Gone

Title: Gone
Author: Neichan
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Spencer/?
Summary: One of their own goes missing, or does he? In the spirit of the show...a dark fic.
Warning: Dark Fic, in keeping with the series. Non-con. Not meant for the sensitve. Maybe this is my way of getting over being mad? Hmmm. It seems to be working....
Disclaimer: Criminal Minds does not belong to me, and I am not making any money from playing with the characters.

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The relationship had started out with them as equals, or mostly so.

Spencer had needed the affair, reached out and taken hold of it with both hands, desperate to keep it.

When the other had begun to lose interest. He found he could not let go. Distantly he recognized the signs of an unhealthy obsession in his thoughts and behaviors. He could do nothing about it. He didn't even have the ability to try.

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He was on the bed, the soft mattress under his knees, his hands behind his back, held there by smooth chains, polished so they would not injure or scar the soft skin of his wrists, the same chains at his ankles.

He could move a few inches in any direction, and he thought about trying it. He thought about making it to the door and opening it. He thought about seeing and being seen, then he relaxed, the tension flowing out of his muscles. He heard voices again. Voices he recognized. His lover had turned on the intercom so he could hear the conversation. He was permitted to listen.

Speaking was forbidden. The jaw stretching ball gag in his mouth reminded him of that. His lover loved using the gag, loved how it forced his mouth wide, he stroked fingers down the gag when ever he returned to the room, fingers skimming down the side of his face and to his jaw, then all the way to his chest.

"Any news?" Was always the first question. Distantly the man kneeling naked on the bed knew it was him the others with the familiar voices were talking about.

And a discussion would follow the question, it always did as he knelt on the bed waiting for his lover to return to him. Waited to feel touch. Touch was also permitted, as long as it was touch in the way his lover wished.

Sight wasn't permitted. The mask that was fastened over his face kept out even the faintest light. When the mask was off so his face could be washed the light was dimmed and the voice of his lover always reminded him to keep his eyes closed. He obeyed, because obeying meant gentle touches, fingers stroking his face, his lips. Obeying meant he'd be rewarded with more touching, with creams rubbed into his skin, with soft blankets, with warmth.

Food was another reward. If he obeyed, if he pleased his lover, his lover would feed him by hand. Spoonfuls of the most delicious food he'd ever tasted. Things to drink, savor. Chocolate, ice cream, sometimes even beer. He loved the beer, craved it. He tried to behave and sometimes he got beer.

When he heard the voices he recognized, the door to his room was never opened.

When he heard other voices, sometimes the door did open. Sometimes his lover would let others into the room, others who were allowed to touch him with wide strong hands, big and callused, often gentle, many times not.

He hungered for touch. Even if it meant being put onto his back or on his knees and feeling other bodies on his, hair scratching his back or his chest. Even when it meant they would push into his body with little preparation, and he would be unable to hold back a gasp even with the gag helping him stay silent. They would ride him, sometimes hard, sometimes loving, and while they did he was being touched, he was not alone.

The familiar voices were back, he didn't know if it was a new day, or later the same one. He sometimes lost track. He heard them talking about him again, wondered if that was what had caught his attention again. He'd learned to wait patiently like his lover wished. Thinking of nothing, just drifting. But when he heard his name, it would call him back. As it had now.

"We'll find him, someday. We'll never give up. He is one of our own." He heard the strong voice. He tried to remember the name that went with the voice, and he nearly did. Until he heard the voice that was his whole life. When he heard that voice, it cancelled out everything else.

"I know you will." The voice he needed said. "It was hard on you to lose both of us so close together." More speaking, quieter, only murmurs followed, too low for him to hear. Then the door closed, and the other voices were gone.

He waited in the dark, listening as hard as he could, listening for his own door to open, straining to hear the faintest noise that would tell him when it would happen. He needed. Needed so badly.

"They've gone." The voice took him by surprise, the puff of warmth against his throat making him shiver, his skin contract. pull tight as his lover bent over him. He had never heard the door open. "They miss you."

He shook, as the hands ran down his sides, he let out a barely audible whimper as the hands caressed him from neck to thighs. Strong thumbs massaged the bottoms of his feet.

"I left the door open." The voice said as he shivered. "If any one of them had gone upstairs they would have seen you." The lips brushed against his skin. "I wonder, would you have wanted that?"

He dropped his face onto the pillow in front of him, raising his buttocks in the air. He knew he shouldn't ask, or demand, that always brought punishment. But he was permitted to offer. He lay, his hips in the air, open, waiting. Hands turned him, lay him on his back.

"Do you regret being mine?" The voice asked, his lover's body already leaning down, over his body, the rasping sound of a zipper making him catch his breath.

His head came up as his lover settled slowly onto his lap.

"I know I'd miss you." Spencer Reid whispered. "I couldn't let you just go, Gideon."

Behind the mask the man closed his eyes. Regret was too large, too hard to understand.

neichan