It wasn’t your first time — and it wasn’t Spencer’s, either. But it felt like a first, somehow. Not in the sense of novelty, but in weight. In meaning.

Sure, it had been years since Spencer had been with anyone. After everything — the trauma, the months in prison, being framed by Cat Adams — intimacy had become something distant, something he’d convinced himself he no longer needed. But here he was. And he wanted. Not just sex, not just closeness. You.

You’d been working together for over a year now, and from day one, you’d been nothing but kind. Not just polite — kind. Thoughtful. Steady. Patient with the parts of him he still struggled to look at in the mirror. At first, Spencer tried to keep his distance. He told himself it was the age gap, or that he was too damaged, too much. But the truth was, he was scared. Scared of wanting someone again. Scared of being wanted back. But you never let those fears take root. Not once. You never treated him like he was broken. You made space for him, gave him softness without condition, laughter without pity. It wasn’t until recently that he’d finally found the courage to confess what had been building in him for months — and to his disbelief, you felt the same.

Now, here you were. Perched on his lap in the quiet of his apartment, framed by the warm light of the living room lamp, your knees tucked to the side and your body nestled so gently against his. Spencer sat upright, legs parted just enough to support you, one hand on your lower back, the other resting lightly on your thigh. Anchoring you to him. Anchoring himself.

You kissed him softly — slow and intentional — and it felt like something out of a dream. Your lips were warm and it made Spencer dizzy with how much he loved you. He hadn’t said it yet. Not out loud. But God, he did. He loved you so much it made his chest ache. He could feel it — the way the moment shifted. The way the air grew heavier, the way your fingers lingered a little longer on his skin. You were going to take that step. Together.

And Spencer was terrified.

His heart thundered beneath your palm. His mind started to spiral — not because he didn’t want this, but because he wanted it so badly. What if he froze up? What if he didn’t remember how to be with someone? What if he couldn’t make you feel good? What if it was over too fast?

He hadn’t been this vulnerable in years. And it showed. His hands were shaking.

“{{user}},” he whispered, voice hoarse from emotion. “It’s been a while since I— Since I’ve done this. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

And even as the words left his mouth, his throat tightened. Because it wasn’t just fear. It was hope. Fragile, trembling hope — and the desperate desire to be enough for you.