, leans over, and rests a hand on the mattress at Aria’s other side, bracketing her in. His smile is soft around the edges and entirely pleased. He smells fresh and woodsy. “Fine.” 

He gets up, leaving her to follow, which she does as soon as she locates her underwear and slips them back up her legs, wipes her fingers off on the sheets. Sweat is sticky behind her knees, and she figures she’ll take her own shower after he leaves as she plucks his shirt from last night off the floor and slips it on. It’s his old Georgetown t-shirt and it smells like him, brushes pleasantly against her thighs as she pads barefoot across the floor, her legs a bit wobbly. 

She leans against the bathroom door jamb and watches him lather his face up with shaving cream, the motions of his hands swift and methodical as he leans closer to the mirror above the sink, making sure to coat every follicle. When he's done, he grins at himself with his foamy beard like a giddy little boy playing man, and Aria moves in to card her fingers through his damp hair, always proud of him for coming this far, fighting this hard to be himself. 

“So handsome,” she tells him, just to make sure he knows, and his smile goes a little sappy while he rinses the foam off his hands. He shakes his hands off and Aria hoists herself up onto the counter, grinning as he situates himself between her legs. She kisses him on the tip of his nose, and she can tell that his confidence is bolstered when he hands her the three-blade razor with a fiery certainty in his eyes. She holds it with a steady, practiced hand, and reaches up to pull the skin of his cheek upward and taut with her offhand. “Ready?” 

“Yeah,” he answers. 

She goes slowly, shaves in short, downward strokes, rinsing the blade between passes, and his eyes stay locked on her all the while, trusting and certain, his pupils dilated. She grabs his jaw and tilts his face to wherever she needs it, and he starts to melt into her touch, swallowing thickly—the only movement he’ll dare to make with a razor against his face. She has to school her own reactions, staying calm and steady and controlled so as to not accidentally cut him. 

She trims the coarse hairs on his cheeks, his upper lip, chin, and then, finally, his neck, being extra careful, going extra slow. He whimpers once or twice as the blade passes over his throat, and she checks in, asking him, “You okay, babe?” 

He nods when the razor is pulled away and then she moves back in, this time patting aftershave on his face. When she’s done, she curls a finger under his chin and tips his head up, looks up at him all deathly calm and silent until his throat bobs again. 

“Come straight home, okay?” 

He nods again, slowly this time, like he’s in a trance. “God… I really shouldn’t have let you do this.” 

Aria grins at the desperation in his voice, dropping her hand away from his chin. “So why did you?” 

“Maybe I’m starting to think I want to blow off this meeting.” 

“I know you’re a gentleman,” she teases, “but you really missed a good opportunity for a blow job joke there. You really should’ve said something like, ‘blow off this meeting and let you blow me instead’.” 

Spencer grins, and absently rubs Aria’s thighs, tugging her a little further off the counter and closer to himself. “It crossed my mind, but it would’ve been really uncouth of me. And I’m a feminist, so–” 

“Spencer,” Aria interrupts, resting her palms on his slim shoulders and leaning into his ear. “You are not enabling the patriarchy by wanting your dick sucked.” She draws his earlobe into her mouth, sucks gently on it. “It just feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” He makes some strangled whimpering sound in his throat and Aria knows he’s turning bright red, probably getting the crotch of his briefs all damp, too. She slips her fingers down to feel the fabric between his legs, cups him, pressing the heel of her palm against the small bulge of his dick, and he whines. “You’re allowed to want to feel good. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Ar-Aria. Fuck.” 

“You want to?” she lilts, nipping at his ear. 

“I’ve got a… god… I’ve got a very career-making lunch to get to.” He lifts his arm, presumably to check his wristwatch, but of course, he’s not wearing it yet. 

Aria laughs lightly, satisfied with how flustered she’s got him. “Okay, babe. Go. I’ll be fine.” 

He hesitates. 

Aria sits back, planting her palms on the counter behind her and leaning back on them. “Unless you give yourself twenty extra minutes for a reason?” 

“Yeah, in case I need my car battery boosted! Not in case I-”

“Want your dick sucked?” Aria offers. 

He flushes, this time turning red all the way to the tips of his ears, and Aria feels a little smug about dragging this response out of him, even if he's liable to maintain his sense of self-control anyway. 

Spencer purses his lips, scratching the blunt edges of his fingernails against the undersides of Aria's thighs, and seems to actually consider her proposition, contrary to what she expected. “Fine,” he says finally. “But you have ten minutes. No more.”

“That's all I need,” she says confidently and plants her palm against his sternum to push him back some. She hops down off the counter and makes sure to wash her hands of the aftershave, then grabs him by the wrist, tugging him back into the bedroom. “Lie down. On your back,” she orders, and he flops down on top of the bedding. She grabs his phone off the nightstand and unlocks it, navigates to the timer, and sets one for ten minutes. She shows it to him. “See?”

He nods distractedly, busy adjusting the pillow behind his head, getting comfortable. “Okay,” he says as Aria crawls onto the bed, situating herself on her stomach, between his legs. He lifts his head to look at her, and she takes a moment to admire the flat expanse of his new chest from this angle. “I'm ready.”

Obligingly, she hooks her fingers in the waistband of his briefs and tugs them down his thighs, having him bend his legs so she can pull his underwear all the way off. She settles back down with her head between his slim thighs, dragging a teasing finger through him. He's wet and his cock is hard beneath his neatly-groomed mound of hair. She takes him into her mouth, earning a ragged gasp and then a low, guttural moan when she starts to gently suck at him. 

“F-Fuck,” he rasps, throwing his head back. He reaches down to card his fingers through Aria's hair, but he’s always been too polite to press her in further. “Fingers, please. Please, Aria.”

Aria obliges him, easily slipping a finger inside, and that earns her another moan. She glances up at him, massaging him with her tongue, and watches as he slings his other arm across his face, squirming. He’s so wet and willing, and she adds another finger after a moment, watching his chest heave with a sigh. 

She pulls her mouth off of him, but keeps her fingers inside, feeling his walls flutter around them. “Feel good, babe?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice rough and hoarse. “Yeah, keep going.” 

She licks the underside of his dick and then wraps her lips around him again, gradually starting to pump her hand, curling her fingers just so inside him. His back arches up off the mattress but she presses him back down with her free hand, fingers splaying across his hip. She can hear the litany of swears spilling past his lips as she works her hand and tongue, slowly gaining speed and bringing him closer to the edge. Rapidly, his words turn into moans and he finally clenches up, gushing around her fingers.

Aria watches as he tugs at his hair and the sheets, squirming and shuddering as he comes undone. It’s beautiful, and Aria wants to sculpt from marble the curve of his neck and the flat planes of his heaving chest and stomach. She wants to capture it all in ink and graphite, and sketch the short curls that are sticking to his temples with sweat. She wants this moment to last forever, but of course, the timer goes off just as she thinks about it.

“Fuck,” he groans, reaching to shut off the alarm, and Aria disengages to crawl over him. She stops with her head level to his chest and presses gentle kisses just below the tender pink skin of the scars beneath his pecs. He sighs and pulls her up into an embrace. 

Spencer smells like sweat and aftershave as she nuzzles into his neck, and Aria traces her fingers across his chest, settling into the warmth of his arms, wholly content. 

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she murmurs, “but I still don’t want you to leave.”

“It’s only an hour,” he reminds her, sounding groggy again. “I’ll be back before you know it.” 

She sighs. “I’ve gotten so used to you being here all the time. What am I supposed to do without you?”

“Exactly what you did before I underwent major surgery.” Aria looks up at him and he grins, sleepy-eyed and tousle-haired. “Text me every hour and be generally clingy and insufferable.”

“Hey!” she cries, but she’s laughing. “That’s mean. You love my texts. And clinginess.”

“Don’t forget the insufferableness,” Spencer adds, and Aria pinches his shoulder. “Ow! Okay yeah. Your texts are adorable. Please never stop sending them. And don’t stop being clingy either.”

Aria settles back down against his shoulder. “You need me to mother-hen you or you’d literally forget to eat for a week.”

“That’s upsettingly true,” Spencer concedes. “I swear, if my brain could just produce serotonin, I would probably be much better at self-care.”

“Self-care is for when your brain doesn’t produce enough serotonin. And I bet more orgasms and less work wouldn’t hurt, you know.”

Spencer scoffs. “Of course it wouldn’t hurt. But functional adults do not stay home and have orgasms all day.”

“Speak for yourself.” Aria pushes up on her elbow to look down at him. “I’m a functional, stay-at-home adult that has as many orgasms as I want throughout the day. No one can stop me because I’m independent and work for myself. Can you just jerk off any time you want on Capitol Hill?”

“I think it would be frowned upon, but hypothetically, yes.”

“Realistically, no. Which means my preferred mode of existence is superior.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, but smiles and tilts his chin up for a kiss. Aria pecks him on the lips. “I need to clean up and go now. To do my inferior job.”

“Okay,” Aria says. “I’ll let you go then. Have fun doing whatever you do at these lunch meetings.”

Pushing up out of bed, Spencer groans. “I most certainly will not have fun.”

“Well. I hope schmoozing isn’t horribly soul-crushing, then.”

Spencer strides back into the bathroom, naked except for his socks. “It will be,” he tosses over his shoulder. 

“You forgot your underwear!” she calls, and then laughs, sinking back into the vast comfort of the bed. 

It's not fair that he has to go, but at least they compromised. She's satisfied for now.

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