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Pretty Boy	By : Wagamama_hime Category: 1 through F > Criminal Minds Views: 4813 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. It is the sole intellectual property of the CBS Corporation. This is a work of fiction and I am making no profit from its publication.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Chapter 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. It is the sole property of the CBS Corporation. This work of fiction has been created purely for entertainment purposes and I am profiting in no way.
A/N: Thanks are in order, as always! I enjoy reading everyone's comments and questions so much! I'm happy you guys are invested in this story :). Thanks, as always go to my beta, Eskimita. She's really helping me to make my crazy plot less… 'crazy' haha :).
Also, I notice my chapters are getting longer and longer (this one is 21 pages! O.O). Let me know if this is a 'yay' or 'nay.' I just like to write and I stop where it feels naturally comfortable. But, sometimes I don't know if especially lengthy chapters become tiresome for the readers. So if you want the chapters to be shorter, let me know and I'll see what I can do.
Xoxo,
WH

On the way back to the apartment, Spencer had explained (at Derek's insistence) how he had gotten out of his apartment without gaining the attention of the on-duty officer. Apparently there was a back door that led to a small, fenced-in garden. Spencer said that he often cut through this garden because it put him closer to his bus stop and that the term "fenced-in," as applied to his poorly-maintained apartment complex, was merely just for show. It was easy to push the wooden slats out of the way and slip through on to the back street. The residents did it so often that they didn't even bother to move the slats back to pretend like the fence was capable of keeping anyone or anything out.
Sighing in frustration as he pulled the large SUV up in front of the building and cut off the engine, Derek turned and looked at Spencer.
"Kid, I know you're smart, but I think you're maybe too smart for your own good. Put the book smarts aside for a second, and remember to tap into your common sense once in a while. There's a killer out there. What were you thinking just sneaking out without letting that officer know?" Derek asked, a frown on his face and his tone clearly reflecting his concern.
Spencer stared at the sincere agent, wondering why the man was going to all this trouble. Biting at his lip thoughtfully, and considering that maybe he had caused the agents unnecessary stress, Spencer nodded slowly.
"Um, maybe you're right…? But, I'm just not used to having to tell anyone what I'm doing, or…you know, having people 'looking out' for me…" Spencer said as he trained his large eyes on the agent and watched as something in the darker man's expression changed.
He seemed like he was going to say something, or ask a question, so Spencer cut him off.
"But, hey, I understand. I won't give you guys the slip again. I'll be more careful." Spencer said, forcing a smile. "So, let's just go, ok? My coffee's getting cold."
Before Derek could say anything else, Spencer was pushing the door open and wrangling his large bag of books off of the passenger seat floor.
Sighing in annoyance, Derek pushed open his own door and stepped out of the car. Glancing down the street he saw the patrol car still sitting there and called to Spencer.
"Hey, kid, come with me for a sec. I need to get rid of this 'protective detail' of yours," he explained as he watched the boy lug his bag to the other side of the car, his brow furrowing with his exertion. Derek really wanted to grab that bag from the struggling boy, but he was sure Spencer wouldn't take kindly to that show of machismo.
"Why are you getting rid of him? You guys don't think I'm worth the trouble anymore?" Spencer asked with a forced laugh.
Derek watched him silently for a moment. For someone who seemed so blasé earlier about leaving without alerting anyone, Spencer suddenly seemed anxious about the idea that they would pull his detail.
"Nah," Derek said as he looked away from the kid's expressive face, "he's obviously not doing a good enough job to keep an eye on you. So, we're going to move some things around. You never know… maybe I'll get to be in charge of watching you now."
As soon as he said it, Derek wondered why he had. He knew he wanted to be in charge of Spencer. The kid's recklessness was making his stomach twist in knots. But, he also didn't want the kid to think he was 'hopeful' that he'd get that job. And Spencer had looked at him with wide eyes, saying nothing in response.
"Um… ok… Well, do I have to come? Could I just go take these things upstairs?" Spencer asked as he made a show of lifting his over-burdened arms.
"You can just give me that bag," Derek said instead, as he raised his eyebrows expectantly.
Spencer frowned.
"I'm going up," he said, seeming as if he wasn't leaving room for an argument.
"Pump your brakes," Derek told him. "Even though this guy's been doing a sloppy job, I still need to know if anyone's gone into the building before I let you up. So you're coming with me."
Spencer groaned as he followed the agent who had already started walking down to the police-issue sedan. Knocking on the glass, Derek got the officer to roll his window again. This time, fortunately, the man seemed to be fully awake.
"Agent," the officer acknowledged and then glanced over to the tall, skinny kid standing next to the man. "And Mr. Reid…?" The officer's eyes had grown comically large.
"Yea… look what I found," Morgan said with a disapproving look.
"Shit, man! Where'd you come from?" the officer asked the teen, seeming to have quickly forgotten his professionalism.
Spencer flushed, feeling even more like a heel for having snuck out.
"Um, I-" Spencer began apologetically, but was cut off by Derek.
"Don't you worry about that. I've already talked to him, but you, on the other hand, should return to the office." Derek said.
The officer winced at what that would entail for him.
"Oh man," he sighed.
"But before you go, just let me know if you saw anyone go into the building," Derek asked.
"No, sir. No individuals other than tenants have entered the building since I last saw you," the officer responded.
"Alright, man. You can head back," Derek began saying but the officer cut him off.
"Am I really in trouble, do you think?" he asked.
Derek glanced at Spencer who looked uncomfortable, not to mention still weighed down by his bags.
"You can head up, kid. I'll see you in a couple of minutes." Derek told him with a sigh as he nodded towards the apartment.
Spencer smiled tightly at the panicking officer and then hurried across the street.

Only about five minutes had passed while Derek tried to talk the young officer off the ledge. He had told the man that it was problematic that he hadn't taken his duties seriously, but he didn't think it'd be anything he would be fired for. Desk duty for a few weeks, though? Almost definitely. After wishing the man luck, Derek entered the building, taking the stairs two steps at a time, but he came to a surprised stop when he reached the top landing and could see Spencer still standing at his apartment's door.
"Kid?" Derek asked, causing Spencer to turn around.
Spencer was standing at the door with wide eyes, a small rectangular white box in his hand.
"Shit," Derek said, eyes flashing angrily as he moved forward and grabbed the box out of Spencer's hand.
"Did you open it?" he asked Spencer, and the boy shook his head in the negative.
"Ok, let's go inside. I've got to call Hotch," Derek said as he helped Spencer with the bag of books that he had dropped down by the door and watched as the boy fished out his keys and unlocked the front door.
"By the way, you've gotta get better locks kid," Derek mentioned as he followed the boy into the apartment. "I was able to easily pick that earlier."
Spencer glanced at him over his shoulder with a confused look.
"You broke into my apartment?" Spencer asked, incredulous.
"Yea, you weren't answering," Derek said, looking at the boy like it should have been obvious.
Spencer sighed as he walked further into the room, tossing his satchel on the closest chair and making his way to the breakfast bar. Placing his coffee down and glancing at the agent who had walked up beside him, Spencer rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Are… are we going to open that?" he asked, figuring receiving a second mysterious package was probably a more prominent issue to tackle than the fact that the agent had been snooping around in his personal spaces.
Setting the small box down on the counter top, followed by the large bag of books, Derek was silent for a second. He doubted there was anything dangerous in the box. Whoever was sending Spencer these "gifts" didn't seem like he was interested in blowing the kid up, or poisoning him. But what exactly the man wanted from Spencer, Derek wasn't sure. And that made him apprehensive.
"Hey, just… let me be the one to look at it first," Derek finally said to Spencer after feeling the boy's gaze become more impatient.
"Why?" Spencer asked, his eyebrow arching in confusion.
"Look, kid, I've dealt with a lot of stuff like this. Obsessional crimes. People get a little crazy. If it's something…disturbing, you don't need to see that, ok?" Derek explained.
Spencer blanched at the thought of the kinds of 'disturbing' things the agent had experience seeing, but he nodded his head in assent.
Picking up the box and stepping back from the counter, making sure the contents were concealed from the younger man, Derek popped the top of the box off, and he felt his jaw clench involuntarily. Lying on a bed of what looked like white silk was a simple black leather collar with a silver name tag hanging off of it. Engraved in script was one word: Spencer.
The boy in question watched the emotions forming over the darker man's face, wondering what was in the box. He heard Derek let out a soft curse but was surprised when the agent tossed the box down on the counter in front of him. Spencer's eyebrows rose as he took in the contents of the small box. Picking up the strange collar, his face paled and his heart sped up as he read his own name.
"Is…is this for real? What the hell?" Spencer asked, his voice sounding strangely high and strained to his own ears.
"Ok, ok. Relax, kid," Derek said as he ran a hand wearily over his face. For someone telling another person to relax, Derek didn't look so relaxed himself.
"I'm going to call my boss and let him know what we're working with here, so you just sit tight for a second," Derek said as he grabbed the box and strolled out into the apartment's hallway.
Hearing the door click quietly behind him, Spencer sat there stunned.
Someone had sent him a dog collar. With his name on it. Did that mean that the person thought they owned him? This and many other unsettling thoughts played through his mind as he absentmindedly sipped his now lukewarm coffee, the liquid tasteless in his mouth.
His thoughts were interrupted as he heard the front door open again and the sounds of the agent's heavy boots walking up behind him.
"Hotch wants me to bring this back to the precinct myself. He doesn't think there's any need to get the crime scene unit out here again since there were no prints last time. This guy isn't likely to leave anything that can be traced back to him." Derek explained as he lowered himself into the seat next to Spencer.
Seeing that Spencer still continued to stare vacantly at the coffee cup cradled between his hands, Derek worriedly placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. Spencer flinched almost immediately, turning wide eyes on to the agent.
"I…I'm in danger, aren't I?" Spencer asked flatly.
Derek's face darkened as he pulled his hand back, and contemplated the boy's words.
"To be honest, I can't really say, kid. This… this whole sending gifts thing doesn't really vibe with this Unsub's prior M.O. He's stayed below the radar for five years. Now, suddenly he's killed someone in public, and, on top of that, left a witness. He's just not the type to communicate like this. So, something's changed for him, or it's not the same guy. But no matter what this is, you know we'll be here to protect you, don't you?" Derek asked, hoping to comfort the boy.
Spencer sighed and pushed to his feet. Walking silently into the kitchen, he dumped his coffee into the trashcan. Derek could tell from the solid 'thunk' the cup made when it hit the bottom that it was still mostly full.
"Things were so much less complicated before you guys came here," Spencer mumbled from his place in the kitchen.
Derek heard the boy's soft words, but knew he wouldn't want to talk about it, so he pretended that he hadn't heard anything at all. He couldn't deny that he was concerned that the FBI's presence had, somehow, made Spencer a target. The crime had occurred almost a week before the FBI arrived, and there had been no mention of anyone harassing Spencer. But, the first day they arrive, Spencer receives a threat in the mail. It was too much of a coincidence.
"Hey, let's talk about those questions I had for you," Derek offered in hopes of distracting the pensive boy. Spencer looked up at him, and in the afternoon light that spilled into the kitchen, Derek's attention was again drawn to the drastic darkness under the boy's eyes and how it contrasted with his pale skin. He looked so tired…
"Ok, fine," Spencer said with a sigh as he strolled out of the kitchen and headed into his living room. Following the younger man, Derek watched as he flopped down on the old sofa with a huff, and crossed his arms over his chest.
Defensive, yet again… Derek thought to himself as he took a seat on the opposite side of the couch. His eyes slowly roamed over the boy's rigid figure, focusing in on the tension that always seemed to settle in the boy's brow, lips and shoulders. But, Derek couldn't help but think to himself that, even with his closed-off look of displeasure, the kid was still disarmingly beautiful. Catching himself staring (and uncomfortable with his train of thought), Derek shook his head and cleared his throat.
"So, Spencer, you know we have to talk a bit about the clients you see at the club," Derek began, pulling out a small notebook.
Spencer sighed in reluctance, obviously not finding this a much more agreeable topic of conversation.
"What do you need to know? They're clients. They pay for a service; they get their service; they leave." Spencer said, still not meeting the agent's eyes.
"Ok, but we need to know how these clients get into the club. How they pick who they want to see. And what happens when they become regulars. We need to know if there's anyone you've met with who may have…wanted to hurt you," Derek said as he watched the emotions playing over the young man's face.
"Hurt me?" Spencer asked, finally looking up at Derek. "The clients don't care enough about me to get obsessed, Agent…and if they wanted to hurt me, they'd do that in the room."
Derek flinched at the boy's blunt admission.
"They… hurt you?" Derek asked, before he could stop himself.
Spencer laughed bitterly, smile not reaching his eyes.
"Well… not literally. They can't touch me inside the box… but if they want me hurt, they just ask me to hurt myself." Spencer said softly.
Derek found his throat getting dry. He didn't know what to say. His gut reaction was to grab the boy by his thin shoulders and shake him, demanding to know why he was subjecting himself to something like this. Why he couldn't do something, anything else. But, the profiler in him knew that asking something like that would only push the already closed-off boy away. Derek had to remember: Spencer was a witness and he had a job to do.
"Ok," Derek said after a moment, selecting his words carefully, "knowing what your clients ask of you may give us a better idea about which of them are most likely to be unable to separate fantasy from reality and may want to… pursue these fantasies outside of the club."
Spencer frowned as he looked down at his hands.
"There…are some things I won't do, but other than those things, the clients tend to ask for what you'd expect. You know…um, stripping. That's almost always required. But sometimes they want sp-spanking or dirty talk. And sometimes they ask me to use food or t-toys on myself. It kind of changes depending on the person, but mostly I have to play a role and act out what they want…" Spencer said, blush rising to his cheeks.
Avoiding the boy's eyes, and scribbling aimlessly in his notebook, Derek swallowed thickly, feeling heat spreading in his stomach at the boy's words. He couldn't help envisioning for a second what Spencer looked like as he was doing the things he had just described. It wasn't hard to imagine, and the images he already had of Spencer decked out in his club attire didn't help. Knowing what Spencer looked like with those clothes on made it very easy to picture the boy taking them off… Derek suddenly clenched his hand into a fist on his thigh, reprimanding himself for even thinking like that. It was disgusting; here was a kid explaining what obviously made him ashamed, and he was letting his mind wander.
"Ok," he said, clearing his throat, "So, how do the clients pick you?"
Spencer sighed.
"There's a book, I guess? I know they don't use my real name or anything like that. But I don't really know what else it says in there… I never really wanted to… But I think the clients just pick me because I'm…young..." he admitted, looking away from the agent's intense gaze.
Derek felt his body tense at the thought of this. Spencer was young—too young—and it was disturbing that he had to know his appeal to these creeps was closely related to the illicitness of this fact.
"So, there's some type of book… Then what happens? These guys just pick whichever boy they think is the cutest and then they make an appointment?" Derek asked, trying to figure out how the system worked. But Spencer only seemed to pick up on one thing.
"Cute?" Spencer asked, his tone reflecting a mix of disbelief and disgust.
"Pretty boy, you can't tell me you don't think you're being picked because your clients find you attractive?" Derek asked.
"Attractive? Hardly," Spencer scoffed, but a light tinge of pink rose to his cheeks in any case.
"Come on, you can't do this kind of job and not believe that. Obviously your clients do," Derek said, trying to figure out if the kid was just trying to stroke his own ego. But he seriously doubted that was Spencer's motivation. The kid seemed like he truly believed what he was saying.
"Magic," Spencer said with a sigh.
"Huh?" Derek asked.
"It's like doing magic—you be who they want you to be, say what they want you to say, and suddenly," Spencer said, moving his hands in front of Derek's face as if he was performing a sleight of hand trick, "they believe."
"That's an illusion if I've ever seen one," Spencer said, looking at him with a sad smile.
"Look kid, I know your circumstances are probably not what you would've hoped for yourself. But, don't sell yourself short. Nothing about what you do should make you feel bad about yourself," Derek said as he placed a comforting hand on Spencer's shoulder and squeezed.
Spencer looked up at him wearily, but didn't say anything. He didn't shake Derek's hand off either, though, so Derek took that as progress. But he reluctantly removed his hand after a few seconds, remembering that he wasn't here to comfort Spencer—he was here to investigate a case.
"So… Victor LaRoux, our victim…was he a regular of yours?" Derek asked.
Spencer flinched at the mention of the deceased man, but nodded silently.
"How often did you meet with him?" Derek continued, watching Spencer's body language carefully.
"Um… M-Mr. Victor was…about once a week? Sometimes, maybe twice." Spencer said as he chewed on his bottom lip.
"And... 'Mr. Victor'….what was he into?" Derek asked tentatively, not sure if Spencer would clam up.
Spencer's face flushed and he frowned at the agent.
"I…I'm not going to talk about that," Spencer said firmly.
"Spencer, look…I'm not trying to embarrass you. But, the fact that LaRoux was murdered inside the club is significant. It might be possible that something about his…'tastes' led to him getting killed." Derek explained. But Spencer just squared his shoulders and turned away from the agent.
Sighing and rubbing the bridge of his nose, Derek reached out and grabbed Spencer's shoulders, turning him to face him.
"We know LaRoux worked as the superintendent for a number of all-boy's Catholic schools. So… there's not much you could tell me that would change my opinion of the guy. I'm pretty sure I already have an idea about what he's into." Derek said softly, and watched as Spencer's eyes widened. He shrugged the older man's hands off his shoulders and pushed himself further away from the agent, squeezing himself up against the armrest and turning his face away. Spencer chewed on his lip, his discomfort obvious, but began to speak anyway.
"Mr. Victor… h-he liked me to dress up in uniforms… He always had me go by certain names. Usually someone named Ryan or Cory… Um… I…I had to act out scenes between him and these boys…and he always wanted me t-to say… 'I want you to fuck me, Daddy.'" Spencer breathed out, head lowered and face red. He couldn't believe he had actually said that to the agent.
Derek was speechless, but he couldn't say he had necessarily been surprised by what Spencer had divulged. He wondered to himself what effect having to play out such fantasies would have on someone like Spencer. As his concerned eyes ran over the form of the withdrawn-looking boy he couldn't help but think that if Spencer thought LaRoux was one of the good ones, what exactly his other customers had required of him that could be worse.
Sensing Spencer's distress, Derek reached out to gain the younger man's attention.
"Spencer, it's ok. I'm not going to judge you-" Derek began but Spencer yanked his arm away from the agent's touch.
Seeming uncomfortable and restless, Spencer pushed off from the couch and stalked into the kitchen. Derek watched the boy silently, wondering if he would continue answering his questions. He listened as the fridge was pulled open and Spencer began rummaging.
"You want something to drink?" the boy called from the kitchen as he held up a dark brown bottle, offering it to the agent. It was obvious Spencer was trying to change the subject.
Derek's eyes narrowed.
"That beer?" he called over his shoulder.
"Yea…?" Spencer asked, sounding confused.
"…I know you're only 19, Spencer," Derek said, giving the boy a meaningful look.
Spencer blinked hard. He was constantly being surprised by what these agents continued to find out about him. Slamming the fridge with a bit more force than necessary, and with the dark amber bottle still clutched in his hand, Spencer returned to the couch. Flopping down and locking eyes with the agent, he twisted off the cap of the beer and defiantly took a long swig.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Agent Morgan. You must be mistaken. In any case, you should ask whatever else you need to ask me, because I'm starting to not want you here," Spencer said to the older man.
Derek just shook his head and leaned away from the boy. Obviously prying into his activities at the club had pushed the boy away. He wasn't sure Spencer was going to relax around him anytime soon.
"How'd you meet LaRoux?" Derek asked flatly.
Spencer shrugged, continuing to sip on his drink.
"He's just a regular client, I met him at the cl-" the boy began but stopped suddenly, eyes widening a bit.
"What's wrong?" Derek asked.
"I…I just remembered. I didn't meet him for the first time at the club… i-it was at a…a 'sex party.''" Spencer said, averting his eyes.
Morgan raised an eyebrow.
"A what?" the agent asked.
Spencer sighed and settled the half full bottle on the coffee table in front of him. Every time he spoke to the agent, it brought back all these unpleasant memories, turning his stomach.
"About once a month there are these… 'sex parties.' I don't know what else to call them. The club just tells us there's a "party" and everyone knows what they mean. It's an event that's held at private residences and the guests are all important, high-profile type people. They hire some of the employees from the clubs to work the parties." Spencer explained.
"Um... it's something we can volunteer for since they're not run by the club. The club just provides us as the… 'entertainment.' We get dressed up… usually there's a theme, and we're required to serve the attendees. I only do them when I'm really strapped for cash…b-but I hate the parties," Spencer said softly.
Derek watched silently, noticing how the boy was wringing his hands, and chose not to interrupt.
"I… I remember meeting Mr. Victor at one of the parties about seven or eight months ago. I was serving the food and drinks… All the servers know that you can…um... make 'extra' money by going into the back rooms with the party guests, b-but I don't do that." Spencer said as his blush darkened.
"I remember Mr. Victor had seemed… uh… 'interested' all night long, and he was one of the ones who asked me t-to go in the back with him, and when I told him no, he was actually nice about it. These types of people usually aren't… So then he asked me where I worked regularly and I told him the name of the club. He found me about a week later, and s-since then he's been booking sessions with me."
"So, you first met him at one of these parties... Do you think it's possible someone else from the party could have taken an interest in you? When's the last time you went to one?" Derek asked.
"I… I haven't been back since I met Mr. Victor. I-I told you I hate the parties," Spencer said as he crossed his arms over his shoulders, seeming to be hugging himself.
"Why?" Derek asked, trying to keep the concerned edge out of his voice.
"I… I hate being touched, and when you go to the parties, you become their plaything. The clients can paw at you and do whatever they want to you above your clothes. They're 'paying' to have access to the servers, so… you can't say 'no.'" Spencer said softly, as his nails dug into his arms.
Derek felt his stomach roiling at the way Spencer seemed to have drawn into himself. He wanted to reach over and comfort the boy. Draw him into his arms and tell him that everything would be ok. He felt the muscles in his arms twitch, apparently ignoring his better judgment, and he reached out to Spencer. But before he could touch him, his phone began to ring, breaking the silence in the room.
Sighing in frustration, Derek sat back and fished around in his pocket for his phone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spencer draw his knees up and wrap his arms around them, nestling his chin on his knees.
"Morgan," he said gruffly as he answered the phone.
"It's Hotch," his superior's voice came over the line. "We need you back here, Morgan."
Glancing over at the withdrawn boy, Derek didn't feel like he wanted to leave. But he also knew he was already toeing a fine line with Hotch over the amount of time he had been spending with Spencer.
"Alright…" Derek said finally. "I'll be back there in 20 minutes."
Hanging up, he turned towards Spencer who was currently watching him silently.
"Hey, kid, I gotta get back and work on this case." Derek said as he caught Spencer's eyes. "You gonna be ok?"
"Yea," Spencer said with a small smile as he shrugged, "I…I don't know why I'm acting this way. It's just been a while since I had to really think about this stuff. But, it's not like it's anything I'm not used to. I'll be fine."
Derek felt like he could say a lot in response to that statement, but he knew if he tried to convince Spencer differently, he would never leave the boy.
"You just hang in there," he said instead, as he rose to his feet. "And Hotch told me earlier that they were sending over a different detail to watch out for you, ok? So, I want you to know you're safe here. And in any case, I'll be back to check in on you myself once I get some more information."
"Y-you're not going to tell them what I said, will you?" Spencer asked suddenly, looking up at Derek with wide eyes.
"Nah, kid… I'll have to tell them where you met LaRoux, but I won't give them any…'details.' Scout's Honor." Morgan said with a small smile.
"O-ok, thanks," Spencer said as he looked away.
Derek couldn't stop himself as he reached forward and slightly ruffled Spencer's soft hair. The boy turned and looked up at him in confusion, but Derek just smiled at him.
"See you, kid," he said as he made his way toward the door.
Spencer silently watched the agent's broad back as he exited the apartment, and listened as the door clicked shut behind him. Sighing lightly, Spencer stretched his body out across the length of the couch, his long legs hanging over the ends. Placing his hands over his eyes to block out the bright light that was still trickling into his small apartment, Spencer let his mind wander.
He didn't judge me… didn't sneer or look disgusted. He just looked…sad, he thought to himself.
"Agent Morgan isn't… what I expected," Spencer quietly confided to the empty room.

Derek briskly walked into the LVPD squad room, currently occupied by Hotch and J.J., and unceremoniously tossed the small white box he had retrieved earlier from Spencer's apartment on to the table.
Hotch reached for the box, as he watched the stoic-looking agent settle himself into one of the seats surrounding the round table. Derek seemed to be displaying a lot of pent-up tension.
"This is the gift that was left at Spencer's apartment today?" Hotch asked as he flipped the top off the box.
J.J. leaned in to observe its contents and her face immediately transformed into a grimace.
"A dog collar?" she asked with distaste.
"Yup," Derek said as he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest angrily. "This guy's sick, Hotch. I don't think he's merely threatening Spencer any more. Now it seems like… like he's 'interested' in him."
Hotch was silent for a moment, eyebrows drawn downward in concentration, as he manipulated the leather neckwear in his hands. He then looked up at Derek.
"I think you're right. We don't have a functioning profile yet, but this stunt changes how we've seen this Unsub up until this point. In all his other kills, he seemed to be efficient and detached. Now, he seems possessive. But I can't tell if Spencer's just an unforeseen diversion for the Unsub, or if maybe his past cases had a similar element. I updated Prentiss and Rossi about the second gift when they landed in L.A., but I'll get them on the line now to see if they have any updates." Hotch said, as he leaned forward and dialed the agents.
"Hey Hotch, you've got me and Rossi here," Emily answered after two rings.
"Good, you've got me, J.J. and Morgan on the line. How's it going for you two over there?" Hotch asked.
"We've got a lot to read here," Rossi's tired-sounding voice came over the line. "The officers are still bringing their copies up and we've already got four boxes. We want to interview the detectives who were on the other cases, but I think it's best if we just pack up the files and bring them back so we all can go through them."
"Hmm," Hotch said, "that might be a good idea. There's a lot going on over here and with all that's been happening with Spencer it's obvious the Unsub seems intent on sticking around the area. It would be better if we weren't down two agents."
"Yea, and what's up with the dog collar?" Emily asked. "Do we really think this is our Unsub, or does Spencer just have some whacked-out stalker from the club?"
"Honestly, we don't really know how it fits in. But I'd like to patch Garcia in so we can all get an idea," Hotch said as he pressed a speed dial button on the conference-room phone.
"Garcia, it's Hotch," the man informed once he heard the line engage, "You've got me, Morgan and J.J. here, and Rossi and Prentiss calling in from L.A."
"Sure thing, Boss-man. What can I do you for?" Garcia asked.
"Have you been able to find us anything on the member list for the club?" Hotch asked, getting straight down to business.
"Unfortunately, I'm still struggling with that. These people have their member list locked up tighter than Fort Knox. I'm trying to avoid us having to go in there with a search warrant, but short of…'inviting' myself on to their password protected servers with a friendly little viral hack, I'm kind of at a loss." Garcia said.
Hotch grimaced a bit as he glanced at his two subordinates.
"Well… Garcia, I don't claim to know how you do what you do, but I trust you to figure out how to get what you need. Just make sure whatever it is stays legal," he said pointedly.
Everyone privy to the conversation knew that was code for: 'If you do break some rules, make sure I don't know about it.'
"Reading you loud and clear, sir." Garcia said with a small chuckle. "I should have that list for you guys bright and early tomorrow morning."
"Good to hear, Baby Girl," Derek broke in, "I also need some help with another package the kid received today."
"What, more flowers?" Garcia asked, frustration evident in her voice.
"No, Garcia. This time this guy sent Spencer a dog collar with his name engraved on it," J.J. said, disgust evident in her voice.
"Yikes!" Garcia's surprised voice came over the line. "That's… creepy."
"We don't think there's anything particularly telling about the actual collar, although we'll have the local PD's lab take a look at it. But, in the meantime, make sure you check VICAP for any past crimes that include anything similar being sent to a victim. In addition, go back over the Unsub's prior victims and see if he may have sent any of them gifts that just weren't reported or maybe weren't seen as significant by the victim or their families." Hotch informed her.
"Ok, sounds good," Garcia confirmed.
"And, hey, Garcia," J.J. interjected. "How are we doing with that background information about the other victims?"
"Still working on that, Jayje. Doing some additional digging I think I'm starting to see what could be indications of a pattern, but everything's still really tenuous. I can't really be sure. The only thing all the victims have in common so far is that they were Caucasian males between the ages of 35 and 50. And they all were relatively wealthy or at least spent money like they wanted to appear as if they were." Garcia informed them.
"Ok… so maybe this guy takes issue with wealth and excess?" Rossi hypothesized out loud.
"Yea, but there's got to be tons of 'wealthy' White males spanning California, Nevada and Arizona. So why these particular guys?" Emily asked. "And why these locations? And why so spread out in time?"
"Well, it's the 'whys' that are our most important questions," Hotch said as he glanced over at Derek, who seemed to be lost in thought.
"Morgan, what'd you find out today when you talked to Spencer?" Hotch asked, breaking the younger man's concentration.
"Hmm?" Derek asked, looking up to see Hotch and J.J. looking at him with interest.
"Spencer?" J.J. offered. "Did he give you any useful information?"
"Oh… yea..." Derek said, wondering to himself about how much he should divulge to his colleagues. Obviously, he should and would tell his team anything that was useful to the case. But, he could try to avoid embarrassing Spencer, or betraying his trust, while doing so.
"The kid was…reluctant, to say the least, to talk about his line of work. I'm sure that's not surprising," Derek began and listened to his colleagues murmur in agreement.
"I didn't get too much out of him, but he did tell me a bit about LaRoux. Like we guessed, LaRoux was into young boys and that was the fantasy he acted out with Spencer." Derek said, face darkening in anger.
"Garcia," Hotch said, leaning closer to the phone, "Did any of the other victims have a past history of pedophilia, sexual assaults, or anything untoward involving minor children?"
"No, nothing that I have seen so far. But, that's not necessarily something a person would write on their resume, so I guess they could have those kinds of tastes, even if I haven't been able to find it yet. The cops usually do a thorough search of a victim's belongings in these types of cases, and they weren't able to turn up anything. I'll definitely keep looking though." Garcia said from her end of the line.
"I can't help but think this Unsub isn't motivated by something so specific," Emily murmured, catching the attention of her teammates.
"Alright, so tell us what you're thinking," Hotch encouraged.
"Since these individuals are all so different, I'm thinking the Unusb's probably selecting them based on a concept, not something as concrete as going after pedophiles." Emily continued. "Based on our files, the occupations of the victims vary greatly. We have a realtor, doctor, attorney, investment banker, superintendent, etc. Nothing in common there. Plus, they also differed on their family structures—some were single, some married with kids, and some divorced. The Unsub probably sees something in these men that just sets him off. We also can't forget that he brands them with a cross too… we have to think about all the lovely things that might indicate."
"That's a good point," J.J. agreed. "Although it takes us away from being able to figure out his exact type and puts us at a real disadvantage if he decides to strike again."
"Well, his cooling off period between kills in the past has been months," Rossi threw in. "So I'm not too sure we have to worry about him striking again any time soon. On the other hand, if he drops off our radar, I'm afraid we won't catch him this time either."
"Well, there's always Spencer," Garcia said matter-of-factly.
The room fell silent as the agents absorbed what the technical analyst had said. Derek, in particular, felt his blood run cold at the implications of Garcia's statement.
Garcia gasped only a moment later, as if she had only then realized the words she had spoken.
"I-I didn't mean that he'd kill Spencer, of course!" Garcia floundered from her side of the line. "J-just that the Unsub has been contacting him and so now he's put himself out in the open, unlike in the prior cases. Oh my God, oh my God! But I didn't mean for anything bad to happen to Spencer. What if I said something and now that jinxes him?"
"Garcia, calm down," Hotch said firmly, effectively cutting off the analyst's rant.
He then let out a long sigh.
"She's right, though. Spencer Reid is an unaccounted for variable that we didn't have in the prior cases. For some reason this Unsub is either getting sloppy around Spencer, or he wants to personally engage with him for some reason. We don't know which it is, or even why, but Spencer may give us an opening we might not have otherwise had." Hotch said with a grim expression on his face.
"Morgan, did Spencer give you any other useful information?" he asked.
Derek frowned and felt his jaw clenching at Hotch's question. Yes, he had more information. But he didn't like it that Hotch's words seemed to categorize Spencer as a tool. In any other case, Derek probably wouldn't have thought twice about Hotch's reasoning and might even have made the suggestion himself. But, having gotten to know Spencer a bit over the last few days, Derek suddenly wanted to keep Spencer as far away from this case as possible. On the other hand, Derek thought to himself, Spencer was already in danger and it wasn't going to be good for him to spend any extended period of time in the sights of a killer. Sighing in defeat, Derek decided it would only help Spencer in the long run if they found a way to catch the Unsub before he decided to get any bolder with his pursuit of the boy.
"The kid mentioned to me that he met LaRoux for the first time at a sex party," Derek finally said.
"Come again?" Rossi asked.
Derek sighed.
"Spencer didn't give too much information, and apparently a sex party is what he calls it. But, it seems that some private individuals throw these events where they hire dancers from the club to work as servers. The kid made it clear that even though they're hired just to serve, it's well-known among the guests that you can pay the servers extra to go in the back for…'private' activities. I guess that's why he dubbed it a 'sex' party." Derek divulged, albeit reluctantly.
Hotch grimaced at the information he had just received.
"So, you're saying Spencer's also prostituting?" Hotch asked.
"No, man!" Derek disagreed, voice betraying more of his anger than he had wanted it to. "Spencer doesn't do that. That's just what sometimes goes on at these parties."
Silence fell over the room and Derek felt the eyes of the two agents sitting across from him.
"Derek…" J.J. said, eyebrows furrowing slightly in concern. "I know that's what he said… but, Spencer hasn't always been exactly truthful with us…"
"He wasn't lying, J.J. I trust him, alright? So, just drop it," Derek snapped, ignoring the shocked look that passed over his colleague's face.
"Morgan, you need to be able to stay objective," Hotch said firmly, locking eyes with Derek.
Derek could see Hotch's trust in him was wavering, and that just made Derek angrier.
"Alright, alright, everyone, it doesn't really matter whether he does or he doesn't, ok?" Rossi interjected.
Derek glanced away from Hotch, folding his hands on the table and trying his best to distract himself and focus on what Rossi was saying.
"We now know that Spencer works both in the club and sometimes at these private parties." The older profiler continued. "If he met LaRoux there, isn't it possible that maybe the Unsub met LaRoux at one of these parties too? We said that the Unsub must've known LaRoux's habits and the schedule of the club to have timed his kill so perfectly. And it's highly unlikely LaRoux would tell someone who he knew in a familial or professional role about going to the club. The club is part of LaRoux's social life… his secret social life. You would only tell someone about that if they ran in the same circle as you did."
The team silently mulled over Rossi's words for a moment.
"That makes sense," Emily said. "It's plausible, and actually almost necessary, that the Unsub interacted with his victims beforehand. There's no way he would be so flawless in his execution unless he knew all there was to know about these men."
"Something crossed my mind earlier as well," J.J. interjected. "I was going over the recording from Spencer's interview and I remember him saying something about the tattoo on the Unsub's neck seeming familiar. I mean, maybe the full tattoo is of some recognizable piece of art or something, but couldn't it also possibly be that Spencer's seen this man before—or at least his back—and just doesn't realize it? Maybe he saw him at one of these parties?"
"Hmm," Hotch said as he pondered the information for a moment.
"We need to get more information about these…'sex parties.' Ideally, if Spencer ends up going to another party, we might be able to get a better idea of who the guests are. Maybe even be able to track down our Unsub through the parties' guest lists…" Hotch murmured, as if he were thinking out loud.
"He doesn't like going to the parties," Derek said, breaking into Hotch's train of thought.
Hotch's eyebrows rose at Derek's words.
"What do you mean?" the older man asked.
"Look, I know I kind of snapped earlier. My bad. But it was because… because of some of the more personal parts of the story that he shared with me. Spencer… that kid seems like he really hates what he does. It's not surprising since we know he wasn't some street kid doing something like this his entire life. He was a child prodigy for crying out loud. Something caused him to end up here and I think we can all guess that this wasn't his first choice in professions." Derek said with a heavy sigh.
Looking up at his superior, Derek was relieved to see that the distrustful tension had left Hotch's face, and this encouraged him to divulge more to the team.
"I was just… coming from a place of understanding that it was hard for him to talk to me about this stuff. He seems really ashamed of what he does. And he didn't want to tell me anything at first, but when he finally did he asked me to promise that I wouldn't tell you guys. That's why I knew he wasn't lying," Derek said as he looked apologetically at J.J who gave him a small smile of understanding.
"So, Spencer doesn't often go to these parties?" Emily asked.
"No, he told me he hasn't been to one in almost a year. He only does them when he's really hard up for cash. Seemed like it was something of a last resort for him… And it was at that last party where he met LaRoux." Derek responded.
Hotch sighed heavily.
"Look, Derek," Hotch said, purposefully using the younger agent's name, "I understand why you want to protect Spencer. I don't want to put him in any unnecessary danger either. Of course, we'll try all we can do to avoid involving him in the investigation of this case, but Spencer's in a unique position that we can't really emulate using one of our own agents.
"Spencer's a part of this world, and he has the quickest and least suspicious access to information that we need. Since it's apparent we're already running into stonewalls at every turn with trying to figure out who the members of the club are, I highly doubt we'll be able to infiltrate the security of these parties any easier. While I'd prefer to send in one of you, these parties are exclusive and if you were ever able to get in, you'd stand out like sore thumbs. Spencer wouldn't have to be anyone but himself. So there's a chance that it could come down to us needing Spencer to go to one of these parties, if only just to get an idea of who attends."
Derek was silent as he took in his superior's words. He knew it was the truth. But, he didn't have to like it.
"Garcia, once you're able to get that members list, see if you can get any information from the club owners about their contact for these private parties. If we can have some way to compare the lists we might be able to whittle it down later to devise a suspect pool out of the names that overlap on the two lists." Hotch said.
"Can do," Garcia responded. "I'll be in touch as soon as I have anything new, sir."
"Alright, that'll be all for now. Thank you, Garcia." Hotch said and the agents were met with the sound of her call disconnecting.
"Ok, everyone, that's good for now. We need to make some headway with the old cases and see if there's anything that can help us catch this guy, and quick." Hotch said to his team.
"Prentiss and Rossi, make sure you talk to whoever you can before you guys fly back out tonight. The lead detectives are a must, but if any of the witnesses or the victims' family members are available make sure you at least get a call in to them while you're over there." Hotch told the two remote agents.
"No problem, Hotch," Prentiss responded.
"Alright, have a safe flight back. We'll see you two tomorrow morning," Hotch told them and listened as the two agents signed off.
"Come on you two," Hotch said as he turned to J.J. and Derek and indicated to the large file boxes sitting on the conference table. "We've got a lot of case to cover."
J.J. and Derek smiled ruefully and reached for the thick file folders.

Dragging his feet as he finally made his way into his hotel room, Derek all but tumbled into his bed. It was a little past 11:00pm and after only having had about four hours sleep the previous night, he currently felt like he was running on fumes. They had been working the case non-stop, with little to no leads and they were expected to be back at the station first thing in the morning to follow up with Prentiss and Rossi about the California cases. Not bothering to change out of his work clothes, Derek quickly toed off his boots and pulled the comforter over his frame. Sleep was the only thing on his mind and he quickly succumbed.
Derek found himself standing in a dark, empty room. He immediately knew he was dreaming, but this was unlike the types of dreams he was accustomed to experiencing. Usually, his dreams threw him headfirst into an altercation with a past suspect, or alternatively, into past life experiences from his childhood, the type he would sooner forget. But, now, he was in an otherwise unremarkable room. He could see nothing; he could hear nothing. But he felt hot, like the air itself was thick. He could feel the sweat forming on his skin, even though he knew none of this was real.
Suddenly, a spotlight illuminated an image about ten feet ahead of him. He felt himself draw in a stuttering breath as his eyes quickly registered what the light was shining on. Or, who, to be exact. It was Spencer.
Spencer Reid (or an apparition of him, Derek thought to himself) was sitting with his back facing him on a large round bed in the middle of the endless room. He was perched atop a plush, red sheet. From behind, Derek could tell that Spencer wasn't wearing much, just a pair of pink shorts, a red choker and black suspenders. He was kneeling, with his pert bottom nestled atop his long calves. As usual, he was wearing his black Converses. Derek watched silently as the boy's delicate shoulder blades flexed as he stretched, rolling and arching his long back slightly, as if he had grown tired of waiting.
At that moment, the boy turned and looked over his shoulder at the agent, causing Derek's breath to catch. Spencer was wearing those glasses; the black-framed, wide-lensed ones he had seen him with on the street earlier. His hair was tousled, his eyes were wide, and his pink lips were slightly parted in a pout.
'Agent Morgan,' the boy panted in a soft breath, his voice sending jolts of desire straight to Derek's groin. 'I-I need you… please. Don't make me wait…'
Derek couldn't stop his feet from stepping forward, his body pulled by the boy's voice. Spencer's pale body undulated as he inhaled and exhaled deeply.
He watched as the boy ran a hand up through his wavy, chestnut-brown hair and grasped it, pulling at the roots. A slight mewl escaped the boy's lips.
'Please,' he repeated, the sound of urgency apparent in his voice.
'What's wrong, Pretty Boy?' Derek asked as he reached Spencer's side and cautiously stepped around the side of the bed so he could look at the boy fully.
Finally seeing the boy in his entirety, Derek inhaled sharply. Spencer's pupils were wide, almost fully obscuring the honey-color of his eyes. As he took in the agent's presence, his small pink tongue darted out to run over his plump bottom lip and he moaned. Derek couldn't help echoing a groan of his own as his eyes feasted on the sight. The boy's cheeks and neck were flushed in pink, his narrow chest was shimmering slightly with sweat, and as Derek's eyes trailed downward, he could see the obvious bulge in the front of the boy's tight pants.
'Please, I need you…please touch me,' Spencer whined as he closed his eyes and leaned backward sliding his hands on the bed behind him and pushing his chest and crotch out for the agent's attention.
'P-pretty boy, I… Spencer, I can't,' Derek choked out, his eyes quickly darting over the delectable platter laid out before him.
'Please, please! I only want you Agent Morgan… not them… I don't want anyone else to touch me,' Spencer said as he ran one hand up the right side of his chest, fingers lingering on his small nipple.
For some reason, that single supplication kicked Derek into action, and, tossing all sense of reason and propriety to the side, he pressed one knee on to the bed and leaned down to breathe in the skin on the boy's long, exposed neck. The warm smell of cinnamon and coffee filled his senses. Tentatively, as if he were afraid the boy would disappear, Derek placed his hands on the boy's bare arms, gaining a soft moan from him.
'Mmm… please...touch me more… you know where I want it,' Spencer moaned as he bucked his hips slightly.
Derek gulped, feeling light-headed. He gripped Spencer's arms tightly, in an effort to restrain himself.
'Pretty Boy… I can't, you know I can't…' he groaned out.
The boy's eyes fluttered open and now, the closest he had ever been to the boy, Morgan was able to see the flecks of gold in his irises. He watched as the boy's lips turned down into a pout and Derek struggled with himself not to lean down and capture those lips between his teeth.
But Spencer leaned forward instead, pressing his bare chest against the agent's. ('When did I lose my shirt?' Derek wondered to himself). He felt Spencer shift and wind his hand behind his back. He shuddered as he felt the boy's cool, long fingers stroking the small of his back. He then gasped as he felt Spencer's other hand at the front of his pants, lightly stroking his zipper.
'Pretty Boy,' Derek hissed through clenched teeth as he grabbed the boy's hand in mid-stroke, stalling his movements, 'D-don't do that… please don't do that.'
'But, I want to touch you,' Spencer breathed out against his neck, soft, warm breath tickling the tiny hairs there.
Derek wanted to push the boy away—he knew he should—but Spencer's body was so hot, he found it impossible.
Then Spencer shifted again. Parting his legs and sliding forward, he settled himself on top of Derek's knee, pressing the heat between his legs down on Derek's thigh and causing the older man to groan with need.
'Mmm,' Spencer moaned as he rocked and ground himself against Derek, 'Please, don't leave me like this…want you, Agent Morgan... need you…'
Derek's eyes snapped open. He was staring at his ceiling, breathing ragged and forehead slick with sweat. Most troubling however, was the painfully hard erection he could feel standing at attention between his legs. His eyes wide, he tried to make sense of what he was thinking. Had he just had a dream about…Spencer Reid?
But his mind was only his for a few seconds as his thoughts wandered back to the breathy pants, pouty lips, and insistent, thrusting hips. Growling in frustration, Derek whipped back the thin sheets and shoved his hands down the front of his pants. Grasping his length at the base, he quickly pulled the thick appendage from its confines and gave it a quick, satisfying pump. Groaning in pleasure and letting his eyes slide closed, he immediately saw the image of Spencer's large eyes, open lips and flushed cheeks. His hand picked up pace, sliding up and down, and quickly becoming slick. Grunting, Derek thrust upwards into his tight fist, imagining Spencer's lips…Spencer's thighs…Spencer's ass… and he came. Hard.
Panting, Derek released his tight grip on his length and sighed, lazily running his hand over the sheets as he rode out the after-effects of his orgasm. As his breathing began to regulate, he tried not to think. He didn't want to think about what he had just done. He had just jerked off to Spencer Reid. Nineteen-year-old, key witness in a murder investigation, Spencer Reid… He felt disgusted with himself.
How could he have dreamed of something like that? Seeing Spencer like a sex object made him just as bad as the creeps who frequented the club. Since when did he go from wanting to protect the boy to wanting to… claim him? What did that mean… how was he supposed to feel about that? And then he asked himself the question he had been avoiding asking since the first time he saw Spencer.
Why am I thinking about another man anyway? He thought to himself, chest rising and falling with his labored breaths.
Derek didn't like men, at least not to his knowledge. But, from whatever his dream was telling him, apparently his mind could make an exception for Spencer. Derek didn't know if he should give any serious attention to what could probably be an alarming personal realization about himself. At least he didn't want to think about it now. As a defense, his mind rattled off all the psychological explanations one could cite to to explain dreaming about another man. But, with all those justifications and theories, a voice at the back of his head still reminded him that, no matter what any textbook said, he had been aroused. Not merely intrigued, but heart-hammering orgasm-inducing aroused.
Feeling overwhelmed by guilt, Derek turned on to his side. He had promised Spencer he would protect him. Not objectify and sully him like all the other men the kid probably dealt with in his day-to-day life. Spencer was an attractive kid. Fine, Derek could admit that. But that didn't excuse his behavior. He had dealt with numbers of attractive individuals in the past cases he had covered as a member of the BAU. He had never had these conflicted feelings before. And he had definitely never had this type of dream. But what bothered Derek the most, and what he knew would probably keep him up half the night, was the fact that he had no idea how he would be able to look Spencer in the eye tomorrow.

It was a little past midnight when Spencer's cellphone began to ring. Sitting up in confusion, Spencer realized he must have fallen asleep while making his way through the books he had bought earlier today. He had been on the fourth one. Frowning as he fished his phone out of his pocket and glanced at his watch, he wondered who would be calling this late. He didn't have many friends, and even fewer who would be calling him at this time of night. Assuming it was a colleague from work, or, more likely, one of the ever-persistent FBI agents, Spencer flipped open the phone. Seeing that it was an unknown number, his eyebrows furrowed, but he pressed the button to accept the call.
"Hello?" Spencer asked, voice showing his displeasure.
"Spencer," an unfamiliar voice said, delight apparent in his tone.
"Um, yes? Who is this?" Spencer asked back, now feeling more awake.
Instead of answering Spencer's immediate question, the voice posed one of his own.
"Did you like my gift?"
Spencer felt fear ricochet into his chest and squeeze it like a vice.
"Y-your…gift?" Spencer asked, fearing who the voice could possibly belong to, but, subconsciously already knowing.
"Yes, yes. The gift I left just for you. To show you that I want to take care of you. That I'm willing to keep you… It's so you know who you belong to…" the man said, his voice almost a purr.
Spencer couldn't believe what he was hearing. Or who he was hearing, as a matter of fact.
"I… I don't understand," was the only thing Spencer could think of to say.
"But, Spencer, you see… I can't really understand why you had to call the police… and the Feds," the man continued, as if he hadn't heard Spencer's words.
The panic within him was rising, making Spencer almost nauseous with fear, and he gripped the fabric of his pants to calm himself.
"I didn't call them…t-the police they came on their own and I-" Spencer sputtered out, but was cut off yet again.
"Don't you know I can protect you, Spencer? That's what I'm here for! I got rid of LaRoux, that disgusting pig. He told me all about his… tastes, and how much he liked you. It was vile. So, I knew I had to keep you safe from him," the man explained.
Spencer's eyes widened.
"Y-you killed Mr. Victor because…" he breathed out in disbelief.
"Yes, of course. I had to protect you. You should feel honored, Spencer. Not many can say they have had the good fortune to fall within my favor. But you… you're special…" the man said quietly.
Spencer felt like he couldn't get enough air. The terror that gripped him was almost suffocating.
"I…but he wasn't…" Spencer finally forced out, feeling tears prickling at the corner of his eye.
"Do NOT defend him!" the man said with a sharp tone. "These men that you lower yourself for, they trick you with their lies Spencer… they don't love you, and they can't take care of you. None of them are like me. They don't understand what a rare and beautiful treasure you are."
Spencer was silent, not knowing how to respond to the man's crazed assertions.
"Now, be a good boy until I'm ready for you. Do you hear me?" the man warned, a slight edge taking over his voice.
Unsure of what to say, Spencer whispered out a soft "yes," and listened as the line went dead.
Oh shit, Spencer thought to himself as the phone slipped from his hands.

A/N: Really… it's not my intention to always end chapters with so much emotional intensity. I swear! Haha. I just end them in a place where it seems to make the most sense to transition to a different scene. So, my apologies if I'm giving you all an ulcer ;P.
A lot happened in this chapter! Eek. Let me know what you guys think! I hope the dream sequence (as in that it was a dream) was pretty self-explanatory. I didn't think I had to indicate 'italics' means dream and 'dream starts/ends here.' If you found it confusing to read without those, though, let me know and I'll consider how to make it clearer. (Oh, and I hope the little teaser of smut was to your liking as well ;p)
Until next time,
Xoxo
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Pretty Boy