Spencer and his museum map (re-post.)

Spencer entered the museum with a hurried, awkward gait. When he got into the map room, he turned and fumbled with the keys. He dropped them, his long, eloquent fingers lubricated with the sweat of anticipation. The key finally slid into the lock; and as he twisted it in one sharp motion,  he knew he was alone, at last, with his maps.

    He turned around, pupils dialated. Six days without a map, and his pure carnal hunger could no longer be contained; Reid shed his bag from his shoulder, ripped of his sweater vest and unbuttoned his shirt as he tripped towards the map, never taking his eyes off it once. He closed the final distance between him and the map; no paradox of eternal midpoints would get in his way this night.

   Now, at an intimate distance, Spencer slowly brought his hands to the map. Right before his fingers reached the tacks, he hesitated; the air grew thick, heavy with sexual anticipation. Spencer caressed a tack, ever so gently. He raised his left hand to a perfectly horizontal tack, repeating the gesture, fully aware of the caustic effect he was about to cause to the map. “You have such fine meridians,” he whispered, barely audible. 

   He took his index finger, and brushed it across the generous lines of longitude. He brought it to a stop at the first mountain range, resting a finger pad atop each mountain. Small beads of perspiration gathered on his forehead.

  Spencer could contain himself no longer; he immediatly lapsed into intimate relations with the coastlines, and dragged his lips along the rocky cliffs.  He let out a deep, animal growl as he closed the distance between the rest of his body and the Pacific Ocean. He raked his fingers through the river valleys, delighting in the rough texture of the map against his skin. Spencer gasped for breath as ecstasy exploded from his fingertips. Warmth soaked into every corner of his body, corners only his maps knew how to reach.

  Suddenly, the door behind him was ripped open and hit the wall with a loud crack. “YOU AGAIN!” the museum guard shined a beam of fiery, dry light on Spencer. Reid whipped around,  exposed and guilty. “No, no…not so soon!” Spencer cried, tears of frustration beginning to blur his vision. The guard marched in, attempting to corner Spencer. He dove for his sweater vest and bag, and shrieked a pained farewell to his map, and right before he darted past the guard, he whispered one last thing to his cartographic concubine.

  “I will be back for you, my lover.”

                            written by awkwardcasual