Secrets. God, Spencer hated them, especially when someone was so obvious about having one and still wouldn’t spill. That sort of stuff made that little vein at the base of his back twitch.

Of course, you know all about that, you’ve been down there a million times, licked and kissed over it while he got himself worked up. And yet, no one knew. You were a secret. Okay, you can call Spencer a hypocrite.

Making out in bathrooms at work, sneaking into each other’s hotel rooms, always seemingly migrating towards each other in any space, meetings, on the jet, in the office. Anywhere.

And it wasn’t just sexual, oh no, Spencer wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he was just supposedly using you for pleasure. No. He knew that he loved you. You knew that you loved him. And yet, no one else knew.

Jumbled up together in the back of a taxi back from a fancy bar, legs tangled together, your head on his shoulder as your fingers make crawling motions up and down the buttons of his shirt, Spencer sits there typing away on his phone. He’s been quiet for a long time.

“Who’re you texting?…” Your voice sounds hazy, filled with drunken sleepiness, and yet your eyes are still fighting to see his screen.

“Morgan.”

“About what?”

“You…”

Oh fuck, now everyone’s going to know. Well, Spencer did always say he didn’t like secrets.