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Chapter Text

His phone rang, and despite the unfamiliar caller ID, he picked it up.

"Spencer- Spencer. It's- it's Maeve," the woman on the other end cried out, her voice weak.

Immediately, a jolt of panic burst through him, and he spun on his heels. Maeve hadn't referred to herself with her real name in ten months, not since she'd found out about her stalker, and nor had she called him 'Spencer,' either.

"Maeve. Is everything alright?" he asked, his hand on the butt of his gun.

"That's enough of that," a female voice said, echoey, and then there was the loud sound of struggle as the phone was ripped away from his girlfriend. "Spencer. Isn't that it?"

"Listen," he replied, his voice hardened. "You don't have to do this. Listen, if you turn yourself-"

"I don't care about any of that," she scoffed. "Listen. Either you come to me, or Maeve dies. And if you involve your little team, I'll make sure both you two die, and take out as many as I can before I go down. Got it?"

He hesitated, and then the unmistakable sound of a revolver clicked. "Yes! I'll come to you. Just don't hurt her."

"Good. You'll stay on the phone with me while you walk to the little library around the corner. Once you find the copy of the narrative of John Smith, place both of your guns inside and I'll be waiting. Oh, and one last thing- don't try anything. Understand?"

"I understand."

Reid walked the distance of a block, the only accompanying noise the heavy sound of Lindsey's breathing, and once there, he saw the quaint little library. He glanced inside, noticing the narrative, before placing his hands inside, alongside his guns.

A woman's footsteps, came near, and he glanced around, noticing her dark brown hair. Immediately, he recognized her- Lindsey Vaughn.

"Let me see Maeve before I come with you."

He allowed Lindsey to put the handcuffs on him, smash his phone into pieces and delete the voicemail, and put him in the trunk. Once in the trunk, she strapped a gag onto him, and blindfolded him.

The car moved, and instinctively, he began to catalog the turns, keeping a mental map of the streets. It took him half an hour to realize she had been going in circles to disorient him on purpose.

After that, Reid gave up on the task, instead, thinking of Maeve. Maeve. Was she okay? He was beginning to regret allowing Lindsey to kidnap him, but in his panic addled mind, all he could think of was keeping Maeve safe.

Arriving at their destination, Lindsey slammed open the trunk, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him inside the witness protection home. She ignored his muffled cries, instead forcing him into a basement.

Reid was shoved onto a chair, arms tied to it, alongside his legs. Once she was done tugging experimentally on the nylon, she cut off his blindfold, throwing it to the side.

Once inside, he swept the room, noticing the BDSM paraphernalia that covered nearly every inch. The message was clear- rape was going to happen here, and if it wasn't to him, it was most certainly to Maeve.

Maeve, who didn't have the whole of the FBI behind her.

Maeve, who had cut off contact with nearly everyone to preserve her own safety.

Maeve, who-

"Thinking about someone, Spence?" Lindsey asked. "Or, are you just liking what you're seeing?"

"Get Maeve down here," he ordered, trying to make himself seem as intimidating as possible.

But, fuck, he was terrified. His voice shook, and he know Lindsey could see right through his mask.

"She'll be down from the car in a moment," she drawled, rolling her deep honey brown eyes. He hated how they were the same shade as his. "Relax, lover-boy. Let's spend this time to get to know one another."

"That wasn't the deal."

"The deal is in my hands now," she snarled. "The fun was just how fast you'd do it."

Then she left.

A few moments later, he watched as a shaking, crying Maeve was led down the stairs. And God, she was beautiful, everything he'd hoped for and more, and yet, he knew their relationship was ruined forever. But he just needed to get her safely out. He'd take whatever Lindsey wanted to give him.

"You won't be satisfied by this. I promise you that, Lindsey- please," he tried to reason.

"You know, for all your big brains, I would've thought you would've found me quicker," she said with a smile.

"To— to be honest, I was distracted by your thesis," he replied, the profile running through his mind and being put together in less than a few seconds.

She paused on fidgeting with the gun, glancing at him. "You read my thesis?"

"I— I did," he responded, lying easily. "You know, I think your writing puts you on the same plane as Jonas Salk. I've already sent it to the NIH."

"Flattery is not gonna get you out of this. I know what will happen the second you let me go."

"I can arrange for your freedom," Reid responded.

Not a chance in hell, he thought, but he swallowed the thought, and forced himself to convince her to let the two of them go, or at least Maeve.

"The federal government doesn't make deals with people like me."

"Not true," he retorted, perhaps too quickly. "Nazi scientists were recruited for the Manhattan Project. Mafia bosses are regularly put into Witness Protection. If what you have is valuable enough, the federal government will work with you, and what you have is very valuable."

"And what do I have, doctor?"

"You have a brain that doesn't play by normal societal rules," Reid said, leaving out the 'because you're a sociopath' part. "I know that all your life the people you care about the most keep leaving.

"There's a part of you that thinks it's because of that brain," he continued. "Well, I'm here because I'm not going to leave you. I'm here because... I just hope that I get the chance."

"Chance at what?" she asked curiously. By now, the gun was dropped at her side, no firm threat in sight, but the risk was still real and there.

"To be with you. Me for her. That was the deal, right?"

"You're choosing me over her?"

"Lindsey, how could it be anyone else?" he questioned, his voice sickly sweet with a fake kind of sugar that made him want to vomit.

"Prove it."

"All right," Reid said amicably, revealing none of his inner turmoil. "How?"

"Say that you don't love her," she instructed. "Say it to her face."

"I don't love you," he responded, this time looking directly at Maeve.

"I don't need her anymore," Lindsey said, butting the gun up and against her face.

Maeve let out a choked sob, tears running freely down her face.

He rushed his next words, afraid she'd pull the trigger. "Kill her and she won't have to live with the fact that you're smarter. Let her live with her irrelevancy. Please, Lindsey, you're the one that I adore. Not… not Maeve."

"Liar," she stated. "Liar!"

With a motion Reid could only describe as purely impulsive, she tore the gun away from Maeve's face and fired at the wall. A jolt of panic went through him as both him and Maeve flinched violently at the gunshot.

"Lindsey, Lindsey," he pleaded again, mouth running faster than his brain could catch up, for once. "There's still a way out of this."

"You never wanted me," she spat out like poison. "Never! You lied!"

"I didn't," he once again tried to reason. "Lindsey, I offered you a deal and you can still take it. Me for her. Let me take her place."

"You would do that?" Lindsey asked, her voice child-like now.

"Yes. I already have," he answered, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Please."

Maeve was crying, and he was pleading mindless words. The gun against her head, the droll words spilling out of Lindsey's mouth, all were blank in Reid's mind. He knew he'd remembered what would happen forever, but selfishly, he wished he could forget all of this.

"You would kill yourself for her? You would allow all… this to happen, for her?"

"Yes," he replied immediately, voice sure of himself.

And for just a moment, she relaxed, and just for a moment, he believed him.

And then-

BANG!

Chapter Text

Before Reid can process the blood and brain matter splattered across him, the clock loudly rings 12 am.

Lindsey scoffs, firing another bullet, destroying the analog clock. It forces him into reality, his head whipping around to see the shards of glass and plastic now on the floor despite how much he wants to keep staring at Maeve.

God, Maeve. He hoped she hadn't believed him, but he knew in his heart that she had. Even if she hadn't believed it, then what? They'd still be in the same situation they were now.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears rolling down his face. Maeve was dead. Maeve was dead. Maeve was-

"Come on, let me help you up," Lindsey said, slicing through the rope. In his shock, he didn't have the energy nor the willpower to fight back.

"Maeve-" Reid stammered out, his gaze flitting over her body, now limp in the chair. "Maeve."

The only thing keeping her bloodied body up was the rope, her head leaned forward at an angle that was unnatural.

"Don't worry about Maeve anymore, Spence. It's just you and I. For a whole month, won't that be fun?"

He finds himself nodding along, his gaze blurred as he cries, hitching out sobs as Lindsey walks him to a contraption in the middle of the room.

"Then… well, I'm sure I'll be bored of you by then. Don't worry, I'll be nice, Spence," she coos, Reid not absorbing any of it in his shock. "It'll be quick."

Lindsey lies him down on the bench, pleather and much like one you'd find at a gym. Only, she sets his arms to the sides, cuffing his hands before he can struggle, and spreads his legs to two sides, restraining those as well.

His head rests against the smooth leather on it's side, and then somewhere in his adrenaline rattled brain does he realize what's going to happen.

Maeve is dead.

With a start, he tries to get up, only to buck against the cool black pleather, a glimpse of Maeve's bedraggled body coming into view. Lindsey is disconnecting the restraints, and Reid squeezes his eyes shut as a sickening plop comes, her falling onto the ground.

As his body falls back onto the bench, in the vulnerable position, the next thought comes.

Lindsey is going to rape him if the team doesn't find him soon.

He's been tortured, drugged, shot at, poisoned, and yet, the idea of rape is terrifying. It unlocks a primal, animalistic fear inside of him comparable to no other. He wants to say that he'd rather be raped than to be killed, but the next thought occurs to him, which is the team seeing him like that. But maybe they'll burst through the doors in just a few moments.

However, the statistical probabilities of the team finding him on an off day is extremely unlikely, given they have no clues.

The wet sound of a bloody corpse being dragged across the ground and up the stairs does nothing to assuage his thoughts, which are rapidly switching between him and Maeve.

They won't know he's gone until tomorrow at the earliest.

Another salty tear forces it's way out, and then he's sobbing, snot running down his face as he tries to brutally force his way out of the restraints, slamming against them. No reprieve comes, and he dissolves into a puddle.

The last thought occurs to him, terrifying and relentless.

What if they don't find him in time?

He doesn't want to think. God, he wants to stop thinking, but he can't. All that's on repeat are what if's that are going to come true, and Maeve's dead body. The blood stain on the floor he can see out of the corner of his eye shine brightly, teasing.

Footsteps interrupt his spiral.

How long has it been? Reid doesn't know. Lost in his thoughts, he's already lost track.

He looks up, just barely, to see Lindsey approaching with a pair of scissors, large and glinting silver. She holds them up in front of his eyes, biting her lip and waving them before moving behind him where he can't see.

"Please, Lindsey, you— you don't have to do this, please. I don't know what it is, but I don't need to be tied up like this," he begs, trying to trade one humiliation for another.

She doesn't answer, instead setting them down with a loud clatter that makes him jump. She reaches for something else. He can hear the familiar stretch, the way it creaks, but he doesn't realize what it is until she's waving it in his face.

"See this, Spence? It's some nice duct tape to shut you up. I wouldn't have to do it if you weren't constantly talking. But, don't worry, I'll teach you not to soon enough."

He shakes his head, but Reid is powerless to stop her from sticking it to his face, rubbing it into his skin to make it stick. His pleas from behind the gag does nothing to stop her as she picks the scissors back up.

Lindsey's scissors shred his clothes, cutting them off in long stripes that hit the floor. Each one leaves his skin more exposed, the hair on his back standing up, scars that riddle his body having nowhere to hide.

He moans out a sob through the duct tape, rubbing raw against his skin. Tears stream down his face, snot too, with nothing to wipe it away.

Finally, he's naked, cold and unprotected against Lindsey's desire as she runs a hand up and down the small of his back. She presses filthy kisses against him up and down, leaving marks on his skin that will fester and rot beneath.

After what seems like an eternity of teasing, a single, long finger prods, testing his hole experimentally despite his clenching. A soft smack is landed to his left buttock, the warning simple and clear. Behave.

It's teasing, and finally, with a loud sigh, she jams it inside. He winches, instinctively jolting up.

"So tight," she muttered, fingering it, twisting experimentally. He let out a whine of pain from behind the duct tape.

He wanted desperately not to categorize it as rape, and yet, already his mind was running haywire with statistics.

She shoves another finger in, pumping and out, before finally pulling all the way out. Momentarily, he thinks the assault is over, but then he can hear a cabinet open. A bottle pops out, and soon, she's back over, cool lube drizzling against his exposed perineum.

She rubbed it in, despite him clenching and embarrassingly enough, attempting to get away by unconsciously wiggling his ass in the midst of squirming.

"Like a dog," she remarked, and then hit his glutes again, this time hard.

Lindsey's fingers returned, working in and out, and then she hit his prostate. It caused a shock of pleasure and betrayal all in one, his dick twitching underneath the stimulation.

He moaned his displeasure through the gag, rutting against the bench in a desperate attempt to get it to go down, humiliated when it only grew harder at the friction.

A light chuckle comes from Lindsey. "That's so easy. So reactive. It's an amazement you didn't cream your pants the moment you saw Maeve."

Reid grunted, screaming through the mask in an attempt to express his anger, to say that he didn't want to be reacting like this, that genital arousal was completely natural. But none of the words formed, and instead, Lindsey's hand came around to wrap his penis.

She began to stroke, her hand still wet from the earlier lubrication, and her other hand was pumping in and out of his hole. The hand job, combined with the prostate stimulation, meant his cock was at full attention, straining painfully. Despite his best attempts, it didn't take long for him to come.

With a cry, white semen spat out, dribbling over the head and staining the leather beneath.

For a moment, the relief was blissful, and she let go.

And then, he began to sob as clarity hit him, as he remembered what had taken place.

The cuffs unlocked, and he shook on his feet as she helped him stand. He couldn't fight even if he wanted to, and before he could get himself together and devise an escape plan, he was thrown to the ground.

His head connected to the damp concrete.

In a split second, everything is black. Everything is nothing. Everything is gone, and he passes out.

Chapter Text

Reid woke up on a surprisingly soft mattress. Hands tied behind his back and to the bed, he frantically glances around. Naturally, and quickly, his gaze goes to the ceiling, and he caught his first glimpse of the bed frame, black and arching above him. Gaps line the top of it, forming a roof, and leather restraints dangle precariously.

He tried to yawn, only to realize the duct tape was still spread across his mouth.

Shifting, he realizes he had a bit of give. He sat up- just barely, his back arched and crying out in pain- but he's able to get a good look around. Reid's legs were free, but he was still naked, and when he glanced at his penis, he expects to see dried semen on the head.

Instead it's clean, and the thought that Lindsey had taken the precaution of cleaning his most private of places made him want to vomit. How dare she, he wanted to scream, but he couldn't seem to make his voice work.

And then he remembered.

He remembered that Maeve was dead.

That he had caused it.

A tear slid down his face, and soon, he was eneveloped in full body sobs. He was lost in his own misery, drowning in the salty ocean that was his cries, that he couldn't hear the footsteps of Lindsey approaching until she tapped his shoulder. He jumped, and she smiled.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

With no regard for tears still streaming down his face, she showed him a gag. It had a silver 'O' shape.

First, she laid him flat on the mattress once again, roughly wiping his snotty face and wet eyes 'clean' with her handkerchief. Then, as she approached with the gag, he pulled his head away.

"Don't. Don't move," she snapped, forcing his head back forward her once again.

This time, he stayed still, tears streaming down his face no matter how much he wished to crash his head into hers and run. But he knew that even if he took her out, there was nowhere for her to run. Like it or not, Lindsey was his best chance at escape.

Dropping the gag besides him for a moment, she tore the duct tape away.

He stretched his jaw before attempting to once again speak. "Lindsey— Lindsey, you don't have to do this. Please, I'll be with you if you just allow me to get free. I promise. I don't like this, Lindsey. I don't consent."

She ignored him however, only moving slightly to the side to grab the gag again. Once again, she approached, forcing his jaw open, and lifting his neck up a few inches to fit it around him.

Reid knew the consequences would be worse if he bit down on her fingers, no matter how much he wanted to.

He diligently kept his mouth open and silent, staring into her eyes in an attempt to throw her off. It only seemed to egg Lindsey on though as she placed it behind his front and bottom teeth, before pulling his lips back over it.

Drool ran down Reid's face already, collecting and pooling. He knew there were approximately 100 million microbes per millimeter of saliva, and the thought was enough to make him want to vomit.

"You're so pretty like this," she said, a childlike grin on her face as she approached.

She disconnected his hands from the restraints on the mattress, quickly restraining him to the ones he had seen dangling earlier. He shook his head, and though he knew that Lindsey had seen it, she didn't respond.

"Tell me, Spencer, have you ever kissed anyone before?"

Reid didn't give her the satisfaction of an answer, instead glaring, trying to make himself seem as unapproachable and intimidating as possible.

It didn't work though; Reid had a feeling even Morgan wouldn't have been able to make this work for him, much less himself.

She readjusted his legs to sit beneath him in a kneeling position. Now, she connected his ankles to the restraints that had previously kept his wrists in position.

Then, she got up besides him on the bed. "No answer for me? Are you a virgin in every way, then?"

He wanted to scream no, say that being a virgin was purely a societal concept, and even if it was real, that he wasn't, that though he and Maeve had never kissed or had intercourse, it wasn't his fault.

She giggled instead. "I should've known as much. With those lips though… I'm surprised nobody else wanted a taste."

Lindsey leaned in, and her lips tasted like skin. They were chapped, rough and bruising against his unwilling lips. It was strange, being a subject for this, when his mouth was open. He thought it must've been an awkward position for her, at the very least, but she didn't seem to care in the slightest.

Reid compared it to others as she pushed her sour, acrid tongue into his mouth.

The kiss so far was nothing like the strawberry gloss that Harper had lined hers lips with. Nor the plastic-y taste lipstick that Lila had, that had left pink prints all over his face; with a frown, he realized that every time he thought of Lila, he would now think of this moment.

She pulled away to take a breath of air, her eyes crinkled in pure unadulterated joy. The classic sexual sadist, getting a fix off her unwilling victim. Reid now thought that Lindsey's attraction wasn't born out of delusion, but rather a need for power. One that had been stripped away by witness protection, by him more specifically.

He had become both a common enemy and he had become an erotic fixation for her.

As her lips met his once again, he disassociated. He didn't know what else to do- it was the only way to survive right now.

Later, he could live with the guilt of killing Maeve.

Later, he could deal with how utterly broken he felt.

Later, he reminded himself.

First, he needed to survive, and by survive, he meant keep his heart pumping blood, keep oxygen flowing into his lungs, his body clinically there. Anything else was inconsequential.

He closed his eyes as she moved away from his face at last, getting something else. Her footsteps were loud, but they didn't serve to break through his fog.

Instead, Reid continued to stay in his mind, flipping through his imaginary library before finally selecting a book by Victor Hugo- the classic, Les Misérables. He had been on page 352, Jean Valjean making his daring escape, and as he read,

Even as she strapped the cock-ring on, preventing him from ejaculating, he didn't 'snap' out it. Sure, he was aware, but only barely, lost in the trials and tribulations of Jean Valjean and his found daughter, Cosette.

You would have said it was a spider seizing a fly; only, in this case, the spider was bringing life, and not death. Ten thousand eyes were fixed upon the group. Not a cry; not a word was uttered; the same emotion contracted every brow. Every man held his breath, as if afraid to add the least whisper to the wind which was swaying the two unfortunate men…

Chapter Text

The next morning, Lindsey comes to leer at him, helping him up from the bed he once again had found himself in.

As luck would have it, the moment Reid finds himself on two feet, the room completely shifts, looking like an abstract painting as he stands up. He can't seem to keep himself steady. Lindsey seems to revel in the pleasure of him having to be dependent on her.

She carries him over to a soft pillow, all but holding him up on it, connecting his wrists together with handcuffs, police style. The gag digs into his cheeks uncomfortably, rubbing his face raw, but he's focused on something else right now.

He wonders if he'll ever be able to see the handcuffs without remembering this.

Reid wonders if he'll ever make it out to test that theory.

Standing him up, Lindsey loops the chain over a hook he hadn't noticed in the ceiling, and pulls the cushion out from underneath him. It's only a few inches taller at that, but it seems to be a world of difference to his arms. It only takes a few moments for them to begin to cry out in hurt.

As she prepares something on a table, fire seemed to burn through his wrists. The handcuffs press against the thin skin and dig into it. It hurt, and he swallowed a sob. Maeve had been shot and forced to see him confess his undying love for another.

He could survive this, couldn't he?

Reid squeezed his eyes shut, a single tear slipping out. He was terrified. All the risks were running through his addled brain; before he can restrain himself further, he erupted in full blown sobs.

The familiar c-c-click of a camera goes off, and his eyes fly open wide with terror. Lindsey is holding a black and white camera up, professional and sleek and undoubtedly capturing every pixel of his terror in HD quality.

Frantically, Reid began to dig his fingers into the rope tying him to the steel hook. He ignored the way it caught his nails and how it chafed painfully against his already bruised wrists.

His only objective was to get out of the camera's view, to hide himself away. He was dehydrated, mouth dry and parched. Reid didn't know how much of his confusion came from his concussion, or dehydration and lack of food. Most likely, a mix of all three.

Another photo was snapped, and he went still. God, his shoulders hurt. Both of his entire arms felt as though someone was tearing through his muscles with a fork, ripping it apart as though it was dinner. Nothing was left untouched- from his upper back, to the tips of his fingers that were rapidly going numb, it was excruciating.

"You don't want to fall, now do you?" Lindsey murmured, setting the camera down and going to pet his hair.

Reid kicked his legs out weakly as she once again walked away, trying to keep blood flowing to his torso. If he risked fainting, he didn't know what would happen unconscious. No matter how much he wished to escape what had quickly become hell, he didn't wish to pass out.

A few more photos taken, and a few more moments later, a knife flicked through the rope. He fell violently to the floor, holding his raw and chafed arms. The pressure being gone hurt almost more, despite the instant relief that he was free.

He held onto his arms, hugging them to his chest in an attempt to ease the throbbing pain that seemed to pump through his veins.

While he waited, Lindsey set the camera up on a tripod, turning it to face squarely at him and hitting the record button. It was enough to give him a glimmer of hope, at least, and valiantly, he swallowed his cries. Miraculously, he managed to stop the flow of tears, staring dead-eyed at the camera.

Lindsey stepped squarely into the lens, mussing up her dark brown hair before giving a grin and beginning to speak.

"Dr. Spencer Reid has been bad today, hasn't he? Moving around and trying to escape when he's not supposed to?" she asked, voice high pitched and cheery. "So, we're going to use this to punish him."

She held up a braided flogger. It was black, with leather strips connected to the end, reminding him of how Maeve had confessed once that she used to be a cheerleader with the way it looked almost like a pom-pom.

Maeve.

He couldn't think about her now. Reid just couldn't.

Instead, he focused on how the ends had beads, bright and colorful, twisting the leather. He pretended as though it wasn't going to be meant for him.

"First, though, I think we should give him some water. It's only fair."

Reid watched as she cracked open a water bottle, bringing it over to him. She unlocked the gag, and desperately, he reached for it. The pain of the thirst was everything compared to his sore jaw that left him unable to speak.

Instead, the sharp sting of the flogger, flailing and many-ended, came down upon his buttocks. He wailed out in pain, surprising even himself as a sharp throb went through his jaw that protested at the sudden movement of his mouth.

"Bad boy. You need to wait, don't you?"

Another sting came, and then another, and another, unless hitching sobs came out of his throat. A tear slid out. He was no longer able to weep as he had before, not like this, dehydrated and parched. Even then, she did not stop, even as welts began to form on his buttocks, even when he could feel blood seeping from him and down his legs.

Finally, she held the water bottle close to him again, and it was torture not to reach for it and guzzle it all in one go.

Instead of him, Lindsay drank at least half of it in front of him, and the look of sheer excitement drained from his face.

"P…please— please," he whispered, voice hoarse and cracking.

She smiled, nodding, and then spat it back into the plastic bottle. Reid closed his eyes in disbelief, too exhausted to comprehend any of it.

Stepping forward, Reid once again opened his eyes to look up at the woman in front of her. No longer was she a teen girl anymore- now, a young student that could've easily been one of the collegiate victims he studied on the exam tables they had in the morgue.

As she tipped the water into his mouth, he couldn't find it in him to care about the millions of germs, the spittle mixed into it. He didn't care about the multitudes of disease, but he was no longer thirsty.

Once again, his mind wandered to Maeve. Once again, he ignored it. Once again, he cried.

Chapter Text

Reid's stomach growled, loudly. He remembered, being ten, and the only girls that let him sit with them being the mentally ill ones. He remembered how they would all gather together, exchanging razor sharp blades as easily as if it was eyeshadow.

"This shit will fuck you up, kid. Don't do it. Don't be like us," one had scoffed at him, half caring, half condescending. It was the closest he'd received to care back then.

He wondered if any had ever turned to drug abuse like he had. Probably- they had all lived in the bad part of Las Vegas, after all.

The girls in particular didn't eat much. A granola bar for lunch, at most, and he was reminded of them as pangs of hunger seemed to shoot through his body. Though, it had stopped hurting, only registering vaguely as a physical sensation, uncomfortable more than anything.

"Are you hungry, Spencer?" Lindsey asked, her voice innocent and droll.

He shook his head, mentally willing her not to touch him. His hands were tied the same way they had been yesterday when he had first woken up. He didn't want to talk to her.

Reid was somehow still surprised when it didn't work, her hands moving forward and caressing his face. Perhaps another sign of his concussion was his confusion.

"I need to feed you, but I don't think you'd appreciate my food very much. After your stunt yesterday, I don't think you deserve it either."

Lindsey left, and he glanced around, terrified, until she returned, pushing a cart. She sat him up, readjusting his restraints so his arms hung from the dangling leather cuffs attached to the top of the bed frame instead.

She began to snake a long tube through his nose, and he could feel metallic tasting blood dripping down the front of his face and down his throat as a result of improper placing.

Once it was in place, she started a feed, and then left for another few minutes as it filled his stomach uncomfortably.

When she returned, she carried a long pole like bar. He recognized it as a spreader bar, a result of seeing it thrown haphazardly in Prentiss's closet and- no, he couldn't think about her now.

Suddenly, Reid jabbed his foot at her, trying to maintain a semblance of dignity.

It only served to make her giggle as she grabbed his kicked out ankle- he'd thrown it out in a desperate plea to fend her off and preserve whatever ounce of self respect he had left. It only worked to help her attach his ankles to a spreader bar; he hadn't even managed to make contact with her, nor hurt her.

Once she had successfully restrained him, her mouth wrapped around his penis, taking a few inches, before pulling away. She began to pump her hand up and down his member, alternating between taking his length in her mouth and stroking him.

"Thinking of someone?" she asked as he naturally grew erect and needy at the stimulation.

"It's— it's normal for genitals to become aroused during rape," he reminded, though it didn't help the flush in his face go down any further.

"Are you getting off to the thought of me, or Maeve?" Lindsey questioned, pulling her mouth away and staring

"Neither," he groaned out, voice high pitched and cracking. "It's— it's— oh, stop, please."

She pulled away, and he glanced up at her. He half expected tears to begin forming in the corner of his eyes. For a few moments, she stopped, the two of them doing nothing but meeting each other's eyes.

Then deliberately, her every movement calculated, her hand returned to the base of his cock, teasing his balls with a long fingernail. The sensation made him shudder, making him squirm away at the ticklish and ghostly feeling of it.

Once again, he attempted to close his legs, ankles only clanking against the cuffs. "Stop! That— it doesn't feel good, please."

She glanced down at his hardened cock, and then back at him. "That's hard to believe, isn't it? If it didn't feel good, then how do you—" she gave another stroke, causing a high-pitched keen to come out the back of his throat, "—explain this?"

He shook his head, and she stopped. But within a few moments, he was back again, and for what felt like the third time- with his mind stuck in the fog of unwanted arousal, rape, and concussion, he couldn't exactly count straight- Lindsey once again brought him close to climax. She licked a long stripe up his cock, causing him to jolt, and she giggled.

"Tell me you want it. Tell me and I'll let you," she instructed, hand tight around the base, preventing him from ejaculating.

"No— please, it hurts, please-" he cried out, arching his back, desperately trying to escape Lindsey's tender touches.

The feed was long forgotten, his terror over that replace with the very real horror of the rape currently happening.

Reid's eyes met the blood stain on the concrete floor, and he hated how years of being in the BAU prevented him from feeling any real emotion at it. Disconnection. It should've killed his erection, but it didn't, and for that, he was sorry.

"Dr. Reid?" Lindsey asked once again, teasingly. "Making up your mind?"

He was sorry to Maeve for what he was about to say, but it hurt.

"Please… please, I need to, please, I— I want it," he whispered.

Her strokes increased in intensity, this time for pleasure rather than edging him, and within moments, he was coming, stars spotting his vision.

As Reid came, a momentary wave of pleasure came over him. Mostly, it was relief. Relief from the tight feeling that had coiled itself painfully in his nether regions and stomach, and the involuntary release of serotonin.

Then, of course, as Morgan would've called it, came the 'post-nut clarity'. A sudden wave of complete and utter shame crashed down upon him, as though he was a cliff and the ocean was eroding him.

The tears of overstimulation had halted, and he was no longer crying. The ceiling was white and cracked, and he couldn't help but think of his home, back in Las Vegas. The ceilings there were too stained with the remnants of his failure.

She disconnected his restraints

"I'll see you tomorrow, Spencer," Lindsey whispered, though he barely heard her over his guilt induced spiral.

Only when she had left the room, leaving him in pitch blackness, did he register it. The thought of tomorrow being worse made him stir in fear, but perhaps he deserved it- he had killed Maeve, hadn't he?

And perhaps, by ejaculating, Reid had somehow proven that he was attracted to her.

He was afraid, yes, but now he was convinced he deserved it.

Somehow, it didn't make the fear any better.